#me when the fruit strangles

[1very1fancy1doilies1]

literal brainrot

[grimark]

ladies did you know. that umm. the shadows of the abyss are like the petals of a monstrous flower that shall blossom within the skull and expand the mind beyond what any man can bear, but whether it decays under the earth or above on green fields, or out to sea or in the very air, all shall come to revelation, and to revel in, the knowledge of the strangling fruit.

[helaintoloki]

the other Hargreeves siblings being absolutely teary-eyed on the day of y/n and Five’s wedding. they like to think of her as an adopted member of the family, because she’s gone through so much with them, gotten so close to death in multiple occasions while trying to save them. after everything, they never thought to see her live out the happy life she deserve, much less getting married to Five.

a/n: i am a sucker for found family tropes and wedding pieces so this was fun for me to write

warnings: none i think ? mostly fluff

Your stomach feels as if it’s tied into a million knots, and you can’t bring yourself to even touch the plate of fruit Klaus had fetched for you to nibble on as you got ready for the big day. Allison works diligently to perfect your look despite her insistence that you should have just let her hire a professional to get the job done, but you were adamant about keeping everything as simple as possible. Neither you nor Five wanted some big extravagant mess when it came to your ceremony, and if it had been up to you both you would have just settled for a courthouse marriage, but his family wouldn’t have it. You were finally becoming an official Hargreeves, and they deemed it necessary to celebrate with a proper wedding and reception despite the fact that there really would only be about ten guests at most.

You met Five in the apocalyptic ruins of the world while scavenging for food. Despite everyone you knew and cared about perishing in the gale of fire that blanketed the earth, you had miraculously survived. Call it pure luck for being at the right place at the right time, but you had been searching for a flashlight in your underground basement when the moon had been struck, and the reinforced steel structure of the room had kept you from suffering the same fate as everyone around you.

Neither of you trusted each other in the beginning, but you both were smart enough to realize that sticking together was necessary for your survival, and so you put aside your differences to travel the apocalyptic wasteland together. That’s not to say there weren’t times when you got on each others nerves or wanted to strangle him with your bare hands, but with time your partnership evolved into an actual friendship, and perhaps it could have evolved into more if not for the constant distractions that arose during your fight for survival.

Allison accidentally poking your eye with a mascara wand interrupts your moment of reminiscing, and she merely gives you an apologetic smile when you shoot her a look of annoyance in return.

“I told you we should have hired a professional,” she reminds you matter of factly only for you to lightly swat her hand away.

“And I told you I wanted to go down to the courthouse and pick up a sheet cake at the grocery store,” you counter with a raised brow. Sensing defeat, Allison relents with a small sigh and takes a step back to look at her masterpiece.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. It’s just our family doesn’t get to do these sorts of things very often, and it’s not every day I get a new sister.”

Your shoulders slump guilty at her admission, and you find yourself now feeling less combative against her than you initially were. Though you mentally are in your 50’s and no longer see a need to have a big wedding to marry a man you’ve known for basically your whole life, you still physically look like a young bride, so it’s only natural for Allison and the rest of Five’s siblings to want to treat you as such. From what Five has told you along with the stories that have been recounted in your presence, their lives have always been less than normal. You of all people can relate to that- growing up in an apocalypse, becoming a glorified secretary for a time-ordinance bureau while your only friend is out on assignments, risking your life to save the world, ending multiple apocalypses. The list could go on forever. They’re only trying to experience normal family milestones, so who are you to get in the way of that.

“No, I’m sorry,” you relent with a remorseful sigh. “I know you’re just trying to be nice, and I’m grateful for how quickly you and your siblings have welcomed me into the family despite how unconventional this all is. I really appreciate it.”

“Good, I’m glad you see it my way,” Allison teases playfully before finishing up the final touches on her masterpiece.

“Knock, knock,” Klaus singsongs from outside your dressing room before letting himself in. Proudly holding up the plastic wrap bag from its hanger, he announces, “Here I am with the dress, and as promised, nothing happened to it under my watch.”

“Thank you, Klaus,” you smile gratefully only for him to return the gesture with an affectionate pinch of your cheek.

“No need to thank me, sweetheart. I’m just so excited to finally have a little sister!”

“You know I’m technically older than you right?” You retort with a raised brow only for him to press a finger to your lips.

“Shh, don’t ruin this for me,” he gently corrects you before pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. You don’t miss the way his eyes begin to water at the sight of you with your hair and makeup done, but you’re kind enough not to point it out. Klaus had been the easiest of Five’s siblings to warm up to, always treating you like one of his own and roping you into his mischief despite your fiancé’s protests. The Seance couldn’t even count on one hand how many times you had been there to lend a shoulder for him to cry on when his addiction became too much or offer a supportive hand when his siblings had been less than eager to do so. He adored you, and he could nearly burst with pride at finally being able to call himself your brother.

“Alright, we have thirty minutes left to get you into that dress and down that isle,” Allison announces with a determined clap of her hands before snatching the dress from Klaus. “Are you ready to officially become Mrs. Hargreeves?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” you announce with a resigned sigh before immediately being pulled every which way by the two siblings to finish your ensamble.

You can’t wait to get this over with.

~~~

“You nervous?” Viktor whispers with a gentle nudge to Five’s side. Quiet chatter drifts through the air as the handful of guests that are present make conversation to pass the time before the ceremony begins. Neither of you exactly have big families; Five has only ever had his siblings, and your family isn’t exactly supportive of your choice of groom. It’s an intimate affair, but you both prefer it that way.

“Hardly,” he scoffs indignantly, though his need to readjust his tie for the millionth time says otherwise. Five knows that this probably should have happened sooner and promoting you from his partner to his wife has been long overdue. He was honestly surprised you had said yes when he’d finally bit the bullet and asked the question. He loved you, cared for you in a way he never thought possible and in a way that honestly wasn’t quite like him. But you were different, and he hadn’t risked it all trying to end multiple apocalypses just to not marry you once the world was finally safe.

“I’m glad you’re happy, we all are,” his brother notes with a kind smile. “She’s good for you, and she’ll be a good addition to the family.”

Five can’t argue with that. It honestly pains him to think about just how many times you’ve thrown your own life on the line for not just him but his siblings as well. You’ve been there for them even when it wasn’t your responsibility, when they technically weren’t your family yet, even when Five himself wasn’t the best brother to them all. While Five could at times be brash or crude, you were patient and understanding, and this balance helped make their team stronger. You’d make a fine Hargreeves; he wouldn’t be standing here today if that weren’t the case.

Behind the wooden double doors you nervously readjust your veil as you wait for your cue to enter the room. Diego holds your bouquet patiently on your left while Luther fluffs out the skirt of your dress for you on your right. Having no real family present for your big day, you were left without anyone to give you away to your new husband. Diego and Luther had both been eager to throw themselves at the chance to be at your side down the aisle, constantly at each other’s necks arguing over who deserved the right more. Of course, as the bride it was you who got the final say, and the choice couldn’t have been more obvious. You picked them both.

Both men had been put through a lot by your fiancé, from having to carry his drunken form out of a library to dealing with his fits of rage at their inability to meet his deadlines for important tasks, but they had always been kind to you despite the unorthodox nature of your relationship with their brother. Luther had taken several bullets for you before, and Diego hadn’t shied away from being a supportive shoulder to cry on whenever you and Five couldn’t see eye-to-eye. It would feel wrong not to have them both by your side, and they were honored.

“You scared?” Diego questions after noticing your tight grip on his bicep when the music begins. He has to hold back a wince from the way your manicured nails dig into his arm and distracts himself by handing you your bouquet.

“A little,” you answer honestly, harshly swallowing down your nerves when Luther opens the doors for you to walk through.

“You’ve got this,” Diego encourages after pressing a chaste kiss to your temple. “If anyone is brave enough to marry my brother, it’s you.”

“Brave or maybe a little insane,” Luther adds under his breath.

You can’t help the small huff of air that pushes past your lips in response to his quip, but you’re given no time to respond as your soon-to-be brother-in-laws escort you to your awaiting husband.

No one can deny how absolutely breath taking you look in your elegantly simple wedding gown, your smile nervous as you make your way towards Five who looks so handsome in his perfectly tailored suit. All day you’ve wanted nothing more than to see him, but now that you’re here you find yourself full of nerves and anxiety.

Luther and Diego give you away at the end of the isle (not without sternly warning Five to take good care of their new sister), and you finally find yourself face-to-face with the man you’ve loved for years.

“You ready for this?” He whispers under his breath as Viktor begins his officiant speech, subtly reaching for your hand to give it a reassuring squeeze.

“This won’t be the worst thing we’ve done together,” you note cheekily with a shrug as you hide your smile behind your bouquet, and Five can’t argue with that.

Though his siblings have been better at showing their excitement for this day than you or Five combined, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t happy to finally be marrying the boy who had been by your side through thick and thin, good and bad, and life and death. Perhaps your love story was a bit unconventional, but unconventionality is a Hargreeves speciality.

You’re going to fit right in.

[l0velysmut]

neteyam x fem!reader

contains: sub!neteyam, praise kink, hand job, overstimulation, slight aftercare, a sprinkle of fluff, brief face sitting.

wc: 1.5k unedited

na’vi words: yawne = beloved, mauti = fruit, muntxate = wife.

a/n: have this while i work on a request

“F-Fuck,” Neteyam mumbles as he looks down at your hand that repeatedly strokes his cock even after he’s finished twice and his cum leaks between your fingers and onto his pubic bone. “I-I don’t think I can- Mmh! I don’t think I c-can anymore, yawne.”

You and him were laying beside each other, Neteyam on his back and you on your side next to him with your hand stretched down to his lengthy cock. You had your bare tits by his face, and as you overstimulated his member, he glanced between your eyes and your nipples that perked up and stared at him.

“Shhh, you can, Ma’Teyam, I know you can.” You whisper, leaning down to press your lips to his forehead which makes his ears fall flat against his head and his mouth open to release a shaky moan. The affection sends shivers to his dick, and his hips stutter, jerking himself into your hand that has a tight grasp around him.

You prop yourself up on your elbow as you watch him. You observe the way you’re making him feel, the way his bottom lip quivers, the way his eyes keep opening and closing and then rolling back as whimper after whine after moan after gasp left his mouth.

“But if it does become too much, you know what to say and I’ll stop, okay?” You look down at him, and he nods with a whimper. “Tell me what our word is, baby.”

“M-Mauti.” He replies, half lidded eyes staring up at you as you hold eye contact.

“Good boy.” You whisper, kissing his forehead once again.

His chest heaves as his back arches slightly and when your palm teases his tip over and over again by rubbing circles on it, he whines loudly and then cries out your name loudly as well as choking out a few curse words that sounded almost like gibberish due to how staticky his brain felt.

“Does it feel good, my love?” You say to him in a soothing tone, a small smirk on your face because you already knew he felt good. You’d asked him repeatedly throughout the night, and each time he said yes.

“Y-Yesss, fuck, mmm!” He whines, throwing his head back against the woven mat you two lay on, and his hands that rested on his sides began to itch for something to grab.

Returning back to the motion of stroking, you felt his warm cock twitch, then again and again. You licked your lips at the feeling of the veins on his dick pulsing against your hand, which told you that he was close again.

His eyes pop open and he lifts his head. He looked up at you with teary amber doe eyes, and then glances down at your delicious looking boobs before lifting a shaky hand to one of them, squeezing. He lets out a sort of strangled moan with his eyes rolling into the back of his head when he feels the plumpness of them in his palm. You hum at the feeling of his hand kneading and squeezing.

Neteyam tilts his head and leans it over so that his mouth latches onto one of your blue nipples. He hums and closes his eyes, savoring your taste by suckling happily at your nipple, and he relishes the feeling of your hand gliding up and down his flushed shaft. You bite your lip and hold back a moan as you look down at him eagerly mouthing at your tits.

The more you stimulate him, the more a fire ignites inside of him. He pulls himself off of your nipple and then instantly stuffs his face between your boobs, rubbing his face against them and licking at whatever skin he could, leaving spit all over your tits all while inhaling the scent of your arousal.

“M-Mama..? Ma’Y/N..” He says in a whiny voice, clenching his jaw as he softly caresses the skin of your tits with his cheek. You already knew what he wanted, so you brushed one of his braids out of his face and looked down at him patiently. “I’m gonna.. Shit! I'm gonna cum again, can I cum again? Please? Aah- Fuck! Ma’muntxate, please! I’ve b-been good, right?”

“Yes, my love. You have been good. Cum for me, Teyam. Show me how good I make you feel and cum one more time.” You talk him through it, stroking his cock through his orgasm.

He clenches his eyes shut and moans, your name spilling from his lips as he reaches his peak, body and limbs trembling. He throws his head back against the woven mat, and a single tear rolls down his temple as his sticky cum shoots out from his bulbous tip. His warm cum shoots out in thick spurts, making a mess all over himself; and one shot in particular went so far, it reached his cheek.

The rest of his cum, that you continued to pump out, ran down your fingers and to the base of his cock, trailing it’s way down the skin between his cock and thighs.

“There we go, that’s a good boy. Making such a mess for me, huh?” You giggle, continuing to jerk him off until you get every last drop of his cum out.

“Oh my- Fuck! Thank you, yawne, thank you so much!” He swallows to relieve his dry throat as he thanks you over and over again, letting you know how much he appreciates you and what you do for him.

You squeeze right below his tip, pushing out whatever liquid you could out of his cock. You then take your hand off and proceed to bring your fingers to your mouth, sucking your cum covered fingers clean. And he watches you do so, laughing and bringing his hand up to his face, covering it and closing his eyes as he rests his head against the woven mat.

He lays there for a moment, breathing heavily, not saying anything besides grunting with his hips still spasming. You take this as a chance to get up and fetch some water for your thirsty mate. You return quickly, and kneel down next to him. You take his hand off of his face before lifting his head and bringing the water bowl to his lips.

“You are too good to me.” He breathes out in disbelief, shaking his head, after gulping down most of the water. You giggle and take his hand into yours after setting down the bowl and laying down on your side next to him again. You press your lips against his, and he immediately kisses back, eager for your affection and passion. Then, you pull back and lick his cum off his cheek, giving him a sly smile.

He lets out a small laugh and presses his lips against yours again, putting his hand on the back of your head with his fingers brushing against the base of your kuru. He holds you there, kissing you with the most love he could possibly give through his lips.

When you pull away slightly and look at him, his shaky hand pushes your head down gently so that your foreheads are touching which is one of the most romantic and intimate gestures to him, and you as well.

“You really are a goddess.” He mumbles, knowing you’d be able to hear him. “I’m so lucky to have you.”

You scoff and roll your eyes in an amused manner. “It was just my hand-“

“I don’t care, it was you. I’m grateful for anything you do for me.” He says, clearly still in a submissive state of mind. He basks in your presence, and his heart pounds against his chest — not only from the fact that he was still recovering from three orgasms, but also from the fact that he was spending time with his mate and was in the middle of a super intimate moment.

“Ugh, you’re too perfect.” You groan slightly, shaking your head and pulling away with a smile on your face which also made his face light up.

“Me? Yeah, right. That’s all you.” He replies, and the way he always strives to make you blush and/or flustered makes you feel the exact same way he wanted you to.

“The sweet talk is killing me,” You giggle and hide your face in his chest. His hands go to stroke your hair. “So… Why don’t we put that mouth to good use?”

You lift your head with a seductive look on your face and then climb on top of him, putting your knees right on either side of his head.

“Why? You don’t want to hear me woo my woman?” He teases, and licks his lips as his eyes make contact with your leaking loincloth before looking back up at you with a cheeky grin then looking back at your glistening tewng with anticipation.

You huff in fake annoyance and untie your loincloth, letting it drop onto his face before throwing it to where his lay. “Don’t forget who’s in charge tonight. The only thing I want to hear is the noises coming from you devouring my pussy.”

“Shit, that’s fine by me.” He says quickly before putting his arms around your thighs and pulling you down, his mouth clashing against your heat.

[sinsofsummers]

undone

2.2k | dbf!joel miller x f!reader

summary: joel miller worships the day you showed up braless to his fourth of july party. warnings: smut (of course), 18+, mdni. no outbreak au, fourth of july party (forgive him he's from texas), joel's pov, he's a dumb bitch, masturbation (m), pervy!joel but not really, age gap (reader is in her 20s, joel in his early 40s), slight religious slander (not extreme by any means!). note: this is just me dipping my toes into the dbf!joel universe, lemme know what you think! zero editing basically, i'm so sorry, there will probably be more drabbles for this. also this is consolation for the dumb shit holiday that is independence day in the us. i hate it here.

He's anything but religious; he hasn't gone to church since he was a kid. And yet...Joel Miller worships the day you went braless to his Fourth of July party.

Even now, laid in his bed with his arm thrown carelessly across his face and his fist curled tightly around his cock, he's not sure he'll ever recover.

Muffled grunts fall from his lips with every strained tug, and he's sure it sounds something like prayer. Considering the fact that you're as close to heaven as he'll ever get, he'll call it a fair assessment. If it's sacrilege to jerk off to the thought of his best friend's daughter every night...so be it.

He's never been one with any type of remarkable memory, but he knows that the image of your perfect chest peeking at him through the thin thank you'd worn that day would stick with him forever.

You'd blinked up at him with a grin, a bowl of fresh fruit salad prepared to share with the rest of the guests in your hands. A strand of hair had fallen into your eyes and he'd had to fight against every urge and keep his hand down at his side.

What he really wanted to do was brush your hair from your eyes (ever the gentleman), and then replace the spot where his fingers would touch your forehead with his lips. He'd always wondered what your hair might smell like, what shampoo you used in the morning, and how your skin looked when the suds ran down your body, rinsed down the drain.

What he wouldn't give to be the suds running down your radiant skin, to touch every curve and crevice of your body, the spots that never see the light of day.

He hadn't seen you since you'd gone to college. Well, not for more than a few days over your Christmas break each year, and even then...he'd made sure to steer clear of you. Tried to ignore the way your smile made his own stutter, how your arms were always so soft around his neck when you gave him the occasional hug.

How your eyes had begun to linger, just enough to make his jaw clench and his cock twitch.

A strangled sigh fights its way out of his chest as he remembers the events of that fateful party, and just how he's ended up here, cock in hand, your scent in his head, and your name on his tongue.

—

"Jesus Christ," he murmured when you and your dad showed up with your dishes to pass. The backyard had been strewn with red, white, and blue decorations, the perfect image of a typical Texan backyard celebration for Independence Day.

He'd been unable to hide his groan at the way the bright colors practically bled into his skull, but there was no other way to have a Fourth of July party, apparently. Of course, this was really just for tradition, and...well, his younger brother Tommy would have had his head if there weren't at least a few American flag streamers.

Your little white tank had already begun to cling to your skin in the Texas heat, the straps thin. Before he knew it, he was hoping that the sun would do him a favor and kiss your skin where he wished he could. That it might form those pretty little lines along your shoulders and give a warm glow to your face, evidence of your presence at his house, at his party, drinking his beer.

"Drunk already?" your dad's voice roused him from his momentary lapse in judgment and then Joel was getting tugged into a firm handshake and a clapped hand on his shoulder.

He tore his eyes from you and hoped that the pink in his cheeks (that was definitely there) could be mistaken for a quickly setting sunburn. He didn't want to think of what you might take his blush for if you noticed.

He chuckled, shaking his head and returning the handshake. “Hell no,” he answered hastily, “just gettin’ hungry for that fruit salad, man.” And the angel holding it. “Need a hand?” he asked you, forcing his eyes not to wander from yours.

Fuck. Your eyes were extra bright today, with the sun seemingly lighting them from the insides. And those cheeks? Already pink and sunkissed, just how he’d hoped they would be. He might have offered you some sunblock if he’d thought it was appropriate. Might have offered to help you spread it onto your smooth skin if he’d thought that was appropriate.

Of course, he’d be condemned to the darkest circle of hell if he let those thoughts run wild. So he trained his eyes on yours and waited for your response.

You shook your head and tucked your hair behind your ear. You squinted into the sun, an action that forced one eye closed, as if you were winking at him. “I’ve got it,” you said casually, “can I put it inside for now?” You adjusted your hold on the fruit salad, making your breasts shift under your shirt.

Joel nodded—fuck’s sake, he thought with the movement of your chest—and tilted his head toward the back door that led to the kitchen. “Go for it, Sarah’s already in there.”

Your dad had been called away by Tommy, so Joel was left in your quiet company. He watched your smile widen at the mention of his daughter’s name and felt his heart twinge. You were just a few years older than his daughter, and here he was, not only willing his cock to settle down at the sight of your nipples pressing against the cloth of your shirt, but also wishing that your smile widened at the mention of his name. 

Joel wasn’t quite sure what happened in the subsequent minute or how he moved so quickly. Before he knew it, you’d stepped closer to him and he’d stepped to the side, except he was really just getting in your way, and your eyes were widening in surprise, and then the bowl of fruit salad was shuffling in your grip and he was stumbling to get back out of your way and then—

“Shit,” you mumbled a curse. The juice from the contents of the bowl—mostly watermelon juice, it looked like—had splashed up onto your shirt, seeping through the white fabric and painting your chest a pale pink. You looked up, a careless smile replacing the distracted look on your face. “Don’t worry about it, Mr. M, really. I was gonna have to wash this shirt tonight anyway.”

“I—uh, I didn’t mean to,” was all he could come up with, and he could feel his face heating once more at the look on your face. “Shirt’s ruined. I’m sorry darlin’,” he mumbled—was the temperature increasing by the second?—and pretended not to notice the way your shirt clung even tighter to your chest. It was like a damn wet t-shirt contest, the way the darker shade of your nipples began to peek through the soiled fabric at him. He blinked and looked away, trying to ignore the way your smile had turned into a smirk. Have you caught him? 

You shrugged and passed the bowl to him. “No, it’s not,” you reassured him with a breathless chuckle. “I’m sure Sarah’s got a shirt or two I can wear.”

He’d been left standing with the bowl of your fruit salad as you’d trekked into the house, presumably to do as you’d said. When you came out just a few minutes later, he’d been talking to your dad and a few of the other neighbors that had come over. He’d almost completely forgotten about the incident, until you were there again, standing in front of him. 

In his shirt.

“Uh,” he said dumbly, not sure whether you knew whose shirt you were wearing, or if you’d gone into the wrong laundry pile.

You picked at the hem of the shirt, and he traced the lines of your long fingers with his eyes, practically seeing your sweet scent sink into the fabric. He hoped you could smell his cologne lingering on the collar as it licked against the soft skin of your neck. “Sarah found this in her closet,” you explained, “she said it was one of her sleep shirts.” You flitted your gaze to him, and he caught a glimmer of amusement in the depths of your eyes. “Smells kind of…”

Like me. He shivered despite the heat and tapped his finger on his hip to calm himself down. It smells like me, and now you’re gonna smell like me, angel.

“Like men’s cologne,” you finished with a smirk dancing on your lips. “You sure Sarah’s not bringing home any guys you don’t know about, Mr. Miller?”

He cocked an eyebrow and bit back a cutting remark. “‘Course not,” he said smoothly, “they’d never get past the front door.”

It was all he could do not to tug you onto his lap with his shirt hanging past your hips, giving the illusion that you weren’t wearing any shorts beneath it. Fuck, he had to get away from your father before he did anything he regretted. “Need another drink, anyone?” he offered, shifting his weight away from you in a failed attempt to get the thoughts out of his mind.

The others shook their heads, but you nodded. “I’ll get another, actually,” you said simply. And then he was stuck with you, his fingers itching to lift that shirt from your body and reveal that warm skin to his desperate mind.

The kitchen was empty—a small blessing—and Joel fished through the fridge for another beer. Handing one to you, he cherished the way your fingers brushed his as you pulled it from his grasp, the droplets of condensation running down the bottle like he knew the sweat was running down his back at the thoughts that swam through his mind.

“S’my shirt, you know,” he grumbled softly, not quite sure why he’d said it. Maybe it was to gauge what your reaction would be. Maybe he already hoped that you’d smile at the thought.

You looked down at the shirt, cheeks reddening. “It is?” you said quietly, the surprise unraveling in your voice. “I’m sorry, I can get another one—”

He waved a dismissive hand. “Nah, s’okay. Looks better on you than it does on me, anyway.”

“Oh.” Just one word, but he noticed the way your legs wobbled at the same time. The way the bottle slipped just a centimeter in your hand.

Gotcha, he smirked inwardly. 

—

Days have gone by, and he still thinks about that blush in your cheeks every night. He can’t help it when you just look so angelic in the shirt of a sinner like him. 

Joel’s hand squeezes his cock for all its worth as he strokes himself languidly, faint mumbles beginning to fall from his lips like the verses of a damn hymn. “So fuckin’ pretty,” he groans in the darkness of his room, feeling the pressure build in his body. With every muscle in his chest tensing, he lets a broken sigh escape his throat as he spills his hot seed into his hand, the picture of your face embedded in his mind’s eye. Laying there for a moment, he catches his breath as oxygen raggedly pushes itself in and out of his lungs.

And then he hears it. A knock. The front door, it sounds like.

He hastily cleans himself up, but the faint feeling of stickiness remains on his hand as he traipses down the stairs in the dark, wondering just who the hell would be knocking on his door so late at night. 

When he opens the door, he’s not exactly expecting to see the face he’d just come on his hand to. 

“Hey,” he chokes out, hiding his hand behind his back as if you might be able to see the evidence of sacrilege on his skin. He’s afraid you’ll be able to decipher the sweat on his forehead for the sinful act that it had come from just moments ago. “What’s up?”

“Oh!” you sound surprised at his answering the door, a fact that makes him smirk. “I’m just…I’m just here to return Sarah’s shirt,” you explain hastily. 

There it is, hanging from your loose grip, waiting for him to take it. “You mean mine,” he corrects gently, his grin widening as he feeds his hand up the frame of the door, hovering over you close enough that he can see your pupils widen and pulse at the proximity of his chest to yours.

Your mouth hangs open, just enough that he thinks about pushing his thumb in between your lips, up to the first knuckle. His mind goes wild at the thought of how warm and soft and wet your mouth would be around his fingers. How perfect it would be around even more.

He shoves the thoughts away as you nod. “Yeah,” you say with a breathless chuckle. “Yours, I mean. I don’t need it anymore, though. So…” your eyes drop to the shirt between you, your words trailing off.

Joel shakes his head. “Don’t need it back,” he says warmly. “Not yet, anyway. Keep it.”

You blink. “What?”

He shrugs, the thought of you wearing it more than once lighting his mind on fire. “Keep it for now. I’ll come to collect it some other time. No reason to return it in the dead of night, doll.”

Fuck. The nickname had slipped. 

But based on the way your lips curl at the corners, he’s dodged a bullet. “Okay,” you say softly, and he swears he can see the moon reflected in your eyes. “Just for a little longer, then.”

He nods and says goodnight, closing the door only when he can see that you’ve made it back to your house next door safely. The door shuts with a soft click, and he grins to himself. 

To hell with the shirt. Doesn’t matter to him. He’ll get it back eventually. And when he does, he plans to have it smell like you.

this ending was so rushed ahhhh i have to go to work!!! bye!!!! ty for reading and all the love!!!!

tagging here cause i have to goooo to workkkkk!!!

@mingiast @iluvurfather @cavillscurls @cupofjoel @thetriumphantpanda @morning-star-joy @sofiparallel @elegantduckturtle @evyiione @bitchwitch1981 @disassociation-daydreams @mrsquill @littlemisssluttyknee @papipascalispunk @mumma-moonchild @marchai @mlodanatka @xdaddysprincessxx @bongsrconfusing @tlouadditc @dinsdjrn @alejaa-a @daysilva2 @worhols @jellybeanxc @struig @cherryreddarbiter

[holylulusworld]

Indifferent (3)

Summary: Your father wanted a bond between you and the Barnes Empire. No matter what.

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Wife!Reader

Characters: Winnifred Barnes

Warnings: arranged marriage, angst, mentions of impotence, arguments, mafia au, a hint of violence, strong reader, jealousy, hand around throat (non-sexual), mentions of physical abuse (nothing happens)

Catch up here: Indifferent (2)

Indifferent Masterlist

“Wife,” Bucky watches you walk inside the kitchen. He eyes you as you cock a brow at him. He’s never up so early. Bucky usually avoids having breakfast when you come to the kitchen.

“Husband,” you try to sound nonchalant. His words from days ago still echo in your mind. After your little escape with Winnifred and the great treatment at the spa, you decided to ignore Bucky. It’s for the better not to let him rile you up.

Bucky loves to hit you where it hurts, but you won’t let him. The best way to not get hurt even further is to not give him the chance to get under your skin.

“What are your plans for today?” He slips off his seat to stand behind you. Bucky looks over your shoulder, watching you prepare your morning tea. Since when is your husband interested in your daily routine?

You want to scoff at his question but remain silent and focus on your tea. Bucky is up to no good, you’re sure about it.

“Do you want to whore around with that masseur again? Do you want to make me look like a cuck?” He growls in your ear because you do not react.

You sidestep Bucky to grab a bowl and a knife to make fruit salad for yourself. Winnifred was right. Bucky is like a spoiled child—or rather brat.

“I asked you a question, wife,” he follows you around the kitchen, muttering under his breath while you grab fruits for your salad. You remain silent and ignore that he slams his hand onto the kitchen counter. “I’m talking to you!”

He puffs out a huff as you keep on ignoring him. You cut your fruits, smiling to yourself as your husband glares at you. “Did you hear me?”

Bucky stares at you and watches you lick the knife clean. “That’s dangerous, Y/N. What if you cut your sharp tongue off?”

You slowly turn your head to look Bucky up and down. A smirk on your lips you say, “What can I do for you, husband? I thought you were busy doing business.”

“You’re still my wife and I want to know where you’re going and whom you’re meeting up with,” he sharply replies. There is a glint in his eyes making you swallow thickly.

“Your mother will come around to have lunch with me,” you turn your attention back toward your salad. “Do you fear I’ll lick her pussy, or can we eat together? Because you seem to confuse a conversation or massage with having sex.”

“You will never say such a thing about my mother again!”

His nostrils flare and he growls your name. “Why? She’s a beautiful and sensual woman. I bet she loves getting her pussy licked like every other woman.” You dip your head to smirk at Bucky. “Oh, I remember now. You’ve got no clue how to satisfy a woman.”

“You vicious little bitch!” He’s in your face, breathing hard while keeping his hands to his sides to not strangle you.

You smirk at his reaction. This time, you got under Bucky’s skin.

“If I’m a bitch, you are a moron.” You lick your lips, slowly wetting them. “Now I know the true reason behind this arranged bond. You cannot handle a woman, and they ran away after you disappointed them in the bedroom.”

His hand shoots toward your throat. Bucky slams you onto the kitchen counter, holding you there. You laugh at him. He expected you to panic or fight him. But you are holding his gaze and put your hand on his, daring him to go any further.

“Come on, do it. My father will be out for blood if you do it.”

He leans over your body, pressing his forehead to yours. “I should do it. You fucked that masseur and conspired with my mother.”

“I didn’t fuck Thor,” you grit your teeth. “Maybe I should’ve fucked him. At least he’s man enough to put his hands on me. Thor knows how to make a woman feel good, even without his cock. I bet he’s got a glorious cock hidden in those pants.”

“You think so?” He smirks against you. “What do you say? Do you want me to call him and measure his dick before I cut it off?”

You pant heavily, unsure if Bucky wants to toy with you, or if you must fear for Thor’s life. If you show fear now, Bucky wins the upper hand.

“If you put your hands on Thor, your mother will kill you,” you bite back. “He has nothing to do with your little ego trip. Get it into your thick skull, not every simple touch is the same as sex.”

Glaring up at Bucky you wait for his next move. He holds your throat in a light grip while considering your words. “If that man touched what’s mine, he’s dead. Not even my mother will stop me from flaying him alive.”

Bucky drops his hand from your throat and pushes off you. He smirks when you don’t move.

“Your mother will love hearing you threaten Thor and me,” you slowly slip off the kitchen counter. You straighten your clothes and grab your bowl with fruits and tea. “Great, now my tea is cold.”

“Tea?” He squares his jaw. “You’re thinking about tea?” Bucky can’t believe you’re still acting like a brat.

“What do you want me to think about? Your tiny dick,” you smirk at Bucky. He can’t know that your heart is thundering in your chest. If you show weakness in front of a man like Bucky, he’ll take advantage of your fear. “I have seen better and bigger dicks. Believe me, you’re not that interesting.”

Leaving the room, you release a shuddery breath. The first thing you’ll do is call Winnifred and tell her about what happened. You don’t want to put Thor in danger only because you love to rile Bucky up.

“James. Buchanan. Barnes!!!!” You watch how your husband turns into a puppy around his angry mother with amusement. She storms toward Bucky. “How dare you threaten this wonderful man!” She slaps Bucky’s cheek before he can tell her another lie. “You won’t talk until I’m done! I had hoped you would come to your senses and treat your wife better. But no. My son wants to kill an innocent man only because he’s jealous.”

“Mother, I—” he sweats and looks at you for help. “I was joking. It was nothing but a friendly banter.”

“Your hand around my daughter-in-law’s throat is not a friendly banter or foreplay,” she slaps his chest with her bag. “If you don’t do it while fucking her senseless, it’s physical abuse!”

“Physical what?” He hiccups. No one would believe that Bucky Barnes turns into a coward when scolded by his mother. “I’d never do such a thing!”

“You did, this morning,” she won’t give in. “Y/N told me everything. You didn’t let her eat her breakfast and choked her.”

“I did not choke her!” Bucky mutters. “I had to show her who’s in charge.” He earns another slap from Winnifred.

“I never put my hands on you while you were a kid. I guess I should’ve slapped you more often,” Winnifred purses her lips and raises her bag. “One more word and you will end up on the ground, black and blue.”

“Mom!” He grunts. “You should be on my side.”

“If you are being an asshole, I’ll slap you,” she twirls around to walk toward you. “My dear, you will come with me. I won’t leave you here, with him.”

“Mother,” Bucky stomps his foot. “That is enough! You can play the loving mother-in-law all you want, but Y/N stays here. We both agreed on this marriage. If she whores around I have the right to…”

Bucky can’t end his line. Winnifred’s bag ends up in his face. “One more word and I’ll put you over my lap and slap your ass, Jamie.”

You grin. Winnifred is rather scary when mad. She’s the queen of George’s empire for a reason. “Winni,” you try to stop her from ripping Bucky a new one.

“No, my dear,” she coos. “Do not defend him. You did nothing wrong. He accused you of cheating on him while he didn’t even try to make you feel welcome at your home. I raised him better.”

You watch Winnifred drive away, sighing deeply. She wanted you to stay at their house for a few days, but this wouldn’t change a thing.

“Good job,” Bucky makes you jump when he suddenly stands next to you. “Well played, Y/N.”

“I only tried to protect Thor. He did nothing wrong,” you sniff. “Neither did I. Believe it or not, I intend on keeping my vows.” You dip your head to glance at your husband. “This won’t stop me from playing with all the new toys Winnifred helped me find.”

“Toys?” Bucky cocks a brow. “What toys? Do you want to play more games? I think you’re already a master at playing games.”

“Oh, you poor sheltered man,” you pat his cheek. “If you want to know, I’ll send you a video after I fucked my pussy well with the pussy destroyer.”

You turn on your heels and walk away. Bucky watches you walk toward your wing of the mansion. He licks his lips, wondering if you meant what you said.

“Yeah…sure. I can hardly wait to watch you fuck yourself.”

“It’s better than fucking you…”

Part 4

Tags in reblog.

[spaghettiposts]

Video Games

Reader x Wednesday Addams

Summery: Video games are a waste of time in Wednesdays opinion, being with you however is not.

Warnings: First attempt at writing for Wednesday.

A/N: Lemme know if y’all would wanna see more of Wednesday from me I’m thinking about writing for Tara too!

“There are more fruitful things to do aside from staring at a screen all day.”

Lifting your head from your said screen, you raised a judgemental brow. Wednesday sat with her back turned from you, typing away, she had allowed you to sit lay on her bed in the meantime so long as you promised to stay silent. The noises your console gave off broke that promise, one quick narrowed look from the goth had you lowering the volume instantly.

“Like staring at a typewriter all day?” You retorted with amusement in your voice. She paused her typing for a minuscule moment before continuing her steady pace.

“I’ll have you know my writing sessions improve memorization, vocabulary, and keep me from strangling you.” You could see a cocky smirk form on her face. “Consider yourself lucky.”

Shrugging your shoulders you sucked your teeth, a reply fresh on your tongue. “I don’t know, dying in your hands sounds like the most lucky I’ll ever be.”

At that, Wednesday froze, looking down to her paper before ripping it off, a prominent scowl appearing. You grinned to yourself behind the device, knowing damn well you had made her slip up. The small tints of red on her cheeks almost missable, just confirmed that.

“Disturb my writing time again and I’ll throw that…thing off my balcony.” She huffed, folding whatever she did get done during the duration of your visit into a neat pile. It wasn’t much whatsoever, a pattern that only repeated every session you were around.

You simply laughed in response, causing her stomach to grow spiders. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to punch you or shut you up in another form.

In different circumstances she’d respond with haste, quickly dismissing you from her dormitories so she could focus. But for some reason, no matter how close she was to saying no, it never happened. Wednesday supposed that was fine, you weren’t completely irksome.

But if those little noises, coming from your Nintendo? Kept happening she might just come to say it.

“I thought I had warned you to turn off the noise.” She snapped, face scrunching at the weird noises of a man crying. The noise didn’t even resemble a realistic cry, what on earth. “What even is that?” She questioned.

You smiled at the clear curiosity she showed. Not that she’d ever admit. Scooting over on her bed—carefully not to ruin her perfectly folded sheets—patted the space next to you. “Come here and I’ll show you.” You offered, receiving a cold scoff in response. “What? Come on Wednesday. We both know you aren’t getting any more writing done, why not unwind?”

Unfortunately, seeing as she had neatly arranged everything back in its usual place. You were correct, obviously Wednesday refused to let you know that, reluctantly trudging along to her bed. Muttering small things about how “I’d get more writing done if you left.”

“Mhm sure Addams.” You snickered, lifting your arm up to put around her shoulder, bringing her into you. She said nothing, adjusting to the position until she found the perfect spot to rest. On your chest.

“Technology is a man-made brain rotting scam that only diminishes human intelligence.”

“So was romance? I guess you’re into rotting then.”

“Only because you could rot with someone.” She muttered, staring at the game in your hands. The corners of her lips rising when you died, cursing to yourself. “Rot with you.” She added lowly, you almost didn’t catch it but you’re glad you did. You just hope she wouldn’t hear how much you enjoyed it, be still heart.

Feeling bold you pressed a small kiss on her head, leaning your head against hers as you continued playing your game. Later when Wednesday got tired of you mashing those stupid buttons she’d toss the game aside, leaving your full attention on her. Maybe there were more fruitful things you could focus on.

[mediumgayitalian]

“Hello, twerp.”

Kayla grunts at him. She is focused, intently, on something small enough to be covered up by her hands and curtaining hair; Nico decides it is likely some kind of explosive. There is a reason she, Banned From Arts ‘n’ Crafts For Criminal Reasons, is sneaking into the Hermes’ cabin’s time slot and hiding behind Julia.

Instead of confirming that she is, indeed, planning to blow up at least one of her brothers’ bunks in their sleep tonight, because of Plausible Deniability, Nico swings a leg over the picnic table bench, settling in next to her. She spares a second of attention to blow a raspberry at him, seemingly unprovoked. Nico reaches calmly over, plucks a pair of scissors from Connor’s hands, which he allows because of who he is as a person, and snips a piece of her hair. In response she pulls a notebook from her pocket and puts a little tick mark next to Nico’s name.

“So,” Nico says, choosing to ignore that. “I have a Question.”

“Ten dollars.”

“I’m not paying you, you little shit.”

“Then wonder in silence.”

Nico digs two wrinkled fives from his shoe and slams them on the table, scowling. Kayla pockets them.

“Proceed.”

Nico glares at her, noting her twitching mouth, and remembers that he does, in fact, need her help, and her brother is, in fact, his best friend, so challenging her to a duel to the death is a bad idea on both counts.

(Nonwithstanding the part where she has deadly accuracy with any projectile from almost any semi-reasonable distance. And he has, like, a sword. So.)

“Your brother,” he starts, and he does not need to clarify which one, “is always trying to…feed me.”

“Yes,” she agrees, “he is internally a seventy year old Southern woman. He does that.”

“Fruits.”

“Hm.”

“Oranges, specifically. Like, every single meal.”

“…Ah.”

It is a very knowing ah, Kayla’s little noise, and in fact she sets her project aside. (It is, in fact, an explosive.) She turns slightly on the bench to face him, lips pursed, hands folded. She blinks at him for several moments. Nico holds her gaze, remembering he is out ten dollars.

“My dear brother,” she begins, “my lovely, kind-hearted, smiley, morning person brother, is neurotic.”

Nico waits. This is, apparently, the end of her sentence, as she does not continue.

“I am aware,” he says slowly. “I have been present during every rant about Hollywood inaccuracies about medical sciences.”

She nods sagely. “This is true. You have. You are, however, by virtue of his cripplingly low self esteem and fervent belief that his mere existence is a Literal Actual Curse, spared from much of his most…colourful…contingencies.”

“Contingencies,” Nico repeats.

Kayla nods again.

“Yes. You see, dear future brother-in-law —”

“Cease,” Nico snaps, reddening.

“— our lovely William, also known as your Special Guy, according to Nico With Severe Blood Loss.” continues Kayla, not ceasing, “is under the impression that you, like all people, have a Limit.”

“…A Limit.”

“Yes. A point or level beyond which something does not or may not extend or pass.”

“I know what a godsdamn limit is, Kayla.”

“You seemed confused.”

“I am going to strangle you.”

Openly snickering to herself, she moves on.

“He feeds you oranges because he regularly paces around the cabin in the middle of the night stressing about your vitamin levels,” she explains, finally. “He doesn’t know how to tell you that like a normal person because he’s afraid he’s going to weird you out. Ergo.” She makes a flippant gesture with her hands. “Citrus.”

“Why is he so godsdamn cute,” Nico mutters to himself, then remembers to throw out a hasty, “Thank you,” before scrambling away from the table, ignoring the gathered snickers, and beelining for the the Demeter cabin. “Gods.”

It is empty, thankfully, when he strolls in, except for Miranda in the front gardens, who holds up a finger as he gets closer and whispers to a struggling seedling.

“Hey,” she says after a moment, smiling up at him. “What’s up?”

“I need,” he starts. He purses his lips, rocking back on his heels. His hands make some kind of motion. He’s not sure what, exactly, he didn’t give them permission. “I need.”

Miranda, thankfully, has had years of experience communicating with non-speaking entities, and as such is relatively fluent in Nico. She dusts off her hands, patting the spot beside her. Nico sits as indicated.

“Try a deep breath first,” she instructs. “When your brain is back up and running, try again.”

“It’s running. It’s running a lot.”

“Oh. In that case, might I suggest a small shout of frustration?”

“You may.”

He clears his throat, resting his hands on his diaphragm to Maximize the Output, as he has been previously instructed, and yells. A passing satyr jumps a full five feet in the air and flees. Nico grimaces, calling apologies after them.

“They’re never going to like me,” he grumbles.

Miranda pats his head. “There, there. One issue at a time.”

“Solace,” he says at her invitation, gesturing again. “Oranges.”

“…Ah.”

“He is. You know. Right?”

“I must confess I do not.”

He takes a moment to collect himself. Or, well, he tries to. He’s had an easier time trying to wrangle errant souls surfing along the Styx, but whatever. He literally owns his brain. It Shall submit to him, or he’ll get a new one. Watch.

“Will is…intensely thoughtful.”

“He’s a sweetheart,” Miranda agrees. “Once he brushed past me on the way to dinner and felt that I was going to get a cold, so he took the food I got and exchanged it for soup and veggies and Gatorade and stuff. He forgot to actually tell me that I was about to get a cold, at the time, but it was really nice of him in hindsight.”

Nico makes another loud, strangled bleating noise. Thankfully, no satyrs are harmed.

“He is so!”

“There, there,” Miranda says again. “You’ll get to full sentences soon, I’m sure of it.”

He takes a few moments to have a minor crisis in the peace and tranquility of Friendship. It’s this new thing he’s been trying. Will tells him it’s usually called ‘trust’ and ‘vulnerability’. It is mortifying for the most part but in small doses is kind of cool. Mostly.

“Who takes care of Will?“

“He doesn’t really get sick. Apollo genes and all that.”

“No, like. Emotionally.”

“Oh.” Miranda frowns thoughtfully. “Um. Chiron, maybe? I’m not actually sure.”

“It needs to be me,” Nico stresses. “He always takes care of me, and I want to, like, repay him. Not transactionally,”Nico rushes to clarify, “but, like, mutual care-ily.”

“I see.”

“You see?”

“Yes,” Miranda says sagely. “You must Show Him. That you are Invested in your Relationship.”

“Yes!” Nico cries, gripping her by the elbows. She meets his gaze head on, eyes wide and wizened. “Yes, exactly. Relationship Investment. You’re so smart.”

Miranda preens. “Thank you.” She stands, brushing off her jeans — fruitlessly, she’s got grass stains on top of grass stains on every piece of clothing she owns — and offering Nico a hand. Together they stand and observe the various shrubs, trees, and vines surrounding the cabin, hands on their hips.

Nico narrows his eyes. “Should I just get him oranges?”

“I still don’t fully understand the orange thing. But Will likes peaches.” She leans up and plucks one off of the largest tree, holding it out to Nico. “They make him think of home.”

Nico takes the peach and inspects it. It is, of course, impeccable — thick and heavy, skin soft and unblemished, full enough with juice and flavour to be fragrant even from the arm’s length Nico holds it. This is the kind of peach that wins fairs. This is the kind of peach that sits, prized, in a market, watching as mothers and hipsters claw at each other. This is the kind of peach that immediately upon first touch strikes within you such an intense urge to chuck it at the nearest hard surface and watch it splat into a beautiful explosion of Squelch that Nico has to, hastily, set it down and out of immediate reach.

“It’s perfect,” he declares.

“Don’t throw it at him,” Miranda advises, eyeing the fruit herself.

“Shan’t,” Nico promises, and it doubles at a warning to his brain because he can’t lie to Miranda, obviously, so his brain better Check Itself. There will be no peach throwing. Peach holding, only, and peach giving.

He waves goodbye to Miranda as he hustles off, headed for the bustling infirmary. There have been no great emergencies today — there would be a lot more of Will’s echoed screeching if this were the case — and many people who have walked in have walked out, minutes later, scowling, so now is a good a time as any. He could of course wait until Will is done his shift and they meet by Cabin Seven, like usual, but this is a Pressing Issue. Will can no longer continue to believe that Nico has a Limit, as Kayla had so unhelpfully explained. Nico is Limitless. He is a sine function. He is an eternal abyss. He is the final end of Chiron’s patience, if the horse is to be believed.

Also, the peach is really really tempting and Nico honestly does not have all that much control over his brain. It usually kind of does as it pleases. That’s why he has so many Situations.

“Solace,” he shouts, banging open the screen door loud enough to make everyone inside jump, “GET the hell over here.”

“I. Am.” Will holds up a patient’s arm, which has been hastily butterfly-clamped closed and is now being stitched. “Um. Is it urgent?”

Nico snaps his mouth shut. “No.” He stalks over to where Will is sitting, still bewildered, on his favourite stool, and stands with his arms crossed behind him. He nods at the injured camper, clearing his throat. “Proceed.”

“…Okay.”

Because Will is a Professional, his gaze remains focused on the gaping wound he is fixing. Because no one else at this camp is, everyone else chooses to gawk. Nico lets the fires of Hell enter his eyes, like Father showed him, and glares them all into subservience.

“Alright,” Will says, several minutes later, patting the patient’s knee with a smile. “I’m gonna wrap this, Jen, and you gotta keep it dry, okay? Have ambrosia twice a day like I told you and come see me at the end of the week.”

“There’ll be no scar?” the young girl hedges.

“Not if you follow my instructions,” Will promises. “Although you’ll be just as beautiful with a scar, kiddo, I promise. Ask your mother.”

Jen looks at him doubtfully, but Will is one of those people who’s unbelievably hard to distrust. It’s infuriating, if you’re Nico and committed to the whole goth/emo lifestyle. Probably comforting if you’re a normal person.

She leaves, and it is abruptly very quiet in the infirmary, which is crazy because it is abruptly never quiet at camp unless people are dead, usually, but no one is dead, and people are too godsdamn nosy to flinch away from Nico’s glare, or maybe they’re not scared of him anymore, and hey, isn’t that something. The world is so busy, all the time. Things keep happening. Who’s fault is that, again?

“Nico?” Will asks, rocking back on his heels. His hands are suddenly clean of blood and grime and his scrubs have been swapped out. They stand, also, at the other end of the infirmary, right outside of the on-call room. He looks up, and conversations have resumed, and Will is watching him, intently, bright eyes slightly too wide, front teeth gnawing at his bottom lip, Ace bandage winding, unwinding, winding.

“This is for you,” Nico blurts, and shoves the peach at him.

Will blinks. “Oh.” He stares at the peach, a moment, before a smile erupts on his face. “Oh! Thank you!”

He takes the peach, gently, from Nico’s hands, and holds it close to his chest, wide hands gentle so as not to bruise, smile gone close-mouthed, giddy. The rocking gets every so slightly faster, and the slight breeze from the open screen door ruffles his frizzy hair, and his nose is scrunched, just slightly, enough to wrinkle his dotted feathers, and Nico’s mouth is very, very dry.

“I do not,” he tries, and it grinds along his paper-parched throat, near silent, “I do not have Limits, William.”

The rocking stills. Nico mourns it.

“…Sorry?”

“Limits,” Nico repeats. “I do not have them. I am Limitless. Purge the thought.”

“You have limits,” Will says, alarmed. “Um, we had that talk, right? About pushing yourself and why that is generally regarded as a bad plan.”

“That was you shouting at me in between nectar shots and frantic mothering, actually, but that’s not what I meant.”

Will doesn’t answer, only tilting his head.

“You’re neurotic,” Nico attempts to explain, and as could be expected by literally anyone with a brain this goes poorly, and he rushes to amend. “I mean! Well, you are neurotic — but! There is a but! Stop looking at me like that! You are neurotic but!”

“This is a very bad friendship break up if that is what you are trying,” says Will in a small voice, and Nico resolves to kick his own ass later tonight to Atone.

“I like it,” he hurries to explain. “You and your — neuroses. All of you, I like it. There is no Limit. Capital L. You’re groovy. On — point. Fleek? What do the kids say. I don’t —”

“Oh,” Will breathes, thankfully putting Nico out of his misery, “oh, this is about the oranges.”

Nico nods miserably.

“The oranges are —” Will cuts himself off, staring down at his shoes. “Um, scurvy freaks me out.”

“…Scurvy?”

“It — collagen synthesis is an active process? In your body? And scurvy makes it degrade really quickly. Which kind of tears your body apart by reopening scars. On top of other things. And you — were on a ship, you know. For a while. And you sweat a lot. And you don’t take the multivitamins I give you.”

“Because they’re gross,” Nico says, breathless, “and I’m not — sweaty.”

Wherever sunlight touches Will’s skin he tends to glow, slightly, and his freckles fluoresce the longer his hand takes to traverse the space between them, past the open window, resting, lightly, on Nico’s wrist.

“You are,” he says, gently. “You have — really low magnesium and potassium levels. Just, all the time.” He glances down at the inside of Nico’s wrist. “Right now, actually. Will you eat a banana if I go get you one?”

Will will go get a banana, and Nico will follow him, and they will sit, somewhere, probably the big rock by the lake, as Nico eats it, and Will will eat his peach, and Nico will watch his throat bob, and Will will talk, hands gesturing, peach juice everywhere, and they will stay there, probably, way past sunset, right till curfew, and then they will sprint, as they usually do, to avoid the harpies, and they will go to Nico’s cabin, first, because they always do, and Will will snag an orange as they run past the fruit trees by the Demeter cabin, and he will press it into Nico’s hands, firmly, smiling as he says goodnight, and running back to his own cabin. Where he will, according to Kayla, pace, and worry. Where he will rant about Limits, and how close Nico is to approaching them.

“Will,” says Nico seriously, grabbing his hands. Will’s eyes snap to his, wide, wider than usual, and they are so blue, so so blue, are things usually this blue? He’s startled by it every time. “Will, I am a sine function.”

“I don’t understand,” he admits.

Nico nods. “That’s okay! Just — peaches.” He reaches out and pats the fruit, curling Will’s fingers around them. “For you. Okay?”

Will glances down at the peach. He glances back up at Nico. He looks down, finally, at their hands, twined around the fruit, and holds there, one, two, three seconds.

“Oh,” he says, finally. “Oh, you don’t — oh.”

“Peaches,” Nico repeats, “oranges.” He pulls one hand free and draws a line between them. “You get it?”

“I get it,” Will says, softly. He looks up and smiles, small, private; too-big front teeth just barely peeling out. “You never reach your approached value.”

“I really don’t even get that close.”

“I’m kind of losing the metaphor, here.”

“Okay.”

Nico squeezes their hands together. Will squeezes back, shifting his weight.

“I’m still gonna — you still gotta get your vitamin C.”

“More oranges?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” He rubs his finger over the backs of Will’s knuckles; he shivers. Nico meets his eyes and he smiles, widely, hurting his cheeks, and Will smiles back, and he rocks, and Nico is an abyss, and he is falling, falling, falling. “I like oranges.”

[charliemwrites]

A continuation of this:

Outside time is heavily monitored but fairly regular. Simon keeps nearby and you learned early on that he’s more than capable of crossing the yard in the time it takes for you to even consider trying to scale the tall fence. It’s one of the only times he’s actually put hands on you, carefully restraining you and then letting go once you were both safely inside again. You sported one, singular bruise that he fussed over despite your hissing and cursing.

What about when he’s away on missions? He has the ability to call you, and you him, though you don’t. He preps well in advance for being gone. Frozen stews that you can heat up. Pre-cut meat if you want to cook. Frozen veggies aren’t GREAT, but he’s left some vitamin supplements and dried fruits.

When he gets back, he always gives you a once over. Usually from afar, but if he sees something that concerns him, he’ll have to try to coax you closer. After the first two times he cornered you just to inspect a stupid bruise, you learned to tolerate the poking and prodding with minimal snarling, biting, and yanking.

He’s got a plan if something happens to him too. Johnny will, of course, take over your care.

You didn’t think you could get angrier at anyone more than Simon, until he brings a strange Scottish man into your HOME, the place you’re SAFE. And the man takes one look at you, whistles, and murmurs, “isn’t she a beaut?”

You may or may not try to strangle him with his own dog tags. Simon may or may not laugh at his dumb friend before expertly prying you off. You take a bite out of him too, but he’s used to it by now. Just shakes out his arm and ushers you off, chuckling “go sulk in a corner, little one.”

And you do, but not because he told you to. In fact, you make it a point to scowl at Johnny the entire time he’s there, always just within view but far, far away. You’re pissed at Simon too. Can’t believe there’s TWO of them now.

When Johnny finally leaves, Simon tries to coax you from your room - there are no locks, but he understands what it means when you’ve cocooned yourself on the high bunk of your bed.

“You’re not going to come down?” He croons.

“Fuck off,” you grumble.

“Not even if I have a peace offering?”

You poke your head out and lean over the railing a bit, peering down narrow-eyed and terribly grumpy. Simon forces himself not to coo at you, it’ll just make you crankier. He holds up a new book - one you’ve been talking about wanting.

“Have something to go with this if you come down,” he entreats.

And well, you’re hungry anyway. So you clamber down, wrinkling your nose when he tries to scratch behind your ear. Then he leads you out, to the back of the house which has been blocked off for the last month. There’s a new door - he pops it open, revealing a closed in patio.

“Plexiglass,” he explains as you creep outside. “So you’ll be safe but can still see the yard.”

It’ll get a lot of light, you’ll see the rain. There are little tables and cushions and a daybed with blankets. It’s - damn him - perfect.

“Is… he coming by again?” you ask, feeling at a soft pillow.

“Johnny? Probably not, unless I die.”

You twist, looking alarmed.

“Not likely to happen,” he soothes, ruffling your hair just to see you pout and swat at him. “Have someone relying on me after all.”

You blush again. You’ve been doing that a lot. He lets you snatch the book from his hands.

“Unless you want him to come by again? You could use a little socializing, feral thing.”

He’s right, but Simon is barely tolerable, never mind is friends.

“Hmph.”

“Alright, maybe in a couple weeks.”

[zorosdimples]

AFLOAT

pairing ༄ zoro x gn!reader

warnings ༄ this fic is slightly suggestive, but it’s more fluffy than anything else. reader has an unspecified devil fruit power, and thus cannot swim. reader wears a bra and underwear, and is implied to be shorter than zoro, but no gendered terms are used.

word count ༄ 1365

notes ༄ my birthday fic for zoro! this has been in my drafts since july. it’s disgustingly self-indulgent and filled with emotion; i hope you all enjoy regardless <3 tagging my beloved wife @redskyvenus!

sitting on the edge of a rickety, weather-worn dock, you dip your legs in crystalline water and try to keep your focus on the depths: on the flora that roots at the bottom and reaches to the sun, on the schools of tiny fish that flit around the underwater jungle.

but your gaze keeps drifting to the man swimming laps around the spring, admiring how gracefully his strong body cuts through the water. the midafternoon sun hotly caresses your skin and presses into you like a greedy lover. you lean back on your palms and tilt your head up to soak in the barefaced sky; its cerulean is only obscured by the dense foliage that surrounds the secluded watering hole.

you’re startled from your thoughts when you feel something tickle your toes. with a strangled yelp you scramble back from the edge of the dock. as you steady your breathing and wonder what the hell just touched you, a familiar mint green head bobs up to the surface.

“asshole!” you shout, slamming your hands down on the wooden planks for emphasis.

zoro laughs heartily as he hoists himself out of the water and plops down next to you. he ruffles his hair, sending sparkling droplets flying in the sunlight, landing on your sweat-damp flesh. your eyes flicker to the rivulets that ebb and flow down his naked torso into a little pool beneath him.

remembering your irritation, you half-heartedly punch his tricep and scold him. “you scared me so badly i could’ve fallen into the spring and drowned. and then you have the audacity to laugh at me?”

zoro snorts at your dramatics, but glosses over them, nudging you with his elbow. “i’d never let you drown and y’know it.”

he’s right, of course. zoro is certainly strong enough to haul you out of the water. you’ve watched him save countless people—friend and foe alike—from a premature grave. you put your feet back in the spring, playfully kicking the swordsman’s leg in the process. the chilled water cools your body but isn’t enough to stop the perspiration that beads at your hairline.

“i miss swimming,” you state, thinking aloud more than speaking to the man beside you. you can’t see the way his lone eye maps your profile as though he will forget the cant of your nose and the curve of your lip once this moment passes.

silence hangs comfortably for several breaths before zoro turns to you with a sly—or is it sinister?—smile. “let me take you swimming.”

you blink at him a few times, face scrunching into the signature scowl he secretly adores.

“did you hit your head on a rock or something? i’m a devil fruit user. it’s physically impossible for me to stay afloat in water, let alone swim in it.”

his grey eye shines with mirth. “just listen for a sec, will ya? no need for insults,” he chuckles as he rises to his feet and offers you a hand.

you appraise him with a quirked brow. you will yourself to push away thoughts of how beautiful he looks bathed in sunbeams and how you wish you could chart the planes of his body the same way you are charting the grand line. how you would see and count and kiss every scar etched in his flesh and tell him how happy you are that he’s alive.

zoro keeps his expectant stance, and you focus on his outstretched hand, just as sinewy and scarred as the rest of his body.

“d’you trust me?” he inquires. his eye searches yours for truth.

“more than i trust myself,” you answer without thinking. the admission is perhaps too honest, but you catch his dimpled smile and feel a little lightheaded as you grasp his rough palm and stand up beside him.

zoro leads you off the dock and around the rocky curves and edges of the spring to an ideal point of entry. you reach a stretch that resembles a beach: a sandy shore that slopes into the water. he starts walking into the spring expecting you to follow, but when you hesitate, he pauses and spins to face you.

“somethin’ the matter?” he asks.

you wordlessly glance down at your jean shorts and white top. “ah,” he says with a curt nod. “you should just wear your swimsuit. don’t wanna get all bogged down with wet clothes.”

you absentmindedly fiddle with the edge of your shirt and clear your throat. “i don’t have a swimsuit, zoro.”

“huh? nami’s always got one on. you’re tellin’ me you don’t?”

you rub your temples. “oh my god, zoro. nami can swim—i can’t. why would i ever wear a swimsuit when i have no intention of swimming?”

after a few tense beats, he tries again. “so—”

you interrupt him with a huff. “just turn around and wait a second. please?”

he obeys without question and you sigh. before you second guess yourself, you undress, leaving your shirt and shorts in a tidy pile on the sand. you’re left in your bra and underwear. they’re nothing special: just a matching cotton set that has seen better days. they are well-worn and comfortable—perfect for the sticky summer heat. you muster all your courage and start walking toward the shoreline.

it’s not a big deal.

it’s just like a swimsuit.

he won’t care.

it’s not as though he likes me.

zoro can hear your tentative steps, faint splashes in the water behind him. he doesn’t turn to you since you never told him he could. once you reach his side, he angles his head so he can look you directly in the eyes, saying, “we’re gonna walk until the water is up to your shoulders. is that okay?” if you saw a rosy flush on his cheeks, you could have easily mistaken it for the heat or too much sun.

“yeah,” you breathe.

the two of you walk in silence. you feel fine until the water hits your waist, then reality sets in. you haven’t been in a body of water since you were a young child. icy panic surges through your veins when you feel a fish graze one of your legs; you instinctively grab zoro’s tanned forearm to steady yourself.

“easy there, s’okay,” he soothes, stopping so you can get your bearings. when you don’t let go of him, he adds a simple “c’mere,” securing a strong arm around your waist. the water is cold, but his touch burns you.

it’s a strange sensation, delving deeper in the clear water, the surface lapping at your shoulders. it’s both nostalgic and new, familiar and foreign, frightening and exciting—even more so with the man holding you.

“see? you’re a pro,” zoro teases, calloused fingers gentle as he squeezes your waist.

usually, you would bite back, but you’re transfixed by the feeling. you attempt to turn and face zoro, but stumble in the process, unused to how clunky your legs feel underwater. he wraps both his arms around your waist, anchoring you to him.

it dawns on you how close you two are: your bodies pressed together, a thin layer of sodden fabric separating your flesh from his. the swordsman hopes you can’t feel how fast his heart is beating. (you would if you weren’t so focused on your own heartbeat.)

you peer up at zoro, hands splayed on his firm pecs, and for the first time, you see unguarded longing in his steel gaze. it’s awkward, the way neither of you can bring yourselves to speak. but leaning into one another feels right.

uncharacteristically, zoro breaks the quiet. his voice is rich—husky—as he asks, “you okay?”

boldly, you link your hands around his sun-warmed neck, thrilled when he doesn’t pull away, but instead sinks into your touch. you stand on your tiptoes, inching closer to him. zoro’s head hangs low, chapped lips parted, breath heavy. he’s so close that you can see him and smell him and hear him and feel him, but you want to taste him, too.

“let’s just stay like this,” you murmur.

and in the middle of the chilly spring, two burning souls stay afloat, zoro’s lips moving, melting, blurring against your own.

[marcsburnerphone]

Orange peel theory

John price x F!reader

Warnings: none

——-

You and John were relaxing in the sun room during mid day just enjoying each other’s company as the summer breeze swept through the net door. You admired him for a second, strong arms being slightly strangled by the tee shirt he wore, silly little bucket hat on his head, all muscle and man yet very john.

He was reading through some book with specific annotations gaz had given him weeks prior. Just then as you sat in your thoughts you noticed the bowl of clementines and nectarines sitting on the small coffee table and then you remembered the online trend you’d seen not too long ago about the gesture of someone peeling an orange for their loved one had greater meaning below the surface of the thought.

“These look good.” You say softly as you grab a ripe orange from the bowl.

“Hmm darling?” He says looking up before noticing the vibrant orange fruit in your hand.

“Oh yeah they are, I actually had one this morning.” He says gazing at you briefly then back to the book.

“I just don’t care for the brines under my nails you know.” You say smiling foolishly at the thought of doing this.

“Really I actually like it, the smell of citrus that is, the way it lingers” He says giving you a warm smile.

“The stickiness on my hands just bothers me, it looks really good though.” You say looking longingly at the fruit.

He sets the book on his chest and reaches a hand out from the sofa he lays on urging you to hand it to him.

“Give it here, I'll peel it for you.” You smile and hesitate to put it in his hands.

“Are you sure my love you really don’t have too?” You say batting your lashes at him.

“If you want it, I want to give it to you.” He says reaching further to pluck it from your hands and beginning to peel it.

You smile with a small giggle and get up to make your short way to him.

“What?” He says lightly, giving you the same smile throwing the rinds he’s peeled off in the bin beside him.

You straddle his waist as he lays beneath you, peeled orange in palm.

“You’ve passed the orange peel theory test.” He looks at you puzzled.

“The orange peel theory test? My darling what have you got going on now?”

“Supposedly if someone you love peels your orange for you without you outwardly asking, it's a form of showing love.” You say the last couple words mere inches from his mouth which he extends upward to connect your soft lips to his own.

When you pull away he offers the orange up to you.

“You better eat this damn orange my darling.” He jokes grabbing at your waist when you grab it from him peeling a slice from it to eat.

————-

The idea of someone peeling an orange for me makes me swoon, it's the simple things in life.

Comments and reboots are appreciated.

[gabgabwrites]

BITCHY IS THE NEW BLACK | Eddie Munson [pt. 2]

summary ⇝ Eddie is so sure he has you now, he can almost taste it, but when friendships and feelings get in the way, he isn’t so sure anymore, thankfully the fair coming up is a chance for him to prove everyone wrong.

warnings ⇝ bitchy!reader, language, violence, slight sexual bit at beginning, bullying, mixed feelings and signals (yikes), no smut (you really thought) yet but mdni

read part 1 here | & part 3 here

tags: @fhsbsvy @foreveranexpatsposts

"Mm, this is real good, Eds." You moan around the cold treat, batting your lashes as you glance his way. Eddie looks distraught, you're doing this on purpose, he thinks, just to taunt him.

When really, you just had no idea the effect you were having on him. How a single moan would send his heart into overdrive, how those little batting eyelids would make his breath catch in his throat.

He cleared his throat, once again attempting to regain some semblance of control.

"Yeah...it's great." He agreed, his voice strained.

"You don't want one of your own?" You ask, turning to fully face him while you run the tip of the popsicle over your bottom lip. "You must be so hot, no?"

The words sent a sharp jolt of heat straight down south, and he mentally cursed under his breath.

The look on your face, the way you'd said those words, it was like you were torturing him.

He swallowed once more, his eyes fixated on the path the popsicle was making over your bottom lip.

"Can't argue with that." He said, his voice low and husky. "But nah, I'm good, thanks." He added, not trusting himself not to lose all sense of control if you were to pull such a stunt with him. He couldn't guarantee he wouldn't lose his mind if your tongue were to brush over his again.

You shrugged and took a bite out of the popsicle, letting out another little moan as the cold hit your tongue.

Eddie had to physically will himself not to let his eyes roll back in pleasure at the sound, forcing himself to maintain eye contact with you as you ate your treat.

To distract himself, Eddie finally turned to the cooler and fished out his own popsicle, this one was a bright pinkish-orange one —fruit punch flavoured.

Eddie had to use all of his willpower to keep the damn popsicle in his mouth, as opposed to throwing it to the ground and licking you instead.

He bit down on the sweet, sucking on it as he tried to distract himself, keep his mind from the dirty thoughts that were begging to be let loose.

"Are you not gonna ask me to have a taste?" You pout, feigning sorrow as you slowly blink.

Eddie was just about ready to combust.

How were you doing this to him so easily? Making him sweat with just a single look, a few sentences and a god damned popsicle.

He cleared his throat weakly, his eyes locked on your pouting face.

"Do you...wanna taste?" He said, the words low in his throat and filled with a burning desire.

"Sure." You grin, popping your popsicle out your mouth, Eddie watched you with a bated breath, leaving your red and glistening as you sat yourself in front of him.

He had to keep control. Maintain his cool.

But that was so much harder when you were sitting in front of him looking like that.

Your knee brushed his, and he flinched.

He took a deep breath, he tilted his popsicle towards you, the sticky juice dribbling down his fingers.

With a satisfied grin, you place your hand over his, your grip tightening as you stuck your tongue out, letting it press the ice before running it up, and enveloping your lips around the crown. You sunk your mouth down on it. After getting a good taste, you pulled it out from between your lips and licked them. "That one is just as good."

A strangled sound left Eddie's lips at the sight of your tongue encircling his popsicle. The way you'd taken it in your mouth, the way your lips sank down over it.

He realised he'd been holding his breath as he watched you pull it out from between your lips, and he finally let out a shaky exhale.

"You like it?" He managed to say, his voice wavering.

You nodded slowly, and the sight of your face looking so innocent, when just moments ago you were moaning around a popsicle almost had Eddie swearing out loud.

He was losing his mind, slowly, surely.

You let your eyes wander around his trailer, at the mug collection he had hanging, at the caps, hats and cloaks hanging on the coat rack, at the weirdly decorated furniture. It was all very cozy, but nothing had an edge to it like Eddie did.

Eddie knew, by all rights, this place was a shithole. An absolute dump that most people would turn their noses up at. But for some reason, having you sat here, taking in every little detail, he felt pride at the place.

"What do you think?" He asked, his voice strained.

"It's cute. It's cozy," you replied honestly, turning to look at him before springing up from the couch. "You live alone?"

His gaze followed you as you got up off the couch, his eyes roaming over the bare skin of your legs. He quickly shook himself from that daze, and followed you up.

"Uh, no," He answered, still a little breathless. "I stay with my uncle."

You nod at his words before spinning on your heel to face him. "I think I'm gonna head home now, but thanks for the popsicle, Eds. It was good."

Eddie's heart sank.

He'd had you here for a grand total of maybe half an hour, and you were already leaving?

He couldn't bear the thought of you leaving, not yet.

"Now?" he asked, his voice betraying him. "You can't stay a while longer?"

"I can't possibly over stay my welcome, plus I'm sure my parents want me back." You replied, your fingers playing with the loose strands from your shorts.

He felt an urge to beg you, implore you to stay for at least a while longer, so he could spend more time in your company.

He knew that would look pretty pathetic, so he refrained from doing that.

He swallowed the burning feeling in his throat, and instead just nodded sadly.

"Right...yeah...makes sense." He admitted, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Don't sound so sad, we can hang out again or something. But hey, see you Monday?"

Eddie nodded once more, managing a weak smile. "Yeah, Monday, I'll see you then."

He suddenly felt as if a weight had been placed on his shoulders at the thought of you leaving, at the thought of not being able to spend time with you for the weekend.

"Cool." You softly said, before making your way to the door

Eddie stood awkwardly to one side as you neared his door, a frown on his face.

He hated the thought of you leaving so soon. This couldn't be the end of the night, there had to be more time.

But he also knew that asking you to stay, even just for a while longer, would seem downright desperate.

"Bye, Eddie." You gave him one last smile before opening the door and leaving, leaving Eddie to stand in the doorway.

He lingered by the doorway, half in, half out, watching as your figure got smaller and smaller in the distance until you disappeared entirely.

He slammed his door shut, the finality of you leaving weighing down on him.

With a sigh, he slumped down on his couch, cursing the fact he couldn't just spend his entire day with you.

The next day you had planned to hang out with Margret and Darcy, your best friends, at your house. Darcy sat on your bed, blonde curls framing her face while she flipped through a magazine, while Margret picked at her nails, her dark eyes squinting, creasing her freckled cheeks in disgust.

"So, do you like that freak?" Darcy asked, her blue eyes flitting over to you.

You were sat at your desk vanity mirror, reapplying a layer of gloss as the question escaped your friends lips.

"Uh...yeah. I suppose so," You admitted, turning your chair to face them. "There's just...something about him that I find really attractive."

Margaret almost chipped her nail polish at that. "Don't you know? He's like a cult leader."

You quirked an eyebrow at her words, amused at her comment. "A cult leader?" You asked, unable to keep the smile from your lips. "Because he plays dungeons and dragons?"

"Yeah, they worship the devil." She whispered the last words.

You full on laughed at that, placing a hand on the desk to steady yourself.

"And you know this how?" You asked, once you'd composed yourself. "I'm pretty sure he doesn't worship the devil."

"Uh, he so does. Don't you see those stupid devil worshiping shirts they wear? All of them? Satanic I tell you." Darcy said, as she shut the magazine.

"And you know he worships the devil... just because he wears those shirts?"

The fact they were actually taking issue with Eddie's clothing was what was driving you to laughter.

Margaret rolled her eyes, clearly not enjoying being laughed at. "I've also heard he deals drugs."

This stopped you in your tracks, a frown tugging at your lips now.

"I mean, he does have a...smell sometimes. But it can't be weed, surely?" You asked, folding your hands in your lap as you spun on your plush seat.

"I heard it's more than weed." Darcy jumped in, her eyes wide with almost excitement at the potential drama and scandal she was spreading. "I heard he deals other, much harder stuff."

You chewed on your bottom lip. "But he's so sweet though, maybe he's different?"

"Yeah, maybe he deals hard drugs in the week, and turns into a sweet, little angel when you're around." Margaret smirked, clearly mocking you and your optimism.

You shot her a look. "Very funny, you know you talk big when I see you eyeing out his friend, what's his name? Jared? Gabe?"

Her cheeks darkened. "It's Gareth." She mumbled.

You shared a look with Darcy as she began giggling at the blush now creeping over Margaret's face.

"Oh, Gareth, right. How's that going?" You said with a smirk, enjoying the way her blush intensified at the mention of his name.

"...Bad." She grumbled, and Darcy shared another look with you, both finding entertainment in her denial of her obvious crush.

"Why? ‘Cause he's another devil worshiping freak?"

Darcy fell into a fit of giggles, enjoying the way Margaret's face twisted at your comment. "No, because he's a geek." She mumbled, turning her head away from you and your mocking. You snorted.

Laughing once again, you took a second to enjoy the flustered Margaret sat before you.

"You know," you began finally, your voice still light with amusement. "You can't be calling people freaks and geeks, when you secretly drool over one."

"You're the worst." She huffed, grabbing a small throw pillow, and flinging it in your direction.

You let a small squeal as the pillow collided with your head and fell into a fit of giggles once more. You were enjoying this, enjoying the light humour and banter between the three of you.

"I'm telling on you," you said in between fits of laughter, grinning at the angry look on Margaret's face. "I'm telling Gareth."

Her face dropped. "You wouldn't?"

Your face was the picture of mock innocence as you shrugged your shoulders.

"Why wouldn't I?" You teased, watching as Margaret's face grew more and more panicked. "I think he has a right to know what's being said behind his back."

"Oh, please. If people deserved to know what we say behind their back. Half of Hawkins would be dead, or worse." Darcy said with a quick raise of the eyebrows.

You laughed heartily at Darcy's statement. "Good point." You chimed in, and the three of you once again fell into a fit of giggles.

"Hey, at least I'm not pining over a nerd." Margaret chimed in, still trying to redirect the attention away from herself.

"You are! And I'm so gonna tell him."

And that's what you planned to do, so after the weekend at lunch, you strode over to where he, Eddie and everyone else ate.

You made your way over to the table, trying to be as casual as you possibly could.

They were easy to spot, especially Eddie, whose hair was like a beacon for you to find him.

You came to a halt beside the table, just as Eddie's eyes flickered up to yours, a smile immediately settling on his lips.

"Hey.” You greeted him.

Eddie's lips tugged even further into a smile as he saw you standing before him, the sight of you only brightening his day.

The rest of the group at the table were also curious about your presence here, and all watched you silently as you stood opposite Eddie.

"Hey.” He said back, his voice low and warm.

"I'm here to talk to...you." Your eyes settled on Gareth who-like everyone else, glared at you.

The rest of the group suddenly looked a lot more wary, and Gareth suddenly looked very on edge as you spoke.

"Uh...me?" He asked, his eyes flickering towards Eddie as if silently begging for help.

"Mhm," you hummed as you strode over to where he sat, before leaning down on your forearms, way to into his personal space. "I have a secret."

Gareth swallowed as you leaned forward, your face now just inches in front of his. His eyes darted frantically between your face and the others at the table, clearly silently panicking.

"A...secret?"

"Yeah, but I'm still gonna tell you. You wanna know what it is?"

He still seemed very uncomfortable, shifting awkwardly on the spot as you leant over him.

But it was clear he really did want to know, with the way he nodded his head slowly.

"My friend has a crush on you." You told him.

Dustin was quick to interject, not believing you, thinking you're there to make fun and embarrass his friends. "Bullshit!” He piped up from his place next to Mike, a look of disbelief on his face. The others were all sharing looks with each other. Gareth's mouth had dropped open in shock.

Your eyes shot to Dustin. Your bottom row of lashers jerked as your eye twitched. "Shut it, short stack." You snapped.

Eddie frowned, but he kept quiet.

You could see the irritation burning in Dustin's face, but it was nothing compared to the anger and shock on Gareth's.

"Wh-who is it?" He asked, his eyes flitting to you. "Who has a...crush on me?"

Your attention went back to Gareth and you grinned. "Oh you know..." you let your two fingers walk a path along his shoulder, creeping towards his neck. "Margie." Gareth's eyes widened comically at your words, the rest of the guys at the table also showing their shock.

"M-Margret?" He croaked, clearly having trouble processing the information.

"Uhuh, she likes you big time." You crane your neck, your face nearing Gareth's while he tries to move his back. You had clearly gotten way too far into Gareth's personal space, judging by the discomfort on his face.

He was leaning back as far as he possibly could, without completely sprawling on the floor, and was trying his best not to look you in the eye.

"Why...why would you tell me this?" He muttered under his breath, still trying desperately to put as much as distance between you as possible.

Your brows drew together. "You don't like her?" You asked, irritation slowly dripping from your words.

He was still leaning back, his eyes flickering around to all his friends, silently begging for one of them to say something.

"No- well...l mean...I don't..." he stuttered over his words, still trying to process the fact that apparently your friend had a huge crush on him.

You have an unspoken rule about people insulting or rejecting your friends, one you don't tolerate.

There was something strange and animalistic at the sound you made, almost like a growl, yet no one else heard it. "I'd watch your back, Kevin." You said in a low tone before ripping yourself away and strutting off.

Gareth was not going to tell you that wasn't his name. Eddie felt a shiver run up his spine at your words and the tone you used.

The guys around him were all staring in total bewilderment by your behavior, still struggling to understand the whole situation.

"What the hells up with her?" He heard Dustin mutter.

Eddie's eyes were still fixed on your retreating figure, confused as to your change in attitude, and how you'd gone from calm and friendly to outright scary in about three seconds.

"Who the hell is Kevin?" Mike murmured as he watched you walk away.

"Screw that. Gareth is now a dead man walking!" Lucas said with a wobble in his voice. “This is McGregor all over again!"

The rest of the group all began murmuring in agreement with Lucas, nodding amongst themselves.

Gareth sunk back into his seat, his heart still racing in shock from your encounter.

"I'm sure she didn't mean it, right?" Eddie mumbled. "She's actually really...sweet."

The guys all shared a look at Eddie's words.

Dustin rolled his eyes, scoffing. "Are you kidding? That is not how sweet people act, buddy. She basically threatened Gareth!"

"I don't know why she's acting like this," Eddie huffed. "I'll-I'll go talk to her."All the members present at the lunch table watched as Eddie abruptly got up and hurried after you.

Some of them called out to him, telling him to be careful, or not to get involved.

You were sitting with your two best friends, Chrissy, Jason as his goons when Eddie came over. "Beat it, freak." Jason spat.

Eddie ignored Jason's comment, his eyes fixed firmly on your face as he made his way over to your table.

"Uh, hey," he began, coming to a halt at the edge of the table. "Can we have a talk?"

You looked up at him, halfway busy with a pretzel stick to your lips. "I don't know if now's the time, some of us have to console our friend for getting their heart broken."

Eddie's eyebrows furrowed, confusion on his face as to who you were referring too.

"I..uh, yeah, about that." His eyes darted around the cafeteria quickly, noticing Jason now throwing him a fierce glare. "Can I speak to you? Privately?"

You let out a sigh before turning to your friends. "I'll be back." You told them before pushing up from your seat and following Eddie to a more quieter part of the cafeteria.

Eddie was the first to speak when you both reached a quiet corner.

"What the hell was that?" He began, not even bothering to hide the look of bewilderment and annoyance on his face.

You raised an eyebrow. "What was what?"

He huffed, a little frustrated by how oblivious you were being. "That whole thing with Gareth," he explained with a wave of his hands. "You scared the poor kid half to death!"

"It's what he gets for telling me he doesn't like Margie back, okay?" You aggressively whispered back. At your response, Eddie only grew more baffled.

"Are you kidding?" He asked, his voice also rising to match yours. "Is that actually why you did that?"

You groaned. "Yes? He broke my best friends heart and he won't live it down."

Eddie shook his head, still bewildered.

"He can't control who he does and doesn't like, ya know?" He pointed out. "And scaring the crap out of him doesn't change that."

"It might."

"Wait, you're kidding, right?" Eddie asked, his expression one of irritation now. "You can't actually expect him to suddenly start liking her 'cause you yelled at him?"

"No, but he'll eventually get what's coming to him, Eddie."

Eddie pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation as he let out a sigh. "And what exactly is 'coming to him', huh?"

The anger on your face melted and was replaced with a sickly sweet smile. "I won't say, but he won't sleep in peace anymore."

Eddie couldn't help but shiver again at the sudden change in your expression. "Y'know that sounds like an actual threat, right?"

"Y'know it actually might be, right?" You shot right back.

Eddie was baffled. Beyond it. You had never spoken like this to him.

"Seriously? You're being serious?" He finally managed, still reeling at the shift in your personality.

You sighed. "You'd protect your friends too."

Eddie took a step towards you. "Of course I would," He began, voice firm, staring down at you. "But I wouldn't go around scaring other people."

"And that's the difference between you and me." Eddie continued to stare down at you, his gaze not wavering from your face.

"Guess it is." He muttered, still in disbelief that you had gone from sweet to cruel within minutes.

"Can I go now?"

He huffed and stepped back, waving out a hand. "Yeah. Go, do whatever. Just leave Gareth alone."

You sighed. "I can't make any promises." You told him, before brushing past and leaving

"You're actually insane." Eddie murmured under his breath, still reeling from the whole interaction as he watched you saunter back over to your table. For the rest of the day, Eddie was lost.

Had he just lost everything—even though it wasn't much, he had going on with you.

He was still deep in disbelief, struggling to understand how you could be so nice, and yet so cruel at the same time.

Maybe the guys were right, and you weren't as sweet as he thought you were.

But the thought of that being true stung him more than he cared to admit.

The rest of the day went by in a blur, and by the time the final bell rang, signalling the end of the day, Eddie was still deep in thought. He slowly got his stuff together and made his way to the front doors of the school, still a little dazed.

It was only when he reached the parking lot, and his eyes landed on your car that he realized you were still here.

His heart thumped in his chest, a part of him wanted to approach and talk with you, but another half of him was saying to leave you be. He stood there for a few minutes, watching silently from a distance as you gathered your own stuff.

He was contemplating what to do, when suddenly a voice appeared from behind him.

"What are you looking at, freak?"

It was Jason

Eddie jumped at the sudden voice, and spun around to face Jason.

"None of your damn business." He shot back, his eyes immediately glaring daggers at the jock.

"You staring at her?" Jason tipped his chin in your direction, grinning, while folding his arms over his chest. "You like her? Want her? She wouldn't want a freak like you."

Eddie forced a snort of disbelief at Jason's statement. "And you think she'd want a braindead douche like you?"

Jason's arrogant face instantly took on a look of anger at Eddie's words.

"Who doesn't want me?" Jason smirked.

"Y'know, normal chicks," Eddie shot back nonchalantly, knowing it would rile Jason. "Girls who aren't totally superficial dipshits and actually base their attraction on more than looks and popularity."

Jason's fists curled at his sides. "You wanna fight, freak?" He spat

Eddie took a few steps forward so he was directly in front of jason. "Try me, dickhead," he shot back.

"Jason." Your voice came from their side as you walked over, one hand placed on your hip while the other fiddled with the ends of you hair.

Both Eddie and Jason's eyes snapped towards you, both looking very surprised to see you there. Eddie's heart was suddenly thumping rapidly in his chest again, now that you were so close, not even a foot away, but then he remembered what you'd told Gareth, as his face hardened as he turned his head to look to his other side, away from you.

The air was thick with tension now; Jason looking at you with the usual arrogant and confident look on his face, while Eddie stood beside him, a stony look on his face that was directed at the ground.

"Why are you talking to him?" You asked.

Jason gave you a cocky smile. "Just telling him you'd never like a freak like him," he explained, his tone laced with arrogance.

You had to bite your tongue to prevent yourself from tonguing your cheek.

"Right… well don't waste your breath on him."

Jason's eyes flickered over to Eddie at your words, then he turned his attention back to you.

"Yeah, I guess. No point on talking sense in that brain of his, huh?" Jason let out an ugly laugh, clearly trying to rile Eddie up some more. You could see Eddie clenching his fists together, visibly struggling to keep himself composed and not do anything stupid.

Eddie was doing his damn hardest not to react to Jason's taunts, especially not in front of you.

Jason seemed not to care about Eddie's lack of response, so continued with his antagonizing. "No girl in their right mind would like a weird little freak like him, would they?"

Your mouth opened to respond but nothing came out.

An ugly smirk appeared Jason's face at your lack of response, clearly taking it as validation that you agreed with him. "Yeah," he continued, his self-assured tone getting louder and more aggravating. "You like a real man, like me, right?"

You just batted your eyelashes up at him and smiled. "Right."

Jason's smiled grew wider at your words. "Exactly. Not someone like him."

As he spoke, Eddie's eyes were still fixed on the ground, and his knuckles had gone white.

He desperately wanted to throw a punch, break that stupid smirk on Jason's face.

But he couldn't, not when you were right there, listening to the whole interaction.

You just hummed.

"C'mon," Jason reached for you, his hand going to rest on the small of your back."Let's get out of this shithole."

You nodded, eyes quickly glancing at Eddie before following Jason. Eddie was watching the pair of you, watching as Jason led you away, an intense feeling of irritation growing in his stomach as he saw Jason's hand on your back.

Had you two been dating? Eddie wondered if this whole time you had a boyfriend and that he was getting his hopes up. The thought crossed his mind, making something in his chest constrict tightly.

He didn't want to jump to conclusions, not yet anyway, but a growing jealousy had already started to well up inside him.

It was now Wednesday, Eddie shuffled into the cafeteria, his hands shoved in the pockets of his faded jeans. He'd barely slept at all last night, his mind too distracted to get a restful amount of shut eye. He'd spotted you and your friends across the room, but he forced his eyes to look away from you.

Eddie was too much in a rush that morning to care about his shoe laces, unfortunately it came back to bite him in the ass as he tripped, his tray of food up in the air and his body rapidly falling. Eddie's eyes widened as he felt himself losing his footing and starting to fall.

Within seconds he'd landed on the floor in a painful heap, his lunch having gone flying, his tray clattering somewhere near him.

He let out a muttered curse, not even caring who would have seen him fall.

All that was on his mind was the fact that he'd made a complete idiot of himself once again, and this time it was a near your table, in full view of you and your friends.

Everyone was laughing. Everyone but you.

He slowly pushed himself up, grimacing as he did so. He still hadn't lifted his head up to look around the room at everyone he'd just embarrassed himself in front of.

Gareth and Jeff rushed over. Gareth knelt down next to Eddie, Jeff standing behind him. "You ok, man?" He asked, worry on his face.

Eddie just grumbled under his breath before pushing himself up. He was now irritated and embarrassed

"Jesus, what a fall," Jeff said, cringing in sympathy as he pat Eddie on the shoulder.

Gareth's eyes were still on Eddie, studying him closely. "You ok, dude?" He asked again.

"I'm fine," He said. "Fuck." With one last grunt, he pushed past and made a steady path to the bathroom where he'd try clean off the muck on his shirt.

Gareth and Jeff watched as he walked away, still looking worried.

"Is he alright?" Jeff asked, his eyebrows furrowed.

"Not sure," Gareth muttered, his eyes still fixed on where Eddie had gone. "That fall really shook him."

Eddie had grabbed a fistful of toilet paper and wiped off the blobs of pudding off his shirt, cringing at the sight. He scowled down at his shirt, now covered in stains and looking disgusting.

"God dammit." he hissed to himself, balling up the paper and chucking it in the bin.

At this point, he just wanted the day to be over. He flushed the soiled toilet paper down the toilet, and after deciding all was well enough. He stormed out. He quickly washed his hands, and left the bathroom.

He felt like his shitty day had somehow just gotten worse, and the fact that you had definitely seen how much of an idiot he looked like only added to that feeling.

On his voyage to the cafeteria, he heard someone call his name. "Psst! Eddie!" A voice came in a harsh whisper.

He stopped in his tracks, looking around to try and spot who had called out to him.

And there you were, half stuck out the janitors cupboard, waving him over.

He was surprised to see you there, alone now and not with your usual crowd.

He quickly glanced around, checking to see if there was anyone nearby, before slowly making his way over to you.

Once he reached you, he looked at you quizzically.

"What are you doing?" He asked, his heart thudding as he noticed just how close you were standing.

"Just get in before anyone sees." You told him, before shifting to the side.

He looked puzzled for a moment, but then obliged. He quickly ducked into the small space, standing next to you. "Are you alright?" You asked him after shutting the door, leaving you too in the extremely dim room.

He let out a sigh. "As alright as I can be after making a complete ass of myself in front of everyone." He replied, keeping his eyes fixed on the light streaming through the gap in the door.

You sighed, not knowing what to say. A moment of silence passed between the two of you. Eddie's heart was pounding as he stood next to you.

He couldn't see you in the very dim room, but he could feel you. Barely, but he could still feel you pressed against him, standing so close.

"Do you want a shirt to change into? I have one of Jason's shirts in my car if you'd like."

Eddie's stomach twisted at the mention of Jason's name.

He couldn't accept that. Couldn't wear something of Jason's, even if he had ruined his own shirt He turned his head away from the light, looking in your general direction, but he still couldn't see your face.

"No...No thanks." He mumbled.

"Are you sure? I mean surely you'd want a clean shirt?"

Eddie let out a frustrated sigh.

A clean shirt would be nice, yeah, but the thought of wearing something of Jason's made his skin crawl.

It was stupid, really. It was just a shirt.

But the thought of having something of Jason's wrapped around him was uncomfortable.

"I'll be fine." He said, knowing he was probably going to have to walk around for the rest of the day in his messed up shirt.

You frowned. "Okay, well other than your dignity, you sure you're fine?"

Another moment of silence passed, Eddie's heart still pounding in his chest. This whole situation felt so intimate, so wrong, yet so right. Being here, alone in the dark with you. So close he could feel you.

He could feel the heat coming off of you in waves, could smell the sweet scent of your perfume.

He could hear each breath you took, slowly and steadily.

He swallowed thickly, desperately trying to keep the feelings he was having in check.

It was impossible though, to have you right here, in such an oddly romantic circumstance.

"Yeah...yeah, I guess so." He muttered quietly, his voice just above a whisper.

"Okay, okay that's good. I just got worried and didn't want you to be hurt," you told him, before your voice dropped to a barely audible whisper. "I care about you."

Eddie's gut twisted pleasantly at the sound of your words.

The way you had softly admitted you cared about him, with such a sincere tone made something warm flicker to life in his stomach, like a glowing ember.

His heart thumped in his chest, suddenly picking up the pace again.

"You...you care about me?" He asked, needing to hear you say it again to make absolutely sure. He couldn't believe it. Someone like you, caring about someone like him. It felt like a dream.

"Oh," you grumbled, cheeks flushing as you didn't expect him to have heard you. "Yeah, I guess I do."

The corners of his lips quirked up at your sheepish tone.

God, you were cute when you were embarrassed by what you said.

"You guess you do, huh?" He couldn't help but tease, the corner of his mouth curving up into a smirk.

"Shut up, this is what I get for trying to be nice."

Eddie chuckled lowly. "I'm just teasing. You're cute when you fumble your words, y'know?"

You just huffed at his words. "You're a jerk." You muttered, light heartedly

His smirk grew. "Maybe. But l'm a cute jerk." He shot back, teasing you more.

You snorted. "Cute?"

Eddie's smirk grew larger. "Damn straight. Cutest jerk in Hawkins, sweetheart."

That caused you laugh. "Funny, Eds."

His stomach fluttered at the use of the nickname, and the sound of your laugh only added to it.

He smiled, enjoying hearing the sound of your soft laugh echo in the tiny room.

"I'm glad you find me funny then, princess."

You nodded. "But um, just one more thing before we leave."

Eddie's eyebrows rose slightly. "What is it?" He asked curiously.

You sucked in a deep breath. "O-Okay, well, here it goes. I—." And then, the door swung open. Eddie let out a small curse, and quickly shifted his gaze to whoever had opened the door, and he was certainly not expecting it to be Jason.

"What the... you fucking the freak?!" Jason yelled, a wicked, malicious grin plastering ok his face as his words caught the attention of others.

Eddie could feel his heart drop.

Of all the people who would have walked in on the two of you, it had to be Jason.

Eddie's hands clenched into fists, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Jason, who was standing in the doorway, looking way too pleased with himself. "W-What? I—no!" You stammered. You hated this.

Jason let out a cruel snort of laughter.

"Bullshit." He stepped further into the room, his eyes fixed on the two of you.

Eddie instinctively moved to position himself in front of you more, like he was trying to shield you from Jason's gaze.

"It's not what it looked like, Jason. I swear. I don't..."

Jason just let out another bark of laughter.

"Oh, I think I know exactly what it looks like," He sneered, his expression becoming more and more cocky. He looked at Eddie, tilting his head to the side with a malicious grin on his face."Isn't that right, Freak?"

"She's not lying." Eddie sneered.

Jason raised his eyebrows, clearly enjoying the situation he had stumbled upon.

"Oh really?" He shot back, taking several steps closer towards the two of you.

You grunted. "You sure as fuck are an idiot, Carver. No wonder girls only use you for a quick fuck." You spat, pushing past Eddie to face off Jason.

Eddie let out a noise of surprise as you pushed past him, but he couldn't bring himself to stop you.

He knew there was no point in wasting his breath and arguing with Jason, especially when Jason was enjoying getting a rise out of him.

Instead, he just watched as you stood in front of Jason, looking a lot brasher than he would ever dare to.

"Jesus, babe, you have a mouth on you," Jason said, his eyebrows raising again. He then narrowed his eyes. "But that's alright," he continued, the cocky sneer on his face returning. "I still think I'll have to teach you a lesson."

"Go to hell, Jason, if you think I'm letting you, or your micro-penis get near me." Eddie held back a laugh at your insult towards Jason.

He wasn't surprised Jason's face has immediately reddened, his eyes now looking at you with an almost burning fury.

"Oh! And since you want to pry into peoples businesses, why don't you tell everyone that your dad is having an affair with Miss Johnson!"

Eddie's mouth almost dropped open.

He'd heard the rumors of course, but he'd never expected you to throw it back in Jason's face like that.

Jason went even redder at your words. "Shut up." He hissed, his fists clenched.

"See, that's where l'm not gonna. And not only that, but tell your sweet Chrissy how many times you've cheated and used her only to go back and claim you love her. Yeah, that's right Carver, the number is bigger than you can count."

Eddie was now seeing the devil horns and tail grow out from you. He had now just witnessed what everyone was so afraid of.

Jason's face had gone from red to almost tomato red.

He was gritting his teeth together, looking like every insult you said was digging under his skin and slowly peeling off one layer at a time. He was going to explode soon. He was going to lash out.

Eddie could hear others watching as he stood there silently, wondering how far you were really going to go with this.

"And one last thing," you said, raising your finger. "Even if I was fucking Eddie, I'm sure he'd do a way better job than you." And with that, you shoved yourself past jason and strutted off.

Eddie's jaw was still hanging open.

He had never seen anyone, anyone push Jason as far as you had just done.

And he'd just stood there, watching you verbally destroy him.

Jason's chest was heaving, his breaths coming in shaky gasps, as he just continued to stare dumbfounded at the spot you had been previously standing in.

The other people who were watching, had now stopped talking and were gawking at jason, surprised that you had just said all of that.

"You heard the lady," Eddie grinned at Jason. This caused Jason to act on instinct, his hand shot out and landed a strike against Eddie's cheek. "Jesus! Fuck!"

Eddie felt the force of the hit on his cheek, and he let out a loud hiss, his hand rising to touch his stinging skin.

"Son of a..." he grumbled, the glare on his face deepening as he looked at jason, rubbing his now sore cheek.

"What's wrong, Munson. Feeling a little sore?" Jason spat, a smirk plastered on his face.

Eddie's eyes narrowed, his hand still pressed against his cheek. "Come on, Carver. That all you got?" He sneered.

"Oh, I'm just getting started, Freak." Jason said, his tone growing threatening.

"Yeah, is that so?" Eddie shot back, the adrenaline starting to pump around his body.

He could practically taste the anger radiating off Jason.

For some reason, it was both exciting yet simultaneously terrifying.

Jason growled before his fist pummelled into Eddie's jaw.

Eddie let out a strangled gasp as Jason's fist collided into his jaw.

He stumbled backwards, holding his jaw.

It sent a sharp, stinging pain shooting through him, and his eyes watered.

He tried to blink away the tears as the stinging pain faded, replaced by a burning anger that rushed through him like a fire.

Eddie hadn't hit anyone, he guessed that would all change today.

Eddie gritted his teeth, watching as Jason readied himself to hit him again.

He was done taking hits from Jason.

With a snarl, Eddie suddenly lunged at Jason.

His adrenaline was high, the fury that had been building up inside of him only adding to it, and he was done holding back.

Eddie's ringed fists assaulted Jason's face. He sent a furious punch to Jason's already reddening cheek, relishing in the satisfying feeling of his knuckles colliding with the skin there.

Jason let out a loud curse, the sound almost making Eddie smirk.

...Eddie was suspended from school for a week after the fight and Jason received the same punishment.

They had both spent several minutes throwing punches and kicks at one them off each other. Both of them were panting and bruised after the fight, though Eddie's face definitely looked the worst.

He had a busted lip and several red and bruised patches on his face, a small cut above his eyebrow.

He had been sent to the nurses office to clean the blood from his face, but even then, his face still looked a little worse for wear.

He grimaced the moment he looked at himself in the mirror. He looked like a right mess.

Later that afternoon, the children, Steve, Robin and even Nancy was at his trailer.

"Dude, you did all that for a girl who you don't even know if she likes you back?" Dustin asked, eyes roaming over the bruises and redness on Eddie's face.

Eddie winced as Dustin stared, his face feeling tender and sore. He leant back against his trailer, his arms crossed over his chest as Dustin spoke.

"What was I supposed to do? Not stand up for her?" He asked.

"Well if it wasn't the she-devil herself, l'd say no, but because it's her, than yes!"

Eddie's eyes narrowed. "She's not the devil." He huffed, shaking his head to himself.

"Again, are you forgetting what she did to McGregor? I mean sure that wasn't the worst, but she's done worse-er."

Eddie let out a low breath, still not particularly caring about what she had supposedly done.

"Yeah, I remember," he mumbled, his eyes trailing off to stare at the floor.

"And then she targeted Gareth, which he said nothing bad has happened yet, but I'm sure the reason he got a D in history was because of her. I haven't proved it yet, but I will."

Eddie rolled his eyes. "If you think she made Gareth fail, then you're just deluded."

He had no doubt that you were capable of doing that, but the thought that you would go to those lengths to torment one of his club members? He doubted it.

"You're under her charms, aren't you?" Dustin shot a finger in Eddie's direction.

"Okay, Dustin, she can't be that bad. I've spoken to her a few times and she was fine, I guess?" Nancy shrugged.

He glanced at the female Wheeler, his eyebrows raising before he spoke, "Wait, you've spoken to her?"

"Yeah, we actually used to be pretty close, it stopped when I reached high school but we remained as somewhat friends." Nancy told him.

That was news to Eddie.

Eddie tilted his head, leaning against the trailer again. "What was she like when you were close?"

Nancy let a small smile grace her lips.

"She was pretty sweet and funny, she cared a lot about people, but then one day it all just..stopped?"

Sweet and funny?

Eddie's brain was processing all the new information that he had learned about you.

You used to be close to Nancy during your younger years, and she described you as sweet and funny?

That was a far different from the image you currently had at school.

But why had it all changed? What had caused her to go from the way that Nancy described to the way she currently was?

Eddie had so many questions, and it was starting to get almost irritating at the fact that he only had small snippets of information on you, and no real answers.

He huffed to himself, letting both of his hands run through his hair. He felt as though he was starting to go insane by how much he thought about you, and had so many questions but no answers whatsoever.

"Jesus, she's a damn puzzle." He mumbled to himself.

Steve snickered from beside Eddie, which caused him to glance over at the brunette.

Steve smirked. "Someone's got a crush."

Eddie chose not to say anything, or deny it, he just let out a sigh. "I mean, I still find this all strange," Lucas chimed. "That she used to be sweet and now..." Lucas shuddered.

"Yeah, she's weird," Dustin agreed, his face scrunching up. "She's a devil in pink."

Eddie rolled his eyes at Dustin's words. He was starting to get tired of hearing that phrase. "Knock it off, Dustin. She's not like that." He said, shaking his head to himself.

"You always defend her, y'know. You should prove she isn't a terrible person since you don't see what we see." Dustin grumbled.

Eddie let out a huff, his hands flying up in exasperation.

"And how do you expect me to do that?" He asked, an almost sarcastic tone to his words.

Dustin chewed on his lips, but Max, who was quiet this whole time, spoke up. "We were planning on going to the fair next weekend. Invite her with, maybe then she can prove herself."

The fair.

The thought made Eddie's heart start to beat a bit faster.

He was about to protest, say that it was a bad idea, but then he thought for a moment.

If he invited you to the fair, then he would be able to spend some time with you, and see the more friendly, sweeter side that Nancy spoke about.

And it would get the Hellfire members off his back at the same time.

He took a deep breath, his mind suddenly made up.

"Okay, I'll invite her." He said, looking back towards Dustin and the others.

"You better not make us regret this." Dustin told Eddie.

Eddie rolled his eyes. "Have a little faith in me, guys." He said, flashing a smirk at the group.

The only problem was, Eddie didn't know how to get ahold of you. He couldn't go to school the next week due to his suspension, he didn't know your number (thanks to Mike making him rub out your number) and he didn't know where you stayed.

Eddie hadn't thought of this problem, and he cursed to himself as he realised

How was he supposed to get ahold of you if he was suspended?

He huffed, his shoulders slumping. "Um, Nancy?" He turned to the girl.

Nancy glanced over at Eddie when he spoke her name. "Yeah?"

"Do you still keep contact with her?"

Nancy glanced down. "No, not really."

Eddie grimaced, his heart sinking a little at her words.

How was he going to get ahold of you if even Nancy didn't keep in contact with you anymore?

"But, I do know she likes to go to that dumb, overly priced smoothie bar a few blocks from here every Sunday morning. It's where we'd sometimes meet, so."

That made Eddie's heart beat a little faster, lifting slightly.

He perked up at this, tilting his head.

"You said Sunday?" He asked. Nancy nodded, and Eddie had never wished more for a bleak Sunday to come "Alright," Eddie breathed, a small, almost mischievous smile tugging its way onto his face.

He just had to wait until Sunday morning.

Turns out, trying to find a smoothie bar was a lot harder than Eddie thought.

Everything was shiny and porcelain. It was at the corner of a mall, and was on the second floor. Eddie stuck out like a sore thumb.

Eddie glanced at the menu on the wall. He could hardly even pronounce the names of the smoothies, let alone pay for the astronomical prices.

He winced as he realised that this might have not been one of his brightest ideas.

It was obvious that he didn't really fit in here, and it was making him feel weird and awkward just standing here.

He just hoped that you showed up soon.

As though his prayers were answered, he suddenly spotted you walking into the smoothie bar alone.

It was you, the one person he was here to see.

He felt like he could almost breathe a breath of relief, but he was suddenly feeling extremely nervous.

He watched as you walked up to the counter and started to place an order with the worker behind the desk.

He felt even more out of place now that you were here, and he was feeling incredibly awkward just standing a few feet away from you, watching you.

He took a few steps towards you, his hands shoved into his pockets and his throat feeling dry.

How was he supposed to approach you?

Just tap you on the shoulder, say hi, and hope that you didn't punch him in the face for being here?

No, it was a dumb idea, he was starting to feel dumber by the minute for thinking this was a good idea.

He was just about to turn and make a quick exit, but suddenly your head turned, and he realised you were just about to spot him.

The two of you accidentally made eye contact, and he felt his heart rate start to pick up, going into overdrive.

You gave him a small smile, before flagging him over.

Eddie blinked, shocked that you had just smiled at him and waved him over.

He hadn't been expecting that, he had expected you to either glare at him or just ignore him, but never for you to do that.

He slowly shuffled over to where you were stood, his hands still inside his pockets as he stood beside you.

"Hey, Eds."

Eddie didn't know why, but he felt a shiver run down his spine when you said his name.

He swallowed the lump forming in his throat, and tried his best to act casual.

"Hey." He said back, his heart hammering in his chest.

He could see your eyes travel over his face, at the small purple, crescent bruise sitting under his eye and his swollen lip.

Eddie tensed a little as he felt your eyes rake over the slight bruise on his skin and his swollen lip.

He knew that he probably looked like a right mess, and it made him a little self conscious.

He was suddenly starting to regret his decision to come here.

"I heard what you did, very brave y'know." You said, eyes refusing to move away from his bottom lip.

He suddenly felt slightly flustered as you kept your eyes on his lip.

"It wasn't bravery, it was idiocy." He mumbled, letting out a sheepish laugh.

You smiled. "You should put some ice on that." You didn't think before your hand shot out and your fingers cradled his jaw while your thumb rested just short of the cut on his lip. Eddie felt his heart almost skip several beats as your hand touched his face.

He froze almost immediately at your touch, his eyes wide as he stared down at you.

Your hand felt warm and soft, and he suddenly felt as though his brain had stopped working all together.

He was finding it a struggle to even speak or breathe as your fingers cupped his jaw.

He was sure that if he tried to speak, his words would all be jumbled nonsense, so he just stayed silent, staring down at you, unable to say anything.

You dropped your hand. "Didn't know you came here. Have never seen you here before."

Eddie blinked, watching as you dropped your hand from his face, suddenly feeling a small pang of disappointment.

It was almost like he had enjoyed having your hand on his skin, but now that it was gone, he didn't quite like the feeling.

He took a deep breath to calm his racing heart, before finally speaking.

"I don't," he said, swallowing. "This is the first time I've been here."

You gave him a smile. "Oh, well it's my favourite. I like to come here every Sunday."

He noticed how you smiled, and it made his heart jump just a little bit more. He returned the smile, a hint of a flush slowly making his way onto his face.

"So l've heard." He mumbled.

You raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

Damn it.

He had said that out loud without realising, and now he was going to have to explain how he knew that.

He let out a soft sigh, trying to form together some form of explanation that didn't make him look like the creepiest person on the earth. "Yeah, um..." he said, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. He paused, trying to think of what to say.

It wouldn't hurt to just tell you the truth, would it?

Hopefully you wouldn't think he's some sort of complete and total weirdo for coming here just to see you.

He slowly exhaled, closing his eyes for a moment before looking back at you.

"I actually came here to see you." He admitted, his face reddening under his confession.

"Oh? Me?" Your eyebrows drew together in confusion. "Why?"

"Yeah, you," he mumbled, his heart practically beating out of his chest now.

He was suddenly becoming increasingly self conscious of the fact that he had gone out of his way to drive into town just for you.

"Um, well... I..."

He trailed off, not knowing how to explain his actions without it sounds extremely weird. He was struggling to find the right words without sounding too weird.

"I just... wanted to talk to you."

He felt the urge to just facepalm.

Great job, Eddie, make yourself sound like a psycho why don't you.

"Well we're talking right now, aren't we?"

Eddie let out a breath that was a mix between a huff and a sigh. He let himself chuckle a little, his hand rubbing anxiously at the back of his neck as he spoke. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

"But what did you want to say?"

Eddie opened his mouth to speak, suddenly going silent.

He hadn't thought this far ahead, he hadn't really thought of what to say once he had gotten you to speak to him.

He thought for a moment before clearing his throat and speaking.

He took a deep breath, before forcing the words out. "I wanted to ask you if you would do me a favour."

"It depends."

Eddie felt a little bit of hope that you might actually help him.

"Can you come to the fair with me next weekend?"

There, he had asked.

He looked over at you, waiting for your answer.

You blinked. "The fair?"

Eddie let out a small breath, nodding his head. "Yeah, the fair."

He knew it sounded strange, just asking someone if they wanted to go to the fair with you out of the blue, but it was the best that he could do to try and get you to get along with the Hellfire members.

He just had to hope and hope that you said yes, or else his life might just end there and then. You opened your mouth to speak before the server placed your order down in front of you. You turned your attention to them while you payed.

Eddie slowly exhaled, frustrated at the fact that the server had come over at the most inconvenient time possible.

He waited patiently, trying to control his racing heart and his sweaty palms. He just wanted you to give him an answer.

"Mm, what were you saying again?"

Eddie swallowed. He was hoping that you'd forgotten what he'd said, but that clearly wasn't the case.

He took another deep breath, before forcing the question out of his mouth once again.

"I was asking if you would come to the fair with me next weekend. There's going to be a lot of the Hellfire members there."

The thin, black straw paused before touching your lips. "Oh..."

He could tell from your tone that you sounded slightly taken aback and hesitant.

Maybe this was a bad idea, and you were going to decline, and turn him down, and then he'd just look like a complete weirdo.

He just had to wait until you said the inevitable 'no'.

His heart was racing as he waited for your answer, a mixture of anxiety and dread consuming him.

He suddenly wondered if coming here was a terrible idea, and that he should've just left you alone like the other Hellfire members said.

"Uh, but why? Don't they hate me or some shit?"

That question threw Eddie off slightly.

He blinked, shifting awkwardly as he considered his answer.

"Um, yeah. They do," he mumbled, pausing for a moment before he spoke again. "But I don't."

You let out an amused huff. "Won't it be awkward? I mean, why are you even asking me? Shouldn't you ask someone who's a little more likeable, like Chrissy?"

Eddie couldn't help but wince a little at the mention of Chrissy.

He had no idea why, but the mention of her name made him feel a little strange, like his gut was tying itself in knots.

"I'm asking you because..." He paused, struggling to come up with the right words to say. "I'm asking you because I want you to, okay? Because I... I think it'll be fun."

He felt so incredibly awkward, and a complete mess.

He didn't know why he was asking you in the first place. Maybe it was because he thought that you were kinda pretty, or because he thought that your voice was kinda hot.

He just knew that he desperately wanted you to come to the fair with him next weekend.

"Okay, sure. I'll go with you." His heart almost stopped for a moment, the words that just escaped your mouth making his heart skip a beat.

He just about stopped himself from letting out a breath of relief.

"Wait, really?"

"Mhm, it's a date."

It was like those two words caused his heart to stop all together.

He froze, his mouth slightly open, and he felt like his mind went completely blank

A date? You had called it a date.

"A date..." he repeated, his voice slightly hoarse.

"Is there a problem?"

"No—No not at all." He shook his head, trying to collect himself. He was feeling so many different emotions right now and it was almost getting too much for him. His heart almost stopped for a moment, the words that just escaped your mouth making his heart skip a beat.

"Okay good. I'll meet you there next weekend at uh, what time?"

Eddie's thoughts were still racing, but he quickly managed to pull himself together slightly.

He swallowed before replying, trying his best to sound normal and not completely flustered. "Let's say, five pm?"

You nodded. "Great, see you there."

Eddie just nodded his head in response, still a mess inside.

He was feeling an odd combination of excitement, shock, and anxiety, but there was a hint of a smile on his face.

"See you then." You gave him one last smile and a quick goodbye before you turned and walked out.

Eddie watched you walk out of the smoothie bar, still in disbelief at what had just happened.

Had you really just agreed to go on a 'date' with him?

He slowly released a breath he didn't realise he had been holding in, still frozen in place.

[rush-the-stars]

AFFECTION'S EDGE: PART III

━─━────༺༻────━─━

|| alpha!suguru getou x omega!afab reader || E/18+ || wc: 6.8k || ao3 || <- part ii || masterlist ||

minors and ageless blogs do not interact, 18+ only

━─━────༺༻────━─━

“You’ve got it all wrong,” he murmurs, “but what am I to expect from a stray like you? You’ve lived off scraps and abuse your whole life; of course you don’t know what to do now that I’ve given you food and shelter.” Suguru’s fingers ease up towards your neck as he continues, “a warm bed to lie in. Toys to play with. A collar—so you’ll never be lost again. No one’s ever given you this before, hm?”

***

Suguru tries to tame you.

━─━────༺༻────━─━

✧ SPRING FEVER collab ✧

cw: omegaverse, brat taming, mind games, toxic behavior, yandere suguru getou, yandere reader, biting, blood, marking, one slap from the reader to suguru and he sorta likes it, fainting, fainting from lack of food, reader refuses to eat because she doesn't want getou to feed her, getou does not let reader eat unless he feeds them; forced feeding. forced bathing, smut; masturbation, dirty talk, voyeurism, a blurring of boundaries, consent as punishment?

a/n: happy mother's day to alpha suguru getou <3 this is the third and final part of this lil series for @lorelune 's spring fever collab! pls mind the warnings, i added some! i will be honest this part feels like a fever dream to myself lol...,.not beta read..,.i barely read it back bc im terrified of my own smut JFDKLSK enjoy LMAO but on a real note, thank you to everyone who has reached out and been so kind ab this fic! i hope you enjoy this last part! let me know your thoughts <33

━─━────༺༻────━─━

When Suguru first offers you food from his own hand, you push it away. He cooked it for you and you refuse it, turn your nose up at him and shut your mouth resolutely, feel your lips cage your teeth like a muzzle

“I’ll do it myself.” You tell him firmly. 

But then he holds the food away from you. 

You go nearly a day and a half, feverish and woozy, without eating. 

You do not plan on conceding, but end up fainting not long after. Your body is under too much stress; you need sustenance. You need food and water. 

So he begins to feed you as your lashes flutter and you are too weak to deny him this time. 

It’s easier, when you can hardly keep your eyes open. His hands are impossibly gentle. You feel his fingers against your lips, careful, and loving. 

When you’re feeling better, you glower at him. 

He is rather pleased, though. 

The next time he tries to feed you by hand, you turn and bite his hand, sink your teeth into the meat of it. 

He laughs warmly, fondly. 

“Feel better to get that out of your system?” He asks, when you finally pull away. 

You don’t respond to him.

He grabs your face swiftly then, big hand fitting around your jaw and bearing down. This time, he holds you steady, and brings the slice of orange to your mouth. 

You squirm, but he says, “I will not have you fainting again.” 

“Let me feed myself then.” You manage to get out, but he holds you tighter, presses at your jaw to get it to unhinge. 

The orange pops into your mouth. 

“You’re insufferable.” You say around it, cheek puffed with the fruit. 

Unfortunately, it’s good. Sweet. A little cool. Refreshing. You do want more. 

“This doesn’t have to be so difficult.” He responds evenly, peeling away the next piece of the orange. It looks so small in his hands. 

You swallow the piece in your mouth. 

“You’re right,” you respond stubbornly, “it doesn’t.” You reach for the next piece but he holds it away from you. 

Frustration overcomes you, chokes you like thorny vines strangling out the softer plants around them. Heat hits your face again and you have to wonder if you’ll ever get over it all. If he’ll ever stop making you feel this way.

Tears prick your eyes again. 

You turn your face away from him. He sighs. 

“It isn’t so bad,” he says softly, “if you’d just give in.” 

You sniff. “I could say the same of you.” 

“I’m trying to take care of you,” he says, “and at every turn, you are still trying to refuse it.” 

“I don’t need—”

“But don’t you want it?” He asks gently, hand reaching out slowly, knuckles first, so they skim your cheek. “It’s okay to want.” 

Stubbornly, you remain silent. 

“You’ve been so alone, for so long, my little stray. It’s okay to be taken care of.” He consoles softly, voice just a rumble that warms to your ears. 

“I’ll not think you any less strong, if you let me feed you now.” He promises, “if you let me care for you this week.” 

You don’t know why, but a tear slips down your cheek. There’s a lump in your throat, hard and aching, and threatening your resolve. 

He catches your tear with a thumb. “Poor thing, so torn up.” 

You sniff hard, trying to hold everything in. It’s trembling and tender, though, your heart. The ache in your chest.

You don’t think you’ll win this one—

Your head is foggy and throbbing. You don’t even know what you’re winning or losing. Or what you’re fighting for, when he puts it that way. 

You feel silly for denying him.

Perhaps worse for agreeing.

Finally, in a voice smaller than intended? you ask, “can I have another piece?” 

Suguru studies you for a moment. 

He lifts the curved bend of the orange up to your lips, testing. Waiting. It's a half moon curve, ripe and tempting.

You give in and part your lips, accept the crescent into your mouth like holding the moon on your tongue for him. 

He presses it inside, on your tongue, and you accept the crescent like holding a soft, tangerine moon in your mouth for him. His fingers skim your teeth, placing a world there, on your tongue.

“Good girl,” he says, pleased and warm, when you close around the slice. 

And then you obediently swallow it down—worldeater that you are, hungry dog that you are. 

Another tear slips free as you chew it slowly. It’s tangy and sweet and lovely. You feel the well of emotions inside you open up, threatening to drag you down into its depths—you think if you start to cry now, you won’t ever stop.

Suguru dutifully peels off another piece of orange, making sure it’s free of rind or unwanted seeds. 

When he lifts it to your mouth, you open readily for it now. Close your lips around his fingers gently, around the sweet orange.

With tears in your eyes, you look up at him, through wet lashes. 

His scent has darkened, pungent and spicier. It lingers in the back of your mouth. It’s—it makes your head spin.

And there's a strange look in his eyes now. 

Almost hungry himself, if you didn’t know better. 

A cramp rolls through you, hips and lower back churning, and you whimper, reaching for him. 

He takes hold of you easily. 

“Hurts?” He muses softly.

You nod, tense and quick. 

“Breathe,” he urges, shifting between your knees from where you’re sitting perched on his counter. 

Instinctively, you cling to him.

You let yourself pull him closer, fit himself to you—

“Breathe,” he says again gently.

But you can feel him between your legs, you can feel his own desire, and it strikes you like a bolt of lightning. Like crashing to earth.

He’s hard and heat sweeps through you in a whirlwind, so fast it makes you feel dizzy. Your head spins as you sink your nails deep into him, bear down with your strength like a bad dog, like you could get him to stay. 

Distantly, you think he’s such a strange, awful man. 

Is he so turned on from feeding you? Or from the fight? 

“Suguru,” you mewl, clinging to him desperately. And he holds you, keeps you close, until your hips twitch. 

You seek friction and he denies you. 

Frustratingly, tears spring to your eyes again. 

“You’re so—“ you try to get out, “why are you also denying yourself?” 

“Because I made you a promise.” Suguru responds evenly. He pauses, eyes flickering over you, a lightning flash of violet, “and, perhaps,” he squeezes your waist, “to teach you a lesson.” 

A noise of frustration works its way out of you, a little growl or whine, somewhere in the back of your throat. 

“Won’t you do anything to help me?” You get out, pawing at his shoulders, his chest. 

“I’m feeding you,” he says, “I’m caring for you.” 

And then he draws away, back to the orange, and your fingers grip the edge of the counter until pain presses into them. You have to force air into your lungs, try and make your head stop spinning. 

The wooziness and the aching is perhaps the worst part. You feel out of your mind, wish you could crawl out of your body. 

When Suguru returns, he has another piece of orange between his fingers. 

You glare up at him with glassy eyes. 

“Open,” he says, warm and low.

Pleased.

Turned on. 

Your lips part and you accept the fruit and his fingers into your mouth. You let yourself close around them, feel his knuckles on the inside of your warm, wet cheek. 

You’re slow about it, or maybe he is. 

You hold his gaze furiously. 

Maybe it was time you taught him a lesson, too. You bite down hard into the orange. It bursts in your mouth. 

***

The third day is perhaps the worst.

You’re so hot and somehow both overstimulated and undertouched. Your skin crawls until Suguru touches you. You ache in a way that makes you fear for your own health; several times you start to cry—not just cry, but bawl—from the pain. From the frustration.

At one point, you beg Suguru to take you to the hospital. To help you. To save you. 

You babble that you’re going to split apart. You’re going to lose your mind.

Like a colicky baby, you can’t calm down. 

And this time, he can’t quite seem to soothe you, either.

You twist and turn and pull at your clothes and your hair. You dig your nails into your own skin and drag them down in vicious, curving marks. 

You press and scratch at inflamed, painful scent glands. 

Your jaw hurts strangely in the joints. 

(You realize you want something in your mouth. Maybe you want it between your teeth.) 

Suguru tries to hold your hands away from yourself, tries to keep you from tearing into your own skin, but it only worsens you. It only makes you fight harder and cry harder. You lash out more, using more force with yourself, with him. 

When he snaps finally, pinning you roughly and with a flash of his sharper, greater canines, something inside of you howls. 

All you can do is beg and plead and cry. Press up against him desperately. Sink your face into his throat and inhale and—

Bite.

Your teeth close around the skin of his throat and bear down harshly.

He inhales sharply, spine going rigid with the pain for a moment.

You taste his blood on your tongue and feel your eyes roll blissfully to the back of your head. Darkness as your lashes flutter shut. You whimper into his throat—

“Is that what you needed?” He hisses, slipping his hand behind you to cradle your head to him, to keep you at his throat, “you just needed to get your teeth into me?” 

As if in response, you twine yourself around him, hitching your legs around his waist. Your arms winding around his broad shoulders, as if you could absorb him into your very body, your very soul. 

“Too bad it won’t take, hm?” Suguru muses, unmoving, allowing himself to melt into your vice grip on him. 

You make a soft noise; one that would be embarrassing if you didn’t—if you weren’t so—

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? To Mark me properly?” He continues, voice bedroom soft, “you want to scar me with your own teeth?” 

As if in response, you try and fasten your mouth down harder, grinder your teeth into his flesh until he groans. The sound reverberates through you, rattles around inside your head until you’re mindless with it. 

When you finally manage to unlatch your teeth, he hisses and pulls away to grab your jaw. 

“What a little beast,” he sneers at you, “with my blood all over your mouth.” 

Something inside of you snaps. 

Unintentionally, you shudder into your cursed form—teeth elongating, nails sharpening. Strength rips through your otherwise feeble, heat-laddled body. In a sudden move of power, you shove him hard, and throw him off you. 

In an instant, you are back atop him. 

This time, when your teeth sink into the juncture of his other shoulder, they are far longer. 

He actually cries out in pain. 

The sound sparks beneath your skin, roars to life like a sudden fire and when he tries to grab your jaw and pry you off him, your claws sink into his wrist. 

You struggle with each other, using your cursed energy, using all the strength you have. 

Blood drips down his chest, dampening the collar of his shirt. 

He barks out a pained laugh, “you really are a curse.”

And then he is forcing you off of him, wrenching your teeth out of his skin in a brutal drag, shoving you away from him. 

You hiss, baring your dripping fangs at him and he growls back. The sound low and primal. Warning bells ping around your head, but you lunge for him again. 

This time, he isn’t so ill-prepared. 

He grapples with you on the bed, shoving you down into it with his forearm bearing down hard into your chest. 

You make a noise of pain but he doesn’t let up.

He’s panting and bleeding, his long hair slipping from its usual half-up appearance. 

Something inside of you is quite pleased at the image of him. 

Not so pristine. 

Perhaps unsure, for once in all the time you’ve known him. 

“Calm down.” He says low and soft. Part growl, part purr. “Your aggression is misguided.” 

Your teeth are bared in a snarl, “you are my tormentor.” 

“I am only respecting your wishes.” Suguru says and there is a horrible, smug lift to the corner of his lips. Maybe it’s more a threat of his teeth, which gleam in the lowlight. “I made you a promise and I’m keeping it.” 

“Let me up,” you snap. 

“Will you be good?” Suguru asks. 

Your fever spikes, tears pricking again at your eyes, and you finally lose your transformation. It melts from you, until you are fangless and drained once more. 

So drained, in fact, that your eyes gutter.

Suguru is off you in an instant. Air rushes into your lungs, the pressure from your chest lifting and he lets you heave for breath rough and hard. 

You don’t catch him move, but suddenly a glass of water is brought to your lips. When you can breathe, you drink. You let him guide it to your lips. And this time, when you try to pull away, he stops you. 

His hand cradles the back of your head, keeping your mouth to the glass.

“More,” he presses, “you’re weaker than you know.” 

And for once, you don’t fight him. 

You gulp down the rest of it, some of it slipping from your mouth, down your chin, rolling down your working throat. It’s cool but barely a balm to the oppressive heat inside of you. 

When you finish, Suguru pulls the glass away. He sets it down and studies you.

He tsks softly, “you’re a mess.” 

You take him in, though your eyes are growing heavy, all of that fighting took a lot out of you. It’s catching up with you quickly now. 

But your eyes land on the bite marks you’ve littered him with. The one, specifically, that is still ringed and bleeding, dripping down his chest. 

“So are you.” You reply, words slurring. 

You don’t catch what he says next, muffled, as you fade from consciousness. Darkness sweeps in to cradle you, much the way Suguru is now, and you fall into a restless sleep. 

***

Suguru wakes you at some point. 

It’s pitch black outside the window; there is very little light in the room at all, which adds to your confusion. Your head is throbbing. 

You whimper. 

“Sit up for me,” his voice is a hush, “can you do that?” 

“Let me sleep,” you reply, pushing weakly at him as he forces you up. Everything swims. Your head lolls like a doll and he catches it so you don’t give yourself whiplash. 

“You’re burning up,” he replies, “I need to get the fever down.” 

You don’t have the wherewithal to understand this. 

For a moment, you hope that he means—

“I’m going to give you a bath.” 

You make another noise, this one in disagreement. Fussy. 

He tuts softly at you, the way mothers do at bad children, and then he disappears, allowing you to fall back against the bed once more. 

You’re not sure for how long, but you doze off again, unable to keep your eyes open. You only awake when Suguru lifts you clear from the bed and into his arms. Again, you make a noise of protest, pushing weakly at him, but he pays you no mind. 

You open your eyes and wince against the bathroom light. 

The bath is running, filling with water. You frown and squirm in his hold, just as he gently sets you on the floor beside the tub. 

“Let’s get you out of these clothes,” he murmurs and you push his hands away.

“No,” you snap, “leave.” 

He sighs, “you can hardly sit up right now. I don’t trust you in the bath alone.” 

“I’m not a child,” you protest.

“No, but you’re experiencing a compounded Heat, after years of not having one and you don’t have a knot to soothe you.” Suguru’s voice is cool. His eyes are, too. 

You level him with the best glare you can manage, “and whose fault is that?” 

“I’m only keeping my promise.” He almost sings. 

You swat at him but he catches your wrist easily and pulls you up further as you begin to slouch further and further down against the edge of the tub. “Come,” he says, “don���t make this harder than it needs to be.” 

This time, when he reaches to remove your shirt, you only grumble in protest. He peels it from you carefully, revealing bare skin. Despite how hot you are, you shiver hard. 

You ache. 

This is the worst fever you’ve ever had. Perhaps, this is one of the worst you’ve felt ever. 

You can hardly move enough to allow Suguru to slip your bottoms off and you feel so miserable that you can’t even find it in yourself to be embarrassed or frustrated or angry. 

Tears bead at your eyes again but it’s purely because you are in so much pain. 

Suguru lifts you into the bath. 

It’s lukewarm. Tufts of bubbles smell like lavender. The water is milky and gentle. 

You don’t realize it, but you’ve started to cry again, reaching out for Suguru. You realize he’s cleaned and bandaged his bite mark. He also coos to you, rolling up his sleeves to reach you in the water, stroking at your throat, your cheek.

And then he takes a wash cloth in hand and begins to do the same. He bathes you with a strange gentleness. A gentleness you have not given him. Your tears continue, tracking down your face, which he dutifully washes, too. He wipes away your tears, any sweat and grime, until you feel shining and new.

Eventually, you rest your arms on the lip of the bathtub, folded, and lay your cheek against them. You’re exhausted and still hurting, but at least quiet for now. At least you are cleaned and—

Suguru strokes at your cheek, traces the curve and folds of your ear, gently strokes through your hair. 

“Poor thing,” Suguru murmurs, knuckles drawing across your jaw, down your throat. When he passes along your scent gland, you shiver, you wince a little. 

“Hurts,” you get out and he coos more to you.

Babying you.

And you don’t have the strength to deny him any longer, so you let yourself be babied. You whimper at him and let him try to soothe you, you let him quiet and pet you. 

You’re looking at each other rather frankly, through the haze of your Heat, through all the lust or aggression or fear. In a rare moment of peace, you gaze up at his face and he looks down into yours. 

“Do you hate me?” You ask and your voice is rather raw from all the crying, “is that why you’ve led me here?” 

A strangely fond smile touches his lips, “on the contrary,” Suguru replies, fingers careful along your cheek, “I adore you.” 

“You have such a strange way of showing it.” You tell him. 

“I’m only keeping my promise,” he says again and all you have in you is a deep, dejected sigh. 

“I’m going to make you pay for this, Suguru.” And though your tone is docile, even sleepy, it is a promise. 

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll try.” He agrees, touch growing stronger, bolder, as he pets down your throat, your shoulder. You lean into the touch like a cat, too exhausted to deny it. “And I’ll still be here after—your ire or punishment will not scare me away.” 

You look at him for a moment, long and hard, and only find the truth there. Something strangely raw.

After a moment, you say, “I know.” 

He hums softly, leaning forward to give your burning forehead a rare and gentle kiss, “do your worst, then.” 

You pick your head up barely, tilt your face to his and catch him in a sudden, burning kiss. 

You pull away as quickly as you’d done it. 

You can tell you’ve surprised him only momentarily, it passes over his features like a bird flickering through the sky, there and gone. 

And you say, “no,” soft, and against his lips, “I’ll do my best this time.” 

He pulls away, creating carefully controlled distance. “Come,” he says, urging you up and out of the bath, “let’s get you to bed.” 

“Carry me?” You ask as he bundles you into a soft towel. “Let me wear your shirt?” 

His eyes glint violet, dark and quick, but he says, “of course.” And indulges you.

He even holds you all night and lets you sleep in late. 

The fever only worsens. 

And you can’t tell if your resolve crumbles or strengthens; but either way, you’re born anew with the sun the next day. 

*** 

Suguru woke up before you. He let you sleep in. But now you're awake and waiting for him. When Suguru returns to wake you in the early afternoon, instead of sleeping, you are half-lidded and sun-warmed, laying in his sheets still. The fever has reached a pitch inside you. You’re sure it’s done irreparable damage to your mind and psyche because of how you find yourself.

Because of how Suguru finds you. 

The shirt of his you’d worn to bed is pushed up to your chin, revealing your bare chest, your stomach, flexing and twitching, with your legs spread. Your fingers between them, working messily against yourself, against where you’ve needed since your Heat began. 

For once, you have shocked Suguru. 

Enough that his lips part. 

Just a flash, a ripple of his features, before he smooths them out quickly. Effortlessly. But it is enough to spur you on regardless, to feel just slightly triumphant. 

You keen softly, arching your back, pushing your fingers gently through silken folds. 

“Suguru,” you mewl his name, all soft and broken, arching your hips into your own touch desperately. Beyond your desire for revenge, is simply your desire, the need to feel full, to feel pleasure like this. And you reasoned with yourself, all night, and all morning, that you’d win regardless; either you’d wrestle his tightly held control from his grasp, and get what you so desperately want from him, or you’d still get to touch yourself and find some brief moment of reprieve. 

Beyond either of those two things, you could not think. They ran around your mind like wild, starved dogs hunting down the possibility of a rabbit. 

(Or are you the rabbit? Running around and around your mind, trying to escape the bite? Or are you looking for it?) 

“What do you think you’re doing?” He asks and for a moment, he doesn’t dare step closer to you or the bed. 

You push a finger inside yourself, it goes in easy—so slick and easy—that the next pass, you add a second and gasp. 

What are you doing? You feel half out of your mind. 

“Can’t help it—” you get out, “it hurts so bad. It’s—I’m so—” 

You watch a muscle in his jaw feather and tick. His scent is—

It hits you like a blow to the chest, the way he smells. It’s dark and spiced with warmth; tobacco and the oud in his scent has become heavier. You can almost taste it in the air.

“Suguru—“ you mewl again, pleading and cloying. You tilt your hips up towards your hand, towards him. You’re trying to entice him. 

You can nearly hear the way his teeth grind together. 

“You’re a brat,” he hisses but you can sense the way his control has slipped and thinned. You can nearly feel it fraying in his voice alone.

You practically purr, fingers pushing desperately inside yourself. 

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” you simper, “I’ve been so good letting you feed me and bathe me—I’m wearing the shirt you put me in, too.” 

For a moment, you watch as his eyes slowly dip down the length of your body, to where your fingers are. You watch his expression flicker, the tilt of his eyebrows, the slight parting of his lips. You whimper, knowing he’s watching, and try to curl your fingers. 

But they don’t reach as deep as his might—not thick enough, either, and the ache inside you grows monstrously. 

Perhaps only soothed by the way, for once, you’ve rendered Suguru Getou rather speechless. You toss your head back and moan at the thought. 

“Suguru—won’t you help me? Even a little?” You arch off the bed and catch his gaze when his eyes fly back up to your face. 

“No,” he snaps quickly, “I promised you—“

“Then tell me what to do—talk to me.” You beg, “it hurts so bad, Suguru—“

The muscle in his jaw feathers again. But this time, he wades carefully into the room, stepping closer to the edge of the bed.

The moment he’s there, you adjust so he can see you better, move so your foot is just nearly touching his thigh at the end of the bed. And even that small potential for touch has you crying out again. 

“I’m not sure I should, after the way you’ve been acting.” He says and though he’s trying for casualness, you can sense the tension lurking underneath.

“Touch yourself then,” you breathe, your own eyes drifting down to his sweatpants—to the noticeable bulge—

In a bold move, you place your foot on his lower abdomen, looking up at him through your lashes as your fingers gently push in and out, walls fluttering desperately around them.

He catches your ankle before you can move another inch. The way he squeezes you makes a thrill run through you, race up your spine, pool somewhere low and hot in the depths of you. 

“Is this your way of trying to make me suffer?” He asks and despite everything, a hint of a smile flickers across your heated, panting face.

“Is it working?” You ask. 

All he does is hum, thumb stroking along the bone of your ankle.

Even that is enough for pleasure to skitter and flare beneath your skin. 

“Wanna see you,” you get out, breathy and soft, “wanna see what I’m missing.”

Suguru curses and you laugh, delirious and soft.

Pleasure blushes and surges beneath your skin. 

“No,” he says again but he has to grind the word out, pull it and wrestle it from his own mouth. “You won’t get the better of me here.” 

“Don’t you get tired of your tightly wound control?” You get out, twisting a little so that you might free your ankle from his grasp, but he holds firm.

“I should be asking the same of you—but clearly,” his eyes flicker again, “you do.” 

“Need you so bad—“ you get out, almost pouting. 

You can nearly hear his teeth grind together. He inhales sharply, as if to try and steady himself, but you can tell it only worsens him. Your scent must be thick in the air, sweetened and cloying.

Your fingers slip messily, desperately, over your clit, down inside of yourself and back out. You whine, a little frustrated, trying again and again to satiate the ache inside of you. But anything you do, isn’t enough. 

It almost feels as if it’s made it worse. 

“Poor thing,” Suguru finally says and you realize, he’s regained some of his composure, “look what you’ve done to yourself.” 

You curse this time. 

But you press on, unwilling to give up your win yet, “you’ve also done this—because you wanted the upper hand so bad.” You press inside yourself, hips lifting towards your fingers, “you didn’t have to take the suppressants.” 

His brow flickers up, “I did it for you.” 

“Did you?” You gasp, adding a second finger. 

He swallows, eyes falling to the apex of your thighs, watching, as you fitfully try to pleasure yourself. 

“You didn’t have to—you could’ve let me trigger your Rut. Then we both would’ve been like this—” your voice hitches, “then you would’ve gotten what you wanted sooner and you could’ve feigned innocence.” 

“You didn’t want that,” he says, watching you carefully, “who's to say you won’t come out of this Heat and resist me again?”  

“I won’t,” you breathe, “I did—” you mewl, hips arching and falling, trying so hard, working yourself up so horribly. 

You bite off a groan. 

Suguru clicks his tongue, makes a soft, disapproving noise. “And now look at you,” his hand slides along your calf, so large, and—

“Don’t even know how to properly touch yourself.” 

“Suguru—” 

Suddenly, he tugs you gently, so you’re down at the edge of the bed, your legs on either side of his thighs as he stands above you. 

He leans down slightly and you sit up, towards him, hoping, desperate—

“Such a terrible, little Omega. Do you need me to teach you this, too? Do you need me to help you?” 

You cry out, kitten soft, as needy and tender as a child. 

“Please,” you beg, “please, I need you—”

His hand traces up the outside of your calf, up to your thigh and you squirm, hope fluttering, heart racing—

“Don’t move,” he murmurs, “or I won’t help you.” 

“Suguru,” you growl in frustration. 

“Ah, ah, I thought you were being good?” 

Your head spins—you have no idea how he managed to flip it on you so sharply, but suddenly he has, and suddenly you're nearly underneath him, and he’s leaning over you and watching so intensely—so— 

You try to go still for him. Your chest is heaving. 

“That’s it,” he murmurs and his hand slowly arcs over the bend of your hip, and towards your stomach. Your hips twitch and he stills, “careful—” he warns. 

You force yourself to freeze, still panting. 

And then he lays the broadness of his hand on your lower stomach, his thumb just barely brushing your mound. 

“This is as far as I’ll go,” he says and with the way you almost fall into a frustrated groan, he seizes your chin with his other hand, “I’ll not touch you sexually. This is all I’ll give you—be grateful for even this.” 

You sneer at him and he takes his hand away. 

Instantly, you miss the warmth, the pressure, the—

“Be good, or I’ll leave the room now and let you suffer even worse than before—see what you’ve done to yourself? Worked yourself up so horribly, and all for what?”  Suguru’s voice is soft and smooth and so, horribly in control again. When did he get it back? When did he take it from you? 

“My attention? The hopes that I’d give in?” He asks. 

When you don’t respond, he squeezes your face, prompting you, “answer me, pet.” 

“Yes—I want your attention. I want—” the words break over you like a wave, the realization like a blow. You want. 

You desire. 

You want him. You want an Alpha and not just any Alpha but Suguru, despite everything, maybe because of everything. Maybe because you made him chase, and he did. Maybe because you have run your whole life from this—this attention and this desire and this intimacy—and you have finally found someone willing to hunt you down like a fox, and in the face of your gnashing teeth and growling and yipping, to treat you gently. Like you’re a beloved house pet and not a snarling, wild beast. 

“I want you,” you say honestly and his hold slackens on your cheeks to let you speak, “I hate you and I want you and—there’s no one but you—it’s only you and you’re awful but I am, too, and I need—” 

It cracks out of you, voice raw, a half-sob. 

Your tears make him smile. 

He hushes you gently, “oh, sweet girl,” he soothes, and his other hand slowly returns to its place on your trembling, lower stomach, “you’re so torn up about this. How much grief have you given yourself? Hm? Just for wanting?” 

You heave, unable to respond, suddenly reaching with your free hand for him, pulling on his shirt, closer to you. 

He gives in and goes, lets you claw at his back and bury your face in his shoulder. He finally lets go of your face, in favor of letting you fall to pieces beneath him. His knee dips on the mattress. But he holds himself above you still.

“I’ll guide you now,” he murmurs and his voice is by your ear. He turns his nose to nudge against your temple, inhaling slowly. 

You can feel the rumble of a groan through him that he holds back, a soft growl. 

And then, “look at me.” 

You sniffle and with a great deal of reluctance, you pull your face away from the safety of his shoulder to find his gaze. Midnight violet. Depthless. 

“Hate me all you want,” he says, “but I adore you—no matter how you are. Willing and pliant, or vicious and biting. I’ll always adore you. And I’ll always do what’s best for you.” 

Something inside of you cleaves open. Fractures in a way that is irreparable. 

You want to say something but you don’t know what, you have something so tremendous and terrifying inside of you, because of him—all you can get out is a soft cry. 

“Now,” he continues, eyes flickering over your body, and his thumb gently strokes over your lower stomach. “You feel empty, don’t you?” 

A whimper eeks out of you. You nod slowly. Empty and torn apart and open and aching. 

“Use three fingers, not two.” He commands gently, “you want something bigger, hm? I’m sure it hurts so badly—you’re so wet.” 

Without thinking, you obey him. 

You press three fingers carefully inside of you and it’s the first stretch you’ve gotten, the first spark of relief. 

You cry out, clinging to him. 

“That’s it,” he encourages, “in and out for me.” 

You tilt your hips up into his hand, towards your fingers, and he doesn’t scold you. The pressure on your lower stomach makes pleasure bloom and strengthen there. For a moment, it’s just the soft, slick noises of yourself, and it’s so—

Embarrassing. So horrible. 

You must look out of your depth, you must look lost or terrified, because he finally speaks again, “curl your fingers for me, darling.” 

You do just that and moan the moment you press deeper inside yourself. 

“Good girl,” he praises, “does that feel better? Answer me.” 

“Yes—yeah.” You get out, crooking your fingers inside yourself. “I still want—” 

“More?” He murmurs, pressing his hand gently against your lower stomach, “this time, you have to make do with just this.” 

You bite back your whine or complaint, head hazy—fingers moving desperately. But you don’t complain, you don’t fuss. 

He smiles when he realizes how you’ve caught yourself, “oh, look at that,” he purrs, “you can be tamed after all.” 

And before you can ruin it for yourself, Suguru sweeps his thumb just barely over your mound again, and says, “rock your hips now, gentle.” 

The moment you do, the friction against your palm makes you moan, head falling back, baring your throat. 

Perhaps without thinking, he dips forward, nose tracing over the cure of your neck, following instinct. You make another soft noise, and in your haze, wish desperately that he would just bite down—

All you get is the brief skim of his warm, soft lips. No teeth and you miss them, achingly. 

He presses his hand down just a little more and—

Pleasure bursts beneath your skin with enough force that your back bows off the bed, mouth parted. 

You sob. 

You feel your walls flutter uselessly around your fingers, feel your body desperate for something you can’t have this time, and fall apart.

Suguru is there to catch you. 

He coos to you, soft and easy, and even kisses at your damp, tear-struck cheeks. He lets you arch and twist and chase your pleasure, lets you be wanton and shameless and desperate. He lets you claw him and bite him and cry into his shoulder. 

And when you begin to quiet, he suddenly hitches your legs around his waist and lifts you clear from the bed. You lope your arms weakly around his neck and bury your face into his throat. 

You don’t protest or fight him, you are grateful and eager for all the places you touch, feeling incredibly fragile in his broad arms.  

You don’t bother to look where he’s taking you—can’t find it in yourself to care, if you can feel him against your center, feel where he’s hard and aching himself, even with the suppressants—

But between one breath and the next, you’re in the bathtub again, and the water from the shower blasts on from above. 

Ice cold water pours on you. 

You shriek and Suguru has the nerve to laugh, which makes you lunge for him, yanking him towards the spray of water. 

It soaks his shirt, his hair, as he holds himself over you, before stepping carefully into the tub to join you. 

He sits with you, beneath the cold water, and pushes his hair out of his face as you clamber into his lap. 

You pull at his wet shirt and he lets you take it off of him, throw it over the side of the tub in a heap. 

He reaches to do the same to you, ridding you of the only article of clothing you’d had on. 

You grit your teeth, “does it have to be so cold?” You ask, feeling the spray now rain against your back, your shoulders. You lean away from it, into his arms. 

“You needed this.” He says fondly. And then, as he strokes your wet hair, “I did, too.” 

“You’re an awful man,” you curse him, shivering.

“I know,” he agrees with a soft, fond smile. 

You look at him, hair inky and dark, lashes damp against his cheek, and the pleased way he smiles. Like an insufferable, giant cat. You’re aching and furious and freezing and so—so tender. 

“I hate you,” you tell him but it sounds more like a confession, soft around the edges. 

He kisses your temple, lingers there, and you can feel the curve of his smile. You can hear it color his voice;

“I know.” 

***

Something shifts between the two of you after that. And the following day, your Heat finally begins to wane slightly. 

You try to touch yourself again and Suguru forbids it this time. You fight and snarl with him, but you let him hold you and lull you to sleep. You let him feed you. And bathe you. You sleep bare against his naked chest and are soothed by it the way a fussy baby is calmed by the bare skin of their mother. 

You feel infinitely closer to him. 

You lounge with him in bed, in his living room, hanging off him all that you can. 

He indulges this behavior, encourages it, even. 

And on the eighth day, your Heat finally breaks. 

When you wake, still curled on his chest, with his hands stroking tenderly over your bare back, he asks, “how do you feel?” 

“Sane, I think.” You murmur it into his chest. 

“Your Heat broke in the night.” He says and touches your head, your forehead, like he’s taking your temperature. “You’re still a little warmer, but it’s over now, I think.” 

Slowly, you pick yourself up to look at him. To hover over him. 

He looks up at you, too, uncertain. Waiting. You’re sure he’s waiting to see if you’ll return to your usual self, if you’ll snap or snarl or chew him out—will you storm out? Or seethe? Will you fight him still, after everything, even as he holds you in his arms now? 

“Thank you for respecting my wishes,” you say instead and lean down to suddenly press your lips to his. 

You feel his surprise, the way his lips part, the way he freezes and you sink down into it. For a moment, you worry he won’t reciprocate again. 

But then, his hand comes up to cradle your face, and he nudges into the kiss. Hungry. Deep. 

You give into him, you encourage him, coaxing him with soft tongue and eager mouth. 

When you pull away, you grab his face this time, the way he always grabs yours, squeezing his lips into a little pout, “but if you ever make me suffer like that again through a Heat,” your nails dig into his cheek, “I’ll fucking kill you.” 

He laughs, canines flashing, and surges forward to kiss you again. Harder. Meaner. 

It’s all teeth and heat, a little vicious, the way you are. He wrestles you beneath him, kisses you into the mattress. And when he pulls away, he says;

“If you ever make me suffer like that again, you’ll wish you’d killed me first.” 

You feel your own smile against his neck, against one of the ridges of your own bite mark, and with all the satisfaction in the world, you sink your teeth down into it again. 

It’s like a key coming up against a lock, fitting snugly to their own indents, and finding their own, well-worn place. 

It’s like finally coming home. 

[aweina]

౨ৎ. PEACHES & CREAM ( 17 + ) ; raiden

tags gn reader. caught masturbating. hand job. oral sex. food play. hair pulling. friends to lovers. + 2k words.

based on this ask

the straw basket you held was snug in your grasp, filled with assortments of glossy apples, fuzzy peaches, and ripe lychees. it was all of raiden’s favorite fruits — something you learned from tomas’s daily commutes to your family’s fruit farm.

a bad fever. you distinctly traced back to kung lao’s words, a bitter look animating his face every time he spared details about raiden’s current sickening state. a layer of cold sweat covering his skin, unusually complaining about muscle aches, and his appetite only consisting of a glass of water and some good sleep.

that was bad. raiden has never gotten sick in all the years you’ve known him. he wore his skin like armor — resilient and adaptable to any weather. but with the current heat waves passing through the condensed village, it only made sense for the hardworking farm boy to be too stubborn to miss a day in the cabbage fields.

nevertheless, you admired raiden for his work ethic, but most importantly his compassion and kindness. he shined so bright when there was a smile on his face. hearing his gentle voice made your eyes flutter shut and soothed throughout the whole day. your crush on the farm boy couldn’t be anymore obvious, but it seems your subtle flirting and wandering eyes went unnoticed for years.

you gently pad through the zen garden, minimal with white rocks and gravel that held the warmth of summer — your scandals were neatly placed by the entrance, footsteps much softer and less damaging to the wooden platform. raiden’s home, blared with midnight silence all while the vicious heat waves irritably hum in your ears, making you flush under your thin garments.

drop off the basket and make your way home. that was the plan.

but your nerves heightened at the source of warm light that bled through the sliding doors — shadows of objects inked all over the paper panel. it was raiden's room. he was awake?

slowly, you got closer, softly step towards the light with a nervous grip on the straw-woven handle. you froze in shock when you heard a strangled sound coming from the other side of the panel. one step. the sound was suppressed, lodged deep in his throat. closer. a rhythmic wetness, in sync with your racing heart. in front of the door. with a hoarse voice, your name desperately fell off his lips as a gushing sound followed after.

with a shaking hand, you curiously slid open the thin panel.

it’s raiden, he just jerked off on his bed while he moaned your name.

before slipping his strained hand past the waistband of his soiled underwear, he restlessly opens his eyes and sees you standing there.

did he come so hard that he was hallucinating?

it took an awkward second to realize you were in fact, real. immediately, raiden frantically covered his lower half with the bunched up covers beside him — his usual kind eyes filled with the fusion of embarrassment and guilt. if it weren’t across his room right now, raiden would’ve used his straw hat to avoid your unreadable eyes — preferably forever.

“i – uh – i can explain,” raiden finally sputtered with desperation. he was stressed, darting his wavering gaze over to the fallen fruit basket to your terrifyingly neutral expression.

he looked away, gazing down at his fidgeting, haphazardly wiped hands.

“i’m truly… truly sorry about this. you must have been uncomfortable hearing all that – if you wish to never see me, i’ll make sure to —“

“are you still sick, raiden?”

your tone was even as you entered the humid room and slid the panel door shut. he flinched at the sound of your footstep, even more so with your lack of response to his apology.

“i – i’ve recovered well…” his words seemed to fall into silence as he looked up and watched you slowly bend down and take a peach from the floor, peeling off the fuzz with delicate fingers.

“has any of madam bo’s remedies worked well for you?”

one side of the peach was peeled off, a bead of sweet juice running down the plush fruit. it gleamed under the warm lantern light and made raiden swallow in anticipation.

“yes… they have made great improvements to combat my sickness, although… i’m still suffering from a headache.”

thinking about his lengthy absence, away from his responsibilities in fengjian, away from the sense of community, away from you, led him to a troubling spiral that left his head pounding with an intense ache. touching himself seemed like the only solution at the time, especially when his worries about you transformed into a lustful yearning.

you nodded in acknowledgement, the peach extract now ran down your arm — tacky on your dewy skin. to his surprise, you took a generous bite from the fruit, the delicate floral flavor coating your mouth. a gush of juice ran down from the corner of your lustrous lips, prompting you to take a finger and catch the leftover juice, only to apply it over your lips like a sweet balm.

raiden concentrates on your alluring movements with wide eyes, thankful for his previous panicked behavior to hide his shameful actions, only for it now to hide another painfully confined boner.

pressing your sticky lips together, you tread towards the small bed to take a seat on the edge, far from the farm boy’s reach. but with you much closer than before, raiden’s rapid breathing was apparent. he’s nervous, yet there’s a sense of urgency coursing through his stiff body. he could crawl towards you if you wanted him to, he could even set aside every ounce of his pride to beg for your touch. but then your question made his flush pink while the sudden surge of blood pumping through his veins made his cock twitch.

“mind if i try one of my remedies?”

your voice is so sweet and intoxicating, replacing all his senses with sexual desire.

raiden nodded frantically.

“o – of course, please do.” then you smiled for the first time of the night.

you crawled towards him with need, immediately latching your mouth onto his. raiden sighs in relief, sloppily kissing you back in desperation, the taste of peach on the tip of his tongue. eagerly, he lapped his pink muscle over your sweet lips. his favorite fruit coating your lips, tasting it with his own mouth — he must be dreaming. you whimpered at his gentle licking, eyes fluttering shut to memorize each caress of his tongue.

to close any space between the two of you, raiden pulls away the covers and guides your flushed body to straddle him. your weight sealed tight against raiden, his hardened cock brushed along your own clothes wetness — a choked groan escaping his lips all while you swallow them into a searing sugary kiss.

in need of some air, the both of you were panting heavily as you pulled away, a shared dazed expression on each other’s faces. you were the first to laugh, lips swollen and glossy from raiden’s eager tongue. he joined in the break of sexual tension with a small chuckle, the essence of peach was still sweet on his palate. you smile warmly as you gently brushed threads of long black hair away from his flushed face — cradling his warm cheeks into your hands.

“is it fine if i continue?” you whispered against his lips, leaving a plethora of sweet pecks in between each word.

“i could never deny you.” he confesses with no sputter or hesitation to his words — genuine and sweet.

by the elder gods, you wanted to make him feel so good.

you smiled wickedly as you leaned back and adjusted yourself, grinding agonizingly slow and hard against his hot erection. raiden hisses, rough hands suddenly firm around your waist for leverage. the dimly lit room felt more humid than before, filled with desperate pants and heady sweat. summer’s heat waves didn’t help the fact that the both of you were burning with desire.

you began to undress from your silky robe, the patterned fabric pooled by the side of the bed. raiden fondly stares at your bare body, starstruck by your natural beauty. before he could remove his own damp clothing, your nimble fingers began to undo the buttons of his shirt — exposing his heaving chest. for as long you’ve ever known raiden, a shirt clung onto his frame. never once showing an ounce of skin further than his collarbones. but this was something new. a well-toned stomach from his training with madam bo did him wonders. but with his even, golden tan shows that he does in fact train without a shirt — maybe after all this, you can accompany madam bo’s vigorous training.

but for now, your hands and lips ache to touch raiden everywhere. eagerly, you began to leave a trail of wet kisses and love marks all over his exposed body. raiden begins to groan with every scrap of your teeth, hands clinging desperately on his bedsheets. you smile at his impressive self-restraint, pulling away occasionally to fully memorize the details of his body. to the soft moles that scatter along his dewy marked skin, the deep contours that drew his frame, and finally the trail of coarse hair running his navel. he was perfect — so perfect.

raiden notices your intense gaze over his exposed form and shyly averts his eyes away, the grip on the cloth bed sheets giving him some stability.

you placed a sweet kiss over his navel, trailing down further as your cheeks began to graze his pubic hair, erection bumping against your chin.

“nervous?”

raiden shifts at your question and cutely nods.

“i am, but … i want to continue.” he has been waiting for this after all.

you nod at his words, hooking your fingers under the elastic waistband as you carefully drag down his pants. raiden lifts his weight a bit to give you easier access — a comedic look on his face when his cock accidentally slaps your cheek when his waistband reaches down to his thighs.

“oh. i - i’m sorry.” he faintly chuckled in embarrassment, shrugging off the shirt to let it join the rest of the clothing on the floor.

you shook your head when you disgraced his pants, sitting up briefly to reach towards the nightstand.

“your excitement shouldn’t bring you shame.”

the half-bitten peach felt soft and sticky in your grasp, still supple with sweet sap.

“it just needs to be taken care of.”

raiden’s eyes perk up at the softened peach and immediately shift towards his cock. are you going to –

a sudden coldness kisses his swollen, oozing tip, dripping down on his shaft. raiden immediately moans at the foreign feeling, the delicate scent of honeyed sweetness seeping on his skin. your hands squeeze the peach a little harder, getting every ounce of sticky sap onto his twitching cock. running the fruit dry, you discarded it on the nightstand and began to run your hands down his length at an agonizingly slow pace.

your name falls prettily out of his lips with every careful pump — hips moving desperately to meet your hand. with his cock much more sensitive from the new sensation of a sticky essence and his previous orgasm, he was sure that he wouldn’t last much longer. sensing raiden’s peak, you pulled away — his hips sputter for a moment until they fell back onto the bed. raiden tried to compose himself, his shallow breaths brushing against your flushed face, progressively becoming more stable.

“don’t cum just yet, i haven’t even gotten to taste you.” you jested, shifting on your knees so that you’re at head level with his cock.

“your skill makes it hard for me not to.” raiden breathes out, a small smile on his face.

you playfully roll your eyes, brushing your hand over his fingertips — urging to guide his touch. curiously, raiden follows your gentle hold onto his long fingers until you thread them through your scalp. as he was a fast learner in combat, so was he in the bedroom. with a firm grip, raiden tugs onto the back of your head. you smiled at his new sense of confidence, the hesitation in his touch much more rough with assertiveness.

without a word, he slowly guided your mouth down onto his cock — the warm air replaced with a scorching wetness.

“shit.” raiden curses, a rarity in his usual vocabulary. his dark brows pinched together, strands of hair falling from his bun. “you are amazing.”

the small praise made your mouth water, dissolving the juice clung onto his length. raiden allows a few seconds for you to relax your mouth and begins to bob your head along his cock — careful to not let you gag just yet. the sweet taste of ripe peach and bitter precum laid deliciously over your tongue, twirling over his tip with every tug at your scalp. whimpers of your name escaped raiden’s lip as the sleek sounds of your filled mouth were in sync with one another. with your mouth adjusting to the forgiving pace, you began to suckle and moan around his cock — sending extra sensations for raiden to feel. he bites back a groan, overwhelmed by the feeling of your mouth and the perfect view of his hand gripping your messy hair and glossy eyes eagerly looking up at him.

even like this, he honestly found you to be breathtaking.

“you are so beautiful. oh. it just feels so good –“

raiden tilts his head up, his cock beginning to twitch in your mouth. the heady taste of cum and peach puts you into a mind numbing trance, intently suckling and licking down his length. suddenly, you gagged at the sudden graze of his tip, noticing how much further it is down your throat. your senses suddenly flood back into you, his low whines and groans much more clear.

“i – i’m close — so close.” raiden warns, his restraint begins to slowly chipping away as his grip begins to leave your scalp tender, his pace backing more grueling with each hard thrust of his hips, making you choke and tear up.

you grip tightly into his thighs, steadily breathing through your nose as his cock continuously plunges down throat. the coil in your gut burns with greed, ready to take his load. the fast building tension came so quick, you knew instantly that he was there. and with one final thrust, raiden calls out your name, hot cum spurting down your bruised throat — coating your mouth with a salty, peachy taste. his body jerks in overwhelming ecstasy, sweat collecting around his brow bone dripping down his neck. his cock softens in your mouth, making your breathing less restricting. the death grip on your scalp exchanged to a comforting massage, gently guiding your mouth to detach from his cock with a lewd pop.

your eyes met, his much more apologetic and filled with worry. as yours was filled with a satisfied haze.

“are you feeling okay?” raiden whispered in concern, making the effort to pat down the messy strands of your hair. “i was too rough on you, i’m sorry about that.”

you shook your head, laying your head over his stomach. raiden sighs in relief, although his brows still knit with concern.

“i’m fine. what about you? is your headache finally gone?”

raiden tilts his head in confusion, until he realizes what you mean. he lightly chuckles, continuing to caress your head adoringly.

“it is actually,” he genuinely admits, eyeing the crushed peach on the nightstand in amusement. “your remedy does work after all.”

you grinned at his teasing, slowly lifting up your whole body to grab one of the few sizable fragments of the fruit — pressing its sweet yellow flesh against your cum coated lips.

“if you ever feel sick again, i can try out other remedies.” you suggested, raising the sweet remnant towards his mouth.

his eyes light up before he gently grabs your wrist as he takes a bite, holding your unwavering gaze. he catches you off guard with a sudden short tug — locking into a tender kiss. raiden gently drags his tongue along the molars of your mouth and over your quivering lips. the taste of himself and the delicate floral sweetness surprisingly compliment each other.

he slowly pulled away, a trail of saliva between your lips gleamed under the warm light.

“then i hope my fever could last a little longer.”

© aweina : please do not copy, repost, or modify any of my content.

[arcielee]

At last, when all of the world is asleep

Summary: A Dornish princess is the siren call to break the vows of the Kingsguard. Paring: Ser Erryk Cargyll x Dornish!Reader Word Count: 2015 Warnings: AFAB reader, plotting sexual situations, alcohol consumption, oral (f receiving), fingering, p in v, finger licking good. Author’s Note: Thank you to my beloved beta reader @sylasthegrim 💜 I appreciate you and your edits, always. Banner by @saradika Title comes from Hozier's lyrics De Selby Part 1 (are we surprised by this?) and the plot comes from this ask: "I want a beautiful princess to corrupt and completely ruin him and make him break his oath." Enjoy! Tags (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @schniiipsel @aemondx @fan-goddess @babygirlyofthevale @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @itbmojojoejo @girlwith-thepearlearring @lauraneedstochill @snowprincesa1

The shudder was gratifying, trilling your spine with how his beard tickled the column of your neck, his lips both soft and warm, and the welcomed contrast of his teeth to taste. Your fingers grabbed to pull him closer to the cradle of your hips, burying your face in the nap of his neck and your mouth suckling on his pulsepoint with enough pressure to bruise; you felt him shiver, his voice strangled, husky, when he called out your name. 

To that, you pulled back, abrupt, catching his gaze and your hand coming up to wag a finger. “Good ser,” you tsked, your lips curling upwards, “do not forget who I am.” 

His eyes were glassy, the blue-gray storm that was slowly being swallowed by black. “Forgive me, princess,” he was quick to correct, watching for your response. 

You gave another smirk, your arms reaching to wrap around his neck to pull him back into your embrace, his welcomed musk of blade oil against the perspiration of his skin. “Gentle ser,” you almost purred before capturing his mouth again. 

He was not Valyrian, not the dragon you sought, but the knight was handsome still. And besides, you were sorely out of practice after the imposed propriety of Northern Westerosi customs and the role of a grieving widow. 

When your father had first mentioned the prospect of marrying into the Velaryon House, the Valyrian blood called to you, a curiosity if your babes would be born with silver heads or the crystalline hues of amethysts eyes, and you were quick to accept the proposal. You packed away your dresses and left Sunspear, boarding the ship to travel the Narrow Sea and bring you to your betrothed. 

The marriage had been disappointingly short-lived; your husband was everything you had imagined, handsome, tall, his silver hair knotted back and his clever purple eyes bright, watching you every movement with care, with desire. The consummation had a passion that carried over until dawn, but only after he was gone did your cycle follow to show it did not bear fruit.

“Do not fret, princess,” Princess Rhaenys offered comfort, “you will have plenty of try-agains when they return.”

But she had spoken too soon and you received word that his life was claimed in the Stepstones, though the real tragedy that followed came from the widow garb you were now expected to don. The seamstresses were quick to fit you with the heavy, itchy fabric that covered your skin and robbed you of what little sunlight spilled through to the gray island that you were caged in a figurative sense. 

While your family by marriage grieved the life lost, you mourned your freedom, you mourned the sun you had left behind in Dorne, of the air on your skin that would show in your garments that were now packed away. 

Hope came as a raven, sent by the king and queen of the Seven Realms, extending their sympathies and offering the opportunity to leave the gray slab of land in the middle of Blackwater Bay, with an invitation to the capital so that you could serve Princess Helaena as company. You accepted with the same breath as you finished the words out loud, your claimant that your father’s intention wished you to be an envoy for Dorne, when really your sights were set on a Targaryen prince, your Valyrian bloodlust. 

King’s Landing was bright, bustling with life; you were escorted from the docks inside to the Red Keep where you would meet with the royal family, astutely aware how every set of eyes followed your steps; you gave a wistful sigh, certain of the attention if you could be rid of the widow gowns. 

Gratefully, the queen was considerate of the temperature change in comparison to Driftmark, and the seamstress was sent to recede the fabric in your neckline and sleeves. It still was far from the comfort of your own dresses, but considerably better after half a year of bereavement. It was a taste of freedom, and you dared to add subtle touches of make up, nothing exorbitant, just a touch of tinted beeswax to gloss your lips, a smear of kohl to frame your eyes.

Dorne was a nation that always embraced its sexuality, a sharp contrast to the pious King’s Landing that was laden with symbols of the Seven. You were determined to remarry–two Targaryen princes unwed, two possible dragons to claim–but to catch a dragon, you had to lay an enticing trap, but you wondered if you were rusty with the enforced bereavement having you feeling like a maiden once again. 

So your attention turned to the piety of the Kingsguard that shadowed royalty’s every step. There were those whose gazes lingered well outside what would be deemed appropriate, the blatant, heady lust that enveloped the color of their irises and the bold reds that tainted their features–to which you scoffed. 

A challenge was what you craved, and then you spotted him; his copper tones in duo, though the twins could be distinguished by how they held themselves, as well the fact that Ser Arryk served as Prince Aegon’s shadow. 

Your eyes trained to the other, Ser Erryk Cargyll, the flutter of your lashes when he looked in your direction, the demure dip of your face to coyly cover a smile meant for him to see. 

He did not fracture with your attention, but you–Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken–would not be dissuaded. It was a tantalizing game, something you swore to be playing solo until you spotted it; the tension held in his features by the shackles of his oath, a tick in his jaw or the flit of his smoky blue eyes in your proximity. 

You chose a night to drink, indulging in the imported Dornish wines, a singsong request to be escorted to your rooms that the queen was happy to oblige. 

“Ser Erryk, would you please help the princess to her quarters?”

And now you were at the edge of your bed like you were seated on the throne, watching the Kingsguard that was kneeled so prettily between your thighs spread. He is beautiful, you mused, looking over the warm tones that touched his features, clashing with the copper coloring of his hair. 

He looked up at you, now bare from the waist up, his eyes wide, watchful, waiting for your command, your very breath of direction so that he may obey you; he was an incitant sight, from the cobalt ash coloring of his eyes, wet and wanting, to the flush of pink on his kiss-swollen lips. 

“Please,” his voice was thick. 

You could not help your smile, and asked with your slow drawl. “Please, what?”

“Please, princess,” he began again, his head tilted further to show the length of his neck, and how it bobbed when he swallowed. “Allow me to taste you.” 

You indulged him, enjoying the vibration of his groan with his intimate kiss between your thighs made your own skin ripple with gooseflesh, along with the soft tickle of his beard. But he was a man starved, lapping without purpose until your fingers combed through his hair and pulled him back to meet with your smokey gaze.  

Ser Erryk watched rapt as you lifted your hand, holding two fingers up; you could see the lustful pools of black claiming the coloring of his eyes, the bloom of rust of his beard around his mouth, the glisten of your arousal that shone on him. 

You brought your fingers to press to his bottom of his mouth and he obediently wrapped his lips around; you giggled from his eagerness, from the tickle of his tongue on the pads of your fingers. The spittle broke and added to the rust when you pulled back, his eyes following as your pressed between your folds, watching you bring pleasure to yourself, showing him just how you needed to be touched. 

A pitiful whimper spilled from the Kingsguard before you allowed him to feast again, and he returned with vigor, with purpose. Your wanton moans echoed against the cobblestone. “Princess,” he breathed against your wet cunt, “you must stay quiet.” 

This was impossible to do; your time as a widow left you touch starved and your body was trembling, overly sensitive to his every deliberate touch–how he flourished with the bit of direction shown, and now, oh the gods, the pleasure curled something beautiful at the base of your spine, something sparking with familiarity from what felt like a lifetime ago. 

Then you felt the pressure of his fingers, the careful add of one and the another, and they pushed within you, searching until you saw colors dancing in front of your eyes; Ser Erryk was pleased, focused, pulling you towards the precipice and it washed over you; your skin rose, your nipples pebbled, the cry-out from your lips and clenching response as your pleasure rippled over you with a vengeance, with its reclaim. 

You laid there for a moment, the blood rising to your skin, your chest rising and falling with your breaths, a drunk smile on your lips. 

The knight was now fully bare and was careful to move on top of you, the pale alabaster of his skin and its marking from his service was so warm to the touch. His palms were large, calloused and gentle to peel off your chemise over your head, the tickle of his kisses that worshiped every bit of your skin now showed, glowing with the attention from his mouth.  

“Ser Erryk,” you gasped as he shifted between your thighs, “please.”

He obeyed, flushed, fumbling, his hand dipping between to trail your silken folds, to map your entrance and reached to line himself. He showed consideration with the slow motion of his hips, another gasp from your lips as he filled and stretched your velvet walls; Ser Erryk moved as if you were glass and you wrapped your leg around his slender waist, pulling him flush against you, wishing to be shattered beneath him.

It was all the encouragement needed and he rutted against you, his hot mouth biting into the nap of your neck to muffle his guttural groans. Your mewls were lilted with laughter, the crest of pleasure that rolled over with each of his thrusts; your hand dipped between to tip you over the edge once again. 

The knight could not withstand the sinful clench and he pulled back, a desperate clutch to allow the pearly ropes of his spend against your stomach, his staggered breath as he watched your own fingers coax through your completion. There was a heady look between the two of you before he pushed back to rest on his heels, and you pressed to your elbows, bringing your fingers to your lips and cleaning them, your eyes never leaving his. 

Ser Erryk blushed, pulling away and allowing you to admire his form, the lewd, intrusive thought, the sword in his hand and the sword between, as he moved towards your washbin and returned with a damp cloth; your eyes never left what swayed between his thighs with his each step. He was bashful, handing you the cloth while avoiding your direct gaze as you cleaned yourself, starting to dress himself.

You pushed from the bed, unabashed with your bare skin, sultry steps towards him to assist him with donning his armor plates to his lithe figure beneath his gambeson. When you finished, you could see his hesitation perched on his tongue and cannot help but toy further with the knight. 

“Good ser,” you tone low to match your steps, and your weight shifted to accentuate your every curve, “can I trust you to always escort me to my quarters when needed?” 

His jaw steeled beneath the reds of his beard at your implication, his tick returning as the shackles tightened again. It was a pregnant pause before his eyes met with yours, and you half-expected to see the beautiful blues, but were pleased to see his darkened gaze.

“Whatever you wish of me,” and his low timbre thrilled you. “Princess.”

arcielee's masterlist

[cosmicstarlatte]

Coconut (Obey Me!)

━━━━━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━━━━━

You got a coconut and need help opening it. You decide to ask your favorite guy. Does he fail or succeed?

»Characters: Demon Bros + Dateables

»Tags: Shitpost, Humor, Mammon's At It Again, Levi Is My Fave

Lucifer:

"Hand it over."

He's heard of coconuts but never seen one up close

Gently tosses it in his hand for a feel

Hmph this will be easy

ItWasNot.png

Had to pull out the old worst cursed magic he could think of

It didn't work

The many cursed tools in the dungeons also didn't work

Sweating angry mess...how's it not open!?

Angrily chucks it through the wall

It knocked out a poor unsuspecting Levi

"I will get you literally anything else you desire that's not that."

Mammon:

"Why's it furry?"

"What do ya mean you're s'pose to eat it?"

He didn't understand why you wanted this thing but he wasn't going to let his human down

Got upset that his attempts did nothing, however he hatched an idea

Got a booth at the carnival

"Pay up and test ya strength! How tough are ya!? HEY YOU! YOU'RE NOT A WIMP ARE YA?"

After hundreds of tries from monsters and demons, the coconut finally split open

He brought it back to you (wearing new bling and all)

"The Great Mammon never disappoints! Also...can ya get me more of 'em?"

Levi:

"Wooaahh a coconut!? I've seen these in so many anime beach episodes!"

The otaku was excited you came to him for help!

He was going to get it open one way or another!

He tried for an hour before sending you off

"I'll come find you when I open it!"

It would be years before he returns

(You lived in the Devildom after the program)

He journeyed through the Devildom in search of knowledge for his quest

He developed surprising friendships, suffered painful losses, but also discovered a new meaning to life

He did eventually find a way to open the coconut

He came back home wizard style

"I bring you that of which you requested"

"Levi no one knew where you went, you were just gone! We were worried!"

"I got your coconut open though! Quest complete!"

He thought the hugs and kisses from you were worth it, the coconut must've meant a lot to you!

I love him so much yall

Satan:

"A coconut? I've only ever read about them. Bring it here."

Gave it a few curious knocks

This will be easy 2.0

Tried to peel it and saw it did nothing

Tried to karate chop it, still nothing

He chuckled and a black aura surrounded him

I see.

He tried punching it and then clawing at it for a while

There is no god, just nothingness

He lost his shit in demon form

His rampage destroyed a chunk of the house

Coconuts are no longer allowed at the House of Lamentation

Like you can't even say the word coconut

Asmo:

"What is that?"

He did not want to touch whatever that thing was

He saw the disappointed look in your face and changed his mind

He tried to break it open in half with his bare hands but it was futile

Why is this thing so tough?

He was not having it, he was going to open your precious coconut!

"MAMMON!"

He could only think of one other way

A grumbling Mammon appeared

"Just stand there a second will you?"

He knocked the coconut against his head (HEY!) and the coconut split open!

It did break one of his manicured nails though but he thought the happiness on your face was worth it

Beel:

"Did you bring more?" (You did)

Was excited to try a human world fruit

Tried to break it in half with his hands

Was surprised when it didn't...but no worries!

He briefly bared his fangs and gave a sharp bite

It made a little opening and he was then able to split it with his hands

He was happy trying something new with you and was excited for future recipes

Yeah...no struggles here ajsjdlgkskdldk

Belphie:

"Huh? You want me to open that?"

He was surprised but flattered you'd go to him

He wasn't even sure what that thing was

He tried to strangle it but just couldn't get it to open

Then he tried to threaten it

Still didn't work

Was exhausted at this point and thought a well deserved nap was needed

You found him clinging to the coconut like a plushie

You never got it back

Diavolo:

"Oh what a cute little silly fruit!"

He thought it looked precious!

Of course he would open it for you!

After a few minutes of trying to get the thing open, he was getting flustered

This can't be from the human realm? It's...it's diabolical!

He gave a sad pout and tried a *different* approach

"Please little one, open up will you?" He politely begged the unforgiving fruit

It magically split open and he triumphantly gave you your coconut back!

...Still not sure how that works but it's probably just... a Dia thing LMAO

Barbatos:

"I would be happy to. Although can you pick it up in say 30 min? I have another task to attend to."

He traveled to the human realm and picked up some chopped coconut and fresh coconut juice for you

He's a demon of many talents

He's also a demon of many secrets

He's never mastered the art of opening human world coconuts but he wasn't going to let you or anyone else know that!

He gave you a beautifully arranged plate and fancy jar

Simeon:

"I can try."

He knew of coconuts but never touched one

He tried knocking it a few times but it didn't work

He tried to remain calm as he tried a few other methods

Burn it. Burn it Simeon.

No just ignore the voice

After one more attempt he lost his cool

He had quite a colorful vocabulary

Threw dangerous celestial magic spears at the indestructible fruit

Luke freaked out and knocked him out in panic

Luke was quite frightened and didn't trust coconuts after Simeons rage

Simeon hates when they refer to it as The Incident™️

Solomon:

"Sure! I will handle it."

He's opened a few in his lifetime

He found a way to get it open every time!

He gingerly touched the coconut

So we meet again

He took the coconut and chucked it fiercely against the wall

He smirked at the small shattered pieces

He thought back on the first coconut he ever had the displeasure of meeting...he will never be made a fool again

You decided to buy coconut juice instead

»Note: Imagine you ask Belphie to open a banana and he just immediately strangles the thing, like is that just how he opens things?? Yep, a new headcanon acquired!

⬦You might also like: Mexican Restaurant︱Waffle House︱Devil-Mart⭐