#so have dumb irrational fear

[eyesofcuriosity]

😱 - Biggest fear

"Weeeelll..... let's keep it lighthearted for now but uh... one thing that makes me uncomfortable and disgusted would be an octopus....I just think they are creepy okay?!"

[jrwiyuri]

Why do so many bug loving posts randomly include a part or or are even entirely focused around the idea of “just get over your fear <3” as if that’s an easy thing to do. Shut up bro 😭.

[egg-emperor]

everyone else like "omg I hope we get to see so kawaii uwu father daughter moments" meanwhile I'm like man. I hope Eggman actually gets to finally fucking do something on screen and something cool lol

but I'm also just anticipating a refresher to the fandom of how game canon Eggman and Sage really are because the most popular fanon depiction of them both separately and together is so far removed from it rn. as long as we get that I'll be happy

but it'd also be nice if Eggman actually got to do something cus his ass got sidelined the hardest it has in a while in a game XD if I have to pick just one as long as he's in character still I'll be cool with it

[sscrambledmeggss]

having ocd is so lame because i saw a snake and now i will be neurotically checking around my room and the whole house for like two days until i forget

[ventisventing]

god I hate turnitin and how it flags my work when I haven't plagerized at all. Like bro just because my word choices are sometimes weird, I used dwindled and such in the latest lab report, doesn't mean I plagirized. It's not my fault my brain sometimes uses big words. Now I have to figure out how to reword it cause I got a 46%

[beejunos]

SPEAK TO ME | Alastor x f.reader

Summary: Alastors voice turns you on. Something he loves to take advantage of.

FULL STORY!

Here we have it! The full story! 5k of pure smut. Enjoy darlings! Tags: Dom!Alastor, masturbation, oral, light bondage, fingering, dirty talk

Attraction was a funny thing. It could never be explained, and often, it just appeared one day. Attraction could hit you like a train in the dead of night, but sometimes, it would follow you like a shadow. Whispering sweet words in your ear without making itself too known, not until it was too late, and you realised that you had stayed awake for two hours when you should have been asleep instead of thinking about what someone's hands would feel like on your skin. 

Attraction was an annoyance, but lust, its evil twin, was irrational, unpredictable, and, worst of all, it made you stupid. 

So incredibly dumb.

The lust had crept up on you like a thief in the night. Stealing your rational mind and sanity, leaving only the body to fend off the raging attraction that wanted to sink its teeth into your tender flesh. 

Having a crush on the radio demon was a poor choice and a painful one.

It began weeks ago when you first arrived at the crumbling hotel. 

Hazbin Hotel, with its rehabilitation program, had been your last resort after your landlord, who really deserved to be in Hell, kicked you out of your apartment. 

You had been tired of fending for yourself, trying to work, feed yourself and find an apartment with a landlord who wasn't a humongous creep. It seemed to be an impossible task in Hell. It wasn't until you heard one of your coworkers talk about the interview on the news with the princess of Hell that you found out about her little redemption project.

The Hazbin Hotel appeared like a lighthouse on the horizon for you, and the prospect of a warm meal and a soft bed was too enticing to pass on.

Charlie had, of course, taken you in straight away and for the first time in days, you felt like you could finally catch your breath. 

The bath you took that evening in your own bathroom, connected to your own bedroom, was heavenly. Almost sinful with how much pleasure you took from it. 

The next day had been quite overwhelming to you, to say the least. Thrown into the middle of trust exercises with people whom you had known less than 24 hours, where you had, in the span of two hours, visited a bondage club and escaped a turf war that Vaggie had thrown you into. If that was how she had learned to trust others, then maybe you weren't cut out for redemption. 

While the other hotel residents turned out to be a wonderful company, one, in particular, made your little sinner's heart skip a beat. 

Alastor, the infamous radio demon. 

He had ... not been what you had expected. 

From all the tales you'd heard of him, you expected a grotesque monster who murdered anyone who would just look at him funny. But he couldn't have been further from the image you had created of him from all the rumours. 

First of all, he was beautiful. His soft red eyes were so hypnotising that you feared you would drown in them, with a smile showing rows of sharp teeth. One thing was for sure: Hell would contort any morals and virtues you may have had, and if you had liked the idea of lovers biting your skin during intercourse before, it was now a raving obsession. An obsession that would fule you nightly fantasies for weeks and weeks. 

Sometimes, that was the only thing you could think about, his sharp teeth grazing your neck or nibbling your ear. 

Alastor was also very charming in his own way. A gentleman by hellish standards. Whenever you were going somewhere in the same direction, he would always hold up doors for you or pull out the chair for you during dinner time. Something you were highly unused to, and it had taken a long time for you not to blush whenever he did it. 

Whilst his jokes were lame at best, the conversations you would have late at night by the fireplace were your favourite time of the day. Because you loved his voice. You really loved his voice. 

There was something so bewitching with that transatlantic accent and that strange buzzing overlay to how he spoke. It made it sound like he was far away when he was, in fact, right in front of you, and the gentle buzzing had made you tremble more times than you could count.

Something that you suspected that Alastor had caught on to with how often he would appear behind you, only to put his head right beside yours and say the most innocent things that would make you react in the most sinful ways.

The day he had started to call you 'my dear' had been a day you would never forget, for you had laid awake all night imagining him whispering those exact words in your ear as you brought yourself to climax. Again, again, and again. 

You had had a tough time the day after looking him in the eyes without thinking of all the times you had desperately whispered his name into your pillow with your fingers between your legs.

"What's this?" you asked, surprised as you sat down to eat breakfast. On the table sat a red present with a big black bow right in front of the seat you always occupied. You could recognise Rosies' gift rapping technique anywhere.

"It is a gift, my dear. Open it," answered Alastor and sat down to your right at the end of the table.

You and Alastor were always the two residents in the hotel who were awake first: You because you wanted to spend as much time as possible with the strange but charming sinner. Unfortunately, he had the habit of disappearing during the day, so you only ever had the morning and the night to talk uninterrupted with him. You also suspected that Alastor barely slept because, after your evening chats, when you went to bed, Alastor would go up to his radio tower to host his show, and you had no idea when he would end them.

You opened the gift slowly as if savouring it, trying not to get too excited about having gotten a gift from Alastor when, in reality, you just wanted to rip it open.

Inside the box was a beautiful antique radio in pristine condition. The dark wooded exterior was smooth and shiny as if someone had just polished it, and it made you almost not want to touch it in case you left fingerprints on it.

You looked up at Alastor, whose smile seemed to grow as he looked at you.

"I remember you telling me that you had never had the pleasure of hearing my radio show, and now you can listen to it whenever you want!"

At times like these, you wondered if Alastor knew of your slightly obsessive crush on him. He struck you as a man who liked to play with his food.

The radio turned out to be a great gift that you used almost religiously. Every evening, when you were preparing to go to bed, you would turn on the radio and listen to Alastor's radio show. You would have the radio on softly in the background as you walked around your room doing your nightly routine. Sometimes, you would even invent stuff for you to do so you could stay up longer just so you could listen to his voice.

It was almost like he was in the room with you, talking just to you about anything he found interesting. On the odd occasion, Alastor would incorporate a passive-aggressive threat into the show for some poor sinner getting in his way, but that never scared you. In fact, you looked forward to those instances.

Alastors' voice would drop and get darker, reminding everyone who listened that he was still dangerous—a predator waiting to strike.

A wolf in sheep's clothing, and what a stupid sheep you were. Yearning for the wolf bite.

Halfway through your night routine, you turned on your radio at a soft, pleasant volume, and Alastor's smooth voice filled the otherwise silent room. 

"Salutations, friends and hellish residents! Tonight, we have a splendid assortment of the latest news and the best Hell has to offer in jazz, but before we chitchat about our dear city's hellish affairs, here is the newest music from Miss Jezebel and The Wicked Six!" 

Slow and sultry jazz music started to play on the radio. The woman who sang had a deep, smoky quality that was inherently sexy to you. There was just something about women who sang with deep voices that made your hips sway from side to side, effortlessly dancing across your room as you started to strip, pretending there was someone there who enjoyed the show you put on. 

You turned off all the lights except the small lamp by your bed and crawled under the thick blanket. Leaving the radio on as you made yourself comfortable, hugging one of your pillows close to you. 

The song ended, and Alastor came back. This time, he started talking about the news. Since the news sometimes made you too sad to sleep, you never really listened to what he was saying; you only listened to his voice—his tone, the cadence of his speech, and his transatlantic accent. 

You let his voice wash over you like a soothing balm to your aching body, but soon, you felt the familiar tingles run up your back. Warmth pooled low within you as you shifted in your bed, lying on your back. The desire to touch and be touched grew in you, to move, to grind, to satisfy the urge for sex. 

Closing your eyes and letting your hands wander over your body, you start by slowly dragging your fingertips over your sensitive throat, making sure that your light fingertips touch all the places that made you weak. 

Your hands travel from your throat down to your chest. Palming your breasts in your hands, you drag your nails over your sensitive nipples. Pinshin, pulling and rolling them between your fingers till they are warm and hard. 

Your senses sharpen as you start to feel more intensely, but your mind goes hazy, making it hard to think clearly. Alastors voice is but background noise now that edges you on.

One hand stays on your breast as the other journeys down, down, down and under your underwear. 

You slowly drag your finger between your lips, coating your finger in your wetness as you slowly pull it towards your clit. A breathless gasp is pulled from your mouth the first time your finger comes in contact with your sensitive clit. Slowly and with the lightest touch, you start to circle the organ, and what feels like electricity builds in your loins.

You can't help but move in your bed, legs bending and toes curling as you give yourself the pleasure that you wished Alastor would provide you. Your hand that previously played with your breast joined your other hand, and you let out a not-so-subtle moan as you pushed two fingers into you. Desperately, you curl your fingers inside you to increase the pleasure. 

You want it. You need it. Your toes curl almost painfully as Alastors name falls from your lips like a prayer. 

You're so close. So close you can see stars behind your eyes. You breathlessly chase that sweet release. Building, and building, and building. Your legs are shaking as you bite your lips. Hips lift from the mattress as you fight the urge to close your legs.

You are so, so close.

"What are you doing, my dear?" 

Cold dread crashes through your body as you rip your hands away from your body. You frantically look all over your room in the shadows. Looking for that all-knowing smile and calculating red eyes. 

His voice had been so close and clear that he had to be in your room. It had felt like he had spoken to you right beside your ear. But you were alone. No one was in your room but you. 

"Such a naughty little creature you are, my dear. So desperate to be touched." 

Goosebumps travel up your back as you slowly turn in the direction you hear his voice. On your nightstand is the radio that Alastor gave you. It is still on, but the yellow light of the display has turned red. 

Towering over you in your bed, you almost feel like he is watching you. Observing you as you lay naked before him. Your blankets were by the end of the bed as you had kicked them off a long time ago. 

"Can't even listen to me talking without having to touch yourself. My oh my, what will I ever do with such a bad little doe, hm?" 

Shaking all over, you lunged for the radio's electrical cord and jerked it out of the outlet. The radio fell silent as you collapsed in your bed. Spent, but not satisfied. However, you soon start to tremble all over again over the fact that Alastor had listened to you pleasuring yourself, and he seemed to like it.

You would be lying if you said you had a good night's sleep after that fateful evening—or if you said you had slept at all.

You had stayed up all night replaying the previous night's events, unable to comprehend what you had been through. Had it really happened? Had Alastor really listened to you masturbate while you were moaning his name? It had almost felt like a fever dream had you not stared at the pulled-out electrical cord for the radio all morning.

The clock on your dresser kept ticking as you sat in your black dressing gown on your bed. The time was about to turn nine, and you had not stepped a foot outside of your bedroom, too scared to face the man after your night. You knew you had to leave your bedroom sooner or later, but you were waiting until you were sure that Alastor would have gone for the day to do whatever he usually did during the day. As soon as you were sure that you would not encounter him in the hallway, you would sneak out of your bedroom and go down to the kitchen to steal all the snacks you needed to survive the day cupped out in your own room, like the coward you intended to be. 

It was one thing to fantasise about Alastor naked, but it was a completely different thing to now face the possibility that maybe he would like to see you naked, too. 

Three knocks were heard from your door out of nowhere before Alastor slammed the door open and stepped in with a silver tray full of food in his band. You let out a small yelp before climbing further up into the bed to get away from the other sinner, who waltzed into your room as if he owned the place.

"My dear, what are you doing in bed at this hour? Don't you know that you've missed breakfast?" Alastor's voice was laced with a hint of amusement as if he found your predicament delightful. He walked over to the little table and armchair you had in front of the unused fireplace on the opposite wall to the bed and sat down the tray on the table before conjuring a matching armchair out of thin air. He sat down as if nothing was out of the ordinary and leaned his cane against the armrest as soft jazz music began playing.

As you sat on your bed, feeling increasingly uncomfortable in your underdressed state, you watched in disbelief as Alastor, seemingly unperturbed by your unease, crossed his legs and settled into your room. His casual demeanour, coupled with his humming along to the music, only served to deepen your sense of bewilderment, and you were sure that you were hallucinating. 

You must have eaten something terrible yesterday, and maybe everything you thought happened last night and now was all in your head. 

"Are you going to eat or not? Your food is getting cold, my dear." 

The look Alastor gave you from the corner of his eye told you that it was in your best interest to sit in the armchair in front of him and eat. 

You slowly left the safety of your bed and walked over to Alastor. However, the steps you took on the way were tiny, considering that your dressing gown ended in the middle of your thighs, and you didn't want to flash him accidentally. Not caring about the look you got from Alastor, you shuffled your feet across the room and sat down in the armchair, struggling as you continued to keep your legs as close together as possible. 

With shaking hands, you took the small coffee cup and were about to put it to your lips for a sip when Alastor spoke up again:

"Aren't you forgetting something, my dear?" 

The look he was giving you made shivers travel up and down your spine. Shivers dipped in fear with a hint of excitement. He had never looked at you so intensely before. 

"Thank you for bringing me breakfast," you whispered hoarsely. 

"Good girl." You almost choked on your coffee, "And you're welcome." 

You had a tough time looking into his eyes after that comment as your cheeks grew warmer and warmer. 

Without warning, Alastor began to talk about everything that needed to be done that day. Apparently, Niffty had found a cockroach infestation in the basement, and Charlie had decided they would use chemicals instead of Niffty's needle, which she liked stabbing them with. 

Alastor kept talking on and on about work and the hotel as you ate. On the outside, you kept calm as you finished the last of your breakfast, but on the inside, you wondered if he would mention what had happened yesterday. Had it even happened? 

Maybe it hadn't, and your obsessive crush had finally broken you. 

"Ah, I see that you have finished your breakfast! Well, I best be on my way!" With a snap of his finger, Alastor made the breakfast tray disappear into a red cloud. He did, however, leave the extra chair he had conjured up. 

"Could you be a doll and tell Vaggie that I'll need the documents later today and that she can leave them in the bar? I need to head out today, and I don't think I'll be back until this evening," said Alastor as he stood up, brushing invisible dust off his impeccable suit. 

"Uhm, sure. I'll do that. Just close the door when you leave, please," you answered as you looked as Alastor made way for the hallway door. He waved absentmindedly over his shoulder in affirmation of your request.

A small part of you were disappointed that this little breakfast meeting had turned out the way it had, no matter how confounding it had been. If only you could have gotten a hint from Alastor about what he was thinking and why he frankly was there.  

Maybe he had just brought you breakfast from the goodness of his heart? Or he had just missed your company that morning since you usually only got to talk uninterrupted in the morning.

You turned around to walk to the bathroom as he left your room. Letting your shoulder slump in disappointment, you wondered what you would do that day. You remembered that Charlie had mentioned that it would be nice if the hotel's garden were more well-kept but that she couldn't hire a gardener just yet. 

That could be the thing you did today. Find some gardening tools and surprise Charlie by pulling out all the weeds in the flowerbeds. 

Oh, what a joy, you thought sarcastically as you started to open the bathroom door. However, it slammed close hard in front of you as a hand shot forward and a hard chest pressed into your back. 

All around you began shadows to dance as if they were made of mist, and the air got charged with a static you were all too familiar with. The shivers came back, but your whole body shivered this time as his other hand gripped your hip, pressing you closer to him, but the only thing you could focus on was his breath fanning over your ear as he whispered:

"I will be back at eleven tonight, and when I get back, I will find you in your bed, naked, waiting on me. You are not allowed to touch yourself, and don't try to defy me, my dear, for I will know if you do." 

In a heartbeat, Alastor was gone, and your body instantly felt colder. Shaking all over, your knees finally gave away under you, and you collapsed in front of your bathroom door. 

Behind you, the radio began to play softly—the same music Alastor had played during breakfast. Looking at the blasted thing, you could see that the radio wasn't plugged in.

The clock was about to strike a quarter to eleven, and you had been a nervous wreck for the past three hours. Time couldn't have gone by slower as you constantly turned to look at the clock hands to see how far they had moved. 

You had tried to distract yourself during the day with the gardening, but you constantly got distracted by all the fantasies you had of what Alastor would do to you. Turned out that it was really hard to work when horny. 

As you looked at the clock again, you re-adjusted in your bed for what felt like the thousandth time. 22:47. 

Ugh, this is taking forever! 

Laying down again, you looked over at the radio on your nightstand. It had been quiet since the morning, but you still waited to hear the tiniest sound from it that would indicate that Alastor was with you. But nothing came. 

You turned on your side to continue staring at the radio as you took one of your pillows and pressed it against you. The air in your room was cold against your skin, yet you ignored your chilled skin, for the mere thought of what would happen tonight warmed you from the inside out. 

The benefit of laying on your side was that you now could feel the slickness between your legs, coating almost all of the insides of your thighs. You knew that Alastor had said that you were not allowed to touch yourself, but he had never specified in what way you could not touch yourself, and if you didn't get some of your release soon, you felt like you would spontaneously ignite.   

Slowly, you started to press your legs together as you rubbed them against each other. Sweet pressure was building up the pleasure within you as you pressed your face into the pillow. Harder and harder, you tried to push your legs together, increasing the pleasure you had longed for all of them. 

Close, you were so close, and the excitement of defying Alastor just heightened the experience. 

You only needed one more push until you would fall over the edge into sweet release, but it never came as something grabbed onto your ankles and roughly pulled your legs apart. 

"I must say, I am really disappointed in you, my dear." 

From the shadows stepped Alastor out and looked down at you from the end of the bed, but what scared you the most was that he was not smiling. 

Looking down at you from heavily hooded eyes, Alastor dragged your body further down the bed, keeping your legs spread out with the help of his shadow tentacles. 

"I'm so sorry! I didn't mean it," you pleaded, hoping he would show you mercy, but from the looks of it, you would not be shown any. 

"Don't lie to me. You know very well what you did." With a snap of his finger, the armchair Alastor had conjured earlier that day dragged across the floor and stopped behind him. He sat down and made himself comfortable, looking over at you as he had a full view of between your legs.

"Now, darling, since you didn't listen to me, there will be consequences," said Alastor, crossing his legs and leaning his head in his hand lazily. You pressed up on your elbows to look over at him, and while his body language did not look interested, his eyes were sharp, focusing on your wetness that glistened in the light from the chandelier.

"One, you are not allowed to touch me." 

"What?!" you cried, the fear that you had ruined your only chance with Alastor burning within you like a forest fire. 

"Silence." You instantly shut your mouth as static filled the air and prickled your skin. Alastor's antlers had grown in size. He sighed and continued when he was sure that you would not say one more word.

"As I was saying, you are not allowed to touch me, but I can touch you however I want. If you wish me to stop, you will simply say television. Understod?" 

"Yes."

"Yes, and?" 

"Yes, sir?" You weren't sure what Alastor wanted to hear, but from the smirk that started growing on his lisp, you were sure that you had said the right thing. 

"What a good little doe you are, my dear." Whilst you were sure that was said condescendingly, you could not help the pride that grew in you that he thought you were good for him. A small yelp was pulled from your lips as you felt Alastors tentacles start to massage their way up your legs.

"You seemed to like my voice so much, my dear, that I thought you must love it if I command you as well. Isn't that what you want? For me to tell you exactly what to do to you and how to do it? Wouldn't you like to put on a show for me, darling?" 

Your brain was short-circuiting as you could not get a single word out. The only thing you could do was nod enthusiastically as Alastor's shadow tentacles gently began to play with your lips between your legs without touching your clit.

"Lovely." said Alastor, now giving you his trademark smile, "Why don't you show me how you touched yourself yesterday? I could hear those delicious sounds you made, my dear, and I want to hear them live."

And so, with shaking hands, you began massaging and caressing your body, making sure that you touched every part of your body that made you sing in pleasure. You wanted to put on a show, but you were so eager, so impatient as you played with your body that you could not bear the thought of prolonging this torture. 

You needed to be touched, and you needed it now. 

Dipping your hand between your legs, you could feel Alastors tentacles pull away from your genitals but keep a firm grip on your thighs. The first time you touched your clit was electric, as you made sure to look Alastor deep in the eyes when you did it. A soft moan from you filled the air.

Rolling the tip of your finger lazily against your clit you looked on with great satisfaction as Alastors eyes dropped from your down to your finger between your legs.

"Drag your fingers between your lips, darling, but before you do, circle your opening. Slowly without pushing in," commanded Alastor, and if you weren't delusional, you thought you heard the desperation in his voice, but his face gave nothing away. He readjusted in the chair by uncrossing his legs, giving you a full view of his hard cock in his pants. 

Never had you been filled with the need to fall on your knees and suck someone's cuck as if it was what you were created to do as you did now. You licked your lips and whined loudly as you circled the opening to your vagina with your finger, wishing it was Alastors finger or tongue that did it instead.

After circling for some time, you pulled your finger through your lips up to your clit and began touching your clit again. This time, with additional wetness, you let all the sounds you wished to make leave your mouth as you quickened the speed of your finger. 

"That's it, darling, you are doing so well." Whispered Alastor as he leaned forward in his chair, "When you feel like you're about to cum, remove your finger immediately."

The demand almost made you want to cry, but from the look Alastor was giving you, you did not want to challenge him. Savouring the feeling of your fingers a few seconds more before you removed your fingers from your clit that begged your release. The orgasm that had been at the tip of your fingers slowly fizzled out as you started to calm down. 

You looked at Alastor, who had moved from his chair to sit on the bed by your feet, waiting for his following instructions. 

"What a treasure you are, darling. So willing, so needy."

Alastor lifted his hand and, with the back of his fingers, caressed the inside of your thigh. The touch was so charged that it felt like you could cum from that mere touch alone. As your leg twitched from his touch, Alastor's tentacle tightened around your leg, pulling you closer to him. Your breath got stuck in your throat as you watched Alastor climb onto the bed, sitting on his knees between your legs.

"How long have you dreamt of this? How long have you been mine without me knowing it?" The look in Alastor's eyes grew increasingly intense as he leaned over you, looking down at you with an almost mad look in his red eyes. Out of nowhere, Alastor pushed two fingers inside of you and curled them, making your hips lift from the bed involuntarily at the pleasure. 

"How long, my dear? Answer me," he growled as his antlers grew. You could barely breathe as he continued to curl his finger repeatedly inside you, hitting the spot that made your toes curl. 

"Since... since I first met you!" you cried as your breathing quickened. Above you, Alastor chuckled darkly as he put his free hand on your left thigh. 

"So long. We have much time to catch up to, don't we, dear?" 

You could barely comprehend a single word that left his sinful mouth as you neared the orgasm you desperately wanted. And had you not made the mistake you would have made, you would have cum on Alastors finger. 

In your lustful haze, you placed your hand on Alastors arm, holding your thigh. Instantly, Alastor recoiled from you, and the second orgasms you had almost tipped over were ripped from you. 

"What did I say about not touching me?" 

Two new tentacles came out of nowhere and wrapped around your arms, pulling them above your head. 

As you begged and pleaded for forgiveness, the weight of your desperation was palpable. You implored Alastor not to leave you like this with every fibre of your being. The thought of losing him now was unbearable, and you knew that if he did leave, it would be the end of you.

Your legs shook from the strain of being in the same position for so long. Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over at any moment. You were overwhelmed with emotion, your heart aching with the fear and uncertainty of what would happen next. The tension in the air was unmistakable, and you held your breath, waiting for Alastor's response.

But he only looked at you from under heavy lids. Slowly, he lifted his hand that had fingered you and licked the wetness that was still on it. 

"If you think I would leave you now, my dear, you are indeed mistaken. You are mine now, and I will do with you as I please." Grabbing both of your legs under your knees, Alastor pulled you towards him before bending you backwards so your toes almost touched the bed beside your hands. He stared deep into your eyes as he put his tongue against you and licked you from your vaginas opening up to your clit. The sound you made had been ungodly and would have been a miracle if no one else in the hotel had heard you. 

Alastor quickly started to suck and lick your clit as your legs began to shake. You could feel the sinner's claws dug into your flesh as he grew increasingly frantic in his administration, acting almost like someone who had just been presented with a glass of water after 12 days in the desert. 

Pressure built up within you for the third time, this time stronger and more intense than the previous ones. Closer and closer, he took you to the edge you wished to fall from. 

Shaking, twisting, and pulling against your restraint, you let Alastors name fall from your lips loudly as you looked at him, giving you pleasure. Blood was dripping down from your thighs where his claws had dug into your skin, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was the sweet release that you begging for. 

"Close, Alastor, I'm so close," the words tumbled out of you in a whisper as you looked on as the man licked your clit with the tip of his tongue. The only thing Alastor did was briefly look up at you as he continued to give you pleasure. 

Closer, closer, and then you fell. 

The orgasm ripped through your body like a tidal wave, making your thighs tremble uncontrollably. Your toes curled almost painfully as you threw your head back in ecstasy.

You had no idea when Alastor had put your legs back down, but suddenly, when you came to it, he was sitting by your head, gently brushing your hair from your sweaty forehead. 

"What a good little doe you were for me, my love." 

Thank you for reading my little story! I hope you like it!

Taglist: @mossingvines @kitty-kei @chibistar45

[annabelle--cane]

im not that into vampires but u have successfully made really interested in vampirism as a metaphor for addiction like thats such a good concept

while I completely understand why some people Don't Like it as an angle it makes me soooo crazyinsane.

1. it's so aesthetically sexy.

2. it's really well suited for exploring addiction as a direct manifestation of trauma. "something violent and violating happened to me, it scrambled my brain and body right up, I am fundamentally forever changed, and all of a sudden I now need something else to keep me going lest the full consequences of that violent event finally catch up with me."

3. I think stories about addict-vampires often have easy opportunities to elegantly build in understanding about addiction that mundane stories sometimes have a hard time doing. a lot of fiction about addictive substance use frames it as a bad decision that doesn't make sense, it's an obviously and wholly destructive activity that a given addict character is having trouble Just Saying No To for inscrutable irrational reasons, but with addict-vampires it's like. well of course they want this. it's not a dumb choice made for no reason, drinking blood is the most natural thing for vampires, They're Vampires. depending on the media, going without it can either result in constantly feeling like you're abstaining from the thing that's meant to complete you and make you the strongest version of yourself, or it may even simply be impossible. while these things are (for the most part) not literally true of irl substance addictions, it very much feels like that a lot of the time, and I think these kinds of fantasy mechanics lend themselves very well to sympathetically exploring scenarios like, for example, self-medication that serves a vital purpose even as it's unhealthy at the same time, or the fear of the very real dangers of potentially life-threatening withdrawal symptoms.

not really sure why I made this a numbered list. it's 1:47am. yknow what let's add a fourth point just to really distill it all.

4. hungry and guilty about it <3

[neiptune]

always my person

cw: 1.7k wc, female reader, suggestive, you surprise your man with a tattoo of his initial and his body reacts before the mind can process, this was supposed to be brief and silly but I got emotional as always he's too charming for his own good

You smile upon hearing the front door shutting, warmth blossoming in your chest at the sound of his voice, cheerfully announcing that he’s back.

Shoyo lets the gym bag hit the floor as he walks into the kitchen, where you’re waiting with a big, dopey smile. He pulls you into his familiar embrace right away, the tiniest bit clingy as he always is the first days when you visit him.

“Missed you”, he mumbles into your neck, “come with me tomorrow”.

You giggle, indulging his rocking movement by swaying gently on your feet.

“But I hate the gym?”.

“Don’t care. You can just be there while I work out, mark your territory or something”.

You pull back enough to meet his playful gaze with a scowl.

“Do I need to mark my territory, Shoyo?”.

“Maybe? I look pretty good while bench pressing-”, he laughs when you lightly pinch his side but instead of letting you go, he tightens his hold around you.

“I’ll bite you”.

“Don’t tempt me with a good time”.

Another laugh shakes him when you muffle a groan into his chest. How is it that he always has it his way? Oh, but you’re pretty sure the retaliation you’re about to get is going to be sweet. He most probably won’t be able to suave his way out of it.

“I actually have a surprise for you”, you hide your smile in the fabric of his tank top.

“Oh?”, Shoyo soothingly rubs your back and it takes everything in you to pull away from his embrace. He spots your telltale grin and hums, making a show of bracing himself for trouble.

“What did you do?”.

You narrow your eyes.

“What’s with the lack of trust?”.

“Last time you said that, there was a stray cat in my bedroom”.

“How was I supposed to know you’re allergic to them now?”, you pout and he laughs, takes your face in his big hands and gently pecks your lips. 

“You’re right. Tell me, then. What’s the surprise?”.

“Close your eyes”.

Shoyo complies right away and, with a smile, you turn around. There is a slight tension in your shoulders, the irrational fear that he might actually not be happy about it. Or worse, get mad. Shoyo rarely ever gets mad and you doubt this particular action could stir up an argument but you still have to take a deep breath before allowing him to open his eyes.

You hear it loud and clear, the way his breath catches in his throat.

“Is this…?”, Shoyo’s voice comes out hoarse, uncertain, “can I touch?”.

“Yeah”, you let out a nervous giggle.

The pads of his fingers delicately trace the small letter forever imprinted on the skin of your nape. His initial.

“Guess one could say this way you marked your territory first, huh?”, you hope your laugh eases the weird tension you can feel simmering the longer his silence stretches for.

“God, this is… oh, no. Fuck”, something in your chest cracks at the sound of his groan.

“I’m sorry, I thought you’d… I thought you’d like it. It was a dumb idea, I’ll have it removed”, you spin once more, eyes big with worry. Embarrassment flares hot in your gut as you avoid his gaze, torment your fingers.

“What?”, in disbelief, Shoyo stares at you, “removed? Over my dead body”.

Hesitant, you finally look up.

“But… you don’t hate it?”.

He lets out an incredulous laugh.

“Hate it? I don’t think you understand what this just did to me. Shit”.

You furrow your brows, confused, then your gaze lands on his sweatpants. Your jaw slacks.

“Are you hard right now?”.

“How do you expect me not to be?”, he gently pulls you in with a smile, fingers hooked in your belt loops, “can’t believe you did that. Are you tryin’ to kill me?”.

“So you like it?”, you grin when all he can do is hum against your skin, where he’s pressing his lips over and over again while sponging kisses across your jaw, neck, throat.

“How about I show you exactly how much I like it?”, his sweatpants feel so tight it almost hurts and when you lightly tug at his hair, your hands buried in tufts of copper curls, the sound he lets out sinks into your abdomen, where it sets something ablaze.

And then, right as he kisses you so hard against the kitchen counter you think your lips may bruise, your phone rings.

“Shoyo, I have to pick up”, you whisper, disheartened. He rests his forehead against your shoulder for a moment, trying to catch his breath, then lets you go with a dazed smile and eyes with a dangerous glint in them, one that promises this interruption will merely delay what’s to come.

“I’ll take a shower. Tell Emi I said hi and to be quick”, he kisses you one last time, winks from over his shoulder as he picks up his bag from the floor and heads upstairs. You roll your eyes with fondness. When your friend asks what took you so long your mind is still occupied, the continuity of your thoughts shattered by the memory of your boyfriend’s swollen lips and flushed cheeks.

By the time Shoyo is back, clean sweatpants, hoodie and damp hair, you’re on his couch with the tv on. Your friend was in urgent need of advice and emotional support over a bad date, you only just managed to finally talk her out of going on a second date with the same guy and promised you’d meet her for breakfast as soon as you’re back home.

“Everything okay?”, he plops down next to you and with a sigh you soon adjust yourself in between his legs, nestled comfortably in his arms and against his chest.

“She’ll be fine, I’ll call again tomorrow. How are you feeling after your second shower of the day?”.

“Relieved”, he chuckles with you, then kisses the crown of your head, “you’re not pranking me, right? It’s a real one. I’ll be sad if I just jerked off to a temporary tattoo-”

“It’s real, you idiot! Maybe I should add a ‘K’ next to it and dedicate it to Sakusa instead?”.

Shoyo gently grabs your jaw with one hand, fingers sinking into the skin of your cheeks until your lips are comically puckered.

“Not funny”, he warns.

“Then stop being stupid”.

“It’s just… you’re scared of needles”.

“Why are you being so polemic about this? Are you sure you like it?”.

Shoyo sinks into the pillows a little more and you with him. The steady rise and fall of his chest is soothing, you can feel the familiar beat of his heart under your ear.

“I just can’t believe you’d do this for me. I guess it’s crazy to think I’m even worth something like that in the first place, you know?”.

You carefully let the absurd words sink, to make sure you truly understand what he’s trying to say. When you prop yourself up on one arm to look at him, Shoyo has a serious look on his face.

“Do I not show you how much…”, you start, but he shakes his head and interrupts your troubled question.

“It’s not you. I just never thought I’d be it for someone. I mean, it’s forever, no? What happens if we break up?”.

Your gaze softens. Despite how confident he is, the way Shoyo trusts you with his most vulnerable thoughts never fails to touch you. Not that he’s ever had any particular issue with voicing what he thinks or feels but this feels special. Someone else might be offended by the question, read into it too much, but you know better. He’s always so busy being your rock solid, safe harbor that he rarely ever allows himself to falter, to share such insecurities.

“You’re my person, Shoyo. You will always be my person, even if we break up”, you don’t offer sappy reassurance, as much as you’re certain you’re bound to never part ways this is the ony thing you’re able to promise. Because life is messy and anything could happen, especially with a long distance relationship. But Shoyo Hinata will always be it for you, no matter where in the world he is, no matter if he’s your boyfriend or not. He has much more than your heart.

“I made this whole thing sad, didn’t I? It was supposed to be different. I’m sorry”, he murmurs, pulling you into him once more. You press your lips to the portion of skin of his neck you can reach.

“No, you didn’t. You just gave me the chance to tell you something important. Besides, I didn’t really do this for you”, with a smile, you nestle further into his chest.

“Mm?”.

“I did it for me. As a reminder that it doesn’t matter where you are, where I am. I can always feel you close”.

Silence follows your admission and you know he’s mulling over it, one hand idly massaging your arm. After a few seconds, the same hand gently grabs your chin to tilt your head up.

“I love you”, he whispers, before softly pressing his lips to yours. You smile into the kiss.

“It also turns me on to have your initial tattooed on me”, you melt into a chuckle when he groans, exasperated.

“You’re such a little minx”, something flashes in his eyes, now bright with mirth once more. The grin you offer only makes him smile more.

“Would you get one with my initial too?”, it’s just light teasing but Shoyo takes one of your hands and brings it to his lips, to gently kiss your wrist.

“I’d get your full name. Pick a spot”.

His genuineness flusters you for a moment and you have to laugh it off.

“Shut up”.

“No, really. I’d have it anywhere”.

“I know”, you sigh, defeated. He hums.

“Wanna see it again, sit up straight please”.

You comply, adjust yourself against his chest once more and lightly crane your neck to offer a better view of your nape. His calloused fingers outline the little ‘S’ once more, right before the featherlite touch of his lips presses onto your skin. You relax into his sweet kisses for a bit but, as he always does, Shoyo surprises you. When all of a sudden the warm tip of his tongue slowly traces over the letter, a shudder teases your spine.

“Stay still for me”, he whispers. You have no intention of disobeying.

[candycandy00]

Office Life (Shigaraki x Reader)

Just Shigaraki awkwardly fantasizing about the cute receptionist who works in the same office building as him. You guys let me know if you like this quick “imagine” format for when I don’t have a full fanfic idea.

Smut. 18+. Violence/Blood (not Reader’s). Gender neutral Reader. Dubcon.

Shigaraki, who never had much interest in sex before, when he was so busy with the League and the war. Sure he jacked off to hentai every now and then, but the thought of having real life sex with a real live person didn’t really enter his brain. 

Until now. 

Shigaraki, who is fresh out of prison and working a dumb office job as part of his “rehabilitation”. Who is ignored and avoided by most of his coworkers because of his very publicized past. 

Shigaraki, who just can’t understand why you’re nice to him, why you smile at him so sweetly, like he’s an actual human being and not a monster. Why you, the cute receptionist from down the hall, keeps coming into the office he works in with five other men, desks all lined up neatly. 

Shigaraki, who likes that you look at him and acknowledge him, but sometimes has the irrational urge to show you how terrifying and monstrous he can be, to make you fear him the way everyone else does.

Shigaraki, who sometimes has violent fantasies about you that he will never act upon. Like today when you come into the room to share cookies you baked and brought in to the office. You, having such an obvious crush on him that even a socially inept weirdo like him can tell, blush and smile shyly when he takes a cookie from the box you hold out to him. 

Shigaraki, who has no idea what you could possibly like about him, but feels a little smug that the rest of the guys in the office are clearly jealous. 

And as you move toward the back of the room handing out cookies, constantly glancing back to see if he’s eating his, as if wanting his approval, Shigaraki’s dark fantasy takes over again. 

He imagines standing up from his chair and moving through the room, decaying each man in turn, most of them still holding their dumb fucking cookies, only to reach the back, where you’re cowering in a corner, trembling with fear as blood pools around your feet. 

You turn around to look at him, terror in those big wet eyes of yours, and then the pleading starts. He imagines you begging him not to kill you, babbling promises to not tell anyone, confessing your love in some desperate attempt to win his favor. You’re still clutching your frilly pink box of homemade cookies in your shaking hands. 

In his fantasy, he has perfect control over his quirk at all times, and with no effort at all he can decay the clothes right off your body, leaving you naked and vulnerable in the room full of bloody chunks. And you drop the cookies in your shock, trying to cover yourself with your hands. 

He won’t allow that. He’s wondered what you look like under your clothes for too long. And so he roughly pulls your hands away, getting an eye full, before shoving your back onto the nearest desk, spreading you open and unbuckling his pants. 

In this fantasy, you always struggle at first. But after he starts fucking you hard, you begin moaning his name, wrapping your arms around him, looking up at him with teary eyes and blushing cheeks as he rails you. 

Shigaraki, who snaps back to reality when you walk by him, the scent of your floral perfume drawing his attention. You look at the uneaten cookie in his hand and a flash of sadness crosses your face. He hurries to take a bite, and tries to give you a smile that isn’t creepy. 

You smile back, and he knows for a fact he will never, ever act on his worst impulses with you. Because far more than his desire to show you how much of a villain he can be, he wants you to keep smiling at him. 

And someday, maybe he’ll stop being a fucking coward and ask you to go to a movie with him. 

[sky-is-the-limit]

(+18)

Okay but though Price is not an old old man (like he's supposed to be 38 and Barry is 42, i always imagine him to be 45) he's older than the rest of the task force members and that would always be an insecurity/irrational fear of his when you'd be around the boys even though you're literally so blindly in love with the man.

Not because he doesn't trust them or you but there's this little voice in his head, telling him that you deserve to be with someone younger, especially if you say a joke or talk about something that he doesn't get because of your age difference but he loves you so much and craves to be around you, to feel you, to touch you like this man can't get enough of being inside of you whenever possible.

So if you are about to go out together to the bar where the rest of the boys are, he'd definitely pull over somewhere before getting there just to fuck you hard in the car, whether it's you riding him and he's guiding your hips, sucking on your skin to make sure the marks are visible from your neck down to your chest, sucking on your nipples like he's touched starved or if it's a remote place, I definitely see him as the type to hold you up, legs wrapped around his waist as he fucks you against the side door. After you're done, he'd go again just to make sure that he fucked you dumb and everyone in the bar can tell.

Watching you interact with the guys knowing that everyone can see the hickeys, not walking properly, your cheeks all flustered even slurring your words or taking a while to reply to someone cause you were just wrecked in the car would be his favourite thing in the world. He'd have this stupid smirk on his face the entire time, wrapping an arm around your waist, pulling you close just to tease you like:

"What's the matter sweetheart?" "My sweet girl got fucked so good, she doesn't even know how to act properly, hm?"

I do think that he'd like some PDA but discretely like a hand on your thigh/waist, bringing your hand up to his lips for a quick kiss on your fingers. If your hair is long, he'd definitely have a hand behind your back, playing with it softly. The second he feels possesive, if someone was to flirt with you or you excuse yourself to go to the bathroom and he notices men staring at you, he'd pull you to sit on his lap (especially after a couple of drinks) place kisses on your neck, making sure you know that when you get home, he's gonna make sure you know you're his.

[bleedingichorhearts]

Can you write some relationship headcanons for Khorne?

𝐊𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬:

“Killin’ two in one. Khorne would be proud. :D Was falling asleep doing this, lol.” - Ichor

Summary - "Smut & Normal headcanons for Khrone."

TW // Smut, Teratophilia.

|°𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥°|

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫: Khorne

"Though the gates that stand between the mortal world and the immortal Realm of Chaos are now closed to me, still I would rather die having glimpsed eternity than never to have stirred from the cold furrow of mortal life. I embrace death without regret as I have embraced life without fear." - Kargos Bloodspitter, Champion of Khorne

𝐑𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜/𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜:

This god… where to start? Ah, grumpy. He’s a grumpy/gruff type. He’s always the mood sourer to rain upon your sunshine filled days. He will tell you that you look astonishing when you need it, but will he say anything about it when you look normal? No. It’s not a big deal to him to see what you’re dressed up in. You could go bare and he would care less until other matters come into play…

He maybe grumpy, but I can see him being a rather good gentleman as well. Maybe it’s because he’s the first Chaos god, and he looks rather calm upon his throne in the art’s of him. Either way, he’ll open a door for you when needed. He’ll hunt for you if needed, and give you a compliment when you need it, not because you want it. He doesn’t like dealing with brats, especially Slannesh.

Fights for you, and/or sends minions in his place to protect you as you are highly valued considering your by a gods’ side, and on good terms with one too. Sticking with the Khorne however, he fights for you, and that is quite a rare sight. I mean, not many would want to pick a fight with a god. A practical war god at that too. That would just be carelessly dumb, but there are a few who try and test his mettle.

He likes to keep you close, and the bullet point above is one of those reasons why. You’re valuable to him. You can be used against him, and he rather not experience that sort of situation despite his eternal age. Another reason why he would not like a brat that simply shrugs him off as they do not know the horrors of this world… He’s keeping you safe, remember that.

His kisses are surprisingly soft and full of tongue. The more affectionate kisses could be gentle nuzzles into your neck, cheek, forehead and the top of your head. The ones filled with tongue? Are a bit messy as he likes to taste a bit of your skin and mark you up with his saliva, but it’s also a very heated act. He doesn’t do any types of kissing often, but if needed. It would be a private matter.

He saying “I love you” would take a millennium for you to hear. He’s not one to really express himself with words, more so on actions. So, don’t really expect him to be anywhere near talkative, but do expect a little bit of gift-giving and active body language here and there. Mostly privately. He has a deadly reputation to uphold.

His influence upon you isn’t actually forced, nor strong. He wants a willing partner, not some drunk-dazed one. He likes not extorting his power in order to sway you for he could save it for the battles that are always making him hunger. Sure, he’ll entertain you here and there of what he can do, but that’s about it. No fancy tricks, words or pretty display, that’s Tzeentchs’ deal. However, he does like to show himself off.

He isn’t one to get jealous, not in a millennia- or maybe half of one. I’d say this because there are times where he has gotten jealous, but he is not irrational about it. Well, maybe if there was another lover in the way, but still. He’s rather… collected. Thinks it through before acting upon what his instincts or impulses say. Though, I wouldn’t tease him about it for being jealous and/or trying to make him jealous. He thinks that is also bratty behavior. He just wants a loyal partner for his age.

His lap is one of the places that you can find yourself on most of the time. Need to talk to him? Lap. Need affection? Lap. Rest? Lap. Need to vent your frustrations that he will take actions onto later? Lap. This works out rather well between the two of you. Especially when he manifests as big or a smaller, yet still bigger figure for you. It’s your own little time to gather your social needs.

If death had taken you, may another god have mercy because he would not. The whole realm changes to immediate hate, anger and a hint of despair. The god is less merciful the before, not even offering such a grace anymore. His attacks, power and minions more ruthless than ever, and considering he’s a god? This can last however long he wants to. On the more sappy side, he keeps your skull on himself personally or on a special spot upon his throne, and your soul? It’s stored safely away. Though, some rumor he keeps your soul inside of himself, keeping you close like he always has.

𝐒𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥/𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭:

Private lover, definitely. No gangbangs and no sharing. He thinks that’s Slaanesh whole odeal, and it is. He just wants nothing to do with that pitiful creature of a god. His wants a loyal love all to himself, for him to treasure and cherish. He wants nothing like what that foul god has, nothing.

Blood and blood marking. He loves to see blood staining the soft flesh your skin. Whether it would be yours, his or anyone else’s. He finds it incredibly attractive and a bit satisfying to see the blood trickle between the pores of your skin. For blood marking? He’s using his own ichor for that. Using it to put symbols of himself on your body while pleasuring you. Telling others that you belong to him and only him.

This god definitely plays the dominance role. There is no doubt about it. He is the bigger one here, and he takes absolute advantage of it. His talon-like gauntlets holding both of your hands together above you with only one of his own. His other gauntlet? Is at your waist, keeping you in place while he takes and gives you the pleasure you had graced him with.

Would cage you up. Wrap you up on some pretty rope, and this can go two ways. Either he will overstimulate you or leave you on edge for your behavior. Mostly to overstimulate you. To worship your soft skin compared to his own body. To leave you a mess, that you can’t even breathe without him. That you would have to wither within or below his grasp. The edging is for your more bratty behavior.

Being a brat can also put you in many different situations, but if he did have a bratty lover? He would straighten them up quick. He’s merciless about it too until you get it through your thick head that he will not deal with your shit. Don’t test him for he will test you for long he can leave you on the edge for. He has the patience, but you do not have the lifetime to fill that, and to make it tip and fall.

His long tongue works wonders with you. Always curling down deep into your depths in all the right places. Reaching where nothing else humane could. Claiming you like a god, like a monster should. Only using one gauntlet to keep you held down while he takes his fill of you. Eating you out or claiming your throat as well. He is not shy on the subjects surprisingly.

Definitely cockwarms you. Even for just the casual stuff. He just wants to feel your warmth around him, by mouth or core. To feel the nerves of you struggling to take him. To expand around him. It’s one of the reasons he doesn’t do it often enough that you get used to him because he wants to see you struggling to take him.

His throne is one of the top things to have something devious to happen upon it. Cockwarming, many positions of sex upon it. Worshiping. You name it. It maybe a throne of skulls and blood, but it’s also a… symbol of devotion. A great one too. It’s also one of the reasons he likes you being on his lap. For easier access to you.

The man definitely has his rough days, mostly when things are not going to plan and needs to vent out his frustrations, and that when you come in. The perfect little lover for him to absolutely destroy. His talon-like gauntlets wrapping around your waist and hips as he takes what he wants. His breath hot on the back of your skin as his pace is brutal and bruising. Nothing is stopping him until you mutter those precious safe words, but until then? You are his to use.

He maybe rough, but he is also soft. One would be lucky if he was still in the mood after absolutely rocking your shit. To feel how he carefully curls around you, nuzzling into the back of your neck. Listening to your soft moans while he has one of your bruised legs lifted, thrusting slowly in and out of you. Giving you more of a proper pleasure for the both of you instead of just using you and taking you as he pleases.

“@kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.”

“+@c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @marcela2000, @passionofthesith, @insanity6666.” - Tagged

[cherrrydragon]

➤ find something worth saving (it's all for the taking)

CHAPTER THREE: DEBUT

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SUMMARY ↳ School's in, and so is Spinnerette. Unfortunately that spidey luck doesn't seem to be letting up anytime soon. Must be a canon in every universe. Crouching off the ledge of the building, you prep yourself. “Back to the ole grind, K.” and then you fly. Leaping off the building, you feel the rush of wind call you. You flick your wrist, sending a web at the nearest building. You swing forward in a graceful arc, flipping and twirling. Each swing makes you faster and sends you higher. You grin under your mask and let out a whoop. “We are so back!” pairing: jon kent x gn!reader x damian wayne warnings: hostage situations, mugging attempts, guns wc: 4.3k

You’re irrational in your worry to don the suit. You know logically the battery can last you months, but it might take months to build a nanite chamber. You don’t even want to spend months in this dimension.

Your makeshift nanite chamber is horrific at best. The cord management breaks several lab safety rules. The amalgamation of cables is tucked away in your closet. You haven’t tried to use it yet because you’re absolutely certain it might cause a city-wide power outage.

Tonight, though, you’ll finally introduce Gotham to Spinnerette.

You won’t patrol in East End, Catwoman’s got that covered. You’re not dumb enough to mess around in her territory. You plan on swinging by Crime Alley and the Narrows, two of the worst parts of Gotham. If you find any of the Bats, you’ll just use your totally awesome charm and super duper hero skills to wiggle your way out of their watch. Hopefully.

You take a deep breath, the suit breathing with you. Gotham is so different from your New York. Your home, the “City that Never Sleeps”, is true to its name. The city becomes so much more alive at night, so much more colorful. You’ve seen many New Yorks and its variants, and you’ve never seen one so… lifeless… like Gotham. In all fairness, Gotham is Gotham and not New York.

You sniff, rolling back your shoulders. “How are things looking, K?”

“My forecast predicts rain to hit in 2 hours. Temperature is 74॰, wind speeds are optimal for swinging. I have intercepted police reports nearby about a hostage situation, shall I optimize a route, [Name]?”

Crouching off the ledge of the building, you prep yourself. “Back to the ole grind, K.” and then you fly. Leaping off the building, you feel the rush of wind call you. You flick your wrist, sending a web at the nearest building. You swing forward in a graceful arc, flipping and twirling. Each swing makes you faster and sends you higher. You grin under your mask and let out a whoop.

“We are so back!”

You tuck your knees to your chest, avoiding a billboard. Below you traffic roars. You perform a dance in the sky, swinging from building to building. You feel that familiar adrenaline returning, a reminder of who you are. The weight of responsibility is momentarily forgotten, replaced by sheer freedom.

You flip one last time in the air, landing in a crouch at your destination. You look over the edge. It’s just one guy waving his gun around madly. In his grasp is a child.

“I’ll fucking shoot, I swear! Get me my money right fucking now!” He’s panicked and desperate, which means he’s trigger happy. Normally you’d defuse the situation the best you can, but now? You have the element of surprise. You’ll act quickly.

You send a web and yank the gun out of his hands, then send another web, hauling the man up to you. You web his mouth shut, fisting his shirt and making him face you. His eyes are fearful, but you can’t think of anything to say. You look over to the tense faces of the police. Among them is Jim Gordon. You know he can’t see you, but he’s looking right at you.

You huff, lowering the man. You wrap him up in your webs with familiar ease, like a real spider saving its prey for later. He yelps as he’s dropped and yanked back up, the cops pointing their guns in his direction. The kid from earlier is safe behind Commissioner Gordon, letting you know your job here is done. The only sound they hear is the thwip of your web as you swing away.

“I’d say that went well. Enough,” you blurt into the silence as you’re swinging.

“Certainly, [Name].” You’ve never been able to tell when Karen uses sarcasm, and you suspect you never will.

Over there! In there! Help!

You swerve to your right, barrelling into an alley. You crawl alongside the wall, slowing down when you hear voices.

“Please, I don’t have any money on me!” A woman cries, hands in the air. “Please, please don’t do this. I-I have a son!”

She’s face to face with the barrel of a gun. “I-I don’t give a fuck! I ain’t stupid either. I see them earrings. Cost a pretty buck, I’m sure. Just give me all ya money, and we can both go our ways.”

The gun in his hands is shaking and his voice is wavering. He’s just as nervous as the woman is.

“His name is Garrett Fields. He recently lost a custody battle for his child to his ex-wife. He spent his last dollars fighting for his daughter.”

You purse your lips. One of your least favorite realizations as you got older was how gray the world is. This guy fought for his daughter till the very end, and look where it got him. It doesn’t excuse his actions, but it does explain them.

You approach him from behind silently. You put a finger to your mask when the lady’s eyes flick over his shoulder. Claws dig into his arm as it’s wretched back and the gun is yanked out of his hands. You face the woman.

“Go.” Your voice is distorted thanks to the suit. She doesn’t need to hear anything else before she bolts out of the alley. You make sure Garrett can see it when you crush the gun in your grip. He whimpers.

“What’s up, Garrett.”

He struggles in your grip. “You with the Bats or somethin’?” He asks hysterically.

“Nah,” you wave. “Trust me, though. You’d rather deal with me.” You drop him against the concrete. You rock back and forth on your heels. “So, sorry to hear about the daughter.” You pull up a virtual interface of her face and show it to him. “She’s pretty cute.”

Garrett goes misty-eyed almost immediately. “Emma…”

You kneel in front of him. “Lemme ask you something, Gar.” Despite the mask blocking his view, Garfield shudders when he makes eye-contact.

“Have you killed or otherwise hurt anyone before this? I’ll know if you’re lying.”

There’s a tear rolling down his face. He’s got anger and sadness in his eyes. You see the fruits of Gotham’s influence weighing down on him. You’re once again reminded that some things are just out of your power. Hurt people, hurt people.

“No,” he grumbles out. He’s not lying.

“Alrighty,” you clap your hands, huffing when he flinches at the clink sound your claws make. “Listen, I know. Times are tough, you’re flat broke. That gun didn’t even have any bullets in it.” He scoffs. “There’s this cafe in East End. Owner’s feisty, but real understanding. I got somebody called [Name]  that can vouch for you. We’ll get you set up.”

Garrett scowls at you. “Fuck off. I don’t want your goddamn pity.”

You wave your hands frantically, sitting down next to him. “It’s not pity at all. Understanding. I gotta look out for my little guys. The people who get overlooked or judged too quickly.” You pat his shoulder. “You didn’t kill anybody, so I got you, man.”

Garrett stares at you in visible disbelief. “I’m sending you a couple hundred bucks directly to your bank account. Don’t worry, I stole them from rich people,” you drawl.

He can’t do anything else but chuckle. “You’re fuckin’ crazy.”

You hum. “At least I ain’t Batman. He would’ve put your ass in Arkham.”

“At least with Batman I can guarantee I’ll be alive by the end of it.”

You scoff indignantly. “I wouldn’t have killed you!”

He grunts. “Don’t mean you don’t kill in general.”

You shrug, ignoring his side-eye when you don’t deny it. Sighing, you stand up, stretching. “In return for my endless kindness–” Garrett squints in suspicion and rolls his eyes. “–I just need one simple favor.”

“Of course,” he scoffs out.

“Don’t be like that, I just need you to spread the word.”

“The word?”

“Tell people that a giant spider was around webbing up criminals.” Garrett blinks. “It’ll be funny,” is your only explanation.”

You turn and send a web away in preparation to swing away, smiling at his surprised sputter. “My actual name is Spinnerette.” Facing him one last time. “I don’t mind if you call me Spinner, though.”

Your final parting words are “It’s not the end of the world, friend. Keep looking up.”

“News of a ‘Giant Spider’ Webbing Up Criminals in Gotham! A Good Sign or Not?”

“Giant Spider Makes Home in Gotham City.”

“New Threat in Gotham – How to Stay Safe.”

Bruce Wayne rubs his face in exhaustion. Since last night, many articles have sprung up about this ‘spider’ tying up no-gooders in an actual web-like substance. He couldn’t take a sample for himself, it was far too sticky. But he received word from Gordon that he himself had had a run in with the spider.

“It was definitely human-shaped.” He had gruffed out, “The web dissolved after an hour.”

So there’s a new meta in Gotham acting as a spider. And as a vigilante. Bruce can respect delivering justice, and it doesn’t look like they’ve killed anyone. Even so, he can admit he has control issues (maybe not out loud, though), and an unknown variable puts him on edge.

For now though, Bruce has other things to focus on. “What were you saying, Barbara?”

“Somebody got a perfect score on the entrance exam for GA.”

His brows raise. “And who would that be?”

“Some kid named [Name] Stark. I knew you were gonna ask, so I looked into them. It’s kind of weird, their father’s name is Tony Stark, dude’s loaded. He’s an avid traveler, but nothing seems amiss. [Name] is living on their own in East End, working at ‘Carrie’s Cafe’ and getting sporadic payments from her father. Wonder why the hell they’d choose to live in Gotham of all places.”

His eyebrows furrow. “They’re living on their own?”

Barbara scoffs over the call. “They’re 18, don’t get any ideas. I guess they flunked a grade or something, or maybe it’s a late birthday. They just seem like strange people to me.”

Bruce hums, satisfied. “We’ll give them the scholarship, of course. I’ll address the letter personally. And we’ll give them a stipend, as well.”

“Their dad’s rich.”

“That means nothing to me.”

You chuckle mischievously at the headlines. You’ve been cracking up the whole morning about them. You’ll thank Garrett when you next see him as Spinner.

“A successful debut, if I do say so myself, [Name],” Karen pipes up in your ear. Nari meows in your lap. He’s become a faithful companion (read: cuddle partner) in exchange for food. He’s got a good mindset.

Sam’s at the cafe early for once. They give you a smile as you enter. “I was worried that big ass spider got you.”

“And why would it get me, specifically?” you ask as you put on an apron.

“I know you’re an evil freak from the way you have your coffee,” they scoff.

You stick out your tongue at them. “Nothing wrong with my death brew.” Your preferred coffee is known among the staff for its near poisonous potency. You don’t tell anyone the recipe, because you’re kind of afraid it actually is poisonous for normal people. It did it's job in keeping you awake back in the day when patrol ran late.

Carrie walks out, calling for you. She tells Sam to go handle the register, an obvious sign that she needs to talk to you alone. Sam gives you a look as they walk off. Garret Fields is waiting for you in the back.

“I’ll keep it brief so you can get back to work. He’s tryna get a job and said you can vouch for him?” Carrieis suspicion isn’t hidden. Garrent isn’t the same man from the night before. His posture curves in on itself and his eyes are tired. It’s as if he’s already resigned himself to the worst outcome.

You nod, fast. “He’s a friend. It’s a tough time right now, and he really needs a job.” Garrett’s staring at you. “I promise he’s a good egg.”

Carrie ‘uh-huhs’ but lets it go. “Good enough for me,” she pats his shoulder, hard. “I’ll go get the paperwork, then.” And she’s gone, leaving you with Garrett.

“Understanding, right?” you say, quoting yourself from last night.”

“No kidding,” Garrett huffs, before staring at you again. “Thank you. Both of you.”

You raise a brow. “No questions, you sure?”

“Something about a horse gift and a mouth,” he rumbles. “Y’all got me a job, I owe ya.”

“Don’t sweat it,” you wave him off. “Spinner’s in the helping people business, a.k.a, the hero business. They don’t do it to be owed. They’re looking out for people like us.”

“The.. little guys?”

You nod sagely. “You get it.”

He sighs, simultaneously grateful and regretful. “Thank you,” he says once more.

Garrett settles in nicely the next week. He’s got that southerness that charms people into leaving tips, and he knows how to use it.

“Say oil.”

“No.”

Sam likes him well enough, so that makes him a-okay in your books.

“Big day tomorrow, how are we feeling?” Sam asks during closing time. Tomorrow marks your first day at GA. Karen strongly suggested not patrolling on the basis of getting a good night’s sleep, and you’re more keen to follow her advice in this universe.

“What’s tomorrow?” Gar, pipes from the back.

“Our little scholar got a full ride to GA, signed by the big man himself. Ain’t that right?” Sam is getting good at imitating Gar’s accent.

Getting accepted into GA wasn't a surprise. The surprise was the nature of the letter itself.

“Dear [Name] Stark,

I am delighted to inform you that you have been accepted into Gotham Academy under the Martha and Thomas Wayne scholarship! GA looks forward to seeing you grow.

It is also with great pride that I am able to inform you myself that you have scored perfect on the entrance exam, and are the first in history to do so. You’ll be awarded with a stipend of $500 every two weeks.

I look forward to seeing you overcome challenges and become a part of our community.

Signed,

Bruce Wayne.”

You should've been paying more attention to the answers you were putting down. You had been on autopilot when taking the test, and now Bruce Wayne himself knows about you. To add more insult to injury, you're the first person ever to get a perfect score. You just hope scores aren't available for others to see. You can't imagine the type of vultures that await you if that's the case. At least you can stop stealing from gullible rich people now.

“The hell you doin’ runnin’ with folks like them?” Gar is far more subtle in showing his dislike for Gothams’ elite, but not that subtle.

“Oh, goodie. There's two of you,” you chuckle. You untie your apron. “Uh, for one, it'll look good for me. Two, it'll be easy stuff. And three,” you pause. You can't say you need access to the lab and its funds so you can create a dimensional portal so you say, “and I'm trying to find my rich future spouse.”

Sam cackles, slapping your shoulders. “I've trained you well.”

Gar raises a brow. “Easy? They got college level stuff in that school and you find that easy?”

“They do my work for me sometimes,” Sam states, ignoring Gar's incredulous look.

“Shit, kid. You’re going places.”

You cheekily smile. “I’ll be sure to put you in a nice nursing home.”

You dodge the leftover pastry he throws at you.

You take a bunch of pictures of Nari in the morning when you find him sleeping beside your head. The school uniform is your average private school get-up. You forgo the loafers in exchange for some converse instead. Something about doing your own thing.

Taking the subway reminds you of the late nights of messing around in the empty station with your friends.

“It’s crooked!

“It’s not!”

“It’s definitely crooked.”

The five of you should definitely not be here right now, but teenagers will be teenagers. You showed the gang a spot you found earlier where Miles could spray-paint to his heart's desire. Gwen insists it’s crooked, despite the picture having no defined shape. Miles’ is insisting he knows what he’s doing and Pav is taking a million selfies.

You and Hobie are leaned against a back wall, observing.

“I think I like this.”

Hobie hums, tilting his head to hear you better. “It’s not really talked about, but I know most of us–” you gesture to the trio. “–Spiders have to grow up fast, or don’t really get to grow up at all. I like giving them the chance to be kids.”

You and Hobie are a bit older than the kids. When something happens they turn to you first for answers.

“We gotta… break that generational trauma, or something.”

Hobie chuckles. “I see what you’re saying.”

When Miles is done, he shows you an image of a figure outlined multiple times, showing multiple identities.

You blink when the speakers crackle to life to announce you’ve reached your destination. It’s a short walk to the grounds of GA. Karen is playing ‘calming’ music in your ear. The school feels much more alive now that there are people chatting here and there.

Some people look at you as you walk by, but they’re mostly looking at your shoes. Hopefully the school doesn’t care enough to say something about it. It takes a little longer than it should to find the front desk, but the school is huge so you think you’re allowed some slack. Your schedule has all advanced core classes, Engineering, Ballet, Computer Programming, and Studio Art. Looks like you’ll be starting all your weekdays with Advanced English Lit from now on.

The class is empty when you walk in, and you scurry to the back immediately. You’ve always preferred to see everything happening in the classroom, even before the bite. People fill in slowly, taking up seats randomly. That familiar anxiety comes creeping back in. You tell yourself in your head that everything is fine, but the weight of your situation has been piling up on you. You can pretend everything is fine and that you’re totally okay with being stranded in another universe. You can pretend like you belong, going about your day like a normal person, but that’s all you are. A pretender.

You begin biting your nail. Somebody sits down next to you, and a quiet snap is what you hear. There’s blood crawling down your finger. You bit too much off.

A woman comes into the classroom. She’s got that look about her that says she hates her job, and you get it. Her voice comes out gnarly. “Good morning, class. I hope you’re all settling in comfortably.” You don’t need Nat’s teachings to tell that she’s lying. “My name is Ms. Varley, I’ll be your teacher for the next school year. We’re going to start with some introductions.” The class groans. Ms. Varley tuts. “None of that complaining mess. We’ll start with you.” She points at a poor unfortunate soul.

You zone out as introductions go on. Your ears are filled with snooty accents and proper tones. Most kids talk about what they’re the heir to, barf. Someone mentions how many vacation homes they have.

You stand up when it’s your turn. “[Name] Stark. I like ballet and hot pink,” you pause, thinking of what you can say that’ll make them turn their nose up at you. “I like spiders.”

Predictably, faces of disgust are sent your way. You grin and sit down. Your seat-mate stands up in turn. You’re more occupied with staring head on at the few eyes that are still on you.

“I am Damian Wayne. I am the blood-heir of Bruce Wayne and I have a keen interest in the arts.”

You do your best not to scream. Of course. Of course! You’re convinced this universe has sentience and is belly-laughing at you right now. And he sits right next to you! Why did he choose to sit next to you? There’s an empty pair of desks right over there! God forbid you can just be left alone.

Damian sits down after his brief introduction, you suspect his peers are used to it, if the knowing smiles and head shakes are anything to go by. You sigh and slump down in your seat. You risk a glance at him and will yourself not to jump when you see he is already looking at you.

You feign nonchalance and raise a brow. “Take a picture.”

“You’re not nearly enough of a sight for that.” You bark out a laugh in surprise at the quickness in his answer. Typical.

“Ouch, my feelings.”

“I know you got a perfect score on the exam.” There it is. The bomb. The reason he sat next to you. So, he’s suspicious of you? Great, awesome.

“Yeah, your daddy himself signed my letter. What, you a fan or something? I know I’m pretty awesome.” You’re not sure what you’re trying to achieve with this act, but you can’t really seem to think straight right now.

“I have my suspicions.”

“That I cheated?”

“Perhaps.”

“It’s not a good idea to monologue your evil plans. Why do you care if I did anyway? You know half of these trust fund babies wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for mommy and daddy’s money, right?”

He scoffs. “That much is obvious. And I don’t care if you cheated or not. You wouldn’t be the first.”

“So, what? You jealous that I'm so much better than you? I know, it’s hard to cope.”

His eye-roll is violent. “Wait, I know,” you interrupt when he opens his mouth. “You’re worried I’m a super secret spy working for, like, the Joker or something and that I’m endangering the lives of all the students. You’ve always had dreams of being Robin and kicking ass with Batman so this must be your chance to prove yourself.” What do they say about freudian slips? “How right am I?”

You’re certain his suspicion runs deeper than that, but hopefully your spiel gets him off your ass for a while. He won’t want your (joking) suspicions about Robin to fester and have you realize he actually is Robin, so he’ll let it die.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“It’s one of my better qualities.”

You can feel his eyes on you for the rest of the class. You’d think Robin would be more subtle. The lab for your science class is… fine. Maybe you’re just spoiled from the Tower’s labs. You feel the same when you walk into the computer lab. You should probably start bringing your own laptop to school. The dance studio is cute, though. The teacher is faking a russian accent, but you think you’re the only person who can tell. She only teaches you how to do proper stretches, so at least it seems like she knows her stuff.

Finally, your last period comes down to art class. A chill class to end the day makes you happy. Large windows let the sun cast its rays. You take your seat in the corner. There’s various plants littered around the room, real plants. There’s even fairy lights hanging above. This is definitely going to be your favorite class.

You hum along to the song Karen plays in your ear.

“Harness your hopes on just one person…” you hum.

“Already talking to yourself, I see.”

You look over to where Damian is settling down next to you. “Can’t get enough of me?” You coo.

“On the contrary, I’m already sick of you.”

“Still suspicious of me yet, boy wonder?”

His glare would kill a lesser person. The teacher walks in with a bright and cheery attitude. She’s got that Ms. Frizzle attitude about her that makes you either love her or hate her. You love her.

She sets you all up with your own sketchbooks, high quality ones. You decorate your cover with all the colors of your friends. You draw little coffee cups and pastries in unconventional colors. Big graffiti style letters spell out random phrases. You peek at Damian and see that his notebook just has his name on it, boring.

Ms. M, as she’s allowed you all to call her, begins droning on about color theory and principles and elements and a bunch of other stuff you don’t pay attention to. You count the minutes as you watch the sun slowly set outside the window. You clack your nails together in boredom.

“Hundred bucks for me to moan out loud.”

Damian does a good job of keeping his composure, but you can see the disbelief from your words. He grits out, “Why would I ever pay you to do such a thing?”

“One might feel adventurous on occasion.” You weren’t going to moan even if he did pay you a hundred bucks, you just felt that twitch to say something to dispel the quiet.

You suck in a breath. “So…”

“I have no interest in conversing with you.”

You dramatically whine. “You’re no fun. What does a guy like you even do for fun?”

“It is as I said, I don’t–”

“–wish to converse with me, I know. So, art then? You like to draw?” You lean forward towards him.

“It does not concern you–”

“I think you’re the type of guy to like minimalist  art. You’d be the type to find something outta nothing.”

He scoffs, and you know you’ve got him. “Minimalist is the most baseless form of all. The lack of detail is abhorrent and requires no true skill. Classical is far superior, it takes a certain mastery of skill to truly imitate the renaissance–” he pauses. You grin, showing your teeth.

His huff is silenced by your giggles.

notes: i imagine readers NY looking like rottmnt's NY (it's really vibrant and lively-looking if ur too lazy to look it up)

i feel like this chapter is pretty fast paced in the beginning (god forbid i know how to write action sequences) so uh sorry bout that

you've dodged the batfamilys suspicions! for now anyway. except damian ofc. i havent read any dc comics so sorry if dami's ooc.

Nari is short for Narinder, from Cult of the Lamb :D. also, how are we feeling about Gar? when i write him i think about Joel from tlou, and i think im gonna try to channel that as hard as i can lol.

reader was humming "Harness Your Hopes" by Pavement.

bruce when he learns reader is a "teen" living by themself: it's free real estate

[brookediamonds]

you can hear it in the silence | Axel Kovačević x Fem! Reader

Summary: It's a normal summer day of getting your monthly self-care done with your friends when Sam and Tory start to play a game of truth or dare in the nail salon. You being as bold as you are choose dare... what do the girls have in store for you? Apart of my Sunshine!Axel x Grumpy!Reader trope.

Word Count: 2.3k Warnings: None, sm fluff, reader in her soft girl era

gif is not mine

It's one of those sticky summer afternoons where the sun feels like it’s personally attacking you, and you're only surviving thanks to overpriced iced drinks, air conditioning, and the fact that Sam and Tory dragged you out for a self-care day.

You didn't want to go, obviously, but you came. Mostly because they wouldn't shut up.

And maybe because you secretly like the way it feels to do something soft like this, even if you grumble the whole way.

You're halfway through choosing between two shades of nude polish while your nail tech gently files your hand into perfection, when Tory leans over with a mischievous glint in her eye.

"Okay. Truth or dare."

You glance over at the blonde girl next to you. "What?"

"We're doing it," Sam confirms, eyes on her own hand as the nail tech buffs her nails to a perfect shine. "We're officially bored enough."

"Fine," you say slowly, narrowing your eyes. "But Sam goes first."

Sam sighs dramatically but relents. "Truth."

You and Tory exchange a look.

"Okay," you say, grinning evilly. "What's your biggest irrational fear during sex?"

Sam almost chokes on her sip of iced green tea. "What the hell!"

"Answer the question," Tory sings, grinning.

"Okay, fine," Sam blushes down to her shoulders. "My biggest irrational fear is sneezing. Mid—like, in the middle of it."

You can't help it. You snort, then try to cover it with a cough.

Tory's wheezing beside you. "That's the most Sam thing I've ever heard."

"Shut up!" she laughs, covering her face. "Okay, Y/n, you're next. Truth or dare?"

You sigh, like the weight of the world has been placed on your shoulders. "Dare. Obviously."

Tory leans in, her grin downright devious. "Get Axel's initial on your ring finger. Both hands."

Your body stills. You glance between them, deadpan. "You want me to what?"

"You heard me," Tory says sweetly. "A little 'A'. Just a dot of commitment."

"That's not commitment, that's… fan behavior."

"Own it," Sam teases, kicking your ankle gently. "You're his number one fan anyway."

You shoot her a glare, but your face betrays you—heat crawling up your neck as you fight the very real urge to smile.

"You guys are insufferable," you mutter.

"But you're doing it," Tory responds, smug.

"Fine," you roll your eyes, but you nod once. "But it better be minimal. Like, blink and you miss it."

Your nail tech doesn't even flinch at the request, just helps you choose the cleanest fine-line font, and soon enough, there's a tiny silver A stamped right at the base of both your ring fingers—subtle, tasteful… and stupidly telling.

"Ugh," you mumble, staring at your hands once they're done. "I'm going to look so whipped."

"You are whipped," Tory grins. "And he's gonna lose his mind. Sunshine boy's probably going to frame your fingers."

"You have to show him the second he sees you," Sam says, kicking her feet like this is the most exciting event of the week.

"Or don't," Tory adds, sly. "Let him notice on his own. Make him work for it."

You snort. "You guys act like I tattooed his name across my face."

They just smile wider.

You glance down at your fresh manicure—clean, glossy black polish, short and neat like always. Subtle. Sleek. Except… the tiniest little silver letter on your ring finger.

A.

It's dumb. And small. And not even that noticeable unless someone's really looking. But suddenly your palms are sweating and you hate that your heart skips just thinking about him seeing it.

You roll your eyes at yourself and grab your phone. "Whatever. You two are worse than he is."

"Thank you," Sam says sweetly.

Tory clinks her water bottle against yours. "We try."

You cross your arms, trying to look as unaffected as possible… but you already know the second Axel notices, he's going to make the biggest, cheesiest deal out of it.

And secretly?

You kind of hope he does.

─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

You're sitting cross-legged on Axel's bed, pretending to scroll through your phone while he moves around the room in the background, tugging on a clean shirt and spritzing his cologne like he's going to war and not just shaved ice.

You don't say anything, just flick your eyes to his reflection in the mirror and back down to your screen.

He looks good. Unfairly good. But you'll die before admitting that out loud right now.

You're… just testing filters. On his face.

The camera is aimed at him, zoomed in from across the room. Bunny ears. Nah. Sunglasses? Kinda hot. Glitter hearts? Okay, definitely saving that one for later.

"You look stupidly good in this one," you murmur under your breath.

"What?"

"Nothing," you say quickly, flipping to the next filter and snapping a few more silent photos as he scratches the back of his neck, completely oblivious.

You bite your lip, trying not to smile at how domestic this all feels.

He walks over, pulling his chain out from under his shirt and adjusting it in the mirror. "What are you even doing?"

You shrug, noncommittal. "Testing something."

He flops down next to you, peering over your shoulder. "Wait… are those filters? On me?"

You say nothing, but your thumb pauses over the screen just long enough for him to see a picture of himself with giant doe eyes and sparkles.

"Noooo way," he grins, reaching for the phone, but you pull it out of reach.

"Touch it and I swear I’ll get a real tramp stamp of your name in Comic Sans."

He freezes. "Tempting… but I'll behave."

He laughs under his breath and leans in, kissing your cheek in that annoying, affectionate way that makes your stomach twist.

You try not to react, but then he shifts slightly and grabs your hand without warning, absentmindedly tracing his thumb across your knuckles.

That's when he freezes.

You feel his eyes on your hand before he even speaks.

"What's this?" he asks, voice dipping into something soft and stunned.

You raise a brow, not looking up. "What's what?"

"This little 'A' on your finger…" His voice gets higher. "On both your fingers—What is this?!"

"Oh. That?" You glance over lazily, trying not to laugh. "It's a letter."

He blinks at you, mouth open. "My letter."

"Well," You shrug, completely nonchalant. "Could be for apples. Or anarchy."

"Y/n," his voice cracks a little and you can't help the tiny smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

"It was a dare," you say finally. "Tory made me do it."

But Axel isn't even listening anymore. He's still staring at your hands like they've just become national treasures.

He picks one up gently, inspecting the tiny tattoo like it might disappear if he breathes too hard.

"I can't believe you did this," he says softly. "You—You let people see this? In public?"

You roll your eyes. "It's barely visible, don't get dramatic."

"I'm always dramatic," he grins, bringing your hand to his lips and kissing the ring finger, right over the little A. "This is the best day of my life."

You snort. "Seriously?"

"Yes. I feel so honored. So chosen." He's glowing. Like actually glowing. "I'm going to hold your hand everywhere now."

"You already do."

"Yeah, but now it means more."

You groan, shoving him lightly. "You're unbearable."

"And you're in denial," he sings, tossing himself back onto the bed with your hand still clutched to his chest. "You're so whipped for me."

"Shut up."

"I'm gonna cry. I'm gonna tell my mom."

"Don't you dare—"

"Oh my god, I'm gonna take pictures. I need evidence. My contact photo of you is changing immediately."

"Axel."

But it's too late. He's already rolled over, pulling you half into his chest while reaching for his phone, grinning like you handed him the moon on a manicure.

You wrinkle your nose. "You're so dramatic."

"And you're so mine," he teases, tugging you into his lap and nuzzling your temple with a grin.

You try to scoff, but your hands stay right where he wants them—resting on his chest, ring fingers tilted just enough for him to steal one more glance.

And a picture.

"Smile," he whispers, turning your phone around and switching it to selfie mode. "You and me. No filter."

You roll your eyes again, but you're already smiling.

─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

A few weeks later...

Axel's mom answers the door with her usual warmth and a knowing smile.

"He's out back," she says, stepping aside to let you in. "And try not to fall for his sad puppy eyes. He's been pacing around waiting for you like a puppy on espresso."

You roll your eyes playfully, biting back a smirk. "I make no promises."

You find him lounging poolside when you slide the glass door open.

He's got one leg dangling in the water, sunglasses pushed back into his hair, and a popsicle in his mouth like he's trying to win a summer cliché contest.

At the sound of the door, he sits up instantly, squinting toward you.

"There she is," he beams, already on his feet and walking toward you like you haven't seen each other in weeks, even though it's only been a day.

You meet him halfway, letting him press a sticky kiss to your cheek, his fingers sneaking around your wrist to tug you closer.

"Hey," you mumble, trying not to smile too much.

"Hi, gorgeous," he echoes, grinning down at you. "What'd you do today?"

You tilt your head toward the pool chairs and start walking, Axel trailing behind like a very tall, very eager shadow.

"Sam, Tory, and I had a little self-care day. We hit the outlet mall, grabbed smoothies, and then got mani-pedis again."

He instantly lifts your hands like they're made of glass, inspecting each finger with exaggerated focus. "Please tell me you got it again. Please tell me there's a tiny 'A' somewhere or I might actually combust."

"They're just turquoise," you bite back a smirk, letting him look.

He frowns. "Just turquoise?" His voice is so tragically disappointed it makes you laugh.

"Why would I get your initial every time?"

"Because I'm the love of your life?" He deadpans. "Because your ring finger misses me when I'm not around? Because you're secretly obsessed with me?"

"You are such a drama queen," you chuckle slipping your hands out of his grasp so you can set your tote bag down.

He drops your hands with a sigh, throwing himself backwards onto the patio couch. "This is worse than when the ice cream truck drove past our street."

You roll your eyes, kicking off your sandals and heading toward the pool. "Come on, sunboy. You begged me to come over and now you're sulking."

"I'm not sulking," he calls after you, already following. "I'm just… passionately grieving."

You spend the next hour hanging out in the heat—him in the pool, you stretched out on a towel, half-lazy and half-listening as he narrates his swim tricks and fails spectacularly at a handstand.

He brings you a lemonade, steals your sunglasses, and insists on laying his head on your stomach like a golden retriever in need of constant validation.

Eventually, the sun gets too high, and you scoot to the edge of the pool to dip your feet in.

Axel swims over, arms resting on the ledge, chin tilted up at you like you're the most interesting thing in his world.

"New bikini?" he asks, his eyes shamelessly dragging over you with a lazy smile. "Because, no offense, you're kind of making the sun look like a background prop right now."

"You're so full of it," you snort, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks.

"I'm serious," he grins. "You look good. Like, 'I'm about to risk drowning just to be near you' good."

Your smirk softens just a bit. "Didn't you already do that trying to handstand earlier?"

"That was different. That was athleticism. This is me trying to flirt while treading water."

You tilt your head, amused. "You're very committed to the bit."

"And you," he says, flicking water up at you playfully, "are very cute with your hair all wet and sun-warmed. I like this version of you."

"This version?"

He shrugs. "The one who's a little pink from the sun and hasn't told me to shut up yet. It's rare. I cherish it."

You roll your eyes, flicking water back at him with your toe. "Shut up."

"There it is," he laughs, dodging the splash.

Before he can hit you with some absurd reply, because you know he's cooking one, his gaze drops.

Then it stills.

Then it lingers.

"Wait. Wait." He scrambles upright so fast the floaty wobbles behind him. "What is that?"

"What?" you ask, eyes still closed behind your sunglasses.

"Lift your foot."

"Excuse me?"

"Your foot, baby. Let me see—oh my god."

You peek at him through your lashes, barely hiding your smirk. "You good over there?"

He's staring at your toes like they hold the secret to life. "You did it again. You did it again."

You wiggle your toes innocently, letting the sun catch the faint shimmer of turquoise polish, and the tiny, black A stamped delicately on the tip of your big toe.

"You didn't even tell me," he says, breathless like you just gave him the world's most heartfelt gift. "You just walked in here like it wasn't a big deal. Like you weren't walking around with me on your toes."

You shrug. "Didn't think you'd notice."

"Didn't think I'd—babe. I notice everything. I would've noticed if you spelled my name out in invisible ink across your collarbone."

You raise a brow. "Don't get any ideas."

"No promises."

Hmm. You'd tuck that idea away for another time.

You yawn. "Guess I'm just obsessed with you or something."

"Oh my god," he groans, leaning forward to press a kiss to your wet toe with zero shame. "This is art. This is devotion."

"Okay, calm down."

"No, you don't get it," he says, still holding your foot like it's sacred. "This is commitment. This is soulmate behavior. You're literally marrying me."

You yank your foot back and flick water in his face. "If you propose in this pool, I'm drowning you."

"Hot," he mutters, before dunking under in one smooth motion.

When he resurfaces, he's right between your legs, blinking up at you with water dripping from his lashes and the most ridiculous smile on his face.

You sigh and shake your head, but your smirk gives you away.

Yeah. He's annoying. And dramatic. And hopelessly obsessed with you.

But he's also yours.

And apparently, now, so are your toes.

─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

Masterlist

Taglist: @ggrgcribg

(A/N: okay so... there's gonna be kind of a pt.2 to this 👀 same trope but omgggg it's so spicy. we've also never seen them behind closed doors so i'm excited to write it. please like, comment, reblog, appreciate you all 🤍)

[noctiva]

Tiiiv, It's me again..

OMG, OMG, wait! There's something I've always wondered... what do you think of Toby's relationship with his sister Lyra?

Many people leave this character aside, and it is not surprising, since he does not have much relevance in the story, Even though it was a BIG trigger for the killer we all want <3.

Do you have any thoughts on Lyra? How does she influence your version of Toby? And of course, depending on your thoughts, at some point in our relationship with Toby, can he open up and talk directly about his sister?

This is an excuse to comfort him and never let go, yeah

I'm leaving a song that sounds incredible with these siblings... I think Lyra would be the best sister-in-law, she's so beautiful in a horrible family.

OHHHHHHH Lyra :(

okay yes I do I have a lot to say about her actually!

growing up I think toby and lyra were closer than thieves

toby spent a lot of time in the hospital growing up bc of his conditions, and obviously that’s got to be a big mental strain on somebody so young. the isolation, the constant poking and prodding from nurses and doctors, the sickly smell of antiseptic day in and day out (not to mention his father’s horrid attitude, blaming all of the family’s financial issues on a son who didn’t ask for ANY OF THIS) - so Lyra keeping him company there was the only thing that would really keep him sane tbh

she’d skip school to go see him, sneak in all of his favourite snacks and sodas, fill an mp3 player with songs she thought he’d like just so that he had something to do when she was gone. she’d bring over sketchbooks and pencils, doodle on his bandages with sharpies much to the nurses distaste, play card games at his bedside and tell him dumb stories from her own life (dramatically, of course)

out of the hospital they were just as close. she’d let toby hang out on the floor of her room while she did homework on her bed, try out makeup on him just for the laughs, cut his hair for him when their dad would start picking on him for letting it grow out too long.

Lyra was quite literally Toby’s everything. She was the only one who really got it, who never judged him or teased him, who just let him be himself (their mom too, but honestly I think that the stress would really get to Connie, so I see her getting more distant from him as toby got older)

so losing her… that’s where the abandonment issues in my version of toby come from. he quite literally watched his everything - the only person who actually cared - get ripped away from him right in front of his eyes. had to watch the cops carry her away and everything.

i think he had nightmares for years. honestly, probably still does - and that’s most likely the driving force for his insomnia. he doesn’t want to sleep, because he knows that when he does he’s just going to see a replay of that horrid horrid day all over again

he isn’t quick to get attached to people - especially other proxies - because he’s got this irrational fear that life is just going to come along and snatch away anyone who makes him happy. like he’s cursed or some shit

she affects him in positive ways too I think though! I think he’s so caring and protective other those he loves because of her - he got that from seeing the way she treated him. he’s also very very appreciative + respectful towards women in general and would definitely break someone’s wrist if he ever saw them lay a hand on a girl

he had seen his mom and lyra bruised up from his dad way too many times to ever think about tolerating anything of the sort ever again. to him, it’s deplorable behaviour - he’d place an abuser below himself and he’s a serial killer. needless to say, he would never even THINK about laying a hand on his so either.

I think he still has the mp3 player Lyra gave him all those years ago. it’s busted, the screens cracked, and it’s broken from water damage - but he doesn’t care. it was hers, and it’s the only thing he’s got left - so you’ll usually find it hidden away snug inside of his inner jacket pocket, close to his heart.

I think it would take awhileeeeeeee for him to open up and talk about lyra. it’s the type of thing that still makes his tongue feel dry when he thinks about it - a wound that never heals. so bringing her up just makes him relive those memories allll over again. the good ones, but the bad ones too. but as well as that, I think he’ll come to a point where he feels almost as if he’s doing lyra a disservice by not speaking about her - like he’s leaving her behind, pretending she doesn’t exist. so, eventually yes, he’ll open up.

I also think he catches himself still referring to her in the present tense, even after all these years. it’s tough for his brain to wrap around the fact that she’s really truly gone - and the scariest part is that he’s starting to forget her.

can barely remember her face, but he remember that she had bright blonde hair like their dad. he can remember her laugh, but can’t remember all those funny jokes she used to tell him.

like grains of sand slipping through his fingers, and he knows that one day they’ll be nothing left to cling on to - but he’s still going to try to anyway

[rainynightmoonlight]

hiii i loved your cute yan bsf is there a part two? i am so obsessed 🫶🫶

Cutey for you! PT. 2 | Yan Cute boy best friend x you

Characters: Jesse

Summary: Your cute best friend just adores you with all his heart. To the point it brings him to tears

Warnings: Yandere themes, possessiveness, violence, mention of self harm, angst

a/n: I can make a part 2! I've been planning this for a while but I wanted people to want it, yk? Also this will be very self projected. Bone is mentioned!

Pt. 1

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

Jesse couldn't understand it. Why couldn't you just stay with him? Why did you have to befriend that delinquent of all people! He's tried so hard to show you how he isn't worth your time or attention. Your best friend is! He's supposed to be your number one! You know that… And yet you chose to be with that stupid idiot!

Jesse can't take this! He can't be without you. His heart aches. He needs you so much. More than that delinquent that's taking you from him! There's more than just jealousy within his heart. There's more than rejection. There's so much more, and he has no one to tell because his best friend is with his rival! The person that is ruining his life!

He's scrolling through his phone, reading messages you had sent. He's deliberately ignoring you. He can't take it, and you need to know he's suffering. It's not like he can tell you, but that's not his fault! You should just know that when he's without you, he's suffering. Not only that but he's afraid. Afraid the moment he reaches out, you'll have moved on. Afraid that you'll reject him every time he wants to talk to you.

Laying in the dark, he's moved on to looking at photos of you. Some he took with you, some he took of you, and some were secret snapshots but let's not talk about those. He's fighting tears. Fighting them and losing. Misty eyed as he finds a video of you laughing with him and being silly with each other. He can't take this!

He checks his notification seeing you posted a new video on your social media. It's just like the video he saw with him and you, but this time it's with that delinquent. Jesse's whole world is tumbling down. Now he's stalking your account and that dumb delinquent's, finding every single post you are in together while tears stream down his cheeks.

He makes no sounds. No sobs. Only shuddered breaths and shaky shoulders. Throwing his phone across the room and cracking his screen, his mind becomes a dark place. One of nightmares that he has tried so hard to keep locked away from you. All his insecurities, fears, and intrusive thoughts swirl. Hyperventilating. Panic. Nothing is making sense.

He grabs a plushie of his. One you gave to him. One that reminds him of you. The scent of you is still on it. It soothes him barely, but the panic attack has settled. A single thought screams within his mind.

“You're being replaced.”

“You're not their favorite anymore.”

His brain is lying to him. It must be! You wouldn't just replace him. You've known him for years! You're his best friend and he's yours. Nothing can just shatter a bond like that.

“Shut up.... you don't know! They love me... I'm still they're favorite!”

Jesse whispers to himself. To the thoughts. A sound barely brings him back to his reality.

Your ringtone.

His favorite song now sounding sour. He doesn't want to take your calls. He doesn't care if you're panicking. He's suffering! He's sobbing into the plushie and holding it for dear life. He can't care for anything other than the irrational worries.

A part of him wishes you would break into his room and hold him, another part loathing the idea of you seeing him like this. It's so close. The blades are so close. He's surrounded by them. He can't help but think about it. He can't help but think about hurting himself. Would you notice how much pain he's in then?

Before Jesse can even think about reaching for any sharp object in his room, the darkness is shrouded in the light of an open door. You. The light surrounding you like an angel.

His body stiffens. Your warmth. It felt like a distant memory. When has he been held like this by you? Do you hug your new friend like this? No. That thought doesn't matter right now.

Only you matter. His crying quiets down. His body melts against yours. No words needed to be exchanged. All that was needed was your arms around his and your touch on his skin. In a matter of minutes he's calmed down.

Snores replaced the tears. Jesse fell asleep against you. Something he used to do when the two of you were kids. He's never going to miss this. You're his best friend. He loves you so much. And right now, all the nightmares were replaced with sweet dreams of the two of you together.

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

Do not repost or translate without my explicit permission! Reblogs are welcome!

[lovebugism]

hi bug! you are one of the best writers on here. I love your work! I was wondering if I could request eddie and shy!reader watching a scary movie? maybe it’s early on in their relationship and she’s afraid that he’ll think she’s a baby if she says no, even though she’s pretty freaked? I love their dynamic!

ty lovie! hope u like it!! — eddie (the local freak) loves you, horror movies, and halloween, in the order. you (the scaredy cat) just love eddie. (new relationship, fluff, hurt/comfort-ish, 1.7k)

fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

Orange lamplight illuminates the dark trailer. You squint at the brightness, still curled up on the couch and missing Eddie’s warmth. He’s too busy rifling through his collection of VHS tapes beneath the TV stand, searching for a scary movie within a sea of scary movies.

He’s giddy like a kid on Christmas despite having seen all of them a thousand times over. But, then again, the Halloween season tends to be like Christmas for metalhead freaks like the one you love so dearly.

“Okay, Texas Chainsaw Massacre or The Exorcist?” the boy offers when he rises again, chestnut curls as wild as the bright beam on his face. He stands in front of the small television where red names scroll against a black screen and holds both options in eager hands. “Which one do you wanna watch next?”

You shrink inside yourself at the sight of both tapes. On one, a screaming girl — on the other, a masked man with a weapon. Your organs writhe with a fear most irrational. It runs ice-cold through your veins. 

You pull the woven blanket up to your chin and shrug, feigning a nonchalance despite your tightening chest. “Whichever one—”

“—And don’t say whichever one I want, alright? You always do that,” Eddie interjects, all boyishly harsh compared to how softly you had spoken. His playful grin hasn’t yet left him, though, and even in the dim lighting, his dark eyes still sparkle when they look at you.

You cower again, more visibly and with a different emotion this time. 

The corner of your lip quirks with a poorly hidden smile as you peek at the boy from beneath your lashes. “I don’t mind, Eds. Seriously,” you assure, still quiet in your way.

He pouts like a child, features scrunching in a childlike disdain. “But we always do the stuff I wanna do! You never have an opinion on anything. It’s always just, like, ‘whatever you want, Eds’ or ‘I’m good with whatever, babe—’”

You laugh at his obviously poor imitation of you.

The bubbly sound makes his smile widen.

“—You don’t have to be so sweet all the time, you know? You can be a little mean to me. I won’t mind, I promise.” 

It’s in his nature to make dumb, dirty jokes at arguably the worst times — especially with you, ‘cause he loves watching you get all flustered about it. But he thinks if you ever got the least bit assertive with him, he’d turn into a puddle at your feet.

“It’s because I don’t really care what we do,” you confess, warm with the blushy pink feeling he stirs in your chest. “I just like being with you, you know?”

Eddie’s stomach whirls. He’s too metal to let it turn him to mush.

“As cute as that is, you’re not sweet talkin’ your way outta this one, princess,” the boy retorts with a scrunched nose and twinkling eyes. “Pick.”

Too indecisive and too in love with the boy standing before you, you whine, “Eds…”

“Babe,” he grouses to match your pouty tone. His socked feet scuff against the carpet when he walks the short distance to you. “C’mon. You’re killin’ me here.”

A staring contest ensues, each of you stubborn and playfully serious with it.

It’s embarrassingly brief.

It’s hard for you to stare too long at Eddie before you get completely lost in him. You too quickly realize that he’s real — that he’s looking back at you and that he loves you — and you feel a bit like your feet have been pulled out from under you. 

Stern, but still gentle, you cave. “Texas Chainsaw Massacre.”

Eddie beams when he gets his way. 

“See? Was that so hard?” he teases quietly, bending at the waist to kiss you.

You tilt your chin to meet him halfway. It’s instinct at this point, like he’s got his own gravitational pull. His breath smells like warm nicotine and buttery popcorn as it fans against your chin. 

He pulls back before you can reach him, though, and your fluttering eyes widen at the sudden refusal. 

You find Eddie already squinting down at you. 

“Are you just saying that ‘cause you know it’s my favorite?” he interrogates lowly.

“Maybe I like it because you like it,” you argue, too soft to be as serious as you seem. “Ever thought of that?”

“You’re too sweet for your own good, you know that, right?”

Your playfully taunting gaze gives way to a more genuine grin. “Now, I do.”

Eddie leans in to kiss you. For real this time. It’s a fleeting peck that leaves you grieving. His plush lips press pink against yours for one moment, and they’re gone the very next.

The couch dips beneath his weight when he plops down beside you. He coaxes your folded-up legs onto his lap with an urging hand on your knee. 

“Okay, how about this,” he offers with rosy lips so suddenly kissable. “We go down to Family Video — bother Steve for, like, ten minutes — and you get whatever movies you want instead of the old shit we have here. My treat.”

Your chest warms. You’d follow Eddie blindly for the rest of your life if he let you. You’d do whatever he wanted and not think twice about any of it. It feels nice to know he’d do the same for you. 

“Any movie?” you press, soft with a girlish giddiness you fight to keep hidden.

“Yeah,” the boy scoffs like it’s obvious. Then, in a vaguely posh accent, he assures, “What my lady wants, my lady shall get.”

You grow so suddenly sheepish, shrinking inside yourself like you always do when you’ve got something to say but lack the confidence to put it into words. It’s dumb to get nervous about it, and you know this, but you don’t want Eddie to think any differently of you — not for a moment, not even in the most innocent way.

“Does it have to be scary?” you wonder with a scrunched nose and a bashful gaze that doesn’t quite meet his.

Eddie falters for a moment. Not because it’s a big deal, but because he thought you liked horror films — that you both had that in common. 

“Well— I mean— No. It’s just— It’s October, you know? So, I thought scary movies would be more appropriate. ’Tis the season or whatever.”

“I think I just need a break for a bit,” you confess with a wavering smile, picking tiny balls of cotton from the blanket with a fidgeting hand. “Especially after that last one… It was pretty scary…”

Eddie’s blood runs cold. Too clouded by the haze of puppy love, he thought you were having just as much fun as he was. He thought you were clutching his arm and digging your nose into his shoulder because you wanted to be close to him. 

Because he’s an idiot. 

Realizing that you’ve been scared out of your mind for the past several hours feels a little like a knife to the gut. 

“I thought you liked scary movies…” Eddie quavers with pinched brows.

“I like them because you like them—”

“Babe!” he exclaims suddenly, as though offended by how much you love him.

“What?”

“That’s, like— That’s totally not cool!” he gapes in a boyish outrage. “That means I’ve been, like, fucking traumatizing you this whole time!”

You can’t help but giggle at his dramatics. You’d been scared, of course, but it hadn’t been all that extreme to you. “It’s okay, Eds. It’s not that serious—”

“Yes, it is!” he retorts firmly, with wide eyes and a stern nod. “If I knew you weren’t into them, I wouldn’t have forced you to—”

“You didn’t force me.”

“—To come over every weekend and watch them!”

“That’s why I didn’t wanna tell you, Eds,” you admit with a shy, halfway-forced giggle.

He goes quiet again. “…Why?”

“‘Cause I was scared you wouldn’t wanna hang out with me… I mean, what kinda girlfriend would I be if I was too much of a scaredy cat to watch stupid slasher films with my boyfriend?”

“Well, that’s just— that’s just not true. I just meant that we coulda been doing other stuff together,” Eddie affirms, gentle but in the overtly firm Munson way. A chuckle sputters from his lips as his palm squeezes your knee, warm and reassuring. “Stuff that wasn’t scaring the absolute shit outta you, preferably.”

You don’t know what to say, so you just laugh. 

Eddie smiles back at you, mostly because it’s terribly hard not to, but he grows suddenly somber again. 

“Seriously, babe,” he presses, leaning closer so you can’t duck away from his sparkling gaze. His chocolate eyes are dark enough to drown in. They flit between both of yours. “You gotta tell me shit like this, okay? You’re not gonna hurt my feelings— or, like, make me like you less or whatever. That’s pretty much impossible, I think.”

Your stomach does a backflip. It unleashes a thousand butterflies that flutter relentlessly against your ribcage. “Yeah?” you press softly and with a shy smile you try to keep hidden.

“Oh, totally,” he answers without thinking twice. “Our friends are idiots, but they’re right— I’m so fucking whipped for you, it’s not even funny.”

That joke was only halfway gratifying when it spilled from Steve or Dustin’s mouth. Hearing Eddie say it — with his nose mere inches away from your own and with his cigarette smoke and candied breath entwining with yours — it’s that times a thousand. A million, even.

“Well, maybe a little,” you tease quietly in return.

Eddie shrugs with a jutted-out lip. “Just a bit, I guess.”

He might as well be telling you I love you. It feels like he is, in his own special way.

“Are we still gonna go to Family Video?” you wonder aloud when the silence becomes too heavy to bear.

“Oh, yeah. You’re getting whatever the hell you want, alright? I’ll buy out the whole damn store if you want.” 

He only has mere dollars to his name. You know this, too. But he says it with so much hubris that it feels just as real, anyway.

Beaming fully again, you joke. “Are we still gonna bother Steve while we’re there?”

“Yes,” Eddie answers with a single nod and a deadpan, like he’s offended you would even ask. “That answer’s always gonna be yes.”