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retiredteabag · 3 months ago

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learning together

• parental Gojo looks after an ill-attached Megumi with abandonment issues

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

Megumi is a secretive boy. It seemed to Satoru that he hid everything. If Satoru wanted to know anything he would have to go through Tsumiki, the boys sister, to learn even the smallest of details. And even then, she rarely had anything but a smile to share.

For example, Satoru had been looking after the two little kids for months before he learned that the two of them only had one worn pair of shoes each, that and only a few articles of clothes.

"Well, why didn't you say anything?" He had scolded after seeing the blisters on Tsumiki's feet one night while watching Blues Clues.

He had realized that he would have to become all the more observant to see if there was a need in this household because he knew hell would have to freeze over for those two little kids to admit they could use help. Especially the young boy, Megumi.

It took three incidents before Satoru needed to have an intervention with the boy.

And oddly enough, they always occurred when it was just the two of them, alone.

Megumi always insisted on walking home from school. His sister was all too happy to take part in after-school activities, but the little introvert he was, he just wanted alone time.

This day had been no different from the others, he had been walking home, considering what he would have for dinner, when he saw it.

He would never admit, too ashamed of being called a liar, but the boy often saw things, strange, dark things, things nobody else saw out of the corner of his eye.

And there, right before him was something, watching him in the bushes, it was one of them, he knew it had to be.

Tsumiki always told him to be careful walking home. The woods of this area housed many of the homeless, and it tended to be no place for a child.

But here he was. Frozen still, the shadowy monster seemed to come his way, unspeaking, but threatening non the less.

Megumi threw his backpack to the front of his body, maintaining eye contact while frantically searching for something to defend himself.

There was nothing the boy hated more than being helpless.

His heart pounded in his ears, his fingertips burned with something he didn't recognize. But stronger than anything else, he was afraid. He wanted his dad. He wanted to hide.

He pulled out a pair of scissors, the same he used in art class, his arms trembled. He couldn't bring himself to make the first move so he was forced to wait until the curse came at him. He wanted to cry.

It did not take long.

He didn't even feel the ache in his bloody knees until the burning in his throat superseded all else.

He had rushed back to that apartment the white-haired man had arranged for them without a break in his step. And when the realization occurred to him of what had just happened, be felt the tearful nausea again.

There was no blood on his hands, but they shook with the fury it took to bring that monster to its knees. He had fallen to the ground with the beast, but the plunge of his scissors had gotten rid of it. Even if he was safe, however, he would never believe it.

It took a while to find the key he kept in his backpack. Fumbling fingers kept his keychain escaping his grasp. He was so encompassed by the afternoon's events that he did not even notice the tall man (boy) in the living area.

Satoru came by at least once a week, and recently even more than that. He tried to help the kids with their homework, stock their cabinets with snacks, and ensure their health. Megumi hadn't been expecting him that day.

"Oh! Megs! I've been waiting for you all day, you know, you're never home so late, don't tell me you've made a frien-" Satoru spun around so fast, the air around him seemed to make a noise with the motion. "What have you been doing?"

Put on the defense, Megumi shrunk back, "None of your business." Even after saying it, he worried he would get in trouble, worried he would be punished for talking back, despite Gojo's response to his snark always having been a chuckle, he knew adults hated disrespect.

The taller boy did not laugh now, "Oh, it's not? Megs you make me sad, what's going on? You seem tense."

The man was coming around through the common room and Megumi shuffled his bag to hide his bloodied knees. He didn't understand much of the man but he knew his eyes could also see things others could not.

"What's happened there?" Satoru pointed at the boys backpack.

"Nothing." Megumi murmured, trotting past Satoru and attempting to hide in his room. (His very own, though he often slept with his sister when he felt afraid)

"Ah, ah, ah, you shouldn't go fumbling around when you're hurt, Megumi. Come back here."

No, no, no, Megumi continued on, just about making it to his room when Satoru appeared before him. Megumi didn't know why he wanted to hide so badly, even so, he was frustrated to see the smile on the man's face. He was bent in a funny angle to look at the boy.

The boy would never understand how Gojo moved so quickly.

"Oh my, that looks bad." He made a bleh face, "How did you make it home on those knees, Megs? Hmm... I should give you a pager, shouldn't I, I don't want you running into trouble again without me. That must have been scary. Ugh, no fun at all.” All in one motion, Satoru grabbed Megumi and swung him around his hip.

"Stop! No!-" The boy flushed in embarrassment, but unbeknownst to him, Satoru could see the cursed energy encircling the boy.

And even if he didn’t say anything, he knew that something would have to change so this wouldn’t happen again.

After that day, Megumi did not walk home alone.

---

Satoru had been busy as of late, what felt like mission after mission, he was embarrassed to say, with how busy he was, he sometimes forgot he had two kids in his care.

He felt guilty, but the kids never asked for anything anyway. If they wanted something, he would get it for them. No questions asked.

It had been late one night, coming back after a mission that he saw his calendar and noticed with a grunt what week it was.

The middle schoolers were at camp according to his scribbles. Tsumiki was at camp and Megumi was all alone.

Why had he written this down? Could it be because he had insisted that Tsumiki go, promising to look after her little brother?

Satoru sighs. Did Megumi need anything? He was just a boy... but self-reliant as a man. He had been sure the little guy would be fine, even so, he couldn't deny the tug on his conscience.

Satoru almost went to bed that night before he decided he needed to check on the boy. God knows he wouldn't call - even if it was an emergency.

The sight he saw when he opened the door would stick with him for years. Mainly because he found it amusing.

Little Megumi, face flushed, wobbling on his feet, a blanket around his shoulders, and a kitchen knife in his hand.

"What are you doing!" Satoru yelled from the front door.

"Wha-" cough "-at are YOU doing!" cough "You're not here tonight!"

"Yes, I am! Put the knife down, it's just me, Megs." Satoru folded at his hips and leaned in close to the boy. It was strange, Megumi never let him get so close. "What's going on, were you scared because your sister wasn't here?"

Satoru reached out and pulled the knife out of the boys grasp. His little hands were hot, and when Megumi sniffled, he sounded congested.

"'M not scared..." It takes a staggering moment for the boys' hands to drop. Noticing he had nothing to hold.

"You sick?" And for the first time, the boy doesn't flinch when Satoru reaches a hand to his forehead.

He is, however, quickly swatted away. "No. Why are you-" cough "-here."

Satoru felt bad now, Tsumiki had probably left three days ago, how long had Megumi been sick? And why did the stubborn kid never just ask for help?

Prefacing his care he began, "I'm here because I want to be." Satoru finally lets out. Once again, he scoops the boy up, blanket and all, and is careful to set the knife back in the kitchen before using his now free hand to swaddle the boy. "Have you been sleeping on the couch?"

"Mhmm."

"Alright. No more of that. I'll be here so you just go to sleep."

Megumi didn't have anything to say. He missed his sister. He wanted to sleep in her bed. He wanted to feel safe. He wanted to feel better.

"I have a doctor friend, okay? You'll feel spick and span in no time." Satoru ruffled the boys hair.

"No, I don't wanna see them..."

Satoru furrowed his brows, "Ya know kid, you're not very convincing, I can tell you're definitely running a fever. All sweaty… like a big ball of sweat..."

"Jus' go away." Megumi said as he nuzzled his face deeper into Satorus's shirt, "I don't wanna see them."

"Sorry Megs, I'm perfect in may ways, but healing is not one of my many talents. She's really good, you'll feel better."

"I don't need help. I don't want you-"

"Alright, Megs. Go to bed." Satoru manhandles the boy like a doll, tucking him in so aggressively tight, he would have to put in real work to come free.

The next morning, Megumi had never felt so indebted to someone, and it made him sick, despite having just been healed

---

It was only a year later that Megumi called on his cursed technique.

Deep down, he had always known there was something different about him, something pulling at the surface of his being, but now, looking into the dog manifestation before him, he could finally feel purpose.

"Nice job Megs, that little dog is one of your Shikigami." Satoru grinned down at the boy sitting on the carpet of the family room.

The puppy rolled around on the floor before Megumi, and the boy's heart raced.

"She's mine?" He reached out and the puppy, sure it was a dream, she toppled over herself to nose at his hand.

"Sure is!" Satoru smiled. "And there's many more to come. Haven't you listened to me at all, Megumi? You're gonna be super strong."

But the boy wasn't listening. Blood was whooshing in his ears, saliva was pooling in his mouth, his heart was beginning to thump, but before him was a little friend. He couldn't let her go.

"Alright. You'll probably start to feel light-headed so let go of that energy. You'll be able to call her back again soon.”

Megumi was feeling woozy, that’s for sure, but there was no way he would leave her.

The puppy flickered like a mirage. Blinking slightly, she sat up, wobbling toward Megumi.

He wanted to hold her in his arms but a rush of bile was forming in his throat. His head pounded.

The puppy licked at his hand.

uh oh...

"Stop that Megumi." Satoru placed a hand on his shoulder. "Let go. She's taking too much."

Megumi's throat clenched and he swallowed thickly. Holding onto his new friend tightly.

"Stop, Megumi! Enough!" Satoru grabbed the boy by the shoulder.

The puppy faded from the boy's grasp. Megumi lurched forward, barely catching himself, and puked all over the carpet.

Satoru's hand faltered, but just a moment thereafter, he began to pat the boy comfortingly. "It's okay." He spoke gently, "That’s alright."

The boy's shoulders shook, not with tears, but with the adrenaline rush that comes with the throwing up/fight-or-flight response. He was mumbling, a hand covered his mouth.

"'m sorry. Sorry." He trembled.

Satoru sighed, unsure of how to console the boy. “Hey, 's alright. She was siphoning off your energy too quickly. You'll learn to manage it." Satoru patted the boys back but he was stumbling to his feet now.

"Carpet...sorry about the carpet." He was saying.

Satoru jumped to stand, "What? No, I don't care! It's okay Megumi. You go sit down, I can clean up."

The boy looked angry. "No. I'm fine."

He always seemed to say that.

"Seriously, I don't care about the carpet, just go take a second to calm down, that was probably a lot."

"I don't want a second!” Megumi spun, elbow covering his mouth, uncalled-for anger in his eye. "I don't need help. Just go! I can do it on my own."

There was a surge of annoyance in Satoru before he realized the boy was probably just embarrassed.

Shoko had long since told him about attachment issues and the lack of trust to expect from the boy. He just wished he could get Megumi to let his guard down.

"Megumi." He called firmly. "Stop that. I'm not upset with you, and I don't want anything in return. What I do want is for you to take some deep breaths and drink some water. You're over-exerting yourself."

"Ergh!" Megumi grunted angrily, tears in his eyes, and fled from the room.

When Satoru found the boy again. He was hiding in the coat closet. His face in his hands.

Satoru had to remind himself that the boy was hardly six, and clearly had trouble regulating his emotions. He wanted to have a real discussion with the boy, but he couldn’t do that if he wasn’t comfortable.

Gojo leaned down, slid between the coats in the closet and closed the door.

“W-what are you doing.” Megumi scooted back on the narrow floor.

Satoru sighed, “I want you to talk to me, Megs, can you do that?”

In the dark, it was hard for Megumi to see, but his benefactor could make the boy out perfectly. “What…”

Satoru sighed, considered how to say it, “I know there’s a lot of pressure on you, and I know that doesn’t feel good. But don’t go forcing yourself, okay? Take things with stride, accept help, I don’t want anything from you, Megs, and you don’t owe me anything either.”

Megumi rolled his feet around, tapping his shoes together, “I know you don’t believe me yet, but I’m not gonna leave. Your stuck with me for a while, so let’s try to get along, alright?”

The closet was silent. Satoru felt stupid, his words too plain, his mind scattered.

“Gojo…” the boy stretched his ankles out. “It gets cold at night... I wanna change the therma-thermostat.”

It took all but a second for Satoru to grab hold of the metaphorical raft Megumi was giving him. “What? All this time?!! That’s unacceptable! That’s why you should tell me these things, this is your home Megumi, touch the thermostat all you want!” Satoru pouted, stood, and stretched.

He bent down once more after cracking the door open, the bright light shining into the little boy's eyes.

“Okay, what else should I know?” Satoru reached out to pull the boy to his feet,

And for the first time, Megumi took it.

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

This is just a little drabble, I feel like this is some of my worst writing because sadly I have several more ideas about Satoru parenting Megumi

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ozzgin · 11 months ago

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Yandere! Werewolf Headcanons

I've been stalked by the guilty feeling that my Romanian Werewolf boy got a lot of backstory but not much romance or interaction. So there you have it: some headcanons featuring the ancient Beast, a post-kidnapping sequel.

Content: female reader, obsessive behavior, monster romance, mild NSFW at the end, ridiculously older yandere

You followed the gargantuan stranger back into the city, leaving the bloodbath behind as if it was just a distant dream. Admittedly, you’d expected to be dragged into some mountainous cave or an abandoned mansion, not the cozy - albeit a little dusty - apartment on a main, historical street. On second thought, he did function as a human outside of his monstrous escapades, so it made sense. “Is this your place?”, you sheepishly asked while he wiped the thick layers of blood off him. “One of them, yes”, he answered curtly. “It’s central”, you remarked, trying to make conversation. “Well, I didn’t know about it back then. It’s been a few decades.”

Your ears perked up at the words. Gazing at his features, he didn’t seem necessarily aged to you. The deep creases contouring his face felt more like a sign that he’s lived sorrows beyond most people’s comprehension. “How old are you?” You finally asked as curiosity replaced your initial fear. He abruptly stopped his movements and leaned back, brows furrowed in deep contemplation. “I’m not so sure anymore. I was born in the 80s”, he concluded. “That’s not too far back, is it?” You inquired, this time more relaxed. “80 BC, I meant. You do the math.”

He freshened himself up as you counted the millennia on your fingers, frowning in confusion. He chuckled at your intense focus, then quickly looked up into the mirror. When was the last time he smiled like this? The reflection was a foreign sight to him. “We’ll get you everything you need tomorrow”, he continued, still in a daze. What a strange idea, having someone to speak to after an eternity. And suddenly, it occurred to him just how rusted his communication had gotten: “I’m so sorry, I haven’t asked for your name once”, he said, embarrassed. “It’s (Y/N). And you are...?" Might as well introduce yourself to your benevolent captor.

The dreaded question. How did they call him back in the day? He hasn't had anyone spell it out for him, nor did he feel the need at any point to say it himself. Why would he? He hadn't anticipated meeting you. With pursed lips, he searched his mind. Eventually, from the depths or memories, from days of yore, it made its way back: "Daos."

Given your first gory encounter (where he quite literally murdered everyone else), you were surprised to find out he's otherwise a calm and polite individual. Well, he's had centuries to mature, you suppose. You've also noticed he has that rather old-fashioned chivalry to him. He's very attentive despite his stoic demeanor, and often follows with acts of service.

"You're insulting me. I can carry this myself with ease", you'll argue. "I never doubted you can. Nonetheless, it is my wish to do it for you."

As the days pass, your reluctance seems to vanish as well. In fact, you've become particularly cheeky, encouraged by his warm, unperturbed behavior. Maybe you haven't gotten the worst deal out there, after all.

"You know, you talk like an old man", you've teased him once. He was visibly taken aback by your statement, and you could discern a faint blush on his face. "Do I? My apologies, I haven't spoken to anyone in a long time. I'm not familiar with modern speech. Have I embarrassed you somehow?"

He spends his free time reading, though he will frequently take you on walks. It's an interesting affair to say the least. You can feel the curious eyes of the passersby and hear their not-so-discreet whispered gossip. You can't truly blame them: Daos is enormous even as a human. He towers above everyone else with his imposing appearance. To match, his voice is deep and coarse as a result of not using it much until recently.

The ancient werewolf is a living history book. If asked, he will narrate to you important events or details you might be curious about regarding his culture. Once, when he'd been in a good mood, he even shared fragments of his life before turning into a creature. He'd been a high-ranked Dacian warrior, spending his days training or fighting. He still remembers the flag he carried with bitter fondness, yet another irony to his fate: a wolf-headed serpent. It was meant to showcase their way of life; barbarians with no fear of death. They'd greeted the Roman Empire with nothing but a sword and a shield, no shred of doubt.

He might've been betrayed by his people, but the pride remains. The pride of a soldier who's never known defeat. You learned quickly that his beastly form doesn't count as a significant change by any means, save for appearances. The man has brute strength even as a human. You'd once strayed from his view, and a stranger approached with a daring whistle, gawking you up and down. Before you could react, Daos clawed him by the throat. You heard the twist of the skin and the creak of the bones giving in to the immense pressure of his large hand.

"It's the second time I have exposed you to such unpleasant sights", he said, discarding the body as if it was any other garbage. "Forgive me, but I will not have you disrespected like this."

He is very much aware he's taken you away from the world out of his own selfish desire. The fact that you accepted it is more than he could ever ask for. That's what he keeps telling himself, even as his eyes wander to your lips whenever you speak. Or as his hand lingers a moment too long against the curve of your back. Or as he hungrily takes in your scent whenever you're nearby.

He might be unhealthily possessive of you, but Daos will never do anything against your will. No matter how obvious his urges are. In fact, no amount of flirting or teasing will shake his resolve. You will have to be very direct with your approval.

Once the reality settles in, he'll become extremely affectionate, bordering on obsessive. To think he could have you in every way possible. Oh, he's waited thousands of years for you. All the suffering, the loneliness, the anger, they're stripped of any meaning now that he has you.

The city strolls at an awkward distance have since become a habitual excuse to hold your hand and show you off to the mortals. The quiet evenings of passing time with a book now include your merely noticeable weight cuddled into his lap. You didn't expect him to be this adoring. Being touch-starved for millennia counts as one reason, naturally, but there's more to it, so much more. And it all leads back to you.

He is a little taken aback when you ask him to do the deed in his werewolf form. "Don't be foolish. I can't overcome my instincts as well when I'm a creature. I could harm you", he'll lecture you. "Besides, you can barely take it as it currently is", he'll add, smirking at your baffled expression. It seems he's picked up on your cheekiness.

After a lot of pleading and waiting for the right moment - when he's ravaging you in a daze - he finally agrees. True to his word, his tune instantly changes. The tender hold turns into a desperate grasp sinking into your skin, and the thrusts become irregular, almost frantic. His drool cools your burning cheeks as you hold onto the coarse fur, feverish and overwhelmed.

His golden eyes rest on the small human squirming underneath him, and suddenly, he can't help but notice: you have the perfect birthing hips.

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orionremastered · 1 year ago

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could you do a batfam x oblivious reader who’s so close to finding out they’re a vigilante, but she doesn’t even know if that makes sense? like nightwing crawling in through the window when he thought she was asleep, only for her to be awake and go “wrong house?” not realizing it’s her boyfriend.. who thought she was asleep

this made me laugh. very good thinking brains y'all have

Masterlist

Oblivious

Dick Grayson

The sound of your window sliding open prompts you to look up from where you lie your head on the pillow. You can't seem to get to sleep and maybe it's a good thing— you grab for the lamp on the bedside table and raise it high over your head.

Climbing through the window, however, is not a common thief. It's Nightwing.

"What are you doing here?"

The vigilante freezes, slowly looking up to meet your eyes. "I was told there was domestic abuse occurring in this apartment," he says smoothly. "You have a boyfriend?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Where is he?"

You look over to Dick's spot on the bed and only just now do you realise it's empty. There's a note written on paper that reads, OUT TO GET FOOD.

"He's grocery shopping."

"Ah, wrong apartment, then. Sorry to bother you." The vigilante then ducks outside.

Jason Todd

A loud crash prompts you to wake up— far earlier than you're used to. The sun isn't even up yet. Glancing to the side of your bed, you forget Jason's out on a business trip, what ever his business is.

You carefully climb out of bed, creeping to the bedroom door and slowly pushing it open. In your living stands Red Hood himself, dismantling an assault rifle.

"What are you doing in my house?"

The vigilante whips his head around, frozen like a deer in headlights. There's a long few minutes of silence where the two of you stare at each other.

"Gun's not working. I'll be out in a minute, just need to fix it. My apologies."

"Oh," you say, shrugging your shoulders. "Stay safe, then."

Red Hood nods, watching you return to your bed with a quiet sigh.

Tim Drake

Waking up at your usual time and kissing Tim gently on the forehead, almost as a reward for sleeping.

After eating breakfast as quickly as you could, you were surprised to see Tim still asleep and give him another gentle kiss, this time on the nose.

You've only got half an hour until you have to go to work, so you rush to the bathroom to get ready.

The Red Robin suit is draped over the shower wall, unmistakeable.

In your bathroom.

"Tim?" You shout, forgetting your boyfriend's need to sleep. "Tim!"

"What?" he replies groggily, slowly getting out of bed.

"The Red Robin suit is in my bathroom."

"Oh, uh, he asked me to clean it for him. We're sort of like, friends. I guess. It's weird."

"You never told me that," you say.

"It's a recent thing. Sorry."

You shrug and get ready for work, ignoring the suit at is it hangs in your bathroom.

Damian Wayne

"Emergency at work," your boyfriend had said. He gets a lot of those, you think. "Be back in the morning. Maybe later."

Now, going to sleep late— towards midnight, where Damian would have already dragged you into bed— you realised you didn't have on of his shirts to sleep in.

When he wasn't with you to sleep, you always sleep in one of his shirts.

You begin scrummaging through his wardrobe— which you never do— only for a shirt. You find one, your favourite black one, and pull it out.

Underneath the shirt, revealed as you yank it from the drawer, is a katanna.

"Oh. Oh."

It's late. You're tired. You've got the shirt.

It's probably just an antique piece anyway. Rich people have all sorts of things.

#batfamily x reader #damian wayne x reader #batfam #jason todd x reader #dick grayson x reader #tim drake x reader

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galactipunks · 21 days ago

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I was recently exposed to the rabbit hole that is Minecraft horror mods and it honestly really disappointed me. So much so that I thought up my own horror mod in response with some key distinctions to make it feel actually scary:

Be as subtle as possible to the point that the player can't tell whether a mod or a weird glitch is causing the effects. Not only is it scarier to take advantage of the existing horror within vanilla but doing this would really mess with veteran players who know the game in-and-out.

Rely on ambient psychological horror. No jumpscares, no threats, no escalation, not even anything flatly disadvantageous. The mod would just weaponize the player's paranoia against themselves.

Be really nefarious as to take full advantage of the insane adjustability that Minecraft has with all its internal options, gamerules and mechanics as well as use the player's acquaintance of the game against them. It should be a horror idea that could only work within Minecraft.

So here's the idea I got from all of this (mind you, I have no idea if a mod like this already exists):

Every in-game day there's a 5% chance (3% if you slept with a bed) for an event to occur from this mod. This chance is fixed and never changes. When an event occurs, its chosen randomly from a very exhaustive list of different events and (depending on what type of event it is) will either occur once or persist until the next event. The likelihood of every event is identical. So this system for pulling them is entirely static and random. Additionally, the chance is rolled again whenever an event occurs. Meaning there's an incredibly low chance for you to experience two or more events in the same day.

So what do these events do? Well, they're designed to mess with the player in the most subtle ways possible. Often specifically targeting their memory, understanding of game mechanics and overall familiarity with Minecraft. The intended effect is to give the player a creeping sense of powerlessness in a sandbox game that they are otherwise completely in control over. Some possible events could be:

Hearing a sound effect in the distance from a source that isn't real.

Having an item currently in a chest/furnace change its amount or position.

Replacing a current painting sprite with another one of the same size.

Having a door/trapdoor be activated (i.e. opened if it was closed and closed if it was opened).

Skipping a full day from sleeping rather than just the night.

Having a specific gamerule temporarily change from its default value until the player triggers it (with minor adjustments to make it less apparent. For example still having the player drop their inventory upon death when keepInventory is toggled on but having the items despawn near instantly unless another player was nearby).

Having a tamed/trusting mob despawn (but only if the player had not interacted with them or been near them for a while).

Surviving otherwise fatal damage or dying from otherwise near-fatal damage.

Randomly changing the difficulty or local difficulty (without it being visible in the options or the debug screen).

Randomly changing slime chunks.

Randomly changing the moon phase.

The list goes on.

These are not notable events but that's the point. The intended effect is to confuse the player and make them doubt themselves without ever thinking that a mod is responsible. To make things even more nefarious, you could have this mod be disguised as a typical QoL mod and sneak it into modpacks to really mess with people.

This is the kind of horror that I think suits Minecraft best. Not the loud, overt, in-your-face kind of horror. But the kind that has you slowly begin to doubt yourself and the world around you. No escalation, no climax, no resolution. Just you left alone to consume yourself out of your own paranoia.

#minecraft #minecraft mods #modded minecraft #mod idea #minecraft horror

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iceunhie · 8 months ago

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art of the fan!

premise: wherein jiaoqiu’s fan does half the work and reaps twice the effect.

warnings: gn!reader, 1.4k words, potential jiaoqiu ooc, written before his release. use of petnames and suffixes. please read the terminology guide below to understand their use in the plot, very ‘walk him like a dog’ core, though in this case fox would be more appropriate, haha.

a/n: guess who’s back with a oneshot (⁠ ⁠；⁠∀⁠；⁠) here is my humble offering to the jiaoqiu nation, i did my best

jiaoqiu—for some reason—has made it his life’s mission to perpetually get under your skin.

recently, he has employed shady methods, most particularly instilling almost unfair use of his fan in order to get away with things he normally can't, poking at the strings in your heart like how a stick hits a hornet’s nest.

“yi sheng, is there a purpose for this?” you exclaim, with the foxian man sighing in faux disappointment. the sarcastic way of addressing his title does make his face spasm—but unfortunately for you, today, it seems it does little to dampen his mischief.

you are in the humiliating position of being in the sly man’s lap; aggrieved that your current predicament warrants unfair treatment that borders on harassment (an exaggeration, jiaoqiu has never been improper to that extent).

not to mention, his fan is aimed at your chin, making you look up at him while he applies ointment to a rather nasty bruise around your lip, with the gall to hum as he does so.

“ah, ah. don't move.” he holds the feathered fan under your chin, eyes ever closed while a placid smile graces his face, retaining his signature cunning. jiaoqiu has lost his mind. you keep to yourself, ignoring the heat in your cheeks that had made an appearance since earlier—because why else would he do this? (and why in the name of aeons would you let him? something must be wrong with your brain today.) ��if you do not let me do this, that unsightly bruise might fester, you know.”

“you’re too close.”

“well, you were too far.”

“i am sitting on your lap, yi sheng. how close do you want us to be?” you roll your eyes, earning jiaoqiu a poke at your face, followed by his hand squishing at the fat on your cheeks. “hey, lwet goh of me…”

“still with the formalities... surely now you can address me by my name, can you?” jiaoqiu coaxes, like saying it might wash away all the fatigue in the world, because every inch of his being, from the tips of his ears to the veins in his heart and the wisps of his soul, his yearning and pining echoes and resounds in the cavity of his chest that holds only you, you, you.

what, jiaoqiu wonders, would it take for him to be the sole beholder of your brilliance? his hands holding yours, gripping faithfully and unfalteringly, your fates bound by knots; crimson in nature, entwined forevermore? his eyes soften because of course they do—for you mold him into a being devoted to commemorating your existence into his flesh, your voice settling in the marrow of his bones.

you falter, your heartbeat loud. jiaoqiu notices. of course he does. “yi sheng—”

“jiaoqiu.”

“yi—”

“qiu-er.”

“....” he can hear your heart thundering in your chest—thump, thump—and it has never occurred to him to praise his foxian senses until now. his smile widens, a fang poking out with the white of his teeth. “i'm waiting, baobei.” your face glows with warmth, and jiaoqiu fights the urge to swallow you up whole right then and there.

(he resists it often when it comes to you.)

“you’re so stubborn!” you say after much deliberation, rejection flat and heavy. jiaoqiu deflates, just a bit, and petulantly rubs ointment on the other bruises littering your face. (his ears show his displeasure, drooping down, comically flat against his head.)

“hmph. and you’re too stingy.”

“all the more reason not to, then!”

still not enough, huh? jiaoqiu wonders if he'll ever get you to crack; if you'll ever mirror the expression of his adoration—swishing tail and perked up ears aside. still, his touch is gentle, like the embers of a fire hugging you for warmth, a blazing sensation in which all the greed in the world falls short compared to his need to touch you, to perceive you. “will i ever hear my name on your lips? you seem to have no issue addressing others so casually.”

“and who exactly are these others?” you raise a brow at him. jiaoqiu shrugs, nonchalant. as though it didn't bother him (he's seething).

you note that he speaks with contempt, bitterness filtering his soft-spoken words. his tail wags rapidly. pfft, so… so childish! (and a little cute, but you don't say it for obvious reasons.)

“well, for starters, the madam general, the dozing general, yunli, the herbalists near the red fox theater, the stair sweepers....”

“wait, wait, that's too many! and the stair sweepers, really?!”

“i’ll avoid answering further questions.”

“you look like you've swallowed vinegar, laoshi.” you croon, biting where you can at the weakened fox you've made, defiantly lowering your chin still held captive by jiaoqiu’s fan. “besides, i merely do it to cut all at one stroke. after all, it is you, yi sheng—” you relish in jiaoqiu’s expression when you get eerily close, noses almost touching, “that insisted i ought to call you by that title, did you not? who knew you were so easy to displease.”

his face constricts, and his hands lower, one hand gripping firm at your waist, and jiaoqiu reels away from you, hiding his face behind his fan as his cheeks tint themselves scarlet. his pride would not allow him to refute, and you knew that very well. “that...”

because you know him. know his ticks, his tells—jiaoqiu does not know if that is love. but his willingness to drop his guard, to let you slip by his foxy exterior—to allow you to burrow and fuse yourself into the tapestry of his being, that of which the fibers of his soul accept and wholeheartedly make room for you; constricting his breath, perceiving you. (he doesn't know if you're in love with him yet, but he is. maybe he always will be.)

your lips quirk up instead, the apples of your cheeks forming while smile lines grace your features, that of which he cannot look away from, cannot close his eyes from; for what use is closing one’s eyes when his sight was granted to him to behold you?

jiaoqiu’s saving grace is that you were kinder for your own good. if he could keep that kindness to himself, then….

“as expected, it's so weird when you're silent,” you laugh, and jiaoqiu’s stare rushes to behold you, the echo of your joy forming his heart anew. “jiaoqiu. there, you petulant fox. happy now?”

and the way he looks at you—his pupils expanding, eyes wide, jiaoqiu loves. the entire universe could crumble and turn to ashes this instant, and he would not look away.

“...i’m not.” you look at him with playful scorn. really, after all this trouble, your eyes seem to say. he chuckles dryly, forcing himself to laugh, because jiaoqiu wants to keep this euphoria and let it sink into his ears, his lungs and his brain. he wants to bottle the sound of your voice forming his name and setting his body ablaze like golden starlight in a place no one can hear but him.

“not what?” facing you, holding you, he can't even begin to breathe. jiaoqiu thinks this might be love, sprouting from his eyes and filling the corners of his veins, circulating fully, wholly, and utterly.

“i’m not happy at all.” he speaks your name like the growing embers of a wildfire, burning his throat and letting jiaoqiu dare to perceive you. “it’s lacking. it will always be lacking.”

and because you were you, you know exactly where to fan the flames. “ever the cunning one, aren't you, qiu-er?”

jiaoqiu thinks it's time you had enough of your fun. again, he's never had reason to praise his senses—but when he hears the deafening beats that increase as he looks at you even more—he thinks that maybe being a foxian is a decision fate was wise in undertaking.

he dips his head low, and before you can question why his fan covered your faces, a soft sensation floods your senses, warming you to the core when you feel the plush of his lips on yours. you feel his smile against your mouth, and the teasing bite down your lower lip makes your eyes turn to saucers.

this sly fox…!

pulling away, jiaoqiu hides his face behind his fan again, almost gloating when he takes in your aghast expression. “well, it's not so lacking anymore, i suppose.”

you glare. “that ointment of yours is useless now that you've kissed it away, you know.”

jiaoqiu brings the hand by your side to his lips, kissing your knuckles, devoting himself to every atom that comprises you, every cell that unravels and ties itself to create you; and he’ll adore you, chasing and basking in the warm daylight you bestow him.

“i can always kiss it better, anyway.” he ruffles your hair, the smile in his eyes mischievous and utterly unfair, because it's sincere, and blinding ....and jiaoqiu is already uncaring of the rapid wag of his tail. “didn’t you say it yourself? i am cunning, after all.”

BONUS: how to tame a foxian in one go!

“baobei, you certainly know how to leave someone breathless.”

“don’t follow me.”

“you’re not denying it though.”

“qiu’er, you’ll be demoted back to yi sheng.”

“huh?! thats cruel! wait, i said i’m sorry—!”

— terminology guide.

· [ 事半功倍 / half the work, twice the effect ] — (an idiom) the right approach leads to the desired/better results; jiaoqiu wanted reader to call him by his name affectionately, and the right ‘approach’ refers to making use of both the fan and the opportunity to kiss reader (which he got and more with minimal effort)

· [ 一刀切 / to cut all at one stroke ] — (idiom) one solution or ‘one size fits all’, reference to how reader doesn't want to refer to jiaoqiu as his name nor do they want to be mistaken to be in a relationship with him (playfully), so they refer to him as yi sheng ( 医生 ) so people don't get confused and see how jiaoqiu absolutely hates it (menace)

other: bao bei ‹ 宝贝 | baby/babe › , -er ‹ friendly and affectionate suffix often used in a teasing way › , yi sheng ‹ 医生 | doctor › laoshi ‹ 老师/老師 | teacher, used often in a certain part of china. used formally for instructors and teachers* ›

*as for why reader refers to jiaoqiu as laoshi aka teacher, jiaoqiu is a counselor (based on given canon information) and they use it to rile him up (since they use it sarcastically—because jiaoqiu was basically ordering them/instructing them to stay still while treating them ^^; hope this makes sense !

tidbit note: when reader says ‘consumed vinegar’ it is a funny way to show that he's jealous, because vinegar is sour (just like jiaoqiu's mood!)

note: hello! i apologize for being so late and so inconsistent with my posts, life has been busy lately with my job. as recompense, have a oneshot… lol. also, this fic wouldn't have happened without the lovely consultation of my friend and mootie @lowkeyren who helped me with making sure i was using the appropriate terms of affectionate address for reader and jiaoqiu, haha. can you tell i loved playing around with his character? even though he isn't out yet TT personally, i think i quite like the dynamic between reader and jiaoqiu; although this may be ooc in some point in time. he just gives off the vibe of a teasing smug bastard… who is a pathetic mess for his lover. or is it just me?? well, who knows…

@ ICEUNHIE: do not plagiarize, repost or steal my work.

#mhie's spirals #—stellaronhvnters.#honkai star rail x gender neutral reader #honkai star rail x reader #jiaoqiu x reader #jiaoqiu x you #jiaoqiu honkai star rail #jiaoqiu hsr #goodmorning pls send help

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ew-selfish-art · 1 year ago

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DPxDC Au: Normally when Danny vandalizes ancient cave walls and historic places on his 'favor' missions for Clockwork, he gets sent back to erase them. But no, apparently this time, when Danny added his actual phone number into some painting, he's not allowed to go back and fix it. Ugh.

...

Tim has had the painting of Bruce professionally reviewed a few times since the old Bat was retrieved from the time stream. He's not entirely sure how the painting still exists, he's not even sure that it matters any more... But one day Tim catches something new in the painting.

It was small, and it could've just been the light at first but... Is that a phone number in the background?? It looks like black marker on the black curtains and it makes him feel feral. The family is kinder this time about how they think he's gone crazy- but each one of them admit that they can't remember a phone number ever being present.

The lab reports that the number was added over the paint- and that it's an ink based marking akin to a sharpie but like, hundreds of years old. So... It's been added recently but not at all recently enough for Tim to have an explanation.

Tim doesn't want to hear any more of his family members opinions on the matter and he certainly isn't going to just, stop investigating or something stupid like that. So, he takes the painting to the tower, gathers his team (Cassie, Kon and Bart), and they call the number in the middle of the night after a lot of planning/back-and-forth/catastrophizing.

It doesn't answer until the final ring, and the static that comes through the phone is bone chilling. A deep, monstrous groan which echoed with agony fills the room.

"I have a math test in like, three hours, who the fuck are you and why the fuck are you calling in the middle of the night?" The voice now complains, still sounding vaguely inhuman despite it's very human word choices.

"Your number is in a historical painting, we had a few questions but uh, you can call us back later?" Tim cringes as he says it but he hadn't planned on having to reply to someone trying to go back to bed. Or someone who was apparently also a teenager. (He had so, so many contingency plans for like, every kind of villain, alien or demon. lame.)

"...Ugh. might as well." The voice calls out, agreeing with a sigh that echos so deeply the team can feel it in their bones.

"Cool. Good luck on your test?" Tim offers.

"Mph." And the line hangs up.

...

Danny is at lunch with Sam and Tucker when he remembers the late night call. He'd spent the morning bitching about never getting a full night of sleep and it finally occurred to him what had happened. Of course his friends think it's hilarious that CW wouldn't let him erase his number. Of course they do.

They stop laughing when Danny calls the number back.

"Hello, this is Red Robin of Gotham. I have Superboy, Wonder girl and Impulse present with me. How did your math test go?"

#dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp #dp x dc #danny phantom #dc crossover #dp crossover #long post #let danny be a shit head kid who puts the weird s on historical documents #clockwork always has him clean up his messes but not this time #this time he holds it over his head and danny is so annoyed #yj just want answers and dammit the horrors persist but so do they #someone please continue this #i beg

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neil-gaiman · 10 months ago

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Hi Neil,

I write to you because I find myself without answers, and who better to turn to than you, the person who has arguably raised the most questions in my life due to your lovely stories.

I currently live with my dad and step mother, his two sons (my brothers) and her two children. There are a lot of us in one space right now and it’s safe to say we don’t get along very well.

Getting to the point, I want to live on my own. I have the means to do so (hypothetically). I have a job and a car and savings put back, but up until recently it hadn’t occurred to me that leaving was an option. I always thought it wasn’t allowed for some reason. That there would be consequences for revoking my presence from them like I’m their favorite toy instead of a person.

The fear, I suppose, is that they won’t forgive me for leaving. That I’ll leave and fail somehow. That I won’t be able to come back from the hubris that is thinking I could do things on my own. Truly though, the real danger is that I’ll never be in a place where I can be myself without some all consuming guilt gnawing at my stomach.

The question is whether or not to deal with the current circumstances or risk losing everything for the chance at success.

Can you get the things you want and keep the things you have?

Sincerely, a huge fan wishing they had a beloved Bentley to live in and offering condolences for the rant.

As a parent, you are doing your job when your children leave the nest and become independent. It means you did something right.

As a child, it's always scary to leave. But it's necessary. You aren't punishing the people you are leaving. You are beginning your journey to independence.

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lordprettyflackotara · 10 months ago

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party monster || fred weasley

SMUT. MINORS DNI. 18+. TW: partying, drug usage (cocaine guys), fred’s ooc sorry not sorry, paranoia, etc. just overall v mature themes. OBVIOUSLY DO NOT DO COCAINE. this has a lot of plot ;)

Fred Weasley was never one to turn down an invitation to a party. Especially not one from Mattheo Riddle, to a Slytherin party.

Fred had felt like he had seen it all. He had watched the Hufflepuffs get giggly over champagne, Gryffindors try muggle grass for the first time, and Ravenclaws make tame mixed drinks that sent their minds into oblivion.

Slytherin’s on the other hand, went as hard as Fred liked. Of course muggle grass and alcohol was provided. The usual sex addicts were on the prowl for someone new to warm their bed. But what Fred enjoyed about the Slytherins the most, was their lack of fear to try muggle substances.

The most recent substance the most fearless had been trying was cocaine.

George refused to attend Slytherin parties, frowning upon the houses entirety. Truthfully Fred used to be the same way, until Mattheo offered him his first joint. The dark lords son had introduced him to an entire new world of highs, ones that Fred couldn’t find anywhere else.

For the past year the core Slytherins had been trying different pills, ones Theodore had been smuggling from a muggle born Hufflepuff who was naive enough to think they were being used for medical purposes. Fred had been to enough of these parties to where no one questioned his presence. If anything, he was often greeted and offered a cigarette at the very least.

It was highly unusual for other houses to venture into the Slytherins events, old superstitions still highly believed in. Fred would’ve been the same way, if it weren’t for Mattheo. It was an unlikely friendship, one no one could understand. Not George, Not Draco, no one. The ginger scanned the room, excited to find his friend. Word on the street about cocaine being smuggled into Hogwarts was spreading like wildfire. Fred knew he had to be one of the first ones to try it.

Strolling up confidently to the couch Mattheo always sat, the ginger waved. One of Penelope Clearwaters friends sat in Mattheo’s lap, her blue uniform making her stick out like a sore thumb. Mattheo grinned at the sight of Fred, gently pushing the girl away from sucking more hickies onto his neck. “Why don’t you go take a few shots with Pansy and i’ll meet you over there in a second?” He suggested. The girl glanced at Fred, taking the hint and starting her journey of finding Pansy.

Theodore Nott sat on the other side of the couch, a cigarette loosely hanging from his lips. “My favorite Gryffindor, welcome to another rager,” Mattheo chuckled, gesturing to the party that was occurring around them. Fred took a seat beside the brunette, greeting Theodore as well. “So Riddle, what do you have for me? You know I love to try whatever new hits the market,” Fred asked. Mattheo reached into his pocket, holding up a small plastic baggy of white powder.

Fred’s eyebrows furrowed with confusion. Previously he was under the impression that all muggle party substances were in the form of small pills. “That looks like it’s going to taste like shit,” Fred pointed out. A genuine chuckle escaped Mattheo’s lips as he grabbed a small metal tray. “Thats because it does, you don’t swallow it, you snort it,” He explained. Fred watched curiously as he poured the powder onto the tray. He reached into his pocket, pulling out his wand.

Mattheo used the tip to slice it into three tiny lines, the small amount only furthering his curiosity. “How many milligrams is that per line?” Fred asked, trying to get a better grasp on the drug in front of him. Once Mattheo made sure the lines looked even, he set his wand aside. “Doesnt work like that. Nott, wanna lead by example?” He asked, gesturing the tray to him.

Theodore didn’t seem to hesitate at all, his nose hovering over one of the lines and inhaling it without a second thought. His lack of hesitance made Fred more confident. “Alright alright let me see what all of this hype is about,” The ginger interjected. Fred was determined to ‘one up’ Theo, the potions master always a bit too cocky for his liking. (Even if he thoroughly enjoyed spending hangovers with him.)

Fred mimicked Theo’s actions, holding one side of his nose as he inhaled the first line. Flames seem to spread through his nostril, the ginger deciding to ignore it and to snort the other line as well. Sharp pain washed over Fred’s senses, the feeling of the powder sliding down the back of his throat making him cough. “Look at that! Atta boy,” Mattheo said encouragingly, patting Fred on the back. As the brunette took a cigarette out of the box Theo gestured to him, he gestured to the party.

“Let’s get out there, shall we?”

Fred had never felt more talkative in his life. From Pansy, to Blaise, to Slytherins he didn’t know, he could not stop talking. Sober, Fred was a very social person. But he knew when to let the conversation fizzle out. But as of right now? That concept didn’t exist. He felt utterly invincible, as if the world itself existed around him for his pleasure and his only. His throat had gone numb, unable to feel the shots he downed repeatedly.

As he was talking to Blaise about his latest prank, his eyes briefly flickered to you. You were mesmerizing, a girl he had never seen before. Fred ensured to keep track of girls in his year, knowing which ones were taken and what not. But you looked to be the same age as him and he had never seen you a day in his life. You stood by the alcohol table, pouring raw tequila down your throat. Without excusing himself Fred left, abandoning his conversation with a way too drunk Blaise.

Fred knew he had to meet you, something about you calling to him. Even as you downed the liquor your hips swayed to the music, your curves intriguing Fred even more. The ginger didn’t feel one ounce of nervousness, the coke having imbedded in his mind. “Hey there, mind if I have a swig?” Fred asked. Your eyes widened at the sight of him, before handing him the bottle. “Thanks,” He said, taking a drink. Fred’s throat was completely numb, the firey liquid not affecting him at all.

He handed the bottle back to you, giving you a sly grin. Your lips were painted a dark red, your beautiful eyes accompanied by flattering dark makeup. The kind Fred could only imagine a Slytherin could pull off. “You have something right here,” You replied, pointing to your upper lip. In a sudden movement you stepped forward, wiping the very top of Fred’s lip. You held up your thumb, the faintest sprinkle of white powder coating the pad of your thumb.

“Thanks, been a wild night. When new muggle stuff comes in it’s always exciting to try it,” Fred said, unscathed by your action. If anything he was into it, thrilled that you were so touchy. “It always is, isn’t it?” You say, taking another swig of the bottle. Fred couldn’t help but grin, thrilled that a girl as hot as you understood his enthusiasm. It was difficult finding another student so adventurous, yet here you stood.

A girl behind you waved at Fred, a friend of Pansy’s. Fred waved back, making a mental note to talk to her later. “So, a lion playing with snakes?” You ask, creating conversation. He hadn’t realized he had just been standing there, his eyes flickering in every direction. Soaking in the party, the music, you, the lights, Pansy’s friend-

“I’m a good friend of Riddle’s, great isn’t he?” Fred said. He gestured to the brunette who was currently dancing on top of a table, his tie loose and hanging around his shoulders. A cigarette hung on his lips, his hips occupied by grinding on the Hufflepuff in front of him. You nodded in agreement, shrugging. After tonight Fred made another mental note to ask Mattheo about you. You were awfully quiet for a Slytherin.

“A real charmer, that’s for sure,” You replied, your words laced with sarcasm. Your eyes flickered to Fred, shooting him a playful smile. “As are you. I see where he learns it from,” You continue, biting your lower lip. Flattery was the gingers weakness, a cocky smile creeping across his lips. “Hey, you wanna get out of here? My dorms gonna be empty. Roommates crashing with one of the boys,” You ask, pointing to the dungeons. Fred knew about the girls rooms being in the dungeons all too well, his visits down there frequent.

“Sure, lead the way little witch,” Fred purred. You grabbed his large hand, your skin cold to the touch. You led him through the hot swaying bodies, your hand gripping his his. As you both approached the staircase to go down further Fred looked over his shoulder, his eyes landing on Mattheo. The brunettes eyebrows were furrowed as he watched him, mouthing a clear question: ‘you good?’

Fred smiled and nodded, shooting him a thumbs up as he followed you down the dungeons. If there was anything Fred knew about Slytherins, without stereotyping them too much, was that they cared about appearances. They kept precise upkeep about their looks, (maybe not including Mattheo), that it teetered towards an unhealthy amount. In Fred’s opinion anyway. He didn’t have to deal with strict parents with pureblood ideologies, so he didn’t feel like he had room to judge.

As you led him further down the staircase he noticed several mirrors in between portraits, for students to use while heading up to the common room. Fred’s focus mainly was on himself, noticing how large his pupils were. You both reached towards the end of the staircase, Fred’s eyes still focused on the mirror. For a split second he squinted, noticing he didn’t see you. His hand was being held in mid air, your fingers not entangled around his palm like he saw before him.

Questioning was on the tip of his tongue, your abrupt words cutting him off. “My dorm is further down and I need you, now,” You say urgently, palming at Fred’s shirt. His eyes flickered to yours, unsure. “Did you see that? You weren’t in the reflection,” Fred asked, completely ignoring your statement. You raised an eyebrow, gesturing to the girls bathroom on the right side of the hall. “You’re paranoid, do you want to fuck or not?” You asked.

Fred shook his head, trying to rationalize with himself. He had a hot witch standing in front of him and he was about to fuck up a one night stand because of some muggle drug. “Absolutely,” Fred agreed, allowing you to lead him into the bathroom. Admittedly this was one place Fred hadn’t been, his knowledge of the room little to none. He was surprised that a velvet green couch sat almost in the center of the room. Would that have been his style choice? Absolutely not. Do witches tend to take their time in the restrooms gossiping? Fred believed so.

Your lips were on him before he could process it, his back hitting the couch. You tasted like raw alcohol, his tastebuds flooded with the sensation as you got on top of him. Fred was typically dominant, but he never minded a Slytherin topping him. You were so confident, tugging your shirt over your heard before reattaching your lips to his. Your touch made Fred want to immediately submit, his cock growing harder by the minute as you straddled him.

“Hard already? Naughty naughty gryffindor,” You teased, biting his bottom lip. Fred groaned, his hands flying to your waist. He guided you to grind against him, his cock growing achingly hard. You kissed down the side of his face to his neck, sucking at his sweet spot. Fred squeezed your thighs, whimpering as your lips littered his skin with marks. You kissed down his clothed chest, all the way down to his aching cock.

You teasingly kissed his hard on, maintaining eye contact as you did so. The ginger bucked his hips towards, throwing his head back as you unbuckled his belt. “If you want me to suck your cock you’re going to have to beg Freddie,” You say, unbuttoning his jeans. Spews of pleas left his lips faster than he would like to admit, “Fuck, please, touch me, please.”

A brief concern of how you knew his name crossed his mind, the worry fading as you shoved his boxers and jeans down his thighs. Fred was decently known, maybe you had known him for an infamous prank or-

His spinning thoughts came to a screeching halt as you took him into your mouth. Fred couldn’t control his noises, you taking control of him and his pleasure one of the hottest things he had ever seen. As you bobbed your head up and down on his cock, Fred chopped up his previous mental ramble to paranoia. Most likely he was coming down from his high, his body adjusting his mind back to normal.

Fred didn’t even know your name, but the moans he was making made it sound like he did. He was pure putty at your hands, willingly and merciless at your disposal. His tip brushed against the back of your throat, expectancy of the sound of gagging ensuing. Except it didn’t. Fred looked down at you in awe, your eyes meeting his. You didn’t have a gag reflex? What kind of magic was this?

He roughly grabbed the back of your head, pushing you down further onto his cock. You took his length with ease, saliva pooling to the base of his shaft. “Merlin, you’re a goddess right? Sent to me from above?” Fred panted, his mind trying to wrap around you. You pulled off of his cock, his hands not affecting your movement. He thought he had applied a decent amount of pressure, even if it was involuntary. What were you? Were you some kind of-

“Maybe, maybe you’re just my personal pet. My babies get the best treatment you know,” You purred. The ginger had no idea what you were rambling about, but what he did know, was that he wanted you to fuck him. “Ride me, fuck, please ride me,” He whined. Most girls would’ve asked for foreplay, head, or something along those lines. But you didn’t ask for either, instead lifting up your skirt and shoving your panties to the side. You guided his tip up and down your drenched folds, the feeling of your warm slick enough to make Fred groan.

He couldn’t understand why he felt so sensitive, his body on cloud nine just from your simple touch. You sank down onto his cock with ease, your walls clenching around him. Fred threw his head back, unable to formulate coherent words as you began to ride him. You seemed unfazed by his size, riding him like you had been doing so for years. Fred was not only unable to speak, but completely and utterly speechless.

You didn’t seem real, his unrealistic expectations for a hookup playing out in front of him. You leaned forward, one hand placed on his throat while the other tugged at his hair. “You like that huh? Feel good Freddie?” You asked. Fred groaned an agreement, his cock brushing against your g spot with every roll of your hips. Most witches would tire out by now, opting to switch positions. Yet you didn’t, your body not seeming to tire as you squeezed at the sides of his throat.

“So good, Merlin, you’re going to be the death of me,” Fred moaned as you licked up the side of his neck. He felt his orgasm approaching, the ginger flustered by the feeling. Was it the coke that was going to make him bust quick? Or was it how well you were riding him? His eyes wondered over your shoulder, landing on a large full length mirror. The presence of the mirror wasn’t surprising, but what was, was your absence. You weren’t present in the reflection, Fred’s head beginning to spin.

“Uh, you’re not in the m-mirror, I-” Fred stuttered, his high approaching faster than he wanted it to. He wanted to go all night with you, but why weren’t you showing up in the mirror? You sat up, your breast bouncing as you continued to ride him.

“You’re being paranoid Freddie, now why don’t you go ahead and cum for me?”

Fred’s hips stuttered as he came inside of your cunt, his head rolling back onto the couch. His ears were ringing, any sounds of you or the party dulling out into nothingness. He began seeing stars, his vision fading out completely. His senses had seemed to given up, Fred’s body unable to sustain itself, passing out.

Fred had woken up a lot of strange places after a party. Most times he woke up beside a witch whose name he didn’t know. Other times he would wake up in random places, one time including the whomping willow. (To this day, no one has any idea how he survived OR got a good nights sleep.) Where Fred had never been woken up before, was in the male Slytherin dorms. Nor, had he ever been violently shaken awake by someone. Faintly he could hear a familiar voice calling out to him, but the words were incoherent.

“Fred! Wake the fuck up!”

He jolted awake, his heart pounding out of his chest as he sat up. Scattered,he looked around, unaware of where he was. His eyes landed on Mattheo and Draco, both of which seemed extremely concerned. “W-what..?” Fred stumbled out. His head was pounding with a rager headache, his body felt drained and spent. “Pansy found you uh-” Draco began, before shooting Mattheo a look that he should speak instead. Mattheo sighed, handing Fred a glass of water.

“She found you in the girls bathroom passed out with your pants pulled down and you uh, came all over yourself,” Mattheo informed him. Fred could feel himself turning red, clutching the water in his hand. His eyes widened in disbelief, becoming dizzy again as he rested his hand on his forehead to keep himself propped up.

“Do you have any idea how you ended up like that dude?” Mattheo asked, keeping his voice even. Bags hung under his eyes, his knee bouncing anxiously. It was rare Fred ever saw Mattheo sober, but he could definitely tell he was. You raced through the gingers mind, embarrassment flooding over him. You weren’t real? None of it was real?

A knock on the door alerted the trio, the Slytherins eyes landing on the new comer. “Well shit I see the party monsters awake,” Theodore said, waltzing in. His confidence made Fred uneasy, his stomach churning. “Do you happen to remember what happened last night?” He asked him, his voice breaking. Theo nodded, taking a seat. “Why don’t you drink some water and i’ll tell you all about it?”

Theo didn’t know Fred well by any means. Sometimes he questioned what Mattheo saw in the ginger, the prankster a bit too full of himself. It was a coincidence he saw him by the alcohol table, talking to himself. At first Theo assumed he was yelling to someone, or even on a muggle phone a lot of Gryffinors used. Cautiously Theo rounded the table, raising his eyebrows as Fred offered the bottle of tequila he had been cuddling to the air in front of him.

The brunette couldn’t believe his eyes, watching dumbfounded as Astoria Greengrass gave him a wave. Briefly his eyes flickered upwards at the Slytherin, before returning to the void in front of him. With a confused expression Theo decided it was none of his business, returning back to Mattheo with new drinks in hand. He figured he was just high, anyways. Unknowingly Mattheo had recommended Fred to Astoria, who was looking for a quick hook up to help her get over her ex.

A dumbfounded Astoria had beat Theo to Mattheo, her lips moving a mile a minute. She was weirded out by Fred’s behavior, the ginger confirmed to be talking to the air. Mattheo’s eyes flickered upwards, watching as Fred was heading towards the stairs. His hand was held out in front of him, a goofy smile spread across his lips. He made eye contact with Mattheo, who managed to communicate through all the noise and ask if he was good.

Fred seemed more than good, excitedly nodding and heading down to the dungeons. It wasn’t until the next morning Pansy came running, trying to get the boys to help her carry Fred before anyone saw him.

As the group sat in Mattheo’s room you watched from the shadows, invisible to everyone around you. You had died from a cocaine overdose in 1970, the curse of your afterlife being that no one could see you. The only time anyone did, was when they had done the drug themselves. You didn’t quite understand the logistics of it, other ghost able to see you, but no being with a beating heart could.

You had been shocked Fred had seen you at the alcohol table, after being used to being unseen for so long. As cocky and mischievous as you knew Fred to be from watching, you liked him. So much so that you knew scaring the ever loving fuck out of him was going to be the only way he would never touch the horrid stuff again. Party monsters like Fred, often times danced on the line between life and death. Their bodies, from what you could understand, would be into overdrive. That crossover allowed him to see you.

You thoroughly enjoyed fucking Fred, even if the ginger now regretted it. And as much as you wished you could see him again, you knew he deserved a better chance at life. “Bloody hell, i’m never touching that stuff again,” Fred groaned, cupping his pounding head. You smiled at his confession, walking up to Draco’s side. You stood beside him, the blonde unaware of your presence. Your mission was complete, Fred would be on a better path now. You smiled to yourself, watching as the ginger lifted his head.

His eyes widened, centered on you.

“What the actual fuck are you doing here?!”

He can see you?

a/n: can yall tell im into plot twist rn? lol. might do a part two if yall want it >:)

#fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley x you #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley smut #fred weasley x oc #fred weasley #fred weasly x reader #fred weasely x y/n #weasley twins smut #george weasley #weasley twins #weasley twin #george wealsey x reader #george weasly x reader #george wealsey imagine #harry potter #harry potter smut

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jesswritesthat · 4 months ago

Text

Todoroki Shōto: Smile

Fandom: BNHA // MHA — [ Masterlist ]

Summary: ~1k, fluff, humour

• Todoroki is acting differently, and it all started after an ‘interview’ with Mount Lady.

Warnings: None

>>>>——————————>

It was a very suspicious change, a small difference you wouldn’t have noticed if you didn’t know Todoroki as well as you do.

The fire and ice hero had never had an issue when in your presence before, at least once passing the initial barrier of awkwardness when you’d first met. Todoroki wasn’t adapted to friendship or social interaction on a more casual level, and he was still learning now, but that didn’t explain the sudden change in behaviour.

Shōto wasn’t one to smile often, but recently he’d started to do so around you during heartwarming moments or after a witty comment. At least until he’d started covering them with his hand, burying his face in a jacket, or simply turning his head away from you. At first, you thought it was a coincidence but he didn’t display the same actions toward other classmates, at least not as often.

Unfortunely, Shōto was difficult to read in this situation as he hadn’t treated you any differently than before aside from concealing his smile, which meant you’d have to ask him directly if you wanted to understand.

It was an evening after class that you’d caught him in the dorms and asked to go for a walk around the grounds together. Once in the privacy of your own company, you brought up the concept when he’d once again diverted his gaze in your opposing direction when laughing.

“Hey Shōto, why are you always turning away from me when you smile?” You’d spoken casually, an airy tone used to lighten the subject but there was still a moment of contemplative silence before he spoke.

“I… I don’t want you to die.”

“I’d like to think you wouldn’t spontaneously set me aflame or freeze me to death.” A brief laugh escaped you, but he seemed happy.

“Never (Y/n). It was just something someone said, don’t worry about it.” Then he changed the subject, a sign he was embarrassed to elaborate at this current time.

———

The likelihood of getting further insight without directly prying Shōto was unlikely, and so you received enlightenment courtesy of an offhanded comment made to Izuku the following week.

“Has Shoto mentioned about not wanting you to die?”

“Hm? Not recently.” The green haired teen shook his head, but looked at you buzzing with curiosity.

“Ah. Then it’s just me he’s acting weird around, he refuses to smile.”

This comment allowed for Izuku to configure the situation for a second before sparking to life with renewed enthusiasm.

“I think I might know what you mean! He did an interview with Mount Lady but took it too literally I bet.” The young hero hurriedly explained the scenario that occurred during their Interview Training Lesson.

That’s when it all made sense, he’d mistaken Mount Ladys’ compliment on his attractiveness for the cause of a death toll. Amusing. Even more so to think you’d be one of his victims - you have to correct that right away.

“Shōto?” You’d knocked on his dorm, and naturally he’d opened the door to your right away with a degree of concern.

“(Y/n), are you okay?”

“Yes, I wanted to talk to you about the other day.”

He tilted his head slightly in curiosity but welcomed you in to his classic Japanese style room nonetheless.

“You don’t smile at me anymore, so I don’t drop dead.” It was spoken as a statement rather than like questioning his actions, as you knew it all too well.

“…It sounds ridiculous when you say it.” A hand awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck with a deadpan expression on his face when meeting your bemused features.

Once solidifying your composure, which took a minute as admittedly it was a challenge in itself to withhold your laughter for the sake of understanding his feelings.

“Two things.” You held up two digits whilst Shōto nodded sincerely, ready for you to continue.

“People are highly unlikely to die if you smile at them, Mount Lady was joking.”

“Yeah I figured. Based on both past experience and the fact Uraraka is still alive.” The icyhot user tiredly sighed, offering a small but guilty quirk of his lips.

“Which brings me to my second point, why were you so conscious of smiling around me? Especially since Ochaco got a smile out of you.” You crossed your arms now with a hint of mirth lacing your tone, rather intrigued by his potential explanation. However his voice remained confident and sincere, replying as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Because you’re the one I care about most. As you are the last person I’d want to inadvertently kill, it makes sense to be so conscious of my actions toward you doesn’t it?”

Now you were left speechless, just like he was during the initial interview, only able to stare at him blankly.

“Shōto you… care about me most?”

“Did it not come across that way? I always try to be—“ His voice was genuinely worried he hadn’t given you the right impression, you could already see him thinking of ways to correct his mistake, which is why you cut him off with assurance.

“No no it did, I just thought— nevermind. Please don’t hide your smile from me anymore, I likely won’t die upon seeing it.”

This time, when a soft smile graced his lips when looking at you, he didn’t attempt to shy away of cover it with his hand. The gesture of course was reciprocated.

———

Izuku was the one to find you pondering the matter later on though, despite the situation already being resolved.

“I assume you figured it all out with Todoroki?”

“Oh yeah, he said something that caught me off guard though.” It was the dampening tone you’d used that lead Midoriya to take a seat beside you, kind and upbeat tone ringing true.

“Really? Want to talk about it?”

“Well, he said he was so conscious about smiling around me because I’m the one he cares about the most. I didn’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything, Todoroki is a person who’d give you time to consider. I am glad he finally confessed to you though.”

It was silent for a moment, your mind felt like a record short-circuiting and repeating his words with declining clarity, meanwhile Izuku seemed oblivious to the personal intel he’d accidentally divulged after misreading the events.

“…”

“Um… Izuku.” You took a deep, preparing breath. “He didn’t confess to me.”

You saw the sheer panic wash over him like a tidal wave, his freckled skin significantly paler which is when the frantic apologies set in.

“I’m so sorry (L/n)! I wasn’t supposed to tell you that, Todoroki is going to hate me! Forgive me for misinterpreting the situation - I’ll have to tell him I’ve ruined his—“

Quickly you waved your hands in surrender, a feeble attempt at calming him prior to justifying your lack of anxiety compared to his.

“No, it’s okay Izuku. There’s no need for any of that.”

“Huh?! But I—“ His voice was still raised slightly, searching you for any kind of reasoning.

“I like him too. Now it’s even, you know both of our feelings.” The soft smile you wore, and your honest words, reverted the boy back to his original state - once again his cheery self.

“You do? That is good news, but what do you intend to do with that information?”

“I’ll wait until he’s ready to tell me himself.” It was a gentle shrug that accompanied your reply, content to do so.

“I understand (L/n).” The bright boy smiled brightly, to which you gladly accepted and hummed in thought.

“Besides, I’m interested to see what a confession from Todoroki Shōto would be like.”

<——————————<<<<

[ Masterlist ]

#todoroki x reader #shoto todoroki #todoroki shoto x reader #todoroki shouto #todoroki shoto fluff #bnha fluff #bnha imagine #bnha x reader #bnha imagines #bnha scenarios #anime imagine #anime x reader #mha x reader #mha imagines #boku no hero imagines #boku no hero x reader #boku no hero academia

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dilf-docs · 2 months ago

Text

Drunk In Love

eddie brock x younger!reader

summary: you don't exactly hate your job as bartender. well, sometimes, like when customers who can't take a no show up. your boyfriend decides to take matters into his hands, or better said, tentacles...

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (ofc), a bit of angst, smut, rough sex??, exhibition kink, oral (f. receiving), fingering, jealous!eddie puts on a show, venom's tongue slurping ur clit like a caprisun, reader gets harrased (is this like a norm for my eddie fics??? lmao)

word count: 3,884 words

side note: this lil' baby is based on this request. that being said, my reqs are still open! keep the suggestions up i say 🗣🔥🔥especially those with classic tropes, cause i'm a deep sucker for them jealousy fics fr most when they get possesive lolz this is me placing my input here *smoothly slides card to the front of the table* ENJOY

If you were to ask your 9 year old self what she wanted to be, she'd tell you an actress. Never a bartender, and most certainly, never the girlfriend of an alien symbiote.

Turns out, life has more on storage of what you expected, certainly. Things haven't gone in the way your kid brain had planned, and going back to the bartender thing, it's one of those things that hasn't been the way you wanted it.

And it isn't the job, really. Over the years, you've grown fond of the drinks you know like the palm of your hand and the scene that occurs behind the bar. Besides, it pays the bills, and there's something comforting in witnessing night engulf the sky, just for the sun to rise again as you're back on your apartment. You're an owl, which really is just how Eddie, your boyfriend, likes to call you with affection.

What hasn't changed and still bothers you after all this years is the people.

It's not like you're an introvert, but crowds aren't really your thing, which is quite the contradiction given the job. The problem lies not on your frequent customers or those who come looking for a good time, but on those who don't know how to take "no" as an answer: most recently, this guy, who won't leave no matter how many times you've told and showed him already.

And it's the wost kind: they don't bother for the drinks, rather the person serving them; and he's been at it for hours, not taking the hint from the one-sided conversation he's been having all this time.

"Hey" the customer speaks again, your back facing him. "So, I want something" he makes a little pause, "but it's not on the menu"

You use a little more force than necessary while cleaning the glass you're holding, "tell me what you want and I'll see what I can do"

He chuckles, and when you finally face him, he seems pleased.

"I want you"

"Too bad" you turn around again, "can't help you then".

"Playing hard to get, I see" you'd think after at least two hours being ignored, he would stop, but he only seems to still not get the cue. "It's fine, I like it this way"

You decide not to add anything, focusing on this drinks for table #2, but he keeps adding comments that drip in annoying drops until your glass of patience overflows.

"C'mon, sugar" he nudges playfully, "spare me a glance, would ya'?"

You scoff, resting your arms on the bar. "If I give you a free drink, would you let me do my job?"

Clearly a mistake, as his hands travel to touch your skin, making it prickle like it burns.

"Still don't get it? The only thing I want is you"

Eddie wanted to surprise you. After some time dating you, he thinks he deserves some credit on to how much he truly knows you; you'd argue he knows you even more than you know yourself.

He knows your small quirks, like the small frown in your lips when you feel sad. He also knows by heart your breathy shrugs, the intricacy of your blinking, the flinch you often do because you get easily scared, and also, how much you hate tuesdays, which is why he's here. Whenever he's free, he drops by, trying to make your night shift a little less difficult. You'd never voiced it out, but he sees it in the way your eyes sparkle when you catch him in the crowd, coming your way, or in the efforts he makes to keep you entertained, your lips curving up in a beautiful smile.

"We are going to see y/n!" chirps Venom in his head, and Eddie can't help but feel a little off at his amount of excitement. "Oh, don't be jealous, Eddie. She sees me as a pet! Still, I like her" he says as Eddie gets inside.

The immediate smell of the alcohol stench place hits him, making him nauseous.

"I hate this place!" Venom agrees, "we should all escape!"

"And get y/n in trouble?" He scoffs, speaking over the music. People don't hear him as he walks by, which helps, since it looks like he's speaking to himself. "Sorry, but I won't be the reason she's gonna loose this job"

"Pussy! You're no fun"

Eddie ignores him as he walks towards you. It isn't until he's almost there, that he notices you're not alone.

"Who's that?" Venom asks.

"I have no idea, buddy" he then notices the proximity, his skin immediately on fire. Not like he's a jealous guy, but never say never.

"He's close to her!" Venom shouts. No shit, thinks Eddie. "We should eat him!"

"He isn't touching her" he butts. Yet, pops the grimy thought up. "Besides, is eating people all you ever think about?" he whisper shouts.

"Yes!" Venom doesn't seem not even a bit embarrassed, "especially bad guys. Like that one"

Eddie is reasonable, he thinks. Feelings like jealousy or possesiveness aren't on his book, yet, seeing the man that doesn't leave you alone, something ugly inside of him burns.

"You judge me, but I know you want the same" he's inciting Eddie, who is angrier than ever. But he doesn't cave in, counts to ten, and breathes in and out, even if he has sped up his walking.

I'm rational. I'm rational. I'm rational.

"Liar" Venom whispers. "You want to kill him"

"Not yet" he can't let his feelings get the best of him, "I can't put y/n in danger so you get some brains. If we do a mess like the ones in Mrs. Chen's store, she'll be fired"

He's being the bigger person here. Eddie just wants you to feel proud of who he is (the lethal protector), and not like you're dating a man child. It happened once (Anne being dissapointed in him, which is worse), and he's not willing to let it happen again. So he'll be polite and politely shove him out of your sight.

At least that's what he thinks until the guy touches you.

"The fuck-"

"Now we're talking!" Venom senses the anger radiating from Eddie, and decides to fire him up, "let's get his brains!"

You're so deep in your shit you don't notice when Eddie walks towards you, his perfume invading your nostrils. In a way, it brings a bit of comfort to your situation.

"Excuse me" his gravely voice goes. Fuck, how you love the sound; you can even feel the nerves going down. It's not like you're a helpless damsel in distress, but sometimes, even if you hate it, a man is needed. Eddie is very much needed now.

"Yes?" the man turns around, and he swears he's screaming when he notices the man is still touching you.

"I'd appreciate if you did me a favor, you see, it's very simple" his tone dripping in venom (hehe), "get your hands off her. Now"

It's stupid, really, how your panties twist at the demading tone, waves of possesivenss radiating off him, considering the situation you're in.

"Why? Are you her guard or something?" he challenges.

"Boyfriend" he spats out.

That would've been enough: at least for a normal person. But some have proven to have worms for brains, like him. Because, even when you've expressed your clear discomfort and Eddie is there, the man doesn't seem the slightlest intimidated, not backing off, by not even a centimeter. All this is very stupid really, and it's testing your patience like it never has in almost three decades alive.

"Yeah?" he stoods up to Eddie, and he's even slightly taller. But Eddie and his strong arms don't back off.

"Yeah" he challenges. God, how you hate men.

"Please, don't make a mess" you beg to no one in particular, because Eddie may be a rational man, but today, all in his eyes are a fury you'd never seen before.

"For your own good, I'm giving you a chance to back off" he threats.

"And what are you gonna do?" he bumps against Eddie's smaller yet built frame, "can't do much, can you?"

The music is on, but it's like it's stopped. All the people have started to stare, and you just want earth to swallow you. The initial wave of arousal is starting to wash away, making you wonder if it's all Eddie's macho ways, Venom or both.

"Eddie, don't" you warn, but it's over: the distraction of your voice makes Eddie turn, and the guy's fist slams across his face, all the regret leaving Eddie's face.

"It's on" he says in a distorted voice.

And it's off for you.

Venom takes over Eddie, the black engulfing his body. People around gasp, and a few do recognize the so-called lethal protector of San Francisco.

"I said" now he towers over him, by various centimeters "...back off"

Punches get thrown, and if you thought he'd cower in fear, the guys tries to fight him off. Some people leave amidst the chaos, and others stay to watch it. How can you take control? Not only is he causing a show, but so is Venom, all rational thoughts flying out of the window.

"Eddie!" you plead, "stop it!"

Your voice falls deaf on his ear. Why doesn't he stop? Eddie thinks he should be scared by now, but he's still fighting. Isn't he scary enough? Isn't he strong enough? Why is he still fighting? He can't loose this fight. No, Venom can't loose this fight.

"You'll pay, scum" he growls, "nobody messes with my girl"

Oh, alright. He got you there; that was kinda hot.

When you get back to your senses, the guy is on the floor, his nose bleeding.

"Eddie, that's enough!" but he ignores you, "Venom!" you try again. Nothing, just alien and guy fighting.

"Have you still learned nothing?"

"Wait!" he shouts, terrified. Nothing like the guy from before, who couldn't take a no, "I'll stop!"

"Good" Venom growls threatening. "I hope you've learned your lesson, asshole" now on Eddie's voice.

The guy scurries away, cowering in fear.

"Alright" you clap your hands, "showtime is over"

You've had enough for today. Really, your hate for tuesdays is justified: an asshole who wouldn't leave you alone, and your boyfriend and his alien pet (derogatory; hey, you're mad!) ruining your day by trying to save it.

"Hey" Eddie's soft voice sounds from behind, "are you okay?"

You laugh, bitterly. "Oh, I don't know. Let's see: a guy harrased me and my boyfriend just fucked up my only income"

His face falls, and you feel a bit bad, yet you can't help it: your nerves are on edge, and your boss not only happens to know you but Eddie too, given all his visits. That means, he sees the cameras and goodbye to your ass, no matter how much you tried to stop it.

This job helps you pay college and your bills. You're fucked: these men's mess will drag you along. Your boss is strict, and the bar reputation will go first: it's a bar, not a brawl. You already hear their stern voice, scolding you (worse) for shit you didn't do.

You start walking away, back to your spot behind the bar. You sigh, deeply: maybe it's the last time you'll ever be there.

"Wait, y/n!" Eddie calls back. The music is going strong and the crowd has long gone, but you know there are still eyes on you. All you want is to curl in bed and cry: you're sad, mad, tired and horny. The week's just getting started: it's not fair.

"What?"

He's taken back by your dry tone; you've never been like this with him. He remembers Anne and their break up, his stomach churning in fear. "Have we fucked up?" asks Venom, but Eddie is too afraid to ask.

"I was trying to help" his voice comes out small, helpless. Funny considering who he is: alien-human symbiote and fearless reporter.

"What does help mean to you? Playing superhero?" you spit. "You'll get me in trouble, Eddie. This job is all I have, yet you seemed to care more about putting a show than me"

"It's not like that!" he argues back, "I was trying to protect you!"

"I know!" you shout, some heads turning around. "I know" you repeat, this time lower, "it's just hard to tell when it's about me, and when it was about you" you confess. Eddie feels bad when he sees your teary eyes, "I don't want you to think I'm angry that you helped me: that guy was scary, and I needed help. I'm just... it's a lot, you know? I thank you for saving me, but I can't thank you for letting your ego take the best of you" you let out a shaky breath. "I want you to know that there are consequences, Eddie, and what started as a noble act ended up hurting me too. Almost like you forgot why you did it in the first place. It was about helping me: for me- Not to, I don't know, prove something..."

He understands, knowing his emotions got the best of him.

"I'm sorry" he rests against the bar, "I know I lost control; you're right. I wanted to help you, talking my way out, like I always do. But then he touched you, and I-, I froze. I hated seeing him touching you, and some jealousy got me there too..." he's ashamed to confess but does anyway, "I don't know... I kinda did also feel a bit... bruised" you're confused, an eyebrow quirking. "Alright, fine. You want me to say it? I will! I felt dumb, you know? That a douchebag like that didn't feel intimidated by me: not first, not second. I didn't know if it was me, that I lost my... well, abilities? My charm? I don't know how to explain it, but that guy was getting on my nerves. It's like-"

"Like he's stupid, Eddie. He's a hard headed idiot who kept fighting an alien symbiote for no reason: despite the disadvantage, despite people watching him loose" you reason, "you can't find logic on something without it. I've already made my peace with it"

"Maybe he was drunk" he ponder, "or high..."

"Or just dumb" you breathe. "You know? Let's stop. I want to enjoy my last day here, definitely not talking about the guy who was harrasing me minutes ago, and also, is the reason I'll loose this job"

"Alright, I'll shut up" Eddie gives up, then "I'm sorry, by the way"

You give up too, "it's okay"

"She won't leave us for this?" Venom asks. Eddie tells you and you laugh. "No, but it's your first strike"

There's some silence, the quiet sipping and chatting of the people sitting close to you, the music now a background white noise for the chaos of your mind and feelings.

"I'm still mad, you know" you drop. He looks up at you, his brown eyes colored in a dark shadow of something dangerous.

"I can make it up to you"

You know that voice. Is he thinking...?

"No" you say hastily.

"The worst already happened..." he starts, voice dropping low.

"We live in a world where superheroes and powers exist. There is always, something worst" you reason.

"Not today, baby" he gets close to your ear, his hot breathe tickling your lobe. "What do you say?"

"Eddie" you warn, but the urge to give in is so bad. It's been a while since the last time you and Eddie were intimate: lack of time, exhaustion and other factors playing a part in cock blocking you both.

"Eddie what?" he mocks, "tell me you don't want it, and I'll stop"

What if you leave the bar unattended? What if you succumb? What if one of the stalls has two people inside, even if forbidden?

"I knew you wanted it" he gasps against your skin. His soft lips kiss along your jaw, his hair brushing your face. His smell always makes you intoxicated, and in the reduced space, the dizziness is excruciating. His hand tightens around your waist, and he looks you deep into your eyes when he says:

"I know I fucked up, baby. So let me help: you won't do anything, just me"

He slams your body against the wall of the stall, which is unhygienic and against the bar norms, but really, why do you care?

"Just wanna taste you, baby" he kisses you again, full of your flavor on his lips. Your gloss coats them in a pink sticky layer, "missed you so much"

It’s shameful for him to admit how easy he seems to fall at your feet: how much he is willing to beg for forgiveness. But he can give and not receive, not having a problem with it; it's the least he can do for you, and you deserve it.

Yet you return his kisses with full hunger, your hands digging in his cheeks, pressing on the skin while diving to his neck, nipping on his sensitive spots. His hold becomes stronger, looking at you with a need so primal it dampens your folds.

"I need you to do something with this" he motions the bottom of your uniform, "be a good girl, yeah? And take this off"

Once your tights are bare and the pants are over his shoulders, he gets to see your sticky panties on their full glory.

"Fuck..." he mutters hazily.

He tears the panties down, while his knee gets his way in the middle of your tights, parting them.

You tug at his jacket, pulling him closer to you, making his knee crash against the wall of the stall.

"If you wanna taste so bad" God, you sound so demanding and it's driving him nuts, "don't keep me waiting, pretty boy"

He hovers over you, kissing you hungrily.

"I'm sorry, won't happen again" he kneels down, breathe hot and close to your puffy folds.

"If you want to fix it, then fucking do so" your hands went to his hair as you felt his teeth lightly press into your thights, sucking and tugging when needed.

"Eddie" you whine, feeling his tongue trail, taunting you, his hands circling around your thighs, the mocking flick of his tongue putting you on edge. Your folds drip, reacting to him.

"Let me help this pretty cunt, yeah?" and there's a sudden swipe at your clit by his long tongue.

You claw your nails into his scalp; the tight grip has his eyes rolling to the back of his head as he let himself get lost in the taste of your pussy.

Long forgotten is the teasing, as Eddie lets his mouth fall open, pressing his starving mouth against your wet heat. His tongue kisses between your folds, finding your hot needy clit.

"Right there..." you let out a shaky breath, hips slowly bucking into his face.

His teeth graze softly the plushy skin of your pussy, knowing how sensitive you get.

"Eddie" you plead, "more"

He lets out something that sounds like a huh, pleasant vibrations against your core.

"Deeper" you mewl, "now"

"Let me try, Eddie" Venom's voice sounds inside his head, "I want to apologize too" he's about to argue but he adds, "Besides, you promised I was going to eat. I'm hungry"

Even in the dark of the bathroom, you can see black cover the front of Eddie's face, nesting in between your legs. You let out a yelp when his now longer muscle gets again inside your bud, a failed suppressed moan escaping your lips.

Brock sucks your clit into his mouth, lips wrapped around tight walls while his tongue swiped against the tip. He began a repetition of that, and when you let out a weak cry, he knows he's found your weak spot, sucking your labia into his mouth, making you press your back hard onto the wall, pushing until it starts to hurt.

"Eddie" you softly moan his name, fingers tugging at his hair roughly.

He doesn't pull his mouth from the feast, instead, his ministrations grow rougher. He lets go of the support he has on your thigh and wanders to your pussy, his fingers touching your labia. The trail is dangerously close to your entrance, his fingers get coated with the taste of you. Without thinking, he takes them to his mouth, pupils blown wide.

"So sweet" he praises, longue slicky tongue tasting your leak. Your body was filled by pleasure, coming to its peak when Brock presses his long middle finger into your needy cunt.

"That's it" he kisses your now trembling muscles (how long have you been standing?), sending butterflies to your chest. He's really earning that pardon, isn't he? Eddie is really making it hard to keep mad at him, and Venom isn't helping. "Cum for me, darling"

You whine as he pushes a second finger in. "Are you sounding louder in purpose, babe? Do you want them to find us and see what I'm doing to you? How just my mouth and fingers fuck you up? What a whore you are, fucking in a public restroom?"

You let out another loud whimper that barely gets muffled by the music coming from outside, defiant.

"I'm already fired" you pant, "I don't fucking care"

He feels it; he knows you too much: moving upwardward past your pubic bone, easily finding that soft sensitive spot of yours. Your folds clench around his fingers, Eddie knowing you're close. So now he's back to just being him (he's still warm on his chest for all those jealous feelings from before; no more sharing), his plushy lips around your clit while he thrusts into the wet sweet spot.

Your legs tense, and before you know it, you slam against the wall, arching your back as you shake with release, "Fuck!"

Your juices coat all his fingers, and without thinking he tastes again, licking the release in a rather whore-ish way. "Mm, Venom was right: sweet"

You try to catch your breath and come to understand what had just happened: you just fucked in the bathroom of your soon to be ex-job. Jesus.

Eddie gets closer to kiss you again, cupping your face, but his fingers are still wet. Without thinking, you take them into your mouth and lick your own release off him, mirroring his sensual lick movements from before, all while mantaining eye contact.

"You're gonna be the death of me" he confesses without thinking, his eyes swimming between something dark and soft.

You suck on them with your cheeks hollowed in. His breath hitches, "does this mean I'm forgiven?"

You laugh, throwing your name tag on the trash bin next to you.

"Yes" his mouth falls open, and before he says anything, you're cutting him with a kiss, still as hungry as in the beginning, to Eddie's surprise. Of course: your age says it all. "And you're next"

#dilfistwrites #eddie brock #eddie brock x reader #eddie brock x you #eddie brock fanart #eddie brock imagine #eddie brock smut #eddie brock fanfic #venom #venom movie #venom symbiote #venom smut #venom spoilers #venom 3 #venom the last dance #marvel #marvel smut

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mazamba · 11 months ago

Text

Sponsored By

Ironically, the most eventful day in the careers of Mr. and Mrs. Fenton had nothing to do with ghosts. The two had just returned from the supermarket and were carrying in the groceries, when the shadow in the corner began to speak.

"We need to talk."

"GHOST!"

The couple were on their back before they could draw their weapons.

"You are the foremost experts in the field of ecto-biology," said Batman as if he hadn't just brought down a three hundred pound man and a ninth-degree black-belt before either of them could realize he'd moved, "I have questions regarding your sponsor."

"Sweetie, is the Batman in our living room?" asked Jack.

"I do believe he is," replied Maddie as she stood up and patted the dust off her clothes, "you know, you could have called for an appointment. We'd have made time."

"In the 80's, the two of you had your doctorate studies rescinded due to your studies in what you called "ecto-science"," he stated, ignoring their indignation, "yet you now live in an upper-middle class neighborhood and spend thousands of dollars a year on technology that didn't have a proper proof-of-concept until recently."

"What's your point?" asked Jack.

"Where is the money coming from?"

"If you must know, we have a sponsor," replied Maddie, "after our dean proved to be too small-minded for our research, we were approached by a man who was more open to the possibility of inter-dimensional research."

"He wanted us to study ghosts!" cut in Jack, "He even gave us our very first sample of ectoplasm!"

"That one sample was the backbone of our research for years, until we got our portal running."

"You never asked where he got that sample from?"

"He seemed like a trust-worthy fellow," dismissed Maddie, "all he asks is for copies of our experiments and for ectoplasm from our portal."

"What sort of experiments?"

"Well, at first we needed to verify the psycho-active behavior of the sample," recalled Maddie, "if you give me a second, I have my research around here somewhere."

"You took the sample to several morgues," Batman told them, "the sample's most drastic and extreme behavior occurred when it was placed close to bodies who had a history of violent and anti-social behavior in life."

"Maddie, the League's reading our papers!" Jack giggled excitedly, "But yes, it's how we know that all ghosts are evil ectoplasmic scum!"

"You never questioned the origin of the sample?"

"It was the only sample we had," pointed out Maddie, "but it's properties matched all of our theories."

"The man you spoke with was Ra's al Ghul," he informed them, dropping a folder full of pictures and documents for them to peruse, "thousands of years ago, Ra's found a well of green water that is now known as a Lazarus Pit. Using its power, he has rejuvenated himself time and again to maintain his position as the head of the League of Assassins. After some experimentation, he found the same pits could keep his forces alive, even in death.

"Over time, the League came across a problem that threatened their continued existence. They were consuming the Pit's water faster than it was replenishing itself. After much experimentation, they found a solution. At the moment of death, when the human soul passes over to the Infinite Realms, what you call the Ghost Zone, a small amount of ectoplasm leaks over to our side."

"Wait, you don't mean...?" Maddie trailed off, horror settling in.

"Ra's killed people en masse to replenish his pool," affirmed Batman, "further experimentation revealed that people who died in a state of extreme fear or pain provided more ferocious soldiers. That is where your sample came from.

"In it's neutral state, ectoplasm reacts equally to all emotional ranges. Repeated exposure to emotional extremes will imprint the ectoplasm, causing it to react more strongly to a specific emotional range than to others. The negative emotions of Ra's victims imprinted on the ectoplasm, resulting in your skewed results."

"Wait, how would you know that?" demanded Maddie, "We're the foremost experts on ecto-science and we didn't know that!"

He pulled out a thick folder and slammed it onto the table.

"I had my research peer-reviewed."

"By who?" asked Jack, "We looked all over and couldn't find anyone in the scientific community!"

"You weren't looking in the right place. There is a branch of the Justice League that specializes in the supernatural, ghosts and demons chief among them. They want me to bring you in."

"Really!? Did you hear that Mads! We're being recruited by the Justice League!"

"They want me to arrest you," Batman corrected them, "for illegal poaching of innocent and neutral spirits, particularly after last week's attack on their newest member, Danny Phantom."

"The Ghost Boy!?" roared Jack, "That no-good ectoscum made the League before we did!?"

"I have watched his fights. He takes care to avoid collateral damage and only appears when other ghosts attack, sometimes at great personal cost."

"Look, Mr. Batman," sighed Maddie in a condescending tone, "we've fought the ghost boy for years. He has a history of crime and violence. If you look far enough, you'll find-."

Batman had no time for nonsense.

"The League has already looked into the incidents. All show indications of either coercion or mind control."

"Ghosts are deceitful and conniving-!"

"We have already established that your initial sample skewed your results," he cut Jack off, "this would imply that all of your research and experiments need to be reassessed, including your opinions towards ghosts in general.

"Regarding Ra's al Ghul, you will need to continue working with him. Cutting contact suddenly may put you and your family in danger."

That caught their attention.

"What do we need to do?" asked Jack, all jokes and outrage immediately tossed out the window.

"Keep doing your research with this new information in mind. Your experiments have been applied to the Lazarus Pits, resulting in unstable results. Recent subjects have come out in a mindless rage, while others have shown no effect on their mind, and yet others have had no effect. Ra's is already skeptical of your continued collaboration. If you provide him with research based off this new information, he may decide you are not worth his time or money. When it comes to Ra's, your best option is dismissal to irrelevance. You do not want to make an enemy out of him."

"It's not just that," admitted Maddie, "if we were the only ones being affected, we'd simply let him know we're exploring new horizons outside of ecto-science. The thing is, we have two children, one in college and one near graduation."

He gave them a card. "Call that number. All of their college expenses will be taken care of."

"I... Bruce Wayne?" read out Jack.

"We've collaborated before, he is trustworthy," he reassured them, "the next part is up to you. Will you be scientists, or poachers?"

Their lights flickered, and he was gone.

#dp x dc #batman #jack fenton #madeline fenton #kinda messed with the Lazarus Pit's canon #but it's not like I'm the only one who's done that #so whatever #I do hope I got the Fentons' overconfidence right though

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ficsbyrike · 16 days ago

Text

Your Possessiveness Will be the Death of Me

pairing: caleb x reader

TW: graphic descriptions of blood and injuries, toxic relationships

Summery: caleb won’t let you go to the hospital

Word count: 3,833

Notes: I promised someone that my next Caleb fanfic would be fluff but apparently I am incapable of writing anything happy 😭😭 might be a little ooc

A wanderer. Claws. The stinging feeling on your abdomen. The rest was a blur.

The city had recently become more dangerous with an increase of wanderer sightings. You thought—foolishly—that because of your hunter training, this wouldn’t affect you in any significant way. More on site work, perhaps, but nothing more than a minor inconvenience. It never occurred to you that you could become a victim of a wanderer yourself.

You had been walking down the street when out of nowhere, in a cruel sneak attack, a wanderer had jumped out and ambushed you. Rendered defenseless for a few moments, it was able to leave a pretty nasty gash on your abdomen before it was promptly dealt with.

It stung badly.

It felt as if the sky was very low. It was cold as shit out. You could see your hot breath rise up in puffs of white through the inky black sky, and as if the universe conspired to spite you even more, it had begun snowing.

Your blood glistened brightly in the neon lights of the city.

It was around 2:30 in the morning. You have to be up early tomorrow. God…

You raked your brain for a moment. The warm blood seeping between your fingers made it hard to focus.

Linkon Hospital was too far away for you to walk to without collapsing half way through. And, in some cruel joke, your phone had been smashed on the pavement while you were fighting the wanderer so there was no way you could call anyone for help.

You only had one option. But it was your last resort.

Caleb lived close by, but he didn’t want to see you. It wasn’t just a hunch or a feeling, you knew. Although he didn’t outright say it, you ended on pretty bad terms last time you saw each other. Regrettable words were thrown, tears were shed. Even though Caleb tried to explain himself—why he left, why he lied about being dead—you called the conversation there, saying you weren’t in the mood to fight anymore. Since then, Caleb has sent you countless text messages in hopes of staying in touch. At first, he would apologize continuously. Then, when he perhaps realized that his attempts were futile, he resorted to simply sending short messages about how his day went, what interesting things he saw today, and good morning good night texts. You pridefully ignored all of the messages. They angered you, even. You felt as if he was trying to guilt you into forgiving him by using his status as a long-time best friend and pretending like nothing was wrong.

He knows what he did. And you couldn’t forgive him that easily.

With those thoughts in mind, you promptly blocked his number until further notice. Although sometimes you wondered whether he was still sending you messages despite knowing they weren’t getting through to you.

If you showed up at his door now, would he turn you away? Even if he was angry at you, he wouldn’t turn away a shivering, injured woman. Right? But even if he didn’t, it would be so awkward to confront the issue with him again. Perhaps you just won’t say anything unless he brings it up himself. Still, he could simply shut the door in your face and leave you on the street. And he had every right to do so, with the way you’ve been treating him. You probably would have done the same in his situation. Probably.

Swallowing your last bit of pride, you began shuffling over to Caleb’s residence, your hand pressed tightly against the fresh wound. He had sent you his new address during one of his routinely text messages, and you had unconsciously memorized it because it was a part of town you always passed by to get to the train station.

With every step you took, you felt pressure in your wound. It would open up again and again and fresh blood would seep in between your fingers. This only made you more antsy and you felt your heart speed up.

After what felt like an excruciatingly long walk, you finally stood at the front door of Caleb’s house. It was cute. A townhouse surrounded by similar looking buildings in the middle of the city. Even though the others had distinctions about them—flower beds hanging out windows, chairs and fairy lights dotting the balconies—Caleb’s house was the one with the least character. It stood there, gray with no lights in any of the windows, as if he had only just moved in a few days ago.

You brought your hand up to knock on the door, but then you hesitated. You were angry at him, but that was fine because you knew that sooner or later you would forgive him. But you couldn’t have the same assurance that he would forgive you.

You shook your head, eracing the image of Caleb’s darkened eyes from your mind, and knocked.

Whatever happens happens.

For a few moments, there was silence. It would only be natural if he had gone to sleep, considering the deep hours of the night. But then, to your surprise, you heard the noise of shuffling coming from the inside, followed by another short silence. Just as you thought that he was ignoring you, the door swung open, revealing Caleb’s tall frame in the doorway.

He was a bit paler since the last time you saw him. And a bit thinner too. You guessed it was just in your nature to worry about him, as you had done so many times in the past.

It was still cold as shit out. Your thin hunter uniform is doing little to protect you from the chilly air. But somehow, your skin still felt hot. Snowflakes still slowly glided down into your hair.

You cleared your throat, “Caleb.”

Just as the words had left your mouth, you wished for the earth below you to open up and swallow you whole. You come to his front door in the middle of the night looking like hell—exhausted, dirty, blood pouring out of your side and your nose—and the only word you can manage is his name? Were you stupid?

You scanned Caleb’s eyes for any emotions. Was he angry? Or at least disappointed in you?

He didn’t speak for a moment, his gaze falling onto your wound. You shifted self consciously.

“What happened to you?”

His question caught you off guard, prompting you to look up at him again.

“I got into a fight.”

“Yeah, I can tell. You look like shit,” he said, and you sighed.

Surely this was the same Caleb you knew. He wouldn’t just leave you out here.

“Does it hurt?” He asks.

You swiftly shake your head.

“It's minor. I’m not crippled. I’ll live,” you lie through your teeth, “can I crash at your place? I’ll be out of your hair by morning. It’s really cold out here.”

You dragged your one of your hands against the bottom of your nose, smudging the blood pooling there.

Caleb stepped aside, a familiar smirk decorating his face, “be my guest.”

***

Caleb’s residence was just as barren inside as it was outside. Only the bare necessities scattered his living room. But it was warm.

You tried taking off your shoes, but with your wound, it was a little hard to do. Once Caleb saw you struggling, he quickly leaned down and helped you.

“Thanks. Do you by chance have any disinfectant? And some gauze?”

“I thought you said it didn’t hurt.”

“No. It seriously doesn’t.”

“Don’t lie to me missy. You’re not getting rid of me that easily. Go sit on the couch.”

You did as he commanded, stumbling over to the couch before sitting down. Momentarily, there was the sound of running water and soon enough, Caleb came back with a clean, wet towel. He tried to gently lift up your shirt, but your hand stopped him.

“I’m fine. Really. Can I sleep on your couch? I’m really tired.”

Caleb’s worried eyes met yours, “you are not fine. You’re bleeding all over my floor. Stop being so stubborn and work with me here, yeah?”

He spoke in that same friendly voice, but it was obvious that there was concern in his expression.

You gently let go of his wrist with some hesitation, biting your bottom lip as he pulled your shirt over your head, discarding it somewhere on the couch next to him. Your wound was now completely exposed, along with your bare stomach. You knew he wouldn’t do anything to hurt you, but just having the wound out in the open was enough to put you on edge.

He inspected your injury. His brow furrowed before he brought the damp towel to your skin. You hissed and recoiled slightly. Caleb flinched, but held the towel gently in place.

“Sorry pipsqueak. It’s gonna hurt no matter what. Just… squeeze my arm if it gets too much.”

You didn’t say anything.

Caleb’s touch was warm. You felt his soft fingers on the tender skin of your side. It almost made you shiver.

“Why didn’t you call me sooner? Any later, and you would’ve bled out on the goddamn street,” he murmurs, and for a moment, you didn't know how to reply.

“My phone broke,” You say dumbly.

Then there was silence for a few moments. It was quiet. The only sound was his steady breathing and the clock ticking as the seconds slipped by.

“Are you angry?” You ask when he didn’t say anything.

Caleb shook his head, “no. You have every right to want to avoid me,” he sighed, “I just wish I wasn’t your last option.”

Silence again. Tik-tok… tik-tok…

“I thought you might turn me away,” you finally admitted.

“You know I wouldn’t let you bleed out on my doorstep. No matter how angry I get at you.”

“No, I don’t know that,” you whisper, “I feel like I don’t really know you anymore…”

Caleb finally looks up at you, a hint of hurt betrayed in his eyes, “Do you think… you think I changed that much?”

“I don’t know. But the Caleb I knew would never pretend to be dead for a whole year, leaving me by myself. So, yeah… I guess I don’t really know you anymore.”

“You had other people to turn to for help.”

“Sure. But in the end, who’s taking care of me?”

Caleb sighs again and turns back to your wound. Although he is trying to seem preoccupied, you can tell that he has a lot on his mind.

“We’ll continue this conversation later,” he finally says, “for now, let’s take care of your wound, yeah? The bleeding hasn’t stopped yet. I’ll need some water to wipe you down and see how deep your injury really is. Let me take you to the bathroom. It’ll be easier to do this there.”

Caleb helps you up. Then, he helps you walk over to the bathroom, his arm wrapped around your upper torso firmly but gently. Then, when he’s sure that you are able to stand upright on your own, he meticulously picks out the temperature of the water, making sure it’s not too hot or too cold.

He soaks the towel under the thin stream of water. Your old blood dyes the sink red, leaving a gruesome sight.

You feel dizzy from the blood loss. And slightly sleepy too. You grab onto the edge of the skin in an attempt to pull yourself together. The dim, buzzing light and the splashing of water continuously lull you to sleep.

Finally, when Caleb decided that he got most of the blood out from the towel, he wrings it, and brings it up to your wound again.

You take a sharp breath, colorful curses spilling out of your mouth unchecked, “haah… Caleb…”

He gently wipes away at the edges of the wound, trying hard to be as tender as possible. Despite this, he cleans up your wound with practiced efficiency leaving you to wonder how many times he has patched himself up during dark nights like these.

“You’re doing well,” Caleb says, running the towel under clean water again.

The cycle repeats a few times. By the time Caleb deems that he had cleaned the wound thoroughly enough, you are standing there, subtly trembling in pain. The sink, the floor, and both yours and Caleb’s hands are covered in your blood. You hope that it looks worse than it actually is.

“How is it?” You ask finally.

Caleb rustles through one of the storage compartments, and takes out fresh white gauze. However, your blood on his hands stains it as soon as he touches the bandages.

“It’s pretty deep. You’ll need to take it easy for a while,” he says.

Gritting your teeth as he wraps the gauze around your abdomen, you hold your breath.

“Relax,” Caleb utters, “the worst part is over.”

He wraps the gauze around you a few more times before securing it with a little bow at the end.

“There. Good as new.”

He lets out a sharp sigh, dusting his hands off like a mechanic, and straightens out to look at you again.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better. But I’m worried. Should I go to the hospital?”

“No need. I’m here to take care of you, right?”

You nod.

You didn’t know what came over you then, but your body acted faster than you could think. You placed your hands on either side of his face and planted a small kiss on the edge of his lips.

He seemed stunned for a minute.

“You know I missed you, right?” You whisper, your fingers gently running through his raven hair.

“I thought you hated me,” he breaths.

“I do. But I can do both at the same time. These two things aren’t mutually exclusive.”

“I missed you too.”

“I hope you never leave again. Because I won’t forgive you a second time.”

Caleb’s eyes flicker before he leans in closer and presses a firm kiss to your lips.

God, it was as if you were made for each other.

All of these years of yearning to the most recent worries that plagued your mind came bubbling up to the surface until they finally exploded like a volcano.

He wraps his arms around you. The need for him to be closer to you became stronger, to the point where it was almost animalistic. Your exhales became his inhales as he pushed you up against the skin, deepening the kiss. Your fingers tangled within his hair, and his hands slowly mapped out the bare skin of your back. You couldn’t help but shiver.

You hated him so much. But God… it was impossible to stay away. You were drawn to him like a moth to a flame, knowing that nothing good was going to come out of this. Maybe he would hurt you again. Maybe you were stupid to come running back to him at the first sign of affection. But that didn’t matter at this moment. Right now, you only knew him. He was your world. And you were his.

“Wait, wait. Caleb,” you gasp suddenly, “fuck.”

Caleb immediately steps back as if he was burned.

“What’s wrong?”

You look down at your wound. It was still bleeding. A faint dark red color peaked out from behind the bandages, a signal to it probably opening up again.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

“It’s okay. It’s very late. We’re both not in our right mind,” you say, heart still hammering in your chest.

Caleb hesitantly nodded. His face and t-shirt was smudged with the blood that undoubtedly came from your hands.

“Maybe I should go to the hospital,” you say again.

A dull throb pulsed over where your wound was, and although you trust that Caleb did a good job of cleaning it, you knew that he wasn’t a medical professional. Maybe you needed stitches. It would be a shame if you bled out in Caleb’s apartment for no reason other than your own carelessness.

“Damn it,” He curses, “I should’ve been more careful, you’ll bleed through these bandages too.” Frustrated, he ran his fingers through his hair. “You’re probably right, but I’ll be honest, I’m not really comfortable with letting you out of my sight just yet. I just… just let me try to add a few more layers of gauze, yeah? And if that doesn’t work, we’ll figure things out from there.”

Caleb takes out more gauze and wraps it around your lower torso again, a bit more tighter this time. He steps back to inspect how much of the gauze has already been bled through, his brow furrowing.

“Damn it…” he mutters.

You put your hand on his arm to stop his continuous fidgeting, “Caleb. Calm down.”

“You’re right. No… I just… You’re bleeding. How are you still bleeding? I’ve never seen you be this chill about an injury before. You remember when you were learning how to ride a bike when we were kids? You would cry so hard when you so much as scraped your knee against the pavement and would run to grandma so she could comfort you.”

“I remember. You were not the best teacher. It’s a miracle I haven’t gotten my front teeth knocked out.”

“You were sensitive as a kid.”

“I grew out of it.”

“Apparently.”

There was another pause. It seemed that every time you and Caleb found a common ground, there was something that would always bring you back and remind you that everything had changed. He was not the reckless little boy from your childhood that you remember. And, in turn, you were not the sensitive little girl that he remembers.

When did everything become so different?

Caleb’s apartment suddenly became cold again.

Caleb shook his head before speaking, “never mind. Have you had dinner? Are you hungry?”

“I don’t know if I can stomach anything right now.”

There was a beat of silence again, as if Caleb was choosing his words carefully, “not even rice? Or maybe some broth?”

“I don’t know.”

“Come on. I’ll order you something. Whatever you want.”

***

Caleb lended you one of his shirts since yours was stained with blood.

As promised, he ordered you takeout from a place that worked late and forced you to eat dinner. Even though you felt a little sick, you still made yourself eat.

He didn’t have a dinner table, so you sat on the couch while Caleb fed you.

“Why don’t you have a dinner table?” You inquire, “haven’t you moved in months ago?”

“I just haven’t gotten around to it.”

It was nice to catch up with him, even though it was a little awkward at times. You would talk for a few minutes before falling into silence again. Then someone would say something and the conversation would strike up again.

No one mentioned the kiss from earlier.

The familiar and slightly domestic atmosphere was almost enough to make you forget your previous worries. Almost.

There was a slight buzzing in your head, and then a wave of dizziness overcame you, harder than before.

You calmly, although wobbly, got up from the couch, and looked down at Caleb.

“Caleb, take me to the hospital.”

Caleb followed you up, “Hold on. Wait.”

You started walking towards the door, feeling like you could collapse at any moment. Caleb beat you to the front door, blocking it with his body.

“You’re not in the condition to go anywhere. Look at you. You can barely stand!”

“Then you take me!”

“Listen. I’ll take care of everything. You can’t go anywhere, even with my help.”

“But—“

“Don’t argue with me on this, pipsqueak,” He grabbed your arm a little more forcefully then he intended, “You’re not leaving in this state. No one will take better care of you than me.”

You bite at your bottom lip. What has gotten into him? Was he really just willing to let you bleed out just because he didn’t want you to leave?

Mustering up your last bit of courage and strength, you forcefully tug back on your arm that Caleb was holding, causing him to stumble forward a few steps. The plan was to get around him when he was caught off guard, however, when you retreated your arm in such a sudden motion, the muscles on your abdomen contracted, causing you to shudder in pain.

You collapse onto the floor, unable to put up a fight any further.

“Damn it, pipsqueak. I told you not to argue with me on this.”

Caleb gently helped you up, not minding your little stunt. He helped carry you to his room, tucking you into bed, bringing the covers all the way up to your chin even though you were hot. His scent enveloped you.

He planted a gentle kiss on your forehead, “you know I only want what’s best for you.”

You nod.

You realized that perhaps you should’ve seen this coming from the very beginning. The way he clung on to you when you first came, the way he never let you out of your sight. He wouldn’t let you go now. No matter how much you struggled against him. And you couldn’t say that you hated the idea. This was the person you loved the most. The person who knew you best. The person who would take care of you better than anyone.

He was the person you turned to at the end of the day.

Caleb respectfully sat down on the floor across from you, resting his head on the edge of his bed. Lost in thought, his fingers met yours. Then he brought them up to his lips and placed a gentle kiss.

“I’m mad about you,” he whispers, “I think I’ll die if you ever continue to ignore me like you did.”

“I won’t.”

“Good. Sleep tight, pipsqueak.”

It was four in the morning and the door was closed and Caleb's breathing gradually evened out. The light sound of cars passing on the street below was the only sound. In the haziness of the deep hours of the night, you were back in grandma’s house for a moment. You had snuck into Caleb's room again because you were scared of the sound of cars outside and the shadows on the wall of your room.

The pain in your side is unbearably excruciating. You carefully peel the blanket up to see Caleb’s sheets covered in blood. Your shirt had completely soaked through, and there was no doubt that your gauze had done little to prevent the blood flow. You felt unbearably hot, and your heart was thumping out of your chest.

Without thinking much further, you covered yourself with Caleb’s blanket and turned to the side, scumming to deep sleep shortly after.

At least you were with the person who knows you best.

At least you were with the person who loves you the most.

Masterlist

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stevesjockstrap · 4 months ago

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kinktober 3: Steve/Eddie & voice kink

Rated E • no UD, modern era, sex worker Eddie, phone sex, slight feminization, dom!Eddie (no one’s surprised)

For @lawrencebshoggoth 😘😏

Steve was grocery shopping, trying to decide what he wants to meal prep for the week. When a warm sensation floods his belly, his dick hardening in his slacks. The fuck?

Searching around him, he can’t figure out what is happening. Why is his body reacting like this to salad?

A voice from the next aisle finally registers to him.

“No, Chrissy! I’m not letting you set up my uncle with random women for your sick amusement!”

At first he can’t place the voice, but his now fully hard dick knows it instantly.

“Oh fuck,” Steve mumbles. He leaves his cart and races to the front door before he’s aware of what he’s doing.

In his beemer, he takes deep breaths, trying to calm his racing heart and the throbbing between his legs.

It had started as a misclick on his favorite site, a happy accident. Steve had never ventured into spicy audios before, but soon he was addicted and the velvety voice of PuppetMaster was his go-to way of getting off.

The knowledge that this person who had become one of his only sexual fantasies was out there and close by had Steve feeling ashamed yet unbelievably turned on. He took a paid day from work and spent a lot of time … taking care of himself.

“That’s it, baby. Look so good all spread out for me. Oh, fuck,” the strangers deep voice rolled across him as he fucked into his fist.

It felt more dirty now, the humiliation factor ratcheting up as he listened. The fact that there was a real person to complete the fantasy made it even more tantalizing.

He couldn’t even tell anyone about it. At work he felt like his skin was too tight, the lights too bright.

After a very long week, Steve didn’t know what to do. He felt like he was going to shake out of his skin. The audios weren’t enough anymore. His brain cycled through versions of the man speaking, but couldn’t land on one. He would get so obsessed about trying to think of a face that he couldn’t finish.

A few beers later, Steve found himself blindly searching the name online.

He almost dropped his phone when a TikTok account popped up.

This definitely didn’t help matters. But his dick was back on board. The man was beautiful, much more so than his meager imagination could come up with. The long wavy hair, big brown eyes. His lips.

He’d snuck his hand down before he realized. Then he froze. Was this too far? Jerking it to this stranger’s social media?

There weren’t a lot of videos, and he was irritated to find that the man wasn’t using his own voice, mostly lip syncing popular sounds. Scrolling down, his thumb found an earlier video. It was a comical thirst trap set up, but the way the man’s arms came up to grab the top of the doorframe showing off his tattooed biceps and ribs, the way his eyes darkened as he swept his gaze down the camera made his breath catch.

Steve let the video loop until he came twice.

Then a message slid down from the top of the page. With the man’s tiny circle face.

Hey there

Oh no. How had this happened?

He swiped back to the video and realized not only had he followed the page, in his exuberance he’d spammed that video with emojis.

It occurred to him that he could just ignore it. Delete the message, his account, the app, never have to think about this again.

But his stupid dick had him going back to the man’s page. His profile didn’t give much information. But there was a link.

“Holy shit,” Steve gasped as the page loaded.

He had never allowed himself to explore OnlyFans, given his track record with this new addiction. He didn’t understand most of the jargon he was skimming over, but it hit him that there was an untapped treasure trove of content from this man who had been the source of all of his recent orgasms.

He subscribed and didn’t blink at whatever dollar amount was charged.

Then he got a second message.

PuppetMaster: You work fast, pretty

His brain helpfully supplied the voice and the face to go along with it and his dick stirred. The way this stranger had overhauled his body should be concerning. But all he could do now was go along with it.

Steve clicked on the notification and tried to come up with something to say.

PuppetMaster: Oh, now he’s shy

PuppetMaster: I don’t want to scare you away

He gulped, then started typing.

SteveH1102: You’re not going to scare me away. But I might scare you

PuppetMaster: Oh?

PuppetMaster: Cute little thing like you? I doubt it

Steve smiled in spite of himself.

SteveH1102: I’ve, let’s say, enjoyed your work that I’ve found elsewhere but just discovered your actual page

His heart was beating so fast, his anxious energy didn’t allow him to keep laying across his couch. He got up to pace around his apartment.

PuppetMaster: Well that’s not scary. I’m glad you found your way to me

“Christ,” Steve whispered.

SteveH1102: The thing is, you aren’t from around Indianapolis, are you?

There was a longer pause between messages now, and he was waiting for some notification that he was blocked or otherwise in trouble. He grabbed another beer from the fridge and drank half of it in a long pull.

PuppetMaster: Maybe I didn't give you enough credit, handsome. That would send chills up anyone’s spine

SteveH1102: I’m sorry, I probably could’ve worded it better. I’m sort of drinking. I’m pretty sure I overheard you on the phone at the grocery store and well, recognized your voice

A thought popped into his head. Without allowing the man to respond, he started typing again.

SteveH1102: This is actually you, right? Not like an assistant or like a catfish situation?

PuppetMaster: It’s all me, baby. It’s cute you think I’m big enough to have outsourced my porn site

SteveH1102: Could we video call?

He blinked as he realized he sent it. Counted to thirty and still didn’t have a response.

SteveH1102: I’d pay for your time, or however this works. Of course

There was a pop-up requiring some more details from him and a payment that he quickly clicked through.

“Oh, fuck,” Steve breathed as he stared at the live video. The other man was smart enough to throw a light on, and was either on a computer or had turned his phone sideways.

“Same to you. Your profile picture doesn’t do you justice.”

It was definitely him, and getting to watch the voice he’d become addicted to come from those lips made chills travel down his body.

Steve huffed a laugh, walking quickly back over to his couch next to the only lamp that was on. When he’d dropped down onto a rough throw pillow he also remembered he’d taken his shirt off.

“You gunna give me a show, handsome? Getting comfy?”

Steve tried to bite back the moan that escaped, he really did. Maybe this hadn’t been a good idea after all.

“Why not? I’m having fun.”

He gaped at the smirk across the beautiful face and winced as he realized he’d spoken that aloud.

“Convinced it’s me, yet? Are you going to tell me what you were thinking when you put all kinds of heart eyes on my TikTok?”

Steve knew this teasing commanding tone and wasn’t surprised when his cock started filling again.

“I didn’t mean to, ma- um, it was a mistake. I was-”

He received a low growl and a full mischievous grin.

“It’s Eddie, by the way. But you can call me master if you want. I’ll let you know if you do anything I don’t like, and I’d appreciate if you’d do the same.”

“Oh my god.” Steve felt way too in over his head to have this conversation.

“So your hand just slipped,” Eddie continued, ignoring him. There was a low chuckle, and his face got bigger in the screen. “Were you doing something naughty, pretty boy?”

Steve whined and his hips jolted on their own accord.

“I think that’s a yes, then. Is there somewhere you can prop your phone up, Stevie? So I can see you better? And you don’t have to hold it?”

He blinked, unsure of what was happening, but then searched around quickly. He set his beer bottle down on the coffee table and stuck his phone in front of it. It was a bit of an awkward angle, but Eddie hummed at him.

“There’s a good boy. Still got your work pants on? Came home all stressed and decided to come look for me?”

He dug his fingers into his thighs to keep from dipping his hand into his pants.

“E-eddie,” he gasped.

Eddie clicked his tongue at him. “Now, now, pretty. We both know that’s not what you want to call me. Go ahead, try again.”

Steve had a silent war with himself while they stared at each other.

“Or we could talk about the weather, or music or whatever,” Eddie teased.

He giggled, and his mouth betrayed him again. “I would probably get off just from that anyways.”

Eddie’s face brightened and he laughed, low and filthy. “Oh yeah? Maybe we’ll try that sometime. C’mon, show me. Let me see you.”

He groaned, covering his face instead.

“Don’t you dare.” Eddie’s hardened voice had him moving his hands instantly. “What a good boy you are for me. Now, I’m sure you wanna come as much as I do- uh huh, now we’ve got his attention. Slide those expensive pants down.”

Steve swallowed hard, raising his hips as he wiggled out of his slacks.

Eddie yanked his shirt off quickly, like he wasn’t willing to miss a second of Steve. It sent an even more powerful wave of warmth through him. He was lightly muscled, but most of his chest and arms were covered with dark ink. Steve wanted to lick every inch.

“Please,” he whined.

“I know, baby. We’re getting there. You look so good, all desperate and writhing.”

It was so close to his favorite audios that he gasped.

“Ohhh, so that’s what you’ve been enjoying, Stevie? Those do seem to get spread far and wide. Speaking of… why don’t you lose your panties, honey. Let me see all of you.”

The word panties almost had him coming already, the humiliation burning in his belly. Biting his lip, he pulled the waistband of his briefs down, quickly leaning back at Eddie’s snapped fingers when he blocked the camera.

“Well, big boy, now what should we do about that?”

His dick was, predictably, hard and dripping. Again. He would’ve been impressed by his refraction period if he wasn’t literally following directions from this sex god.

Steve couldn’t speak as he realized Eddie had also stripped, but he was keeping below his belly button out of camera view as his hand moved.

“Really glad you found me tonight, pretty boy. Look at you,” Eddie purred.

He couldn’t keep his hand from sliding down his length, and the deep groan that burst out from him.

Neither of them said anything as they soaked in the view and each other’s noises, but Steve couldn’t hold back the whine at Eddie’s growled, “Hands off.”

His dick twitched against his belly as he stared almost unseeingly at his phone. Eddie still kept his own hands and dick out of view. He was suddenly more desperate to see Eddie’s hands working himself over than coming.

“Please,” he croaked. “Eddie- I need-”

“You can wait,” Eddie responded coolly.

“No, please. Can I see you? Wanna see your cock!”

The moan from his phone made him shiver, but he wasn’t prepared for the sinful look that spread across Eddie’s face.

“Oh yeah? More than you want to touch yourself?”

Steve whimpered but nodded.

“You’re so precious, Stevie. Say it again.”

The order made more precome slide down his dick and he clenched his hands in the cushion under him. “Please let me see you, Eds? Please?”

Eddie reached up and did something to make the angle different. “Such nice begging, baby.”

He licked his lips unconsciously, thinking about how full his mouth would be with that thick cock shoved into it.

“Gods, your mouth, Stevie. I stared so hard at those lips in your picture. They’d look so good stretched around me.”

Eddie was apparently a talker, while Steve only managed to whimper and try to keep his hands away from his persistent problem.

“Being so good for me, pretty. I want to bite those moles on your thigh. No, don’t hide. You’re fucking delicious, Stevie.”

Eddie’s hand quickened, twisting around the head. “You want my come so bad, don’t you slut?”

He could only whine and nod, sliding further down the couch as if he could get physically closer for him.

“Want it in your mouth? Or across your tits?”

Steve gasped and closed his eyes against the burn of humiliation that almost had him coming apart.

Eddie hummed. “Yeah, rub it into your chest hair and down to your pretty cock.”

He opened his eyes in time to watch Eddie grunt, mesmerized as his muscles bunched and he threw his head back as he came hard. His head shot up at Steve’s small, “Oh, oh, oh fuck!”

He’d never come untouched before.

Gasping, rocking through the aftershocks as he came down, he nervously looked back at Eddie. The look of pure want and fire in his eyes made him groan softly.

“So, Stevie, what was it you said about living in the area?”

#kinktober #steddie #stranger things smut #dom eddie munson #mine #stranger things fic

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rewrittenwrongs · 9 months ago

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Having thoughts about the League of Assassins. It’s pretty common among them to form hierchy/ranking around who’s a better fighter and who beat/killed who. I can’t remember if it’s canon but I like the idea that to prove your teacher has taught you all they have to teach you must kill them (not sure how that applies to history/math/whatever but. Moving on.) Working off of that idea, a lot of assassins in the organisation would already respect Tim for causing the death/defeat of the Council of Spiders; assassins that are so skilled they kill other assassins for fun. Him then TRICKING RA’S AL GHUL AND BLOWING UP (almost??) ALL OF HIS BASES, AND THEN OUTSMARTING HIM AGAIN WHEN HE TRIES TO DESTROY EVERYTHING BATMAN HAS BUILT, I feel like it’s reasonable to assume a lot of them would’ve decided Tim is the bigger threat or at least proved himself very formidable and a large threat. I imagine a lot of them would’ve sought him out in Gotham and pledged loyalty to him (kind of like Minions seeking out the evilest leader thanks for that thought brain), maybe doing full on traditional rituals to prove the transferring of their loyalty, like blood oaths or ritual spars idk, maybe giving him gifts or displaying their skills so he accepts them as allies rather than being disrespected and killing or maiming them since that’s the standard they expect in the League.

And Tim is uh. Very confused. Very surprised. And also trying hard not to show it. He accepts all the gifts and pledges and shit, because he sure as fuck ain’t gonna turn them back to Ra’s, but after that he doesn’t really know what to do with them. He hires a bunch of them at Wayne Enterprise and Drake Industries, tasks a bunch of them with working for Red Hood on the down low, maybe sends a couple on undercover missions to Arkham Asylum so they start treating inmates as actual human beings and stop using shock therapy or something, and makes sure to write them all up fair contracts and great pay with good work bonuses and plenty of leave, and makes sure most or all of them start going to therapy. The assassins love their new leader and would do practically anything for him.

But anyway, all that aside. I’ve had those thoughts in my head for more than a month. Something that just recently occurred to me is Mara al Ghul. Damian’s cousin. Another child raised by the League of Assassins, only this one never left.

Until, that is, she watches this freshly-immunocompromised vigilante arguably outsmart her grandfather twice, and decides he is the bigger threat, actually, I want to be on his good side when he takes over the world.

So now Tim is being forced into basically adopting this feral child, who’s only experience in American society was undercover missions to kill people, who thinks decapitated heads are reasonable gifts, who’s introduction to Tim was something batshit insane like dumping the Joker’s head in his lap because the Joker is Gotham’s most dangerous rogue and of course Tim will appreciate having him gone. But even with a well crafted facade she can tell Tim is unnerved and horrified, so she must be doing something wrong. Maybe it was because the Joker is Batman’s enemy and not Tim’s specifically? But Tim doesn’t have any arch nemesis aside from maybe Ra’s who she obviously can’t kill, so she does more research into Tim’s life and background and finds out Captain Boomerang killed his father so next she brings Tim HIS head and she can already tell he’s much more pleased this time. But there’s still that edge of unsettlement and wariness, and he’s acting so strange around her, so she digs deeper and finds out about the Titans Tower incident but Tim sent all these other assassins to work for red hood so they must be on good terms, and then she finds out about all the bad blood between him and Damian and Dick so she starts trying to kill them next, starting with Damian obviously (a mix of jealousy over him leaving the league and a good amount of cousin rivalry/cain instinct), but Tim stops the fight and tells her to stand down and now she’s scared that he’s going to punish her and Ra’s’ punishments were always so harsh and perhaps this time she can’t quite fight down the urge to hide.

Meanwhile, Tim is being dragged through a parent arc kicking and screaming, the bats are wondering why the hell there are suddenly so many assassins only after they scare off Ra’s, Jason is more or less vibing because he thinks the assassins are from Talia and the Joker’s dead so of course he’s ecstatic (even tho he wishes he knew who did it so he can thank them), Dick and Damian are still reeling from learning Bruce is alive/getting him back from the time stream when all of a sudden this masked child comes out of nowhere mid patrol and attacks Damian, and isn’t backing down even though Dick arrived quickly but when Red Robin arrives and yells stop she’s already three rooftops away by the time he’s done speaking. Everyone is tired and doesn’t know what the hell is going on except mayybe Oracle.

#disclaimer I have never read a comic with mara in it in my life so I apologise if this is horrendously ooc #mara al ghul #tim drake #league of assassins #red robin #damian wayne #ra’s al ghul #Batman #rewritten speaks #fandom thoughts #dc thoughts #fic ideas #batman thoughts #blackbird fly

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cacoetheswriting · 22 days ago

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celebrity skin. (part ten)

pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x popstar!fem!reader word count: 4.6k summary: the final resolution, at a funeral, of all places.

content warnings: 18+, minors dni: suggestive & mature themes, adult language, minor character death, topics of grief, alcohol consumption, mentions of blackmail, use of pet names, — if i missed anything in this chapter, pls let me know!

& psa: images used in the header don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also described vaguely in the story, only that she’s a little shorter than eddie.

celebrity skin. masterlist

a note from me: hello friends, it’s been a while. apologies for the radio silence and for living this fic unfinished until now. life just happens and surprise, i had a whole ass baby last year (call me mother). postpartum is not easy and it especially has not been kind on my mental health, so i took time to get my pink back while taking care of another human. i appreciate you sticking with me and being patient - this is for you!

“This is all my fault.”

Unsurprisingly, Eddie blames himself. He always does. Even if he isn’t the one to be held liable. Call it insecurity, whatever. Eddie Munson just believed, from a very young age, that he was a walking magnet for all things unlucky.

Certain events occurred for no reason the brunette could explain, other than there being an unknown higher power had it out against him, which he’d often say to Wayne in hopes of some show of sympathy or a lesser reprimand. And even though, for the most part, Wayne agreed with his nephew, there were certain tricky situations for which the young Munson boy only had himself to blame. „Bad decisions lead to bad outcomes”, Wayne would mutter at the dinner table as Eddie sat, a bag of frozen peas pressed to his swollen eye.

His luck had briefly changed once he accidentally became friends with Chrissy Cunningham.

The preppy blonde offered him kindness — not something he’s been privy to before, especially not from the Hawkins upper class. Chrissy didn’t care about his upbringing, his social status, living conditions, or his style. She stood up for him in front of the rest of Hawkins’ finest on more than one occasion, pure acts of heart that to this day many of the townsfolk believe cost the cheerleader her life.

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie exhales, then repeats, “this is all my fucking fault.” Panic detectable in the sound of his voice.

“Stop that,” Marianne insists in a whisper, eyes focused on the rockstar as he paces, hands deep in the pockets of his black tailored trousers.

He sighs. “If I had never gotten involved—”

“Eddie, I mean it.” Marianne cuts in. “This is most definitely not your fault and none of the people gathered here today believe that it is.” She tries her best to reassure her favourite client. “I know that may be hard for you to believe considering what you told me recently…”

There’s a pause.

“No one thinks this is your fault, Eddie.”

“She does,” the rockstar says simply, ending the conversation. He then pushes through the double doors that lead inside the church.

The silence inside is agonising. Almost suffocating. Patrons dressed head to toe in all shades of black, staring blankly ahead at the altar. Staring at the open casket which was surrounded by floral arrangements made from dozens of white roses.

Eddie looks ahead, toward the front row, where the family is sitting. Your family. From oldest to youngest, all of your siblings, shoulder to shoulder: Caroline, Valentine, Amelia, and little Jonah in your father’s arms. Your mother is a little removed. She’s at the end of the row and by the way her body is shaking, Eddie can tell she’s crying — understandably so.

There’s a lot to be said about death. Eddie knew that first hand.

Chrissy’s death, for example, was an event that forever changed the trajectory of his miserable life. The accusations, the mob mentality, all of that was the push the brunette boy needed to finally get out of town and make something of himself. Escape. Although, it could have gone either way. He knew that, he wasn’t a complete idiot. It took a long time for the rockstar to come to terms with what happened that night. And even now, years later, Eddie knew that back in Hawkins, he’d forever be blamed for something he didn’t do.

“None of the people gathered here today believe that it is.” Marianne’s words from just moments ago echo in his ears as he desperately tries to get a grasp on his feelings.

This was the third funeral Eddie has ever attended. Second, if you count the fact that the boy was far too young to remember that of his mother’s and it’s not like Wayne ever shared any details. Actually the first funeral because although Chrissy’s burial was a day the brunette rockstar could never forget, he wasn’t entirely welcome there. That didn’t stop him, of course. He did not make his presence known. Instead, Eddie hid between the trees at the cemetery, watching from afar.

Seemingly, the entire town was there which made the young Munson boy angry ‘cause these people didn’t care for Chrissy. They were all phonies. Acting like they knew her when in fact, if asked, they wouldn’t even be able to say what her favourite colour was. Eddie knew her. He really knew her. In fact, Chrissy told him so many times. “I think you’re my only true friend, Eddie.” She admitted one afternoon. “You know, it’s quite lonely being the most popular girl in school. With you though, I don’t feel so alone.”

The memory makes his heart hurt. More so because it’s been locked away for years. Hidden in a metaphoric box that the rockstar swore he’d never reopen. Recently though, considering the circumstances, Chrissy has been on his mind a lot more. Her big blue eyes, her bouncy blonde ponytail. Her smile, her laugh. The sound of her voice. Her kind heart. Recently, Eddie’s been thinking about his friend quite often. Thinking about how he wasn’t allowed to say a proper goodbye.

Goodbye…

“What are you doing here?”

His head snaps up at the question, brown locks bouncing with the sudden movement. He quickly looks around, but no one else currently inside the church seems to be paying attention to him, or to you. And you… You’re staring at him, waiting for an answer.

“I-I came to pay my respects.” It seems rather obvious, although maybe not.

All you do is nod.

Eddie notices how you’ve been crying. On instinct, he reaches for your hand. He wants to offer you comfort. Some solace amongst all of this sadness. To his surprise, you don’t pull away. In fact, you allow your fingers to tangle themselves amongst his and when the rockstar squeezes, once, gently, your whole body seems to relax.

“I am truly sorry for your loss.”

You respond with a timid smile. It’s not much, but it’s all you can muster.

Thursday, October 14. Time? 9:27pm. That’s when you got the call. Your strangely composed father broke the news. An accident. You could hear sirens in the background. He was driving. Someone ran a red light. He was okay. Time seemed to slow as he continued. “Sweetheart, your Nana… Can you pick up your mom and meet us at the hospital?”

The older woman had never looked so frail. Bandaged up. Connected to all sorts of wires and tubes, monitors that beeped so loud you thought your brain was going to explode, machines that were essentially keeping her alive. Your Nana’s eyes were closed when you walked in and for the next three days. You took turns sitting by her side. Talking to her, reading her favourite gossip columns, Val even repainted her nails while Caroline always made sure her hair was brushed and perfect.

News of the accident spread. The hospital room quickly filled with bouquets of flowers and various ‘Get Well Soon’ cards — one of which was signed by Eddie.

Once he heard about what happened, the Corroded Coffin frontman dipped early from his own album release party to fly back to New York as fast as he could. Yes, your grandmother has made it nearly impossible for him to be with you, but at the end of the day, she was still your family and you were undoubtedly hurting. Setting his own feelings aside, he wanted to be there for you. Simple.

If you weren’t at the hospital, you were curled up in bed, crying into Eddie’s chest.

Then you got the call.

Your Nana was awake.

Doctors later explained her sudden surge in energy as terminal lucidity. In the moment however, no one questioned the miracle that brought her back to you and your family. No one batted an eye. Just happy to see her eyes open and hear the snark in her tone of voice. If only for a few hours, she was back to her old self.

“I’m going to get some more coffee.” With a gentle squeeze to your Nana’s hand, your mom exits the hospital room leaving you briefly alone with the matriarch of your family.

There’s a split second of silence during which you contemplate telling her how scared you were that she was going to die, but you stop yourself because there’s no need to burden her mind with such horrific thoughts.

Although, your Nana seems to read your mind.

“Please don’t fill your pretty head with worry,” she says reassuringly, “I know I gave you all quite the scare, but it’ll take a lot more than some car crash to take me out.”

“Don’t joke like that.” It comes out rather flat.

“Then smile for me, my darling.”

You abide by her request, lips twirling upwards for your Nana to see. She mirrors your expression and for the next twenty seconds, all is good again in the world. She really wasn’t going anywhere. You didn’t have to be scared anymore.

“Now that we got that out of the way,” she says matter-of-factly, “This little accident I found myself in did force me to rethink my behaviour with regards to a few things.”

You shake your head. “You don’t have to do that here.”

She ignores you. “I do have to, and want to, come clean about something I did.”

With a swift exhale — for added courage — your Nana spills her shame. Once you hear Eddie’s name escape her tired lips, you sort of black out. Only hearing fragments that don’t entirely make sense to you. Something about bias and her distaste towards the metalhead. Chrissy Cunnigham. The blackmail. The breakup. Your breakup. There’s puzzle pieces missing. Yet even without the borders, even through the haze of the moment, you got fragments of an answer to why Eddie ended things that second time.

The woman you cherished, the woman you had to thank for your entire career, was unfortunately the same woman who came between you and happiness. She made a choice for you. A choice that ended with you bed bound for weeks. Heartbroken. A recluse.

As she squeezes your hand, through tears in your eyes, you ask her if it was worth it. Forcing Eddie to hurt you like that.

Unfortunately, you never get an answer.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. The room fills with doctors and nurses faster than you can realise what’s happening. They’re asking you to move out of the way, so you do. You stand at the wall, arms tight against your heaving chest, and you watch, terrified, as the professionals do everything in their power to keep your grandmother alive.

But the beeping doesn’t stop. Not exactly. Instead it slows. Flatlines.

At some point, your mom had returned to the room. She’s panicked, asking what happened. You don’t know what to say, pushing yourself further into the wall behind you, hoping it would swallow you whole — it doesn’t.

Chest heaving, you don’t know how to act, what to do. In the blink of an eye, the space of a single breath, your Nana passed away. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. “She was fine”, you find yourself saying, but no one is listening. The nurses unplugging her lifeless body from all of the machines, while the doctor speaks with your mom, calmly explaining what could’ve caused the sudden change in your grandmother's state.

“She was fine,” you repeat, but don’t move from your spot. Instead, you close your eyes to hold back the tears.

The sadness was imminent. The anger however, well, the anger overwhelmed you.

Your Nana, this human you idolised for your entire life, the person who helped you and shaped you into who the world deemed worthy, the woman who always had your back, turned out to be a liar. She was no better than any of the other leeches who had befriended you only to mooch off your success.

Whatever her reasonings were at the time, she put your happiness aside by threatening your career. Something you’d never thought she’d do. And what was worse, she made a decision for you, then kept it a secret for months on end.

Her and Eddie.

The rockstar is waiting for you when you get home — like he has been every night since the accident. You find him in the kitchen, cooking. He turns when you walk in and immediately drops the wooden spoon in his hand, wiping his fingers on the denim of his jeans before pulling you into a hug.

Eddie is the epitome of comfort, that much you’re sure of. But you don’t immediately return the embrace because your mind is confused. He lied, in a way. He said he wasn’t the relationship type and that’s the reason he can’t be with you officially. Now you know that’s not entirely true.

The Corroded Coffin frontman senses your apprehension, though before he gets a chance to ask what’s wrong, half formed sentences are spilling from your mouth into the crook of his neck.

“She’s dead.”, “She told me—.”, “The blackmail…” , “Why didn’t you?”, “She died— She died before I-I could get the full story.” “Eddie, what the hell—”

You pull away slowly, then wipe your eyes with the sleeves of your cashmere sweater. Eddie’s hand travels to your cheek ‘cause he doesn’t want to let you go, afraid that if you take even one step away from him, you’ll never find your way back.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he whispers and you nod. “And I’m sorry for all the lies.”

“Eddie—”

“Please,” he interrupts, “I-I promise I will explain everything to you, but right now,” the rockstar pulls you in for another hug, “you should get some sleep.”

You nod against his chest and let him lead you across the apartment, towards your bedroom. Like a knight in shining armour, Eddie helps you into bed, taking off your shoes in the process and placing them gently at the corner of the bed. He covers you up with the soft duvet before closing all of the blinds and making himself comfortable next to you.

Before you know it, your eyes are closing. You let tiredness win.

When you wake up, some fourteen hours or so later, the Corroded Coffin frontman is nowhere to be found. Just a note on your bedside table with the words, I’m sorry. I swear I’ll explain my side of the story in time, but right now, it’s best if you’re with your family. I don’t want to get in the way of your family.

Fuck him.

“I am truly sorry for your loss.” Eddie’s words are sincere, you can tell by the slight tremble in his voice. “She may not have been my biggest fan, but I know she loved you.”

“I doubt that.”

He shakes his head. “She loved you, that’s why she did all that she did.”

“You promised you’d explain.”

“I don’t think this is the time—”

“It’s never the right time with you.” You say harshly while looking away, at the crowd of people that knew your Nana at one point during her adventurous life. “Excuse me,” you add without glancing at him again and walk in the direction of your family.

The service is beautiful.

You fight back tears throughout, knowing that there’s always someone lurking, trying to catch you crying for a picture they can later sell to the tabloids for hundreds of dollars. And you do a good job hiding your emotions because that’s what you were always taught to do in public situations. Taught so by the very woman your family was mourning today. You feel her presence strongly in that moment, as you bite the inside of your cheek. You can hear her voice inside your head, telling you to straighten your back and hold your head high, “Never let them know what you are thinking.”. Instead, you’re trying your best to focus on the eulogies.

Your father speaks first. With your little brother steadily in his arms, he reads a letter written by your mother, who was too distraught to come up and read it on her own. His pace is slow as he enunciates every single syllable — something he only ever does when he’s angry or sad. When he’s done, he looks at your crying mother and mouths, I’m sorry, I love you, before stepping off the altar and letting your older sister take his place at the stand.

“My grandmother was a remarkable woman.” Caroline clears her throat into the microphone. She’s equally as composed as you, although the smudged mascara in the corner of her eyes gives away tears she shed before the funeral started.

Caroline continues, “She led an amazing life, although not without its challenges. She overcame it all with grit and wit — qualities she tried to pass onto us, her grandchildren.”

She pauses. Almost as if she’s hesitant to keep going.

“I’m sure each and every one of you here today has a story to share on how my grandmother touched your life. She was a friend to all and an enemy to some.” That earned my sister some laughs. “Her priority had always been our family and now that she’s gone, we definitely feel a void. I for one don’t know if I can still be the same person I was when she was here.”

Caroline finishes with a prayer. She then strides towards the front aisle and retakes her seat next to you. She squeezes your hand, sympathy and encouragement, as you take in a deep breath and stand.

Everything feels in slow motion during the fifty-odd seconds it takes you to stand where your older sister just stood. You retrieve a piece of paper from inside the sleeve of your couture black jacket and lay it flatly in front of you. The words blur in front of your eyes but only for a split second. “Never let them know what you are thinking.”, and so you don’t.

“Our parents give us life. Our grandparents give us a sense of who we are and where we come from,” you begin. “This week, as we said goodbye to my dear Nana, it hit me how incredibly lucky I have been to have her, not only with me, but as an integral part of who I’ve become in my life.”

“Without my Nana, I’d still be singing Dusty Springfield in my bedroom. I wouldn’t know how to play any musical instruments and the poems I’ve written over the years, well, they’d remain just that. As the incredible matriarch, the regal leader in our family, she pushed all of us grandkids to strive for greatness. Without her, we’d be just another family. Faces lost in the sea of New Yorkers. I know I speak for all of my siblings when I say that thanks to our warrior Nana, we learned who we really are and we are able to live our lives without—”

You pause and look up at the crowd, your eyes first landing on the front row, your family, then further, until they meet a certain brown pair. Eddie offers an encouraging smile and even though there are many things running through your mind about what he and your Nana have done, your lips tilt upward to return half the expression.

“We can live our lives freely,” you change the sentence before continuing, “And even though she’s no longer with us physically, I can still feel her presence. She’ll be with me forever.”

As you wrap up your eulogy, the piano begins playing soft notes of You Decorated My Life by Kenny Rogers. Your father stands along with five other men and they take their place by the casket, lifting it carefully then carrying it out of the church.

“Your eulogy was really beautiful.”

Eddie’s voice breaks you away from your thoughts.

The rockstar is leaning against the doorframe of your teenage bedroom, where you’ve come to hide from all of the people gathered in your parents house for the wake. There’s a shaded smile present on his face, kindness behind his eyes. You instantly feel warm.

“It’s hard to be angry at someone who’s given you so much.”

“So you’re just angry with me then?” He probes, stepping inside and gently kicking the door shut with his heel.

Shaking your head, you say, “No, I’m not angry with you, Eddie,” then sigh, “I think I’m just disappointed.”

“That’s probably worse,” he admits.

You pat the blanketed spot next to you, inviting him to sit down. He does so without hesitation and when his arm brushes against yours, you instantly lean your head against his shoulder.

“I just wish you trusted me enough to tell me the truth. Allow me to make my own decision.”

Eddie nods. “I get it. I guess I was just scared you’d think I was making it all up, trying to paint your grandmother as someone she isn’t.”

For a moment, it’s quiet. The afternoon light seeps in through the half-closed curtains, offering a glow that you’ve only ever witnessed in Eddie’s Hidden Hills home.

“Why did you leave that night? When she died, I woke up and all I had instead of the person I really needed beside me was a sorry excuse for a note.”

He doesn’t immediately answer and that frightens you. A thought crosses your mind that he’s still hiding something — which would be crazy since it was your Nana who seemingly orchestrated everything.

“Yeah, that was an asshole move on my part.” He admits, “I uh, I was scared that when you woke up, you’d be twice as angry about this whole debacle with your grandmother that you wouldn’t let me tell you my side of the story.”

“So, your gut instinct was to run?”

“Always is, sweetheart.”

You scoff.

“I wanted to give you the space to grieve and understand your own emotions first before I loaded more shit onto you,” Eddie says honestly.

There’s a split second of silence.

“Can you tell me everything now?”

“If that’s what you want.”

You lift your head, tilting it so that your eyes catch his.

“I want to move on with our lives and that can only happen when I have the full picture.”

Eddie raises a brow. “Our lives?”

“Yes,” you say, taking his ring-clad fingers in yours, “Ours.”

“That’s the moment I really knew I can never let her go again,” Eddie says, hand on your thigh.

The interviewer clicks her pen, satisfied with all of the information the two of you have given her over the last few hours. She lets out a content sigh to prove as much before leaning forward slightly, over her crossed legs.

“I gotta say, you guys are my favourite Hollywood couple.”

“Thank you,” you say with a smile, then glance at Eddie. “We also think quite highly of ourselves.”

“That we most certainly do,” the Corroded Coffin frontman agrees with your sentiment and beams at you affectionately. Your heart soars.

It has been almost one whole year since your Nana passed and you know she’s rolling in her grave ‘cause of how much you’ve accomplished with the rockstar by your side.

After the funeral, Eddie agreed with Marianne, his label, and most importantly, his bandmates, to stay in New York while you finished filming for Law & Order. He took the occasional trips back to the West Coast for photo and video shoots along with management meetings, but for the most part he was by your side, day and night. He came with you to set, championing you on this new journey from singer to actress.

When filming for your character wrapped, you packed a big suitcase and joined him on tour. You’ve never really gotten to go on a road trip. Whenever you went on tour for your albums, it was from the private plane to the venue to the hotel, repeat, repeat, repeat. Being on a tour bus with Eddie and his friends, in a different American city every other night — all while getting to watch Eddie do what he does best, on that stage, in front of thousands of screaming fans — was somewhat also a dream come true for you.

During that time, you finally met Eddie's uncle, Wayne. He came to the show in Indianapolis, watching the performance with you from backstage. Afterwards, Wayne spilled about one thousand secrets and stories from Eddie’s childhood. Some heartfelt, some more delinquent. From the time young Eddie broke his arm while trying to save a stray cat from a tree, and the countless times a teenage Eddie would sneak out to sell weed at rich kids parties.

You fell for him harder then, and even more with each day that passed.

Months later, when the Assistance is Futile tour had its final show in Los Angeles, you told Eddie you weren’t going back to New York: “If you’ll find space for me in that big mansion of yours, that is.”. The brown-eyed rockstar smiled wide at your words, then said: “Our mansion, sweetheart.”.

While you brushed up on your acting skills, landing more and more television and movie roles, Eddie got to work on his third album with Corroded Coffin. That’s when he found the notebooks. Lyrics for songs the two of you had written during your summer together, before your grandmother meddled and it all went to shit. He brought them to you, a twinkle in his eyes.

“I know you’re transitioning away from singing, but hear me out…”

That’s how The Popular Kids was born. Corroded Coffin’s third studio album, with one twist. You.

Which brought you both here, to the interview at Eddie’s Hidden Hills home that has, over a short period of time, also become your home.

“Well, it was great to chat with you two today. Get to know you a little more intimately,” the interviewer says, “Your entire relationship has been very secretive up until this point.”

“Well, this business can be quite cut-throat and there’s very little privacy, which we know is what we both signed up for when we first got into the industry,” Eddie begins, he’s unbelievably natural, he’s made for this — being a star, “The little things, well, we just wanted them to be between us.”

The interviewer nods.

“That’s a little lie, no?”

“What do you mean?” You ask as innocently as you possibly can, because even though you’ve shared a lot of stories today, you haven’t given the whole truth. That remains between you, the rockstar, and your Nana (God rest her soul).

She doesn’t push, quite unlike any other journalist that you have ever come across. Instead, she says how a photographer will be over tomorrow for the shoot and reconfirms that you’ll be the cover of the October issue.

Eddie sees her out and when you’re alone, he asks if you’re happy that you two did this.

“Apprehensive, sure. But yes, happy.”

“Good.” He leans down to plant a kiss on your temple. “I’m happy too and the world deserves to know just how happy you make me,” he adds while trailing kisses along your cheekbones and down your jaw.

You smile. “I don’t think they should know that much.”

“No?” Eddie’s teasing.

“Some things are better kept private,” you murmur into his ear, “Like how you corrupted me at that pool party.”

“And I’ll continue corrupting you for as long as you’ll let me, sweetheart. Getting under your celebrity skin until the end of time. That’s a promise.”

celebrity skin. masterlist

thank you to all that have been following this story from the beginning and to everyone that has come along the way — i appreciate you more than words can say!

& tagging some cool ppl that expressed interest: @eviethetheatrefreak , @thirddeadlysin , @haylaansmi , @nope-thanks , @tlclick73 , @vintagehellfire , @ashlynnkennedy , @avalon-wolf , @sidthedollface2 , @astheni-a , @bebe07011 , @aysheashea , @papillonoirsworld , @vol2eddie , @spideyanakin-interacts , @rogers-sweatbands , @mimsie95 , @mmunson86 , @eddiesguitarskills , @ohmeg , @hereforshmut , @eg-dr3amer3 , @rexorangecouny , @morganlolitta , @littlexdeaths , @bl0ssomanddie, @doritodynasty (if your user is crossed out, it means the tag isn’t working. pls check you’ve enabled tagging in your settings)

#god this has been such a longtime coming #thank you for being patient with me and my erratic posting schedule #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson filth #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie x reader #rockstar!eddie smut #celebrity skin.

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