#there are others of course but these i would consider to be the staples

[starryjake]

teddy bear pajamas pt. 3 | l.h

part 1 part 2

pairing: heeseung x fem!reader

warnings: alcohol consumption, car sex, fingering, tasting cum, unprotected sex, cumming inside, finger sucking, spitting (lmk if i missed anything!)

“a little more to the left.”

you huffed impatiently, moving the banner over to the left by just a smidge.

“too far,” jay said. “more to the right.”

you groaned, setting the banner down all together and climbing down from the ladder.

“i can’t believe you’re making me hang decorations for your party,” you guffawed. “what do i even get out of helping you?”

“you get to go to the party, duh,” your brother replied, grabbing the banner and climbing up the ladder himself.

“well i assumed that was a given considering i live here,” you retorted.

“well i’m not afraid to kick you to the curb if you don’t start getting the snacks ready,” jay responded.

rolling your eyes, you opened the refrigerator and started pulling out ingredients for the snack plate you were assigned to make for tonight. once you pulled out all the ingredients, you pulled out your phone, checking for a notification you hadn’t received.

“so,” you started, tucking your phone back away and trying to hide your disappointment, “are all your friends gonna be here tonight? like, all of them?”

jay was focused on stapling the banner in place, his eyebrows furrowed together in concentration.

“yeah, of course,” he responded, only half paying attention to you.

that was the only answer you needed though. it meant heeseung would be at the party tonight. heeseung, who fucked you in your bed the other night and then hadn’t contacted you a single time since.

you’d been glued to your phone, checking nonstop and waiting for him to text you, call you, like your instagram picture, anything. yet he’d been silent, and that crushed you.

seeing him tonight at the party scared you. would he ignore you? would he pretend nothing ever happened between you guys?

you had no idea what to expect, and you were terrified.

-

the party was in full blast. yours and jay’s shared apartment was more packed than you’d ever seen it before.

it was nearing midnight and you’d still yet to see heeseung. in fact, you hadn’t seen him or any of jay’s immediate friend group, which also included jake and sunghoon. you were relieved, but also anxious that he could appear in front of you at any moment.

you were in the kitchen fixing yourself a drink to help calm some of your anxieties when suddenly you heard the front door open, close, and then a loud eruption of cheers and conversation. the loudness and excitement of it all was enough to make your heart start thumping fast in your chest.

then you heard their voices, but it was too late for you to run out of the kitchen because there they were, walking right over to where you were at the drink station.

“hey, y/n,” jake greeted, pulling you into a tight hug.

your face was pressed against his chest, momentarily allowing you to catch your breath. you had to think fast about how you were going to approach heeseung.

“hey,” you replied, forcing a smile once you pulled back.

sunghoon greeted you next, ruffling your hair in a playful manner. you then turned to heeseung, who made eye contact with you, and then turned the other way to grab a drink, not saying a word.

you gulped, looking down at the floor. a wave of sadness overcame you because what he just did was all you needed to see to understand that he did regret what you two did, and now he wanted nothing to do with you.

you walked out of the kitchen and beelined straight for your bedroom. you didn’t want to leave the party, but you just needed a moment to collect yourself.

you little moment of peace ended up taking 30 minutes. it took you a while to muster up the courage to go back out there, but eventually you did.

the party had died down slightly, making it easier for you to walk down the hall and back into the main living space.

you took in your surroundings, first noticing your brother on the couch with an unfamiliar girl in his lap. a few feet away from them, sunghoon was dancing with some girl, and jake was playing beer pong with a group of people. heeseung was nowhere to be found.

your hopes were raised. you thought he must’ve left if he wasn’t around any of his friends.

with a slight hop in your step, you entered the kitchen to nibble on the snack plate you’d made earlier in the day. as you ate, you looked out the kitchen window which had a direct view of the balcony, and there he was.

he was standing outside by himself. his back was turned to you, but you knew it was him. he was leaning over the balcony railing, staring ahead at the city in front of him.

you weren’t sure what came over you. the alcohol, or maybe the rage that came with the fact he had been blatantly ignoring you after what occurred between you two the other night. but suddenly, you were opening the balcony door and joining him outside in the crisp late-fall air.

he turned around upon hearing the door slide open and was visibly surprised to find you standing there. it was unlike you to confront him, to confront anyone, but you were angry. you felt used and you wanted an explanation.

“oh,” he said. “hey.”

for a moment, you didn’t know what to say. you cursed how attractive he was in that moment because it’d rendered you speechless.

“hey,” you responded.

“how are you?” he asked.

“maybe you’d know if you’d bothered to text me,” you snapped.

you were shocked with yourself as soon as the words left your mouth. heeseung looked shocked for a moment as well, but then the guilt set in and took over his face.

“i’m sorry, y/n,” he sighed, leaning onto the balcony again. you crossed your arms and waited impatiently for whatever excuse he was going to pull. “i wanted to text you, i just…i got scared.”

“scared?” you repeated. “what’s so scary about me?”

“nothing,” heeseung said, turning his head to look at you. he then smiled a bit and shook his head. “there’s nothing scary at all about you…except the fact that i feel like i betrayed jay by sleeping with you.”

“he doesn’t know,” you assured.

“i know,” he replied, sighing. “that’s the bad part. i’m keeping this huge secret from him and i know he’ll be pissed if he finds out.”

“maybe not,” you shrugged.

heeseung gave you a look, which was deserved because not even you believed yourself. he was right in that jay would be very angry to find out heeseung had sex with you.

“well, you could’ve told me that instead of saying nothing,” you uttered quietly. “it felt like you just used me for what you wanted and then tossed me out when you were done.”

“no no no,” he hurriedly shook his head, planting his hands firmly on your arms and looking directly into your eyes. “that is not what happened, i promise you. i wanted to text you so bad and then when i saw you earlier tonight i just freaked out and didn’t know what to do. i’m so sorry, y/n.”

it was hard not for you to immediately forgive him with the way he was pleading to you and looking into your eyes so thoughtfully. you gulped, forcing your gaze on the ground.

“what now?” you asked.

“what do you mean?” he wondered, his hands still gripping your arms.

“are we ever gonna…” you trailed off, too embarrassed to speak.

“gonna what?” he asked, his thumbs starting to caress your skin. “do it again?”

you nodded shyly.

“do you wanna do it again?” he asked.

“i—i mean—yeah,” you sputtered out.

the corners of his lips turned upwards at that.

“come on, baby, let’s go for a drive.”

-

you weren’t entirely sure how you got in this position, how you ended up shirtless in the back of heeseung’s car dry humping his lap. but there you were, and you were already a moaning mess.

his hands were all over you, stroking and feeling your warm, smooth skin. he kissed your neck while your clothed lower half ground down on him.

he rolled his neck up to look at your face. it was somewhat difficult to see the details of your face in the darkness of the night and the darkness of the random deserted parking lot you were parked in. but he could see your eyes, your starry, glistening eyes.

“how are you this pretty?” he whispered, looking at you in pure awe.

you blushed, hiding your face in his chest. he rubbed your back, his entire body feeling like it was engulfed in flames, and then he really knew for sure that he had a real, genuine crush on his best friend’s sister.

you shifted off his lap, much to his disliking, and planted your hand on his bulge. he bit his lip, watching you stroke his outline over his pants. you smiled, watching the way his breathing got heavier even though you’d hardly touched him yet.

“heeseung,” you said, slowly sliding your hand into his jeans.

“yeah?” he whispered, wrapping his arm around your shoulder.

“i want you to fuck me in this car,” you told him, biting your lip to hold back your excited smile.

heeseung nearly fainted. you were so not the shy innocent thing he thought you were. you were lewd when you were turned on and he loved it. the more time he spent around you, the more perfect he discovered you were.

“fuck,” he swallowed, nodding. “okay. i’ll fuck you, baby. i’ll fuck my sweet girl as much as she wants.”

he hurriedly unbuttoned his jeans and tugged them down his legs, which was a lot harder than it should’ve been in the tight confines of his car.

eventually, he was left in his boxers. he watched as you pulled your own pants down, and once you were left in your underwear, he pulled you back into his lap. the lesser amount of fabric separating the two of you made it easier to feel his cock, feel how hard and heavy it was.

he leaned forward and attached his lips to your chest, sucking on your collarbones and moving down to your tits. he kissed each of your nipples, smiling against your chest at the way you shuddered and pushed your hips against his crotch, desperate for some friction where you needed it the most.

he lifted your hips up off of his lap momentarily to slide his boxers down his legs, leaving his lower half exposed. his cock, hard and eager as ever, sprang out and stood long, his tip glistening and shiny from spilled pre cum.

if the confines of the car weren’t so restricting, you would’ve leaned down and licked along his tip, getting a taste of his salty precum. instead, you trailed your fingers along his tip, gathering as much of the liquid as you could, and shoved them in your mouth, moaning at his taste.

heeseung grabbed your hips again and laid you down on his car’s leather seats. he positioned one of your legs over the back of the seat and the other one to the floor, spreading your legs the best he could in the limited space you were working with.

with your legs spread, he rubbed your clothed clit with his thumb, feeling the wetness seeping through the thin fabric of your underwear.

he pulled your panties to the side, exposing your trembling, glistening pussy to him. he traced your hole with his middle finger before sliding it in. your hole sucked him in with ease from how aroused you were, how ready and willing you were to take him.

you moaned as loudly as you wanted since he was the only one who’d be able to hear it. you didn’t have to worry about your brother finding you guys since he was too busy hosting a party and probably had no idea that you guys had even left.

heeseung immediately slid in another finger and started massaging his fingers inside you. you let out soft little whimpers as you subtly humped your hips up, trying to fuck yourself down on his fingers. he had to take a breath to calm himself down, to keep himself from busting without even touching himself. you just looked too perfect like this, spread out in the back of his car letting him finger you.

once he felt like you were stretched and prepared enough to take him, heeseung pulled his fingers out of you. they were absolutely drenched in your arousal, so much so that when he spread his fingers apart, strings of your sticky witness webbed between them.

you turned your head to the side in embarrassment, missing it when heeseung used that same, wet hand to jerk himself off for a minute, covering his cock in your arousal, to get himself ready to be inside you.

he held your panties to the side again, about to position his cock with your hole and slide right in before he stopped himself.

“you ready, my baby?” he asked, tilting your face so you were looking at him.

“please,” you begged. “put it in, hee.”

it was what heeseung expected you to say, but he wanted to check anyway.

he chuckled breathily and slid his cock inside you, your hole taking him in so sweetly. it was warm and wet and unbelievably tight, just like he remembered it to be from the other night.

“oh, fuck,” he groaned out as he pushed himself in as deep as he could go, stopping once he bottomed out and your pelvises were pressed together.

you closed your eyes and a dizzy smile appeared on your face. he hadn’t even done a thing yet but you already felt so good, just to have him inside of you again. to have him all the way buried inside of you felt unbelievable.

“what’s that?” he asked, laughing softly. he tickled your cheek, making you open your eyes. “what’re you smiling about?”

“nothing,” you shook your head, refusing to tell him what had you smiling.

“you feelin’ good?” he wondered, rubbing your thigh assuringly.

you nodded. “need you to move.”

heeseung complied immediately, slowly pulling his cock out nearly all the way and pushing it back in. your walls enveloped him, stretching around his length and taking him like you were made for it.

his thrusts picked up quickly. you barely needed time to adjust since you were so wet and so absolutely needy for him. so, when he started fucking you hard enough that the car was shaking, you didn’t complain at all.

in fact, you were practically crying from the pleasure. moan after moan and curse after curse and whine after pleasured whine tumbled past your lips, so fucked out and far gone already.

heeseung held your thighs as he slammed his cock in and out of you, alternating between watching his cock disappear in and out of you and looking up at your pretty face. he opted for your face because your eyes were watery and your nose and cheeks were red, and you were even starting to drool, and it was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. he was ruining you.

“f-feels so fucking good, heeseung,” you sobbed.

“yeah?” he said, suddenly pulling out.

you frowned up at him for suddenly putting a stop to your immense pleasure. to just pull out so suddenly like that, you almost got mad.

he took ahold of his cock in his hand and pressed it down against your pussy, grinding his hips back and forth and rubbing it along your slick folds. it felt so heavy on your pussy, so long and hard and perfect for you.

“oh…” you moaned out, watching his cock rub on your pussy.

he leaned down, unable to go a second longer without kissing you. you shoved your tongue into his mouth and he immediately rubbed his against yours, exchanging an excess amount of saliva.

“put your head back,” he commanded.

you tilted your head back, watching in fascination as he let a wad of spit slowly trickle from his mouth and land on your awaiting tongue. you swallowed it with a moan, pressing his warm body down onto yours. you wanted to be as close to him as possible. you wanted to feel his skin on your skin and never let him go.

“you’re so fucking hot,” you said, running your fingers through his fluffy hair.

heeseung left you with a peck on your lips before sitting back up so he could get back into the position of fucking you again.

kneeling, he re-entered you, sighing from how fucking good it felt every time. every time he first slid into you, it felt magical.

he began thrusting even quicker than before, licking his thumb before bringing it down to rub your clit. you moaned pathetically, your legs starting to shake and your toes starting to curl from the added pleasure.

“oh f-fuck, hee,” you cried out. “mmm, don’t stop! please please please!”

he could tell you were getting closer by your gummy walls clenching impossibly tight around him and your desperate words. luckily for you, he had no intention of stopping, only going harder.

he plummeted his cock into you, his tip hitting spots of you that were almost uncomfortably deep, but not quite.

you were shaking and writhing beneath him and he kept going and going, needing to see you cum because he knew it was going to be harder than any other time he’d witnessed before.

“hee,” you sobbed. “i’m gonna fucking cum. please, oh fuck!”

your legs tightened around his waist and your eyes rolled into the back of your head. your mouth opened in a silent scream as you started cumming around his dick and on his thumb, which was still rapidly fingering your clit.

“goddamn,” he growled, feeling the knot in his own stomach hint at unraveling.

you just looked too fucking unreal when you came. a tear trickled out of your eye, drool sliding shamelessly down your chin. you were such a perfect mess, he needed to fuck you full of his cum.

“oh, my sweet baby girl,” he said, still pounding you despite how hard you just came. “i’m gonna fuck you so full of my load, angel. you want that? you wanna feel all full of my—fuck—full of my cum? you wanna be filled, baby?”

“please, hee!” you begged, nails clawing down his back. “cum inside me, please. need it so bad.”

with a few more thrusts, heeseung finally stilled inside you and you could feel his warmth filling you up. streams of his cum overflowed inside you and you felt euphoric as you laid there and took it all for him.

he had his eyes shut tightly as he lightly thrusted his hips, riding out his orgasm and forcing out as much cum as he could. his grip on you was painfully tight, but you wouldn’t dare stop him now, not when he was cumming so beautifully.

he regretfully pulled out of you a moment later, watching in exhaustion and awe as his creamy white cum came spilling out of your used hole. he moved your underwear back to cover your pussy, watching the way his cum seeped through the fabric and spilled out the sides.

“fuck,” he muttered. “so messy ‘n pretty.”

he rubbed his fingers over the wet fabric, sliding them up and down your puffy folds. you moaned out, setting your hand on his wrist to stop him.

“sorry,” he said with a tired smile.

he handed you your clothes and while you got dressed, he dressed himself as well. there was cum all over his leather seats, but he would have to deal with that at another time.

“c’mere,” he urged once you were both finally calmed down.

you let him wrap his arm around you and kiss the top of your head, leaning into his shoulder tiredly.

“you did so good for me,” he told you. “do you want me to take you home? or do you wanna come to my place?”

that answer seemed quite obvious.

“your place,” you said.

“i was hoping you’d say that,” he said.

the two of you moved to the front seats where heeseung began driving in the direction of his apartment, his mind and his heart racing about what the two of you just did and what would happen next.

-

well! anyway…part 4?

thank you for reading!

[jeyneofpoole]

hello ro jeyneofpoole boatgirl. The fitzjames news has rocked my world and rotted my brain because I love a historical mystery solved. As a AMC terror and a real life terror fan, what texts would you recommend to someone who just watched amc terror and now wants to read the research on the real thing

i love love love when i get this question ok. if your first exposure to the franklin expedition was the terror i think your best jumping-off point is michael palin’s erebus: the story of a ship. yes he’s the guy from monty python, no he’s not a professional historian, but it’s entertaining and well-researched and a great way to familiarize yourself with the general concepts that other more elaborate texts will touch on. then you just GOTTA read dr. owen beattie’s frozen in time, it’s one of the most iconic pieces of franklin literature and the descriptions of the beechey exhumations are so near and dear to me. some of the lead stuff is on shaky legs now, but this book was revolutionary for the longest time. then there’s may we be spared to meet on earth edited by russell a. potter et. al., which is a collection of letters to and from members of the franklin expedition. after you’ve read the others listed here you’ll be crazy enough to cry over this one.

a more niche read that i just finished was david murphy’s arctic fox, which is a biography of leopold mcclintock and his arctic career. it’s super compelling and mcclintock lived a very interesting life and seemed like a pretty okay guy especially for the time; murphy does a really good job and i don’t see this one recommended at all but it’s actually good. there are some minor issues with some little details surrounding, like, the peglar papers, for example, but that’s what the other books are for. honorable mentions include (ie they’re on my shelf staring me down) ice ghosts by paul watson, unraveling the franklin mystery: inuit testimony by david c. woodman, the man who ate his boots by anthony brandt, james fitzjames: the mystery man of the franklin expedition by william battersby, and icebound in the arctic by michael smith. but do NOT and i mean do NOT under any circumstances read dan simmons’ absolute drivel that novel isn’t worth the paper it’s printed on. just watch the show and read these. ok love you byeeeee

[absentlyabbie]

seriously, though. i work in higher education, and part of my job is students sending me transcripts. you'd think the ones who have the least idea how to actually do that would be the older ones, and while sure, they definitely struggle with it, i see it most with the younger students. the teens to early 20s crowd.

very, astonishingly often, they don't know how to work with .pdf documents. i get garbage phone screenshots, sometimes inserted into an excel or word file for who knows what reason, but most often it's just a raw .jpg or other image file.

they definitely either don't know how to use a scanner, don't have access to one, or don't even know where they might go for that (staples and other office supply stores sometimes still have these services, but public libraries always have your back, kids.) so when they have a paper transcript and need to send me a copy electronically, it's just terrible photos at bad angles full of thumbs and text-obscuring shadows.

mind bogglingly frequently, i get cell phone photos of computer screens. they don't know how to take a screenshot on a computer. they don't know the function of the Print Screen button on the keyboard. they don't know how to right click a web page, hit "print", and choose "save as PDF" to produce a full and unbroken capture of the entirety of a webpage.

sometimes they'll just copy the text of a transcript and paste it right into the message of an email. that's if they figure out the difference between the body text portion of the email and the subject line, because quite frankly they often don't.

these are people who in most cases have done at least some college work already, but they have absolutely no clue how to utilize the attachment function in an email, and for some reason they don't consider they could google very quickly for instructions or even videos.

i am not taking a shit on gen z/gen alpha here, i'm really not.

what i am is aghast that they've been so massively failed on so many levels. the education system assumed they were "native" to technology and needed to be taught nothing. their parents assumed the same, or assumed the schools would teach them, or don't know how themselves and are too intimidated to figure it out and teach their kids these skills at home.

they spend hours a day on instagram and tiktok and youtube and etc, so they surely know (this is ridiculous to assume!!!) how to draft a formal email and format the text and what part goes where and what all those damn little symbols means, right? SURELY they're already familiar with every file type under the sun and know how to make use of whatever's salient in a pinch, right???

THEY MUST CERTAINLY know, innately, as one knows how to inhale, how to type in business formatting and formal communication style, how to present themselves in a way that gets them taken seriously by formal institutions, how to appear and be competent in basic/standard digital skills. SURELY. Of course. RIGHT!!!!

it's MADDENING, it's insane, and it's frustrating from the receiving end, but even more frustrating knowing they're stumbling blind out there in the digital spaces of grown-up matters, being dismissed, being considered less intelligent, being talked down to, because every adult and system responsible for them just

ASSUMED they should "just know" or "just figure out" these important things no one ever bothered to teach them, or half the time even introduce the concepts of before asking them to do it, on the spot, with high educational or professional stakes.

kids shouldn't have to supplement their own education like this and get sneered and scoffed at if they don't.

[after-witch]

Bookworm [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Title: Bookworm [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Synopsis: Mahito doesn't like that you have an interest in a book character.

Word count: 1787

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, mentions of other people being tortured/killed, supreme self indulgence of the highest order

“Who is the smiling man?” 

The silence that had existed between the two of you was broken by a question that made you flinch. Well, why not? Mahito has been quiet all morning--and afternoon, actually, which perhaps should have startled you more than his sudden words. 

But you were too happy to enjoy some quiet (you would never say “peace and quiet,” not down here, not with him); all too happy to curl up in your haphazard nest on the floor with some books that took  you away from this place. Away from Mahito.

Who was, of course, still here. Lounging in his hammock with a pile of books sagging down the netting. 

You couldn’t tell exactly what he was reading from down here--you probably needed new glasses, a subject you were certainly not going to bring up with Mahito, who might reiterate his offer to “fix” your eyes. It looked like a bundle of pages stapled together. Maybe he went to the library and printed off obscure articles to read again. 

“Hey,” he calls down, and the first hint of worry begins to prickle on your arms at his uncharacteristically serious tone, “Answer me.”

Your mind stutters, tries to put one word in front of the other, and make sense of it all. 

The smiling man? The smiling man, the… ah. From Small Spaces. The otherworldly supernatural entity who lives in a world behind mist and has a penchant for making deals with people for their greatest wishes. 

It’s not your fault that you haven’t thought about him in ages. It’s not like you had copies of your books with you, and the fun you had with imagining him in an endless number of scenarios had fallen by the wayside considering your circumstances. 

It’s hard to daydream about worlds behind mist and cornfield servants when you’re watching people be turned into grotesque experiments that had them, sometimes quite literally and loudly, begging for death.

Mahito is looking down at you now, staring expectantly. 

“He’s a character,” you say, fidgeting on the floor. “From a book series.” You look down, flip a page in your book, although you haven’t finished reading the last one, and ask, casually as you can muster: “Why?”

Mahito, up above, flips a page. You can hear the wobble in the paper--not a bound book, that’s for certain. And there’s some low, primal sense that shivers through you which says, plainly, that he’s actually reading whatever’s in front of him. 

“You write about him a lot.”

Oh.

Low, slimy dread filters into your stomach. Thick and gelatinous, resting at the bottom of your belly like an unwanted slug. 

“I… don’t know what you mean,” you say, voice only half-there, because while you are apparently stupid enough to lie to Mahito’s face, you’re not stupid enough to think he’ll believe you. 

You are just stupid enough to think that he won’t know exactly how deep your interest in this particular character goes; before Mahito took you, you thought about him all the time. You’d take walks and daydream about him, write story after story; you’d even commissioned fanart of him, because it wasn’t like there was a plethora of fanart for a character from a middle grade horror book. 

Mahito huffs out a sigh. Quick and short, it sends a shock right down your stomach. 

“Get you a man,” he starts, and confusion buzzes through your brain until he continues. “Who is an otherworldly entity that is so petty when an 11 year old beats him that he traps her in another world, leaving her to a fate worse than death, and laughs until he cries about it.”

You wrote that. There’s a vague memory of when you posted it--after you’d taken a walk, you think, and reread your favorite parts in the books for a few hours. But the way Mahito says it makes it sound--you don’t know how to explain it. Like saying the words out loud almost pains him; they come out clipped and bitter. 

Bitter? But why?

He doesn’t stop there. He reads something else, voice getting higher, almost mocking the way you talk. And that bitterness is still there, a thread continuing through every syllable.

“What if we kissed in the corn maze before you turned me into a scarecrow servant whose soul slowly gets dried out and useless and in the end you feed it, crunchy and tasteless, to your hellhound.” 

He takes a breath. Then--

“One particular aspect of the Smiling Man’s cruelty that I truly adore is that he can make people feel understood. He can make them feel like he cares, like he’s lending a listening ear, like he’s wanting to help them out and make them feel nice.”

Another breath--and he continues, again and again, reading your posts. Quoting your stories. Listing off the titles, the imagine posts, everything you’ve said about him.

All the while, bitter and mocking, his voice raising now and then in an imitation of your own. 

Then he gets to the last page of his clearly self-created tome and stares down at you, waiting, expectant. 

And you… you actually glare up at him. 

Because you're scared, sure. You’re always scared in some way, when you’re with Mahito. But there’s something else too, something that digs its way out of the rot in your gut and sticks up a petulant middle finger.

How dare he do this. How dare he take something that was yours and make it his; put it in his mouth and sneer over it. 

“Have you been--” Your mouth sticks together, refusing to let you accuse him of what you know he’s been doing. Stalking your online profiles. “That’s… that’s private,” is what you finally mutter, cheeks feeling hot and that half-buried petulance pushing you forward. “It’s not any of your business.” 

“Private?” He mutters the word softly, cradling the sound.

And then--

Mahito doesn’t often move fast around you. He prefers to be slow, languid. Calculating. You think it’s because that terrifies you more.

But now, in a moment, he goes from being slouched in his hammock to leaping down and crouching right in your face--there’s sudden pain in your head, and you realize he’s grabbed your hair and yanked it back.

That metaphorical middle finger sinks back down into the slimy gut sludge.

“Not from me,” he says, low, a warning. “Not for you.”

This is all it takes for tears to prick inside your eyes.

Mahito’s lips quirk up. Just a little. Just enough for you to notice.

“You’re going to cry already? I didn’t even do anything.”

Your eyes dart up and back, towards where he’s currently gripping your hair hard enough for it to sting.

He sighs through his nose. “This isn’t anything. You know that. Don’t be childish now.”

But--he lets go of your hair, and doesn’t grab for you when you scoot backwards on your blanket nest. Instead, he plops himself down, crossing his legs and resting his chin on his elbow.

You don’t speak. You don’t want to, and you don’t know what to say. Sometimes it’s better to be quiet around Mahito, so he doesn’t get ideas. Although he comes up with them on his own just fine, even if you try to stay silent.

It’s Mahito who breaks the silence.

“Why do you like him so much?”

How silly, to feel embarrassed right now. With the creature in front of you, and what he can do. But that’s what makes your cheeks burn: embarrassment. 

“I don’t know,” you mumble, because while you are stupid in so many ways, you’re still smart enough to know he wants an answer. “I guess I just like antagonist characters sometimes.” Well, most of the time. But it’s better to keep that from Mahito, if you can.

Mahito’s lips quirk here and there while he thinks. Then he looks at you with something like genuine confusion.

“You say that you like how awful he is. The awful things he does. So…” He tilts his head a little. “You should like me. Right?”

Your fingers pick at the loose threads of your clothes. Your eyes don’t meet his entirely--they flick up and down, from your legs to his face. 

“It’s not the same thing,��� is what you come up with. But how to explain that to a curse?

Mahito frowns. 

“I don’t understand.” No bitterness, no pouting. A simple statement of fact.

“He’s not real.” You swallow against the minefield that all of this is making you step through, hoping you’ll avoid them. “But you are. That makes it different.” 

Mahito leans forward, grabbing your wrists, pulling you closer to him with a yanking, childish gesture.

“So you should like me more,” he says, a slight pout in his tone. “Because I can really do those things.” His eyebrows raise, and you swear you can hear a buzzing light bulb go off. “I could turn someone into a scarecrow for you.” He smiles, sudden, excited. “Do you want me to find some school children to torment?”

“No!” Your voice cracks. There are brief images in your mind--the people he’s tortured and killed, experimented with, before you were here and while you’re here and probably after you’re dead and gone--and you shake them away. 

Mahito’s eyebrows furrow. He groans and rolls his eyes backwards until they are entirely white, not in mockery or an attempt to scare you, but in irritation. Fingers squeeze your wrists briefly and let go, and you stay quiet, trying to fight your urge to cry, until Mahito slowly rolls his eyes back to stare at you.

His gaze flicks over you, until he catches your eyes with his. 

“You won’t write about him anymore.”

You don’t take a moment to answer this time.

“I won’t.”

“You won’t read those books anymore.”

“I won’t,” you stay. “I haven’t. I--don’t even have copies anymore.”

Mahito smiles, a little. Maybe it’s a good thing you never asked him to find you a copy, a thought which had been a brief temptation a while back.

And then he leans in closer again, until his nose touches yours.

“You won’t think about him anymore,” he says, quiet, solemn. Not an order but a matter of fact. 

You don’t answer. You swallow against a bitter taste in  your throat; you swear, sometimes, that the sludge in your gut is real and tries to make its way out sometimes.

Mahito presses his nose against yours until it starts to hurt.

“You won’t,” he says again, this time more to himself. “I’ll make sure of it.”

[pierregazly]

a joke a day ꨄ max verstappen

max verstappen x reader

warnings: gross! terrible jokes, max is a nerd (in love) [777 words]

request: can i request a blurb for 🫶 6. telling a joke just to see them laugh with max?? thank you in advance!

Loud laughter filled the room, Max’s head thrown back against the chair, his body shaking as he processed your words. People turned to look at the usual stone-faced driver, confusion and questioning stares shared between the other occupants of the room.

“Schatje, you can’t say things like that. My god,” he said, his body still shaking in silent laughter as he wiped at his eyes and threw an arm around your shoulder to pull you in closer.

It had been a long weekend, qualifying not going in the way Red Bull and Max had hoped. Still high up on the grid, he had been outperformed by the Ferrari’s and a McLaren, his own frustration fading away with every small joke that fell from your lips.

“Max… if you were ever at a bank, and a little old lady came up to you and asked you to help check her balance, would you?”

Quirking an eyebrow down at you in confusion, he simply nodded his head.

“So you’d push her over, then? Get it… checking her balance?”

Shaking his head as a huff of laughter fell from his lips, you couldn’t help the small grin that began to grow on your lips. The jokes were always terrible, never any real humour to them… but they were always his favourite. The small, stupid humour always a positive addition to what Max considered to be a not-great day.

Breaking tension with silly jokes had been in a staple in your relationship with him from the start, from both sides. Whenever he knew you were having a bad day, a simple call and some silly joke would almost always brighten it.

“What’s a dog’s favourite super hero? Labra-Thor.”

You groaned, trying to contain your own silent laughter as you instantly covered your mouth to keep the snort at bay. You locked eyes with GP, his own exasperation evident on his features as he rolled his eyes at Max’s joke. It was common knowledge throughout the garage that the jokes were a never-ending thing once they started, both of you getting far too invested in doing your best to make the other laugh.

“I can’t believe how bad your jokes get every race, it’s worse than second-hand embarrassment having to listen to the two of you,” GP said, a small shake to his head as he muttered to himself while walking away.

All Max did was grin down at you, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead in unspoken gratitude. 

His humour was one of many things you absolutely adored about him. He was genuinely funny. Disregarding all the terrible dad jokes he thought were worth the extra laugh, he had a tendency to say things that were so out-of-pocket, had you gasping for air sometimes. Had you almost keeling over from how hard you were laughing, half the time unable to comprehend how he even came up with the jokes he said.

“Do you remember the first thing I ever said to you?” Quirking an eyebrow up at him, you nodded your head.

The first thing he ever said to you having been one of the worst jokes that had ever dropped from his mouth; a dare given to him by one of his friends when they realized he hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off of you all night long. 

“About if I liked your shirt? And if I thought your shirt would look better on my apartment floor?”

Shaking his head, “No, I think the first thing I said to you was ‘hello’.”

Rolling your eyes at his words, you shoved at his side. He was insufferable sometimes, but he was still grinning. No expressions of frustration, no anger, or swearing in other languages about how ‘shit the car was’. So, you really couldn’t complain. 

“I was right though, no? My shirts usually do look better on your apartment floor. Of course, they look far better when you’re wearing them. Much prettier on you than on me, that’s for sure Schatje” he said, a large grin overtaking his face as he bumped his hip into your side.

“Your shirts would look much better if you paired them with pants that didn’t look like they were from 2016, darling.”

Huffing down at you, a mock glare overtook his features.

“I’ll talk to Charles then, perhaps he can lend me advice on where I can find new trousers? I suppose you did enjoy those cloud pants of his, you definitely had lots to say about his plaid pants, right?”

The look of horror that took over your face prompted a loud laugh to fall from the Dutchman’s face. Funny indeed.

this was just wholesome and seems very max-esque! (this is very much so not proofread im sorry) so i hope y'all love it 🫶🏻

[au-roulette]

AU Roulette Challenge 2024

What is AU Roulette? A casual fic-writing challenge encouraging authors to play around with different types of alternate universe stories, which will be randomly assigned to each participant regardless of the fandom they sign up with. The goal of the challenge is to encourage creativity and get authors to write fics with premises they might not otherwise have considered, with varying difficulty levels of participation for writers of all experience levels.

How does it work? Writers will be able to sign up from now through June with a fandom of their choice. At the start of July, each participant will be assigned three AUs from a masterlist using a random number generator. Each author will then have the choice of completing the challenge one, two, or all three of the AUs. Any fic exceeding a 500-word minimum will be considered a completion, so long as it employs the AU premise. The fic-writing period of the challenge will run for a month. Fics can be posted at any point during this time, and authors will have the option of having them added to an Ao3 collection for the challenge if they desire. They can also be posted to tumblr using the tag #AU Roulette 2024

What kind of AUs will be included in the challenge? The AU Roulette challenge will focus largely on popular, staple AU types with broad applicability to any fandom or relationship type. For example, a possible result might be something like a Time Travel AU (encompassing all the possible subsets, such as fix-it time travel, time loops, or other tropes under the same umbrella), but more restrictive AU types like a Soulmate AU that make assumptions about the author’s interpretation of character relationships in canon have been intentionally kept off the AU masterlist. The official list of AUs will be kept under wraps until assignments are given, but will have over 30 different prompts to ensure authors receive a good variety of options, and if you have suggestions or concerns about what AUs are being included, feel free to reach out.

What if I get an AU type that doesn’t work for the canon I chose? Limited re-rolls will be allowed on a case-by-case basis. You are also encouraged to be as creative as you want with your interpretation of your assigned AUs, which may help with making them fit. The goal of this challenge is to encourage weird, creative fanfic, not to have every author who rolls the same result write cookie-cutter versions of the same types of stories. If you were to get a Coffee Shop AU, for example, there is no requirement that the coffee shop in question be a real-world 21st-century Earth Starbucks. In fact, deviating from the mold is highly encouraged. So long as you can make a case that you filled the loose premise of your AU type, you will get credit for having completed it.

Can I participate if I am not a writer? AU Roulette is a fanfic writing challenge, so official sign-ups are for those interested in writing (regardless of skill level or experience writing AUs). However, if you are interested in the challenge but not in writing fic for it, consider having a look at the #AU Roulette 2024 tag or the official AU Roulette 2024 collection on Ao3 once authors have begun posting their stories. If one of them really speaks to you, it might be a nice gesture to draw a piece of art, make a playlist, or create some other fanwork inspired by the fic and share it – in which case you would also be more than welcome to use the official tag!

(Authors are of course also welcome to do this for their or other participants’ stories, too.)

How do I sign up? Fill out this form with your email and fandom of choice.

Looking forward to seeing the AUs everyone creates this year!

[inky-duchess]

Fantasy Guide to Royal and Noble Jewellery

Royal and Noble jewellery is a staple of their life, a statement of the who is person is, their rank and their wealth. Jewellery simply isn't a accessory, it's an exercise in showmanship and a way to link to a past.

(Disclaimer: Many stones in pieces often have a bloody past, usually stolen or worked from the earth under the reign of Colonialism. It is best to always take this into account when admiring real world pieces)

Providence

Jewellery like this is usually inherited buy can also be bought or even given as a gift. There is three kinds of jewellery in this instance: private, owned by the crown or owned by the state.

Private jewellery is owned by a single person and worn or lent at their own descretion. Private jewellery can be no less grand than state owned jewellery. This jewellery can be inherited by anybody the owner chooses.

State jewellery is not privately owned, it belongs to the country itself. It is not inherited but used by royal family. If a royal family is deposed, the jewellery remains with the state. Such as the French Crown Jewels.

Owned by the Crown means that it can only pass monarch to monarch, worn only by consorts or the monarch and lent to anybody they choose.

Noble jewellery is not quite the same. Much of it is owned privately but there may be one or two pieces designated as official jewellery for the title such as a specific tiara.

The Rules

Jewellery like this are not just trinkets to be borrowed by anybody. Usually the monarch (or titled noble) or sometimes the spouse, is in charge of designating who can be lent which pieces and for what occasion. Even if you are a super close member of the family, you still have to take what's on offer. Sometimes certain jewellery is worn exclusively by a certain rank say the Queen or the noble themselves and would not be offered to anybody else. For example, you will note that into today's royalty you will see certain royals repeating the same tiaras such as Kate Middleton who has only worn the Cambridge Lover's Knot, the Strathmore Rose Tiara, the Lotus Tiara and once, the Cartier Halo Tiara. These would be the tiaras available to them, which usually number only a handful. Certain pieces are designated by for the monarch/Consort as well, the Vladimir Tiara & the Girls of Britain and Ireland Tiara only graced the head of the Queen in her reign. Other pieces such as earrings or bracelets would also be distributed accordingly, more elaborate and expensive pieces would be worn by the higher ranking members. Certain collections are meant to be passed on, such as the Consort's jewels but many Dowager refused to pass on their jewels such as Empress Dowager Maria Feodorovna after the death of Tsar Alexander III.

Treasure Trove

Now, just because a family has a throne or a grand title doesn't mean they have caches of jewels. Many noble families sold off their pieces to pay death duties, most only have a few pieces left today. As for tiaras most noble families would not have access to large quantities, usually only affording one or two. The Spencers for example own two, the Spencer Tiara and the Spencer Honeysuckle Tiara. This is an inaccurate protrayal in Downton Abbey, as the family have at least 6 but then again Cora is a Dollar Princess so it could be possible to own as many but it never made sense considering just how many times they almost loose the estate and never sell any off. Royal families are not exempt from this either, some families have vast stores of jewels such as the British Royal Family (I wonder where those all came from...) while the Greek Monarchy (discontinued) has only a few pieces. The Romanov collection is of course legendary and we may never know it's full extent.

[38riku]

𝐁𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒 𝐏𝐓.𝟑 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ 🎂 ꒱ ˎˊ˗

includes pomefiore (separately). no warnings. fluff. i should've did this by dorm but i didn't think i'd make more than one part.

read part one. part two.

𝐕𝐈𝐋 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐄𝐍𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐓

you've come to wish me a happy birthday? heh, as you should. come, sing my praises now that my beauty has been tempered by another year of age.

it isn't unordinary for Vil to receive compliments. he's cemented himself in the limelight and his adoring fans never fail to comment on his beauty and talent.

so, when he jokingly (not so jokingly) asked you to sing his praises, he expected a sarcastic "your perfection is unattainable" or something along those lines.

but, of course, you managed to surprise him.

"you deserve everything your heart desires." what a cheesy line. it was a staple in romance movies that hasn't seemed to die out despite its repetition. he now knows why, albeit because it came from your lips and not that of someone just doing their job.

"and as your beauty matures each and every year, may your tenacity strengthen and elegant vigor continue to shine brightly."

Vil clicked his tongue, a ghost of a smile creeping on his face as he did his best to maintain his composure.

"I almost feel guilty that such heartfelt words are directed towards me and not a lover of yours."

You laughed, as if the thought of a lover was unbelievable. If only you were aware of the many admirers after your tender heart, would you still find it amusing?

"Don't be silly Vil. You're the fairest of them all, the only one worthy of these words."

You had him stumped. The way you said such things as if they held little to no weight.

For a moment, being the fairest of them all wasn't appealing. He is the fairest in your eyes, which amounted to more than you could ever imagine.

𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐓

merci! your dulcet tones are the greatest gift I could receive. you may consider your sentiments most appreciated.

rook was satisfied with your simple 'happy birthday' although it wasn't so simple to him. your smile was blinding, genuine glee filling your eyes as you greeted him with more joy than usual. to think the day of his birth elicited such excitement.

"i hope you like your present."

"any gift from you is a priceless treasure my dear. the mere fact that your thoughts were captivated by me makes my heart flutter."

he adored your flustered expression but wasn't interested in teasing you too much today. opening the large box, he audibly gasped at the sight. "you've truly outdone yourself. i am undeserving of such a magnificent piece."

he inspected the hat, humming in satisfaction at the handiwork and embroidery. a small chuckled fell from his lips as he heard your gentle sigh of relief.

walking toward you, he removed his usual hat and placed it on your head, wearing the new one it its stead. "we make a magnificent pair, do we not? even with a piece as fine as this my beauty is lackluster to yours."

"it's your birthday rook. i should be the one complementing you, not the other way around."

he laughed at that. your compassion and generosity made his heart soar to heights unknown.

"your beauty deserves to be appreciated no matter the occasion. your presence alone fills me with comfort. you have a voice that is sweeter than the chase of a hunt. i am inclined to speak on your physical appearance, but, I am unsure that you'd be able to handle such honeyed words."

after all the time you've known one another you still weren't used to his flattery. it's not his fault, you were positively stunning in every aspect of the word.

it's his day of celebration after all, and he'll spend it as he sees fit. surely you will allow him to fawn over you? he can't think of a better way to spend his birthday.

𝐄𝐏𝐄𝐋 𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐌𝐈𝐄𝐑

you, ah, you want to celebrate my birthday? s-sorry, I'm not used to hearing that from anyone other than close family. thanks.

"tada! happy birthday!"

you removed your hands from his eyes, moving to stand in front of him with a knowing smile. "a feast fit for the birthday boy. well, a meal, since it's just the two of us."

yes, just the two of you. that's probably why his usually strict house warden was a bit more lenient with him missing an etiquette lesson.

hopefully he didn't think it was something more than two friends sharing a meal. that's all there is to it, right?

"thanks! this looks amazing."

"remember that takeout i shared with you and the guys not too long ago? it's the same place. i figured since you liked it so much we can try more stuff!"

golly, weren't you just a ball of sunshine. if he was to thank ace and deuce for anything (which isn't much) meeting you would be top on the list.

he couldn't remember the last time he was able to enjoy the simple pleasures in life like cheeseburgers, chicken tenders, fries, onion rings; but boy was it the most fulfilling meal of his life.

spending the evening with someone close to him, eating, joking around, and enjoying each other's company. you might not think it's much, but, the time you shared cured his home sickness, even for a little while.

it was his first time celebrating his birthday away from home after all.

"one more surprise." you place a finger on your lips, winking, before disappearing in the kitchen.

in your absence, he did his best to calm his beating heart. you laid it on thick and didn't even know it! don't you know where he's from, a meal is a way to a man's heart?

did you know that? was this a cover for blatantly pursuing him? no, there's no way, just wishful thinking on his end.

his thoughts came to a halt as you reappeared with a singular piece of pie in your hands and a candle. placing it in front of him, you quickly lit it, and ushered him to make a wish.

usually, he wishes for the same thing every year, but, just this once, he wished for something utterly selfish. something that, when he blowed the candle, he looked toward you sheepishly, denying to tell you because it "wouldn't come true."

one day it'll come true. one day, he'll be the apple of your eye, and sweep you off your feet.

© 2024 — 38riku. Do not copy or repost or plagiarize my work. All Rights Reserved.

[fateandloveentwined]

wuxia and confucianism

Hey. Thought I'd answer the wuxia-confucian question very briefly. I did suggest wuxia being closely knitted to confucianism, but I do understand the other perspective of wuxia being anti-confucian. Quick answer only because I've got little time right now -- might add on to it later!!

confucianism

First the central themes of confucianism:

常 (cháng): Virtues of compassion and courtesy. 仁 (rén)、义 (yì)、礼 (lǐ)、智 (zhì)、信 (xìn)、忠 (zhōng)、孝 (xiào)、悌 (tì) (there are more). These in order in crude translation mean compassion, righteousness, courtesy, wisdom, integrity, loyalty, filial piety, and respect to one's older siblings. These are the main ideas Confucius, the founder of Confucianism, wished to spread through his philosophy.

纲 (gāng): Order. This is about the relationships between people, the filial piety of child to their parents, the relationship between significant others, between friends and teachers, and expanding outwards in the sphere of influence in our circle of life, the patriotism and loyalty of a liege to his lord.

Understand that Confucius came up with these ideas in a time of war. He lived his life traversing different kingdoms and establishing his prominence by getting emperors to trust him as a consultant and employ his school of ideas. As such, these beliefs are very much centred around creating harmony and order in society, and of course entails the respect of commoners and lieges to their lords (because why else would kings employ his beliefs over other schools of philosophy if not so?).

wuxia

Moving on to the wuxia genre, the 侠 (xiá) in wuxia emphasises righteousness. xia, as people, are itinerants and rebels in the fictitious pugilistic society who tire of the power of the aristocracy and seek to use their own, often unlawful ways, to help others through 锄强扶弱 (chú qiáng fú ruò) -- helping the needy and going against the strong (the morals are debatable but that's me trying to sum up wuxia in 5 minutes off the top of my head rip).

conclusions

So I guess that's enough information for you to form your own conclusions, and here's what I think, at the very least.

Against Confucianism -- Subverting the power pyramid. Many of the heroes/xia's in wuxia are lawless rebels. They aren't good, upstanding citizens of the society. Hell, xia was first popularised from 游侠列传 (yóu xiá liè zhuàn) in the Han dynasty records, talking about how a "xia" went against the officials and helped the commoners in the name of righteousness. This goes against the confucian beliefs of respecting your lord and serving the kingdom.* That's why I can understand why some would consider wuxia going against confucianism.

Align with Confucianism -- Righteousness. Ultimately, however, wuxia is about righteousness and nobility and honour, defined by society and commoners and not by royal blood. These values of etiquette, decorum, and nobility were long ingrained in the hearts of all these chinese characters, from when the courtesy and etiquette rules were defined in the Zhou dynasty, and afterwards, from the Han dynasty on, when emperors heavily employed Confucian beliefs in education and throughout society because it helps in rebuilding a harmonious society.

Confucianism is about compassion and righteousness, the staples permeating and defining chinese culture in the last two thousand years, and it is these values that serve as the central impetus of the xia and wuxia genres. People are born into these values; as such they fight against the injustice they see, and thus engenders the lost xia's of every dynasty.

*And well, even Confucius wasn't that dead set on fealty to lords. Confucian highly venerated loyalty, but when the court is corrupt, they acknowledge insurgence over the mindless following of an emperor. This is a story for another day, one I would have to back up with more quotes and citations, but I hope this answered your questions, or even better, let you form some conclusions of your own :)

Confucian philosophy is only one aspect that has correlations/influences over the "xia" genre, there are many other interesting things to say about Taoism and Buddhism as well (e.g. Jin Yong's wuxia classics have quite a bit of Buddhist values in the characters owing to author preferences), it's definitely worth looking up on these things if you're interested!

initially reblogged under the original meta post on wuxia, xianxia, and cultivation differences, but i realised it was too long and would bury the reply, so please don't mind me opening a new post for this again.

feel free to ask and discuss!!

[satancopilotsmytardis]

(In)Delicate Touch

Pairing: Shigadabi

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Commissioned by @zehei Dabi has been working as a professional sub at La Vénus for a year and a half and he really does enjoy working there. The rooms are great, the way they book clients is clear and comprehensive, and he likes his boss a fair bit too. But one night a client goes too far and Dabi finds himself in a bad drop and nursing wounds he didn't want. He expects to get fired over causing so much trouble, but Tomura is there to lend a hand in any way that Dabi needs.

Content: BDSM club, sex work, bondage, impact play, safe word use, subdrop, aftercare, hurt/comfort, hand job, anal fingering, anal sex, daddy kink, multiple orgasms, praise kink.

Word Count: 10878

La Vénus is the only place Dabi bothers to take contracts through anymore. The BDSM club is the best in Kamino and it is the only one that really keeps up with the professionals who want to use it as a place to do business. They even have a portal on their website so that professional doms and subs can put their profiles, their limits, their availability, and a secure line for contacting. La Vénus has rules, of course. They're considered independent contractors and they can be removed from the club whenever the owner dismisses them, but they take a very small cut of the money they earn, and the security they provide is well-worth the price. Dabi doesn't have to be scared of giving his apartment address to anyone or going to a secondary location with a client, and V ensures that they are always abiding by the rules by having a row of rooms for their working doms and subs that have open windows, so that anyone can see inside and be certain that their business is being conducted appropriately. 

If he also happens to think that the owner is hot as fuck with his hair pushed back, his deadly fucking quirk barely contained by his gloves, and his perfectly tailored black suit with a blood red coat, and getting to check in with him before every shift is fucking perfect, then that's his business. 

"Just one session tonight, Dabi?" Shigaraki asks, checking his phone for the contract he and his dom for the night submitted for use of one of those rooms. 

"It's supposed to be a long bondage one." He explains. 

"Hmm, are you sure that all of the information you entered is correct? I thought you only used silk and no nylon for your staples." Dabi is genuinely surprised Shigaraki has paid that much attention to him, or at least to his preferences. He's got upwards of three hundred people in this club every night of the week and he's never seen the other man take a day off in the year and a half he's been subbing here. Not only that but he's got twenty doms and subs on rotation, he didn't think that anyone would bother to remember more than the names of the people he's been working with. 

"It was his first time booking, he might have mis-clicked. Can I still make adjustments to the room setup?" There's only another twenty minutes till the club opens its door and Dabi is supposed to be alone for at least an hour before his client arrives. He was planning on putting on a nice little peepshow for people, but he'd rather make certain that the room and everything is all set up for his session with a client. 

"Of course. I can have silk brought to your room." He agrees. "Do you want red to... match?" Dabi's already put up his coat and bag in the private changing area that the performers have access to, so he's just in his dark red lacy panties and the silver body chains with small red crystal dangles hanging off of them. He used to go for a blue look, but to distinguish workers from anyone else just looking to partake at the club, all of the performers from doms and subs to strippers and workshop teachers have to wear a deep red leather collar with La Venus embellished on it in silver foil. He didn't want the accessory to look out of place, and pivoted to wearing red instead of blue at the club. 

"If it's not too much trouble." Dabi always likes to think about his optics. Other people he's talked shop with around the club say they're usually focusing on a scene when they're in it, and that's great that works for them, but Dabi wants to be certain that he's staying constantly vigilant, and that he's setting himself up for future clients too. If their sessions are all going to be observable, then he is going to be a hell of a sight to see, and he's gonna make sure that he's got his aesthetic dialed in. 

"It's no trouble at all, Dabi." Shigaraki tells him easily.. "Does everything else seem alright?" Dabi reviews the contract again, and that looks like the only thing that was entered wrong, and he nods. "Alright, you're going to be in L2 today," he reaches back on the wall, unlocking the glass door and retrieving the key for the right room. His favorite room actually. He likes being on the left side because the bounce light is a little more diffused from that side, giving people a clearer view through the window, and he likes being in rooms two or three in that hall because those are the ones that people tend to linger in front of more, not wanting to clog up the entryway as they try to get to the seating areas that also line the hall. 

"Thanks, Shigaraki." He takes the key, but the owner doesn't let go of the tag for a second. 

"You know you can call me 'Tomura'." 

"Maybe when I'm off the clock, boss." He retorts easily. No matter how hot the other man is, Dabi doesn't want to get distracted. This is his job, he can't go around fucking that up by getting familiar or, god forbid, flirting with the guy who's establishment pays his bills. 

Shigaraki, for his part, looks wryly amused and lets him head out after that, the next person slipping in to confirm their night's plans as well. Dabi heads to his room to finish getting ready and wait for his silk. Maybe he will have a chance to put on that peep show after all. 

///

Dabi spends the first hour that V is open teasing his nipples and palming himself through his panties on the bed getting himself achingly hard and so close to the edge, but easing off of his peak to keep himself 'unspoiled' for his client who asked for him to be pent up and a little frustrated. Definitely a streak of sadist in him, but Dabi isn't a stranger to that, and he's looking forward to getting thoroughly worked over. 

Jin, one of the security team he recognizes at a glance, brings the new client to the door and Dabi is fully not expecting the blonde man to be so much taller than he is even after knowing he would be from his ID when he booked the session. Dabi steels his nerves. "Goto, it's good to meet you, I'm looking forward to our session." He starts with a pleasant smile. "If we can just re-touch on rules and boundaries, then I'd be happy to submit to you. Would you like to sit?" 

"Yeah, sure." The blond only has one eye, his prosthetic in the missing one looking like it's been forced into place with the metallic spikes around it that is kind of intimidating. He sits and Dabi starts to go through his usual spiel, he restates his hard limits, that they'll be using the traffic light system, the hand gestures that he will use if at any point during the session he goes non-verbal for any reason, and then he turns back to ask if there's anything he needs to go over as well. Goto is flat and unmoved when he says, "No." Sounding more bored than anything and Dabi's skin prickles with the first stirrings of discomfort. "Why are there silks instead of ropes?" 

He frowns slightly, "During the consultation, I said that I couldn't use rope over my staples. Since you said you wanted a heavy rigging session, I had it switched for silk since that's something my skin can tolerate." 

The other man considers the silk for a second before scoffing softly. "Fine. But you can take impact, can't you? If we're using silk, I want to use a paddle instead of my hands." 

Dabi doesn't normally love to use a paddle, it's wider and less accurate, meaning partners can overlap his staples on accident and leave him with fresh wounds. "I think that a riding crop would leave prettier marks, don't you, Sir?" He offers instead carefully. 

Goto looks him up and down and Dabi tries to look smaller and softer for him. Clearly he's more of a sadist than he'd originally thought, but the pay for this session is half of his rent this month. He can put up with this if it gets him what he needs. "Fine." Dabi expects him to ask about his levels, to get the toy off of the offered wall of them and test his tolerance. It's good practice for a session like this, but Dabi figures, 

"Remember, club rules state no impact with any implements across the face, and only light impact across the stomach and places prone to injury. My staples are fragile, so please avoid those where you can, but anywhere else is alright." 

"Yeah, got it, can we get started now?" The blond nearly snaps. Dabi bristles, but says nothing. It's his first time at V as far as he said during the booking. Maybe he's uncomfortable knowing the far wall is a window, even if it looks like a mirror from their side. 

He makes concessions on his politeness and breathes out a slow breath, trying to shake his tension and allow himself to slip into the headspace that he needs to. "Of course we can, if that would please my master." He simpers sweetly, trying for doe-eyed and helpless. 

The man starts to loosen some of his tension and tosses the jacket he was wearing over his black mesh tank top onto the chair in the corner of the room for more intimate cucking or voyeuristic sessions. "That's better, whore. I better not hear another mouthy word out of you, or I'm going to have to get rough." 

Not his favorite type of scene, but Dabi is a professional sub, he submits.

///

Goto is rough with him, and he likes his knots tight. They're loose enough, he thinks, for maybe one of Dabi's fingers, but his feel bigger as they move over his skin and knot them into place. He works methodically, not paying much attention to Dabi himself as he works. He occasionally pulls at the silk with an unhappy set around his mouth, but he clearly knows what he's doing, and Dabi finds himself over the course of an hour, knotted into a few different positions, as the other man gets a good look at his body and how flexible he is like this, before he ends up in a ball tie, tipped on his side. When the ropes are secure, thankfully, the other man doesn't actually also reach for a ball gag. He just puts his bigger hand over his ass, and palms him through his panties. He's not really doing much but groping him, and it doesn't really feel good, but Dabi moans anyway. 

The yelp he lets out the next second is real though as the riding crop comes down across the back of his tied thighs so hard that Dabi would put the pain at a seven already. The sound splits the air and he nearly chokes on his breath. 

"Not another nasty sound out of you, whore. You're not here to feel good, you're here for me to use." 

Dabi holds up three fingers to show that he understands, and then bites his lower lip hard as another crack comes down, this time just beneath his ass. And the next overlaps the first. Then across his exposed hip, along the outside of his thigh. It hurts, going up to a nine and holding there as the man hits him again and again with the crop. he goes over his scars, over his healthy skin, and the blood rushing up to the freshly forming welts as they swell, puts an uncomfortable pressure along his seams, especially around his thighs. He swears that between the ropes holding his legs together and pressed to his chest, and the ache of the impact, he's going to pop out his staples along those seams. 

"Y-yellow," he manages as he's panting between blows. 

"Thought I fucking said to keep your mouth shut?" The riding crop gets tossed to the bed, and in that second, Dabi thinks that he is setting it aside to check in. 

But the next robs him of that delusion entirely. Goto's hand fists in Dabi's hair, and he grabs hard to force his face into the sheets. Dabi barely manages to tuck his chin tighter to his chest so that he isn't smothered into the pillows and unable to speak as the man cuts off the other way he would be able to signal that he needs to stop. "Red!" He cries out, wanting to be let up immediately. 

"God, you whores here have had it too good. Thinking you can tell me what to do? When to stop? You need to learn your fucking place." He snarls, using one hand to hold him down while his other goes to-- Dabi hears the metal and leather sliding through each other as his belt is pulled. Fuck, fuck, fuck, 

"Red! Stop--" He hears the other man spit into his hand and his whole body goes hot with his terror. No, no, no, even if he hasn't moved his panties out of the way yet, if he gets that, or anything else in his seams when they hurt so badly, when they're so close to open, then he could get sick. He can't get sick again, he can't. Dabi tries to fumble for his quirk desperately, wanting to burn the silk from around his body, wanting to scare this fucker before he does anything worse to him--

"Don't you know that I own you?" 

It's like every string in him has been cut. Dabi's whole body goes so instantaneously numb that he can't make his quirk work. I own you. It's not Goto's voice that echoes in his mind. Not pain hits his body as he is shunted so sharply to hiding in his room with Natsuo as their father snarls at their mother. It's a stupid fear, it's an old helplessness that he shouldn't let distract himself now, not when he can't stop that memory, but he has to stop this disgusting man from ruining him even more as he hears his hand moving roughly over his cock. 

"Don't!" His voice doesn't even sound like his own, he can barely recognize it. It hasn't been filled with such sharp, anguished terror since he was burning--

"Get away from him!" There's movement, shouting, a scream behind him, but Dabi is only shakily trying to push his quirk away now, so scared he may light the bed on fire accidentally. He can't hurt his seams again, can't use his quirk right now, he'll burn it all to the ground and he's already destroyed whatever place he had here. Dabi sobs against the bed, his fear too big and sharp to make sense of whatever is happening beyond his body. 

There are voices, he thinks, furious and short, and the kind of whispers that come in the wake of something awful. He's the awful thing. He lost control of a session. He's the one who's broken, bleeding now, if not from his seams, than from his eyes as he sobs on the bed. 

"Dabi," the voice comes, addressing him and the bed dips just the slightest bit. He doesn't know who's speaking to him, just that it's not that man. This voice is low and trying to soothe him, he thinks, but it's hard to focus on anything other than the fear choking his chest and his quirk that is rioting beneath his skin. "Dabi, you're starting to smoke." The voice is so gentle. "No one is going to hurt you anymore." He waits but Dabi doesn't believe him. People are always hurting him. He's always hurting himself. Why would this be any different? He sobs harder and there is a longer pause, probably as the new voice decides where he deserves to be hurt when he's already been broken so thoroughly. "Can I touch you, Dabi?" 

He barely croaks, "R-red--" Through his sobs. He needs it to stop. He has to make it stop. 

"The scene is over, Dabi," the voice promises him. "I just want to untie you. Don't you think it would help if you could sit up, Dabi?" 

Would it? Could he make himself small on his own terms then? He sniffles, but it doesn't stop the tears. He barely manages to nod. 

"Okay, I'm not going to touch you. You just need to hold still, alright?" Dabi does his best to do as he's told, but tensing his muscles lightly makes them start to shake hard. He feels a little tug at one of the silks and then he's got the whisper of... something barely heavier than air against his skin, and the restrictive silk is gone. It happens twice more and then Dabi is able to slump against the bed, his limbs under his own control again, and Dabi does his best to push himself up, mind still swimming through a rolling sickness. Sick. He could get sick again. He could get hit again. He needs to focus. 

It feels impossible to do as he forces his mostly numb arms beneath his chest as he tries to turn around. His vision swims through his tears and he doesn't find the hulking man with blond hair anywhere in the room. The far curtain has been drawn over the viewing window, and Shigaraki is sitting at the foot of the bed, his hands resting in his lap. No, no, no. Further panic makes his ribs constrict sharply around his lungs. 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry--" he sobs immediately. He's ruined everything, he's made so much trouble for the club. Oh-- oh god, he's really never going to be able to work here again. He's going to have to go back to what he did before--going to have to take on more clients like Goto, going to have to risk his health, his safety-- 

"Dabi, you don't need to apologize. I just need you to breathe. Can you do that for me?" 

He should be able to, shouldn't he? That's supposed to be the simplest thing a person can do, but he can't quite manage it past the tiny hiccupping sips of air that he's making himself in past the hitching sobs that are shaking his body. 

"...Okay, can you look at me, sweetheart?" Shigaraki's voice goes even softer, and Dabi forces himself to peek up at him from the tight hunch he's made of himself up against the headboard. "That's perfect, now I just need you to follow my breaths. You don't have to be perfect," he soothes, "I just want you to try. Can you try for me, Dabi?" 

Shigaraki takes a slow breath in, holds it for a few seconds, and then he lets it out in a long steady stream. Dabi doesn't think he'll ever breathe like that again, not when his chest is so tight, but he isn't being yelled at yet, isn't being hit, and he doesn't want that to change. He tries so hard for the first few breaths, but he can't stop crying for long enough to manage it on those. 

But Shigaraki smiles at him anyway, "That's it, you're already doing such a good job for me, sweetheart. Can you keep going?" He resumes the patterned breathing, and the soft encouragement makes Dabi try harder. He's already made such a mess, he has to be at least capable of doing this right. 

He forces himself to breathe. Each one stutters and stalls until his tears aren't so constant, until they're just a scattered few droplets on his cheeks and his lungs are able to fill a little more. In some vague, dizzy shadow of his mind, he thinks he was hoping that breathing again would make the awful, cold pit in his gut disperse a little. That maybe the breaths would loosen that knot of dread, but he doesn't feel that happen. His dread stays settled against his nerves as those wake up after shorting out to try to protect him from what was happening to his body. Suddenly, he's not just scared, exhausted, and sick to his stomach, he's in pain too, and he starts to shake, a thin whimper leaving him as he looks down at himself. He has to uncurl his knees from his chest to see the side of his thigh that was exposed to the crop. 

The welt he finds across his scar is so puffy that he can see it clearly, and it's shiny. The color is too dark for him to tell if it's blood, sweat, or if it's because it's just so swollen around the fresh wound, but it hurts and he needs... something. He can't get sick again, but he is having such a hard time reordering his thoughts, figuring out what he needs to do next when everything hurts and his mind is so foggy. 

"Are you in pain, Dabi?" Shigaraki keeps talking to him softly, and Dabi barely manages to nod. "I want to get you something to drink and some medicine, but there isn't anything here." He explains carefully. "Do you think that we can move to somewhere else where I can get you those things?" 

He doesn't want to hurt anymore. He doesn't want to get sick. Dabi barely manages to nod his head, the action feeling like it takes every ounce of his strength.

"Good, do you think you can stand by yourself, sweetheart?" 

Dabi doesn't know. He feels weak and his legs hurt more than anything else. He is shaking already when he just manages to uncurl his arms from around them. It's the first flicker of sense that goes through his head when he kicks off his pumps before even attempting to put his feet against the floor. Shigaraki stands as well. 

"Can I come closer, Dabi? You can hold onto my arm if you need help." He smiles at him as he makes the offer and Dabi doesn't have the energy to speak. He manages to hold three fingers against the rumpled sheets and moves to the edge. The shock of the cold floor against his bare feet is such a small thing to make him uncomfortable, but everything inside of him is already so messy that he can't tolerate it, pulling his legs back up. "...Is it too much?" 

He manages another tiny nod. 

"Okay, can I pick you up? I promise I'll be very gentle, and when I put you down, you'll be able to have some water and something for the pain." 

He doesn't want to think. He doesn't even want to exist right now. He leaves his fingers open against the sheets. Shigaraki can do whatever he wants to him now. He's already broken. What's another fracture in his skin? 

"I'm going to pick you up. I need you to keep your hands where I can see them so I know if it's hurting." Why bother? He won't stop if it does. 

It doesn't hurt when Shigaraki picks him up. He's careful as he lifts him off of the bed, supporting his back with one arm and the other hooking under his knees instead of his thighs to keep as much pressure away from the welts as possible. Dabi is lifted and he gives up. He tucks his face against Shigaraki's white shirt and closes his eyes as exhaustion sweeps so completely through him. 

///

He's not certain how long passes between being carried from that room to finding himself blinking as he notices that there's something sugary on his tongue. It's soda, he realizes after a second, lemon-lime soda. The sweetness of that helps him to take stock of other parts of his body. He is aching and sore. His broken body hates him again and it's his fault. It's always his fault. He should have known better, should have been more careful. But he wasn't and now he's hurting and he deserves it. 

Dabi pulls away from the straw that's being offered to him and tries to take in his surroundings. They're in one of the private rooms, the actual private rooms of the club, and instead of having the lights low and a thrum of music going through the sparse bedroom, the lights are on all the way and it's as quiet as it can be with the activities of the club still filtering in from past the door. Shigaraki is sitting on the chair that has been dragged to the edge of the bed that Dabi's sitting on. The backs of his legs hurt, and he shifts a little on the edge as the other watches him, taking the cup away and putting it on the side table when he finishes with that. 

"...I'm sorry." His voice sounds like it's been completely scraped raw as he tries to make his head clear. He needs to go. He made so much trouble. He has to leave. If he leaves by himself, at least, then he won't have to be kicked out. He would rather save some small thread of his dignity than have to give that up too. 

"You don't have anything to apologize for, Dabi." Shigaraki's voice is that same low, careful tone that he doesn't deserve. "Are you still hurting? I had Yumina bring some of the bruise salve. Do you want to put some of that on?"

The welts definitely hurt and he would really like for them not to anymore, but he just shakes his head and starts to stand. "Can I get my stuff before I go?" His voice shakes as he asks. It wouldn't be the first time he's just been kicked out without any of his things. But he doesn't know how he's going to even make his rent without V. He can't have to start over with his whole life without his phone too. 

"... If you think you're ready for that, then I need to know if you want me to call the police." Shigaraki asks. 

Dabi blanches, fear swelling through his chest and making it go tight. "What?" Did he break his contract with the club? He thought he would be fired, not arrested. 

"Do you want to press charges against him? I know it's difficult in situations like this, but if you want to have him arrested, we can do that. If you want..." Shigaraki's expression blackens, "Other repercussions made, then we can decide on that as well." 

Him? His head feels like it's still full of fluff. "...Aren't you mad at me?" His voice is tiny when he manages the question. 

That replaces the darkness on his features with something softer and more surprised in an instant. "Of course not, Dabi. You did everything you needed to, there's no reason for me to be upset with you." He watches Dabi as he says those words and Dabi has no idea what his face does, but he is even more deliberate and careful as he keeps speaking. "I'm sorry that happened, I'm sorry that I didn't get there faster. But you're not in trouble, and we're going to make sure that Imasuji never does something like this again." 

His seams beneath his eyes hurt and he feels something hot and wet drip against his thighs. 

Shigaraki sees him start to cry and shifts slightly before catching himself. "Can I touch you?" 

Dabi hesitates, half expecting to be hit again, but he finally gives a tiny nod. Shigaraki gathers him up, and pulls him close, tucking Dabi's head beneath his chin and getting him to sit at an angle in his lap so that the worst of the welts don't have any pressure against them. And then his hands start to pet so gently over his skin. He holds him and he speaks, 

"I'm so glad you called out for help. I'm so sorry that happened and I'm going to do whatever I can to make sure that nothing like this happens again. I promise that you're going to be safe if you want to keep working here." 

"...I can stay?" 

Shigaraki looks at him like he wishes he could pull all of the pain out of Dabi's skin. He curls a hand gently around the back of his neck and he rests their foreheads together. "Of course you can, sweetheart. I wouldn't want you anywhere else." 

The tears fall a little faster and Dabi tangles his fingers into Shigaraki's shirt, clinging to him as he begins to sob fresh. 

///

It's not until he notices the pain getting more intense in his legs that he tries to take stock of himself again. Shigaraki reaches over to the side table and takes one of the tissues to help dab away the blood from under his sore seams and crusted under his staples. He hisses slightly from how broken and achy they feel and is hit with another jolt of fear over how bad they must be. 

"Are you in more pain?" Shigaraki glances at his watch, "You can have another dose of pain medicine if you want it." 

Dabi doesn't remember even taking the first, but that must mean it's been hours since the last one and he feels sharply guilty for forcing the other to stay for so long dealing with him. "I'm okay," he can be. He will be, he thinks. Maybe. If he's not actually broken from everything that happened before. "I need to go home--" He tries to shift and can't help the sharp sound of pain he makes as he puts a little more weight on the welts and his aching seams. 

"Dabi, I won't make you have anything you don't want, but I need to know you're going to be alright if you decide to leave." 

He swallows, not wanting to look at him, but not trusting his muscles much after how much just that little shifting hurt. "...I need my medicine." He admits quietly. 

And Shigaraki doesn't blink. "Okay, is it in your bag? Do you want me to have someone bring it for you?" 

"...Okay." 

Shigaraki shifts his hold on Dabi's body slightly and he sees him pull out his phone and shoot off a text to Jin to have someone bring Dabi his things. He gets an affirmative, and after just a couple of minutes, Shigaraki is picking him up again so that he can put him on the edge of the bed while he goes over to the door to retrieve the bag. He brings it over and Dabi pulls out the alcohol wipes and his salve before being faced with the location of the hurts and how he's going to manage to check them. 

"Why don't you lay on your stomach? I can help you." He offers gently. "You can watch in the mirror and let me know if there's anything you need." 

He considers protesting, but he doesn't have a better option if he wants to see how these look and how fucked he's going to be trying to get back into his tight leather pants before he walks home. If he can even manage that. "Okay," he agrees quietly, making himself lay on his stomach, the chains and crystal beads pressing against his skin. He takes a shaky breath and turns his head so that he can look at himself in the mirror that's suspended above the bed. 

The welts are dark and crusted with tacky deep red scabs at some of the highest points and the places where they overlap with each other. That's not good, but Dabi is more scared of his seams as his attention goes lower. His staples are doing their best to keep his skin together, the sections there so swollen with irritation from either side of his skin being abused that they've nearly expanded past their limits, but they are, technically, shut. He gives a soft sigh of relief. Shigaraki makes sure he's watching and then starts to clean him up with gentle, deliberate movements, always giving Dabi enough time to ask him to stop before he touches the next place on his body. And each touch is light and careful. His skin is cool through his gloves as he opens the alcohol wipes and dabs away the bits of blood before going to the salve Dabi spends most of his money making sure he never runs out of. 

He immediately lets out a shaky sigh of relief at the first cold touch of the creme against his skin. The medicine is a thin antibiotic lotion that has a slight numbing effect that takes away a lot of the lingering discomfort. Knowing that he is getting what he needs, that his seams aren't actually open, that helps to take away the threads of fear in him, and he lets himself watch Shigaraki in the mirror as he rubs the medicine into his skin. 

He moves in soft circles, making sure to get along the welts and along each line of his seams and puncture of his staples. His hands are delicate, not looking to hurt him any more than he already has been tonight, and Dabi... starts to drift as the fear, pain, and worry ebb. He's being taken care of. He gets that so rarely. Normally he barely lets himself have a minute or two of aftercare once as session is over, and even then, he's usually using that time to try and get his client to book another session while they're still coming down from the high of their domination or while they're still aching for a release they'll need to find on their own elsewhere in the club. But this feels good. He can't remember the last time someone else helped him put the medicine on his skin. 

More of the pain fades as he finally allows himself to relax a little more against the sheets and he sighs. Shigaraki's hand stills for a second, but when Dabi timidly leaves three fingers open against the sheets, he feels three open in return against his thigh before he keeps tending to the wounds and swollen areas of skin. It puts a soft kind of warmth in his body that makes him want more of that. He's being careful, he's listening to him and taking care of him. Dabi wonders distantly if it says something sad and pathetic just that is enough to make his body temperature creep up a little higher the touches continue. 

He doesn't mean to let out the little moan that slips his lips when Tomura's fingers move along his seam towards his inner thighs, but it feels so nice to have a soft touch there. Dabi opens his legs a little more and shifting against the sheets lets him feel that his cock has started to harden too. Tomura stops when he hears that soft sound of pleasure and Dabi is reluctant to look over his shoulder to see his face, instead watching him stiffen over him in the mirror. A sharper fear goes through him. He wasn't supposed to make any noises, was he? Is he going to be hit again?

"Does that feel better, baby boy?" Tomura's voice is a little thicker, lower, and his fingers trail from the inside of his thighs along to the outer edge so that he's not touching any hurts anymore. And he puts two fingers against Dabi's skin, waiting. 

Is this a scene? Could it be? Dabi wants to take away the unpleasantness still echoing around in him from what came before. But... he doesn't know if he'll be allowed that, even when it's Shigaraki's collar looped around his neck. "...Yes, Sir. More?" He chances, keeping his hand as is. 

"Of course baby, just have to tell me if there's anything you don't like." He strokes along his thighs again, and Dabi watches in the mirror as he goes from just trailing two fingers over his skin, to both of his palms open, the soft leather touching his seams and healthy skin. This touch goes between his legs, up a little higher, light and good. A nice touch after the angry ones, and Dabi lets out a tiny sigh. "Does that feel nice, sweetheart?" 

He tucks his face into the sheets, giving up on the mirror, and manages a nod against them. Dabi doesn't normally get to be soft after something so rough, but the contrast feels so good. Like it's putting fluff around all the hurts that were written into his soul and skin. He shifts and Tomura's hands immediately retreat, but Dabi only wanted to push up a little, getting his knees a little more under him so that he would be able to lift his hips slightly as he starts to get harder, and to spread his legs a little more. 

"Good boy," Tomura murmurs, his hands going back to his skin and tracing circles up his thighs, deeper between them. He goes higher, but not where Dabi wants them. He wants something that feels good now. Tomura's already made things so much better. He can take away the last sharp bits of unhappiness in him, he knows he can. "You just have to show me what you need, baby boy, I'll give you anything." And he sounds a little breathless as he speaks. 

It makes the neediness in him go a little hotter and he makes himself let go of the sheets so that he can reach back and find Tomura's arm. He hooks his fingers in the edge of his gloves and feels his face go hot as he pulls at him. He lets his arm be moved and Dabi brings it further between his legs, until his fingers are grazing the edge of his panties. Tomura takes over from there and Dabi is holding onto the sheets again as he moves his fingers lightly over his covered balls and up to his hardening cock. 

"You want to feel good, sweetheart?" His voice going hotter. 

Dabi manages a little nod, still certain he won't be allowed that after before. 

Tomura's fingers stroke up his cock, cupping him through the lace as he hums softly. "I can do that, baby boy, but I need you to move for me." His hand retreats and Dabi wants it back, so he lets Tomura get him onto his back, and Dabi is confronted with the sight of himself in the ceiling mirror. His face is flushed and still a little blotchy from crying. He looks dazed as the chains glitter in the light of the room, his legs spread wide, knees bent to keep the worst of the welts from touching the bed. And his cock is hard and stretching his panties. Tomura moves between his spread legs, leaning over him carefully and blocking his view in the mirror. And there's not a trace of cruelty in his look. His eyes are warm and he's smiling at Dabi softly. "Can I take off your panties, sweetheart? I want to make your pretty cock feel good." 

Dabi bites his lip and nods. 

"Can I hear your color? It will make me feel better if I know you're using them." He asks, reaching to cup his cheek and stroke his thumb just under one of his aching seams. 

"Green, Sir." 

"Good. But you don't have to call me that, baby boy. I can be whatever you need from me right now. What do you want, sweetheart?" 

He wants to be safe. He wants to feel good. He wants the softness and sweetness that he never gets, let alone after something bad has happened. And he wants to be small in the wake of that. "Daddy," he whispers, his face going so hot with his shame, terrified that he can't have this either. 

Tomura's smile makes his eyes warm too as he leans over him, his hand shifting so that he can push his hair from his forehead. The kiss he presses there feels like a balm as much as his medicine did against his hurts. "You're doing such a good job for me, baby boy. Lift your hips a little more." 

He does and Tomura makes sure the thin fabric doesn't rub against any of the welts as he pulls his panties down his legs. Dabi kicks out of them when they're low enough and then he chances reaching for Tomura, getting one hand in his hair that is as thick and soft as he's always wondered. He lets himself be pulled up, but when Dabi wants a hard, messy kiss to reassure him that this is something he can have, he's instead given one that is so soft and achingly tender that it makes him breathless. His whole body gets a little warmer as Tomura kisses him, his hands moving lightly over his skin, stroking up his thighs before he shifts over him.

 Dabi almost whines, but he feels him reaching and hears the rustle of plastic as he finds the bowl on the side table that holds the variety of lubes that are in every room for the club-goers' use. Tomura picks one at random and brings his other hand up to tear it open, and when he wraps his hand around Dabi's length, his glove glides across his skin and makes Dabi's toes curl with pleasure. The touch there, after the pain from before, after denying himself even earlier, makes him gasp, wrapping his arms around Tomura's neck to keep him close as he touches him. 

He moans, his hips moving, trying to get more of that good sensation after a night of bad. "Daddy," he pleads. 

"I've got you, baby boy." He murmurs, pressing a kiss softly to the seam aching under one of his eyes. His fingers move over him, making sure to rub along his ladder and around his head, bringing Dabi's pleasure higher. He whimpers when he tightens his thighs around Daddy's hips and it makes his hurts ache a little. But he doesn't have to hurt for long. Tomura immediately shifts so that he has one hand under his hip, lifting Dabi's weight a bit and moving it higher on his back, making sure that none of the welts are rubbing against the sheets and that he doesn't have to try to get him closer, not when he's holding onto him, his legs supporting his lower half. And letting him feel Daddy's cock is getting hard too where it's pressed against him. 

Tomura doesn't pay his own arousal any attention, his hand moving deliberately over Dabi's cock, searching and finding every place that makes his pleasure sharper. His body is already so exhausted from the night, that it's not hard for him to get lost in the feelings, for his head to start to float into that soft good space that makes him love being a sub. And when he moans and tries to move into the pleasure, he doesn't get yelled at, he doesn't get hurt, instead Daddy gives him more kisses. 

"There, you're doing such a good job, baby boy. I'm so happy that you're letting me help you feel good, sweetheart. You're so pretty when you're blushing like this." And the words put more of that needy, squirmy heat in him through the heavy fog rolling in. He twists his wrist as he strokes him and Dabi moans loudly, hips jumping up into the touch. Daddy sees how much he likes that and he keeps doing it on each stroke, making him shiver and tremble, moans spilling off his lips and his fingers tugging at Daddy's suit jacket as his cock leaks. 

It only takes a few more of those tight, perfect strokes before Dabi's back is arching again, smoke curling out of his throat, as he cums, spilling all over Daddy's hand and his own stomach. He gasps, trembling against the sheets as that bliss soaks through his veins and leaves him absolutely boneless. 

"Perfect, baby boy. You did such a good job for me. I'm so proud of you, precious." He starts to shift, reaching for another wipe to clean him up and even floating, Dabi knows he doesn't want to get cleaned up yet. He doesn't want to stop. He wants Daddy to make him feel so good that he doesn't even remember the welts against his thighs. 

"Daddy," Tomura pauses and Dabi struggles to find more words, "More? Please?" He tries to be careful, making sure to only put pressure on the inside of his thighs as he tightens them around Tomura's hips. And then he rolls his hips down, breathless when he feels how big and hard Daddy's cock is. 

"Are you sure, sweetheart? All I want is to take care of you. We don't need to do anything else." He reassures him, pressing a kiss to his temple. 

Dabi knots his fingers in his jacket a little tighter and pulls at it, nodding. "Green. Please, Daddy?" 

"Of course, precious. But if you change your mind, if you don't like something, all you have to do is tell me, and then we'll be all done, okay?" 

"Mmhm," he mumbles, pulling at his shirt again. 

Tomura gives him another kiss, and then only partially disappoints Dabi because he does have to move away if he wants to strip himself of his clothes, the fabric getting tossed item by item onto the chair until he's only wearing his gloves. Only what he needs to make certain that Dabi is safe before he moves back between his legs and kisses his lips again. Dabi loses himself in that, his hands now getting to move over all of the pretty pale muscles that have been hiding under his clothes. 

Daddy's hands move over his skin too, touching his chest, pushing his chains out of the way so that he can play with the rings through his nipples, and over his sides, down his stomach, up his thighs. He goes slowly, his mouth going across Dabi's jaw and along his neck and collar bones, looking for places that make Dabi's skin go warm again. When his hands go lower he opens his legs wider, when his fingers, slick again from more lube touch him tentatively, he gasps, "Green," again before they start to move against him. 

He has to keep one arm around the back of his neck, still scared of being tossed aside while he's getting so close to the perfect floaty place he rarely ever gets to find, but the other knots back against the sheets, needing something else to hold onto. Whimpers and moans spill past his lips as Daddy circles his hole until those nerves are prickling with need. When his first finger presses in he feels gone, as the pleasure aches through him as his cock starts to harden again. 

Tomura opens him up with the same deliberate, gentle movements as he did to soothe his hurts and by the time he has three inside of him, moving against his prostate, he is near tears again from how good he feels this time. "Tomura!" He can't help the sounds spilling from him, his cock pressing against his stomach and drooling fresh pre from how needy every touch is making him. "Tomura, Daddy, please, please!" His nails bite into the sheets and the back of his neck. "Please, I want it, please, want your cock." 

"I'm going to give it to you, precious, just have to wait a little longer." Tomura gives him another kiss before he shifts again, pulling a condom from the bowl of them and Dabi waits with breathless impatience for  him to get it on before he's pulling him back in, and shifting to help him line up. His head rubs against his hole as Tomura untangles his fingers from the sheets, catching that hand and threading their fingers together. Before he can feel overwhelmed from the tenderness of that action, he starts to press inside and Dabi is lost in the stretch of him inside. 

It feels like it takes an eternity for him to be so deliciously, perfectly full. Tomura presses more soft kisses across his face as Dabi pants and whimpers, every breath makes his nerves sing like his whole body is trying to make up for the agony from earlier by amplifying every flicker of pleasure. He's hazy with it as he demands, "Green, Daddy," when he can't possibly stand to wait a second longer for it to get even better. 

Tomura breathes a laugh against his skin, leaning back just enough so that Dabi can see him smile. See his pretty eyes looking at him like he's the whole world. "Okay, baby boy, but you know what to say if it's too much?" He nods weakly and Tomura gives him another kiss as he starts to move. 

Dabi has never had sex like this before. He has never been so deep in the cloud of his subspace, never been touched like he was something precious. He has never had someone moving inside of his body, doing everything they could to make him feel good the way Tomura is. He makes sure that he's rubbing against his prostate, going at a slow, deliberate pace that keeps from putting any hard pressure against his seams or bruises, and he doesn't lose his patience with that. He keeps fucking Dabi so carefully instead of chasing his own pleasure, and he looks at him, holds his hand, like this is all he needs. Like seeing Dabi falling apart under him is all he could ever need in the world. Like he's not a burden, not an inconvenience, not an employee, but something... precious. It all makes his head so messy in such a different way than before that Dabi is smoking again as his quirk heightens alongside his pleasure. 

He is so hazy that he doesn't know how long Tomura is moving with him, kissing him, his hand tightening against Dabi's as they both build their ecstasy higher and higher. But Daddy's fucking him slow, so it must be a while. He doesn't know if it matters though, because when his cock starts to ache again, his balls going so tight, and just before his orgasm pulses through him again, he finds himself squeezing their interlocked hands together a little tighter. 

"Tomura," his name is a gasp and he's not expecting the other to whisper back, 

"Dabi," like he's the most important thing in the world. He really doesn't mean for that to push him over the edge, his body thrumming with pleasure that goes even higher as Tomura bottoms out inside of him as they cum together. Dabi doesn't think he's ever managed that with a partner either, but his fog is far too thick for him to care as Tomura captures his lips in another all-consuming kiss. 

///

They lay in bed together for a while, Tomura pressing more kisses and praise into his skin until Dabi stops trembling with his pleasure. Until his fog rolls back from his mind and after the night he's had, all he can do is feel exhausted. Tomura didn't bother taking off his watch when he was getting ready to fuck him, so Dabi catches the edge of his glove and pulls on it so he can see the time. 

"Fucking hell--" he starts to sit up out of the circle of the other's embrace as he realizes it's dawn. He started his session at eleven. "God, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to--" His stomach sinks. Fuck, fuck, he cause so much trouble for the club tonight and then he'd fucking slept with his boss. 

"You don't have anything to apologize for, Dabi." Tomura tells him immediately in the same even tone as he did before, with the same warmth in his eyes. "Are you feeling better?" 

He hesitates, taking stock of himself now that his head doesn't feel nearly as out of sorts as he had since he dropped. "Yeah... thanks for taking care of me." 

"Of course--" 

"No," he pushes a little harder, straightening his spine. "You didn't have to do that. You could have left me to deal with it myself, you could have called the cops and let me come down barely-clothed in a police station. But you made sure to take care of me here, and treated the bruises. Thank you." 

Tomura doesn't dismiss the words this time. "...You're welcome, Dabi. Is there anything else that you need?" 

"A shower, breakfast I guess, and the patience to deal with cops and heroes for a couple of hours if I decide to report that douchebag for assault." 

Shigaraki's expression darkens. "This room has a bathroom attached. If you want to go clean up, I can go get your day clothes from your locker and bring them in for you. I can't offer much as far as food goes, but I might be able to help ease the stress of the last part." 

Has Goto been held here the whole time? He'd asked if he wanted to go to the police earlier, but Dabi hadn't been thinking clearly enough to put that statement into any more context. "Okay." Tomura hesitates a second, and then leans in and presses another kiss to his forehead. 

"I'll be right back, firefly." 

///

Dabi goes and takes a shower, and by the time he's finished and dried with the towels that smell sharply of the detergent used to make sure they're clean, Tomura is all buttoned up again and Dabi's day clothes are waiting for him along with another soda, bottle of water, and a bottle of Tylenol. He takes the pain meds, downs the water, and dresses. If he goes to report this then it's going to be a long fucking day to start without a lick of sleep. He should have asked for an espresso martini, though he doubts that any of the bartenders are even still here. 

When he's dressed, white t-shirt, leather pants, leather duster, boots, and his backpack with his medicine, heels, and club clothes inside, he figures there's no putting this off anymore. 

"Okay, let's deal with this fuckwit." He says with more bravo than he feels. 

"If anything is too much, you just have to say the word, and I'll deal with it, Dabi." 

"I appreciate that, Shig, but you can only fix so much." 

Tomura doesn't stall anymore and they leave the private rooms, going through the main area of the club. It's not that unusual for Dabi to be leaving after closing, but it's definitely later than he usually leaves. He's never seen the club completely empty, even the janitorial staff having finished for the day and abandoned it. They go out of the main area and into the hallway of red rooms, and Dabi startles to find the second room on the left has been roped off with velvet barriers because the glass is gone. Dabi pauses, staring at that gaping nothing that's letting him see that the room has been thoroughly cleaned and reset even though he doubts anyone will be using it until the glass is back in place. 

"What happened?" He doesn't remember hearing any glass break. 

"I was in the main room when I noticed the commotion. I didn't want to lose time by running around to the back hallway." 

"You broke the window?"

"No," he says, continuing to move down the hall. "That could have sprayed you with glass. I decayed it." 

"You're insane." Dabi barely manages to say through his thick throat. 

"When I took over this club I said I would make it a safe place for everyone who comes to indulge. I'm not about to let one of my staff, one of my best members of staff, get hurt here." They leave the hall and Dabi doesn't know what to say to that, so he chooses to remain silent. 

Tomura takes him down the service elevator, unlocking the buttons that lead to the basement level with a key and Dabi is a little concerned. He didn't know anyone ever went to the basement levels for anything. But once the elevator is moving again, he reaches back for Dabi's hand and laces their fingers together again, bringing them up so that he can press a kiss to Dabi's knuckles. It puts a warmth, a comfort in his stomach that he's never had the luxury of before. They take the long ride down and when the doors open, Dabi finds the winding pipes and cords that he expected of a place that holds the guts of the skyscraper. Tomura coaxes him out into that tangle of piping, and Dabi follows carefully behind, his quirk sitting hotter under his skin. 

He's led around two corners before they reach a doorway that Tomura knocks on once. He hears a couple of locks being thrown and then the door opens-- revealing Jin, who sees him and immediately breaks into a smile. 

"Hey, Dabs, you doing better?" 

"...Yeah." He wants to ask what exactly is going on, but the other man moves out of the way so that they can see into the room and Dabi bristles, smoke getting trapped behind his teeth as he sees Goto, a gag in his mouth, and his arms cuffed behind him with dampeners where he is strapped to a metal chair that's been bolted to the ground. "What--" Tomura pulls him into the room gently with their entwined hands. 

"Like I said before, we can call the police if you want us to. You have a written contract and a lot of eye-witnesses that will prove that he was in violation of that." He lets go of Dabi's hand to go over to Goto. The other is glaring, his teeth bared as much as they can be around his gag, and Dabi notices that part of his arm is gone. The cuffs are hooked above his elbows because on the right side, everything from the forearm down is gone. And Dabi sees a dangerous thing in Tomura's neutral expression as he takes off his glove, resting four fingers against the back of the chair. "Or we can take care of this now." 

"'Take care of' how?" But the coldness already starting in his gut is answer enough. 

"My quirk doesn't leave anything behind for anyone to find. There isn't even DNA in the dust." He doesn't say it outright, but there's no mistaking this proposal for anything but what it is. And immediately Dabi thinks he should be scared. For as gentle and caring as Tomura just was with him, he can and has, apparently, killed people before. He is dangerous. But he is watching Dabi with that tentativeness from before. Trying to make certain, he thinks, that Dabi is alright just like he has all night. "Jin already sent a double on his way with both arms intact. He can go around living his life until he gets hurt and when that happens, there will be nothing to trace it back to you. You'll be safe, Dabi. No matter what." He promises. 

He'll be safe, he thinks, even if they do go to the cops. He'll be safe, have a club full of witnesses, and his contract-- and he knows that they still won't care. Muscular will get a slap on the wrist, if anything, and then the next time he wants to get his rocks off, he'll go find someone else who isn't in a club full of people who care about what happens to each other. He'll find someone desperate, helpless, and alone, and he'll go further than he could with Dabi-- if he hasn't done that already. "...Your quirk works on anything?" 

"As far as I'm aware." He replies evenly. 

Dabi takes a step forward and Tomura waits. Goto glares at him with his one working eye. Looks at Dabi like he can't understand how someone as low as him could possibly warrant anyone bothering to care about what happens to him at all. It makes that shattered thing inside of him sharpen into something with teeth. He reaches for his face, a flame already in hand and grabs on. 

He can't go hot enough to turn his skull to ashes, not without his seam hurting badly, but it is immensely satisfying to hear him screaming around the gag as it melts over his teeth and tongue as his eyeball boils in his skull. He takes a step back when his hand starts to hurt, and Muscular is still thrashing in the chair, letting out muffled screams. 

Tomura lets it go on for a few more seconds before he catches a part of his arm where the fire hasn't spread yet, and holds on. He screams until he crumbles away. When there's nothing on the chair but dust and the air is filled with the lingering, unpleasant scent of burning hair, Tomura steps around the chair, pulling his glove back on deliberately. Jin slips out of the door, though Dabi sees him lingering outside of it. 

"There. He can't ever hurt you, or anyone else again." He starts to move closer and Dabi takes a step back. 

"Red." The word stops the other man in his tracks, hurt flickering across his features. He takes a deliberate step away from Dabi and doesn't come any closer as he finds the rest of his voice. "...You could though," he says, feeling the prickles of anxiety under his skin. Fuck. Fuck, what did he just do? He might have gotten rid of that bastard, but Tomura owns him now. Even more than he already did. 

"I wouldn't. Not ever, Dabi. If you don't want to work here anymore, then you're free to go. If you'd like a letter of recommendation or a referral to any of the other clubs in this area, I'd be happy to provide it. If you want to stop doing private sessions for a while, then that's alright too. If you want, you can put on some classes-- or you can dance if you want. Kenji mentioned that you two have been practicing together. I can be your boss again," and Dabi doesn't expect the way that makes something go sharp behind his ribs. "Or I can be... nothing to you." 

Dabi hesitates, but Tomura keeps his distance and he can't find even the slightest hint of a lie in his eyes. He just sees them sad and worried, the same way they were when he saw how badly he'd been broken. And Dabi wants them warm on him again the way they had been when he'd held his hand as they came. It's probably wrong, probably insane, but Dabi thinks he could be very happy with Tomura, even knowing that he would destroy the world if it hurt him. He hasn't ever had someone who would take care of him. He's certain Tomura will unless he tells him to stop. And.. he knows now that Tomura will stop if he ever tells him to. 

He's the one who crosses the space between them. "I want a week away," he demands breathlessly. "You don't call, you don't check on me, you don't mess with my profile. You let me leave, knowing I could go to the cops." He catches the lapels of his suit, hands hot with barely contained flame. 

"I can do that, firefly. But," Dabi's stomach sinks, "you need to go up and see Atsuhiro to get your pay for the week. I don't want you to leave without it if you decide not to come back." 

Dabi pulls him into a hard kiss.

///

When he comes back to V a week later, his locker is exactly as he left it, and he doesn't see Tomura until he's getting ready for the consultation. He walks in and finds the other holding himself with his spine straight, looking at his tablet with a furrow in his brow. 

"Dabi, welcome back. I'm sorry, I'm having some kind of technical difficulty. Your bookings for tonight aren't showing up on the schedu--" He catches the edge of the tablet and sets it aside before stepping right back into his space like their last kiss was a minute ago and not a week, and gives him another. 

Tomura goes still against him before his hand wraps around the back of Dabi's neck, his other arm going around his waist, and he kisses him back like he's the only thing that matters in the whole world. Like he's trying to tell him that he'll never be broken again. 

"Canceled them. Just want you to take care of me." He breathes when they part. 

Red eyes go surprised before warming. "I will for as long as you'll let me, firefly." Tomura promises. Dabi seals those words between them with another kiss. 

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, consider leaving a comment!

[yurimother]

'I'm in Love with the Villainess' Anime - Episode 1 Review

An astounding and hilarious first outing for the series with the power to revolutionize Yuri

We are finally here, the long-awaited and much anticipated first episode of Platinum Vision’s I’m in Love with the Villainess anime aired on Tokyo MX and is streaming everywhere outside of Asia with a plethora of dubbing options, including English, on day one on Crunchyroll.

The first outing covers most of the events of the light novel’s first chapter, or the first three chapters of the manga, at a rapid but steady and not overwhelming pace. At this rate, the anime should be able to cover much of the series’ first arc, or the first two out of five books, in a single cour. Perhaps a bit less, depending on which of the story’s various adventures it elects to include. This is an exciting possibility, to be sure, as the story is a character-driven, socially mindful, and expertly written and, despite its fantasy setting, an exceptionally relevant tale of romance, socio-economic inequality, and of course, queerness.

While the first arc of Villainess is a triumph, it would be a shame not to see at least some of the developments from the extra chapters that lead into the second story, like (spoilers for the end of volume 2) Rae and Claire’s wedding and their adopted twin daughters May and Aleah. If we are lucky, perhaps they will appear in the final episode or, dare to dream, a second season (end of spoilers).

Now, onto the show itself. For those who, for whatever reason, have not read Inori’s masterpiece, I’m in Love with the Villainess follows Rae Taylor. A salary worker who dies and is reincarnated as the protagonist of her favorite otome game, Revolution. However, Rae has no interest in any of the game world’s three eligible royal bachelors and has eyes only for the game villainess Claire François. Armed with exceptionally magical ability, Rae sets out determined to secure a happy ending for her beloved Claire against the coming revolution and perhaps win her heart in the process.

Now, the opening of I’m in Love with the Villainess is the series' weakest moment in all mediums, which, considering episode one’s outstanding quality, only highlights just how superb the Yuri masterpiece is as a whole. Even with its need to establish the setting, characters, and premise of the series, the premiere managed to be an excellent introduction and set the bar high with lots of laughs, entertainment, and service between our two leads.

I watched the Japanese audio, and Yu Serizawa and Karin Nanami are fantastic in these roles, with Serizawa playing up Rae’s teasing adoration and borderline masochism at full blast, and Nanami explicitly giving voice to Claire’s arrogance and frustration. She even manages to deliver a perfect Ojou-style laugh to seal the character’s elite status and lean into the show’s use of otome tropes. And having the leads sing the excellent opening and ending themes is just icing on the cake.

Speaking of tropes, while Ironi’s original work is a genre-defying masterpiece that broke the Yuri mold, it is never afraid to play with the genre’s iconography and its otome game setting. Every other scene had another allusion, including to the book’s cover. As always, I am likely overeager to see connections, however intentional they may be, but the academy’s halls harken to otome staples, the bells and strings of the first scene's soundtrack conjured blistering memories of Strawberry Panic (perhaps a sacrilegious comparison to make but I digress), and even an areal shot of the campus was another check mark on my “Scenic Yuri” theory.

Now, as mentioned, I’m in Love with the Villainess has to establish the groundwork here, and narratively, these are the weakest moments, often direct exposition, with a few exceptions like Rae’s conversation with her roommate Mash about maintaining Claire’s attention. The narration is at least accompanied by relevant and creative, if perhaps limited, animation. But to their credit, these moments are succinct, existing only as long as they have to in order to provide the necessary information and get out of the way for what matters most: the characters.

Rae and Claire are front and center from the very get-go, and there is little time wasted in showcasing Rae’s intense bottom energy or establishing Claire’s elitism and bewildered anger towards Rae’s excitement in the face of Claire’s carefully calculated cruelty. It is a montage of silly and fun competitions between the two that had me laughing and smiling all the way through, as the Yuri was present in full force, and gives glimpses at the mutual obsession the women have for each other that will soon blossom into a wonderful romance.

These early story beats have a light tone and focus on the bullying, teasing, and rivalry between Rae and Claire, a dynamic that previously and understandably made a subset of readers somewhat uncomfortable. However, assuming the anime unfolds in a similar manner to the manga and light novels, the narrative will explore meatier, heavier subject matter and a far deeper lesbian romance, all without losing its sense of fun and adventure. The next episode or two will be incredibly telling - as the source material is perhaps the most profound and forthright depictions of LGBTQ identity in Yuri, and that all starts with a pivotal conversation that, if it is included, will be coming up shortly.

Overall, I am incredibly excited for this series. The first episode is everything I had hoped for out of an adaptation of one of my favorite works of all time, save the animation, which is average at best. While there is a lot more to see, and we will have to wait to know if I’m in Love with the Villainess lives up to its incredible potential and source material, I am extremely hopeful. We have one of the funniest, most thoughtful, and queerest works of Yuri transformed into a stunning anime project unlike anything that has come before and offers the chance at not just a new Yuri “gateway” but to continue the work of its source material in revolutionizing the genre.

Ratings: Story – 8 Characters – 10 Art – 5 LGBTQ – We shall see… Sexual Content – 3 Final – 8

I'm in Love with the Villainess is streaming on Crunchyroll with English sub/dub.

Review made possible by Avery Riehl and the rest of the YuriMother Patrons. Support YuriMother on Patreon for early access, exclusive article, and more: patreon.com/yurimother

[fire-lizard-ro]

I am furiously chewing and gnawing on the idea of an arranged marriage with sunday hlep

Thank you for the ask, anon! And yesssss thank you so, so much for sending in a Sunday request!!! My boy!!! I am also brainrotting over this man at all times he lives rent free in my mind and I love him-

Hope you're doing well and enjoy what I wrote.

But also- This is not my expertise, so I'm going to say my piece and then direct you to my friendo @pix3lplays - This is like. Her thing. So I'm sure you'll get a more interesting response please go follow her hehehehe- <333

Writing under the cut (it’s all SFW):

Sunday is the picture of gentlemanly grace. Perhaps it is by the order of the family that he is to wed you for the good of the family and Penacony. Perhaps it is to strengthen their relations with the IPC as you are an important member. Or perhaps it is for other reasons that will help secure the safety or wellbeing of Penacony and its members. And of course, Sunday is a man who wishes only the best for his beloved home and he will do what he can to follow the path the Aeon of Harmony has laid out for their followers. So he takes it in stride, setting up an appointment to meet you. He would like to get to know his future spouse before the wedding no matter how willing he is to do this for his family.

The first time you meet, you immediately find yourself encapsulated by the gorgeous man who has come to meet you- At a place of your choosing, no less. He extended this favor in hopes of putting the right foot forward with you. Sunday wants things to go smoothly and for the marriage to go through to achieve whatever goal it is the family had in setting this up. He may be a busy man, but he can make time for important matters such as this.

He himself is surprised at you. You're far more than he was expecting, having been ready to deal with anything. But you're actually quite wonderful and he finds your appearance more than appealing. A pleasant surprise. He is sure to pull your seat out, hold the door for you, ask you before doing things- He even gives you a kiss to the back of your hand in greeting after asking politely if he could.

Sunday enjoys his time with you and so discusses more times in which the two of you can get to know each other. When you both are done with your little date of sorts, he gives you another kiss to the back of your hand and makes sure you have a safe way to get back home or to wherever you are staying. As he watches you leave first to make sure you get to your mode of transport safely, he asks gently that you let him know when you make it to your destination and raises a hand in farewell.

Each subsequent date brings the two of you closer and closer. One time, he brings flowers. Another, he brings you a snack from Penacony which could be considered a staple for them.

I, personally, think that Sunday would be someone who is easy to love and even easier to like. So by the time you both are walking down the isle, you're smitten with him. I'm sure he would also have a fondness for you. The both of you had already discussed the matter as Sunday is a thorough an who plans things out. You two had already talked and you both want to be amicable with one another and make this marriage work for the both of you. At the very least, the two of you would be companions and friends. But the two of you have also admitted that it would be nice if there was more beyond just that in your marriage.

Sunday is a man who always does right by you because you are now his spouse. But also because he likes you as a person. Days in which he brings back snacks and nicknacks he thinks you'd like. Calling you when he think he may be late at work. Picking up groceries on the way home when he can, calling to ask if you need or want anything. Making sure your favorites are always stocked even if you don't ask.

I imagine that for the two of you, after marriage the time you spend together most often is in the evening at dinner and then the time leading up to bedtime. He does lead a people and is always in high demand for his services, expertise, and leadership. But of course, he's very sweet on you during this time as a result. Nights of being laid up in bed, his back against the pillows placed against the headboard whilst he reads and you lean into his side, doing your own thing. Sunday will wrap an arm around you and occasionally rub your side or arm.

Slowly, over time, I think you both could become a real couple.

Yayyyy~ Sunday~ I love this man so much. <333

I might write an NSFW part to this. But as of right now, I'm happy with just this. If you want one, you can always send in another ask and I'll be sure to get right on it!

[silverzoomies]

Monster Mash

peter maximoff x reader smut

warnings: shameless smut, smut, kissing, porn with plot, halloween, zombies, biting, undead, undead!reader, gender neutral reader, zombie kink

word count: 11,996

a/n: first of three peter-centric halloween fics!! hopefully i'll get them all posted before the month ends!! timeline here is extremely fuzzy, and might not fall in line with canon. it's kind of super ambiguous.

the usual apologies: clunky writing, potentially ooc peter/other characters, inconsistencies, ending's super meh, etc etc etc. idk if peter would realistically be down to bang a cute, zombified reader. but hey, it's fiction. why the heck not!

tag list (i remembered this time!!): @dewberryobssesed @violetharmonscupcake @kaismanwich @jellyluvr @icannot3 @taintandviolent @ahoyladiesz @scene-and-dandylover @quickandsilvers @luttic @billielourdslays

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October. Just a week before Halloween.

Peter didn’t celebrate the holiday too often these days. Not like he used to. Ever since he took up teaching at the X-mansion, he only participated in a handful of Halloween activities. The staple being - playing escort for mutant kiddos on trick-or-treating ventures. An activity he enjoyed a lot, since the kiddos referred to “Mr. Maximoff” as “the school's most awesome trick-or-treat buddy.” Which had nothing to do with Peter swiping a little extra candy - for the kids, of course - when the other teachers weren’t looking. Swear on his life.

Another Halloween festivity he loved? The school's annual, X-family Halloween party. The team generally left Peter in charge of decorations, considering it took him no time at all to set them up. Professor Chuck himself - legendary baldy - always played host at those parties. As per tradition - after the party died down - Peter cozied up in the living room with the team. They’d gather together to watch everyone’s favorite horror flicks on VHS.

He really couldn’t wait for this year’s festivities. Peter looked forward to those after-party, horror movie marathons every year. Movie nights with the team? Pretty freakin’ awesome. If only for two reasons: The abundance of sugary garbage to snack on. And the way Ororo loooooooved snuggling up with him on the couch. Being so hot natured helped. Living life in the fast lane - operating like a human furnace - sure had its perks sometimes. ‘Ro’s cuddling made an excellent distraction from Peter’s unbridled loneliness. Haha...

C-...Consider that a topic for another day. Moving on.

On horror movie night, Peter inevitably saw the jumpscares coming leagues before anyone else. It never failed. He’d call them seconds ahead of time. With ‘Ro lying at his side, and his arm wrapped around her waist. Peter would exclaim, “Jumpscare!”, breaking the tension heavy silence amongst the group. Spoiling whatever movie played. Everyone hated it, of course. Kurt growled at him. Animalistic, but nowhere near intimidating. Jubilee pelted Peter with popcorn.

Peter just couldn’t help himself. Those scares were so predictable and boring sometimes. Sure, he liked horror movies enough. With all the gnarly gore and twisted kills. But they never freaked him out, since he didn’t spook easily. His incomprehensible reaction time made terror a tough game.

All that being said...

Even with his totally outrageous bravery streak, Peter - guilty as charged - sure had his candy-ass moments.

This current mission proved, without a doubt, one of the spookiest situations he’d ever landed himself in. He could feel it in the air tonight. And not in the groovy, Phil Collins way either. An ominous sense of uneasiness crawled across his skin. Eerie vibes sent chills creeping up his spine like spiders through a web. Peter wished he could fast forward to Halloween night on the couch with ‘Ro. Heck, he'd even take decorating duty over this any day of the week. At least he could go all out, and have his own fun with it.

For an October’s night, the weather seemed uncannily coincidental. Drops of rain showered from a mass of black clouds. A sharp crack of lightning struck the ground, with a roar of thunder following in succession. It rattled the very foundation of the abandoned lab Peter found himself exploring. As part of a last minute, late night mission.

Below his feet, tiled floors laid in disrepair. Dirtying the mismatched laces of his untied sneakers. Peter snuck his way through murky hallways, his heightened senses buzzing on edge. Fight or flight kicked into high gear, making him all the more sensitive to any outside stimuli. Another echoing roar rumbled through the building, threatening to topple its cracking walls. Peter worried the ceiling might cave in at any moment.

A terrifying thought. But it happened to be the exact reason Hank chose Peter for this mission to begin with. Should shit hit the fan, Peter could skedaddle at the speed of light unscathed. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy. Unlike his other team members, who might risk being flattened like a pancake. Under the weight of, not one, but two floors above.

…Speaking of pancakes. Peter should definitely drop by a mom ‘n pop diner before heading back to base. He could really go for a fresh stack of late night hotcakes right about now. Warm and soft. With chocolate chips melting on the inside. Caked in sticky syrup and slathered with butter. Oooooh! And a little bacon on the side. Not too crispy, not too flop-

His mouth watered, and Peter blinked. Wiping his jacket sleeve across his lips, he redirected his attention to the task at hand. Focus, Quickie. He had a job to do, and he didn’t wanna be stuck doing said job all night.

The lab sat nestled off the coast of some island with a foreign name. Super hard to pronounce. Peter couldn’t remember it off the top of his head. Prior to this assignment, he’d never even heard of the place. But apparently, neither had anyone else. Hank sent Peter in search of what he dubbed leads on a mystery project. Something to do with scientific documents.

If he found any, he’d read their info over to Scott. Who would then relay that same intel back to Hank. Like an insanely boring game of telephone. Why Peter couldn’t speak to Hank directly was anybody’s guess. Too busy with his super secret project thingy-majig, possibly?

Hanging from Peter’s stereo belt alongside his old Walkman, a walkie screeched with a shrill chirp. A shock of alarm shot straight through Peter’s veins, making him jump. Scott’s voice crackled from the speakers.

“Any updates, Pete?” Scott asked, “Tell me anything you got. Even if it seems boring. Just hit me with it. It’s gotta be better than waiting around here in the lab, doing nothing.”

Peter held a compact flashlight in one hand, searching the lab’s pitch black halls. Most of the rooms he passed looked desolate. Barren and dusty. Save for the odd desk or empty cabinet. Peter wondered if they’d all been ransacked when the place closed down. The ceiling leaked rain from the floors above, dripping onto Peter’s bomber jacket. At the edge of his vision, he caught a rat scurrying by. But otherwise, not much else.

Pulling the walkie from his belt, he brought it up to his lips, “Uh. It’s dark and kinda spooky here. Saw a rat. Storm’s not gettin’ any better. It keeps shakin’ the whole place.” Peter shook his head, “If it doesn’t let up, I’m gonna have to split. Don’t wanna wait around to see what happens next, y’know? Over."

On the other end of the line, Scott breathed an annoyed sigh. Even through low-quality speaker fuzz, Peter could tell the sigh lacked any real spite.

“Peter. We’ve been over this. We aren’t using decades old, two-way radio communication. You really don’t have to say over. ”

Peter drummed his free hand on an empty desk. Following the beat of Sweet Poison by Naked Eyes, as it played from the only earbud he wore. He wanted to keep one ear open, just to hear Scott clearly. And mayhaps because he felt the teensy weensiest bit paranoid by his lonesome in the lab.

“Copy that. Over.” He grinned to himself.

The further Peter explored the lab’s halls, thick layers of mucky green seemed to take over. If he had to guess, he assumed Hank didn’t consider masses of moss “key intel.” Every few feet Peter stepped, he tore his way through another wall of cobwebs. Lots and lots of creepy cobwebs. Reduced to undying boredom, Peter took to karate chopping them. Might as well have fun in the face of ennui.

Half second flickers of lightning cast the lab in gleaming flashes. Bringing Peter’s attention to more rooms he missed. He wandered through some old offices. Or what he thought were offices, anyway. The trashed state of the rooms made it hard to tell. Nothing within them had withstood the test of time. Peter even tried poking around with some clunky computers. No luck. Dead as doornails.

“Found some computers. C64’s, I think. Haven’t seen one ‘a these bad boys since forever ago. But they’re totally busted.” Peter reported into the walkie, banging a fist onto one of the computers, “Yep. Busted. Over.”

Before leaving the room, Peter fucked around. Knocking over a computer monitor for no reason at all. He snatched a few, grubby pens from a lone desk. As well as a cracked coffee mug that read “I try to tell chemistry jokes, but there’s no reaction.” Just for the heck of it. Why not swipe some keepsakes, eh?

After what felt like a geological age of scouring, Peter eventually stumbled upon more filing cabinets. Stuffed to the brim with research documents and science-y records. Sighing, he pulled each drawer open one by one. Peter read the dusty files, sharing intel with Scott over the walkie. For every document Scott dismissed, Peter tossed them carelessly aside over his shoulder.

Antsy to wrap the mission up, grab some pancakes, and race home for a game of GoldenEye; Peter rushed through the last few folders. In hopes of finding whatever specific file Hank needed. But upon the last one, Scott broke some totally bogus news.

“Sorry about this.” Scott sighed, “Those files? Yeah. Hank says they’re all duds. No dice. You think it’s safe to keep looking? You might have to check the second floor.” He mentioned, to Peter’s dismay.

Peter bumped his head into the filing cabinet, groaning aloud. With a kick of his foot, he closed the last drawer and trudged onward. Oh well. The speedster could totally manage. At least he brought mix-tapes to keep his mind occupied. Along with extra tapes stashed in his belt pockets for good measure. Without music, he’d be so outrageously miserable on a mission like this.

Shining the dinky flashlight, he scanned the first floor area one more time. Just to be sure. The flashlight’s glow passed a set of double doors, leading to-

Wait. Back it up a sec. Double doors? Quietly singing New Order’s Blue Monday to himself, Peter moonwalked backwards to observe the doors again. Knitting his brows, he blinked. Stumped.

“Yo. Scotty. Got another room on the first floor. Gonna check it out real quick. Over.” Peter reported, clicking the walkie into place on his belt.

Another echo of thunder rattled through the lab, shaking the floors above. Lightning illuminated the halls in temporary flickers of white. Peter stared at the large set of doors, totally bamboozled. He couldn’t comprehend how he missed them before. When he knew for a fact he checked every nook and cranny. Inching closer, he eyed a sign pasted on one of the doors. In a rough scratch of permanent marker, the sign read:

Reanimation experiments in progress. Do not disturb!!

Reanimation? What, like…of the dead? Pfffbt. No way! Could this spooky place get any spookier? Peter swallowed an uncomfortable wedge in his throat. Shaking off any chills threatening to overtake him, he shined his flashlight through one of the door’s windows. Peter scanned the area for anything useful.

Inside, he clocked an operating table. Close to that, a lone cart cluttered with rusty, surgical tools. Cracked computer screens lined one of the walls, more advanced than they should’ve been. At least for the era they originated. Tangled cables ran along the floor, leading to something in the shadows. Peter couldn’t make it out.

He arched a brow, finally locking his sights on - Aha! Jackpot! More filing cabinets. Hopefully, they held his ticket out of this creepy place. Fingers crossed. Peter burst into the room in a flash, kicking up dust in his wake. Tearing through another wall of cobwebs, he surveyed the area again. Making a mental note of every cabinet he could see. Enough to keep him busy for the next hour, he guessed. Peter slumped his shoulders, huffing an aggravated groan.

Talking to Scott through the entire process made it more bearable. Being so no nonsense and straight forward, Scott had no problem retaining the info Peter shared from every file. Which saved the speedster any hassle of repeating himself, or having to explain things he didn’t understand. Science? Not really Peter's area of expertise. He thought himself more of a tech, or music guy.

Luckily enough, Peter found whatever documents Hank sent him after. A deep dive into every folder, in every drawer, in about a dozen different cabinets were all it took. Had Peter aged another thirty years? He sure as hell felt like it. No sweat! Mission accomplished. Time to bid the old lab goodbye.

Peter flew through the rest of the cabinets in less than a second’s time. Triple checking for any intel Hank might find compelling. He skimmed some records documenting the “reanimation of dead tissue.” Hm. Actually, blue beastie might potentially find that fascinating. “Reanimation” of the dead didn’t exactly sound too commonplace in modern science, did it?

In a folder, Peter discovered a file. Clipped with a photograph of - hellllllllooooo there! Someone…kinda cute. Very cute. Peter whistled, piercing the quiet thrum of distant rain. He read on.

Oh. The cute someone. They died. Tragically perished. Hit by a car back in the 80’s. What a bummer. One of the scientist's brought them to the lab as a test subject. Used for some twisted experiment in reanimation. The kicker? They proved to be the lab’s first and only successful trial run. Of around fifty different, reanimation trials. Yikes. That's...a lotta dead bodies.

These scientists successfully revived the dead? Peter doubted it. Over a decade had passed since then, and no one ever used the technology mentioned in the files. This lab's research couldn’t be as successful as they documented. Or something must've gone wrong, for them to give up and shut down the lab's operation completely.

Yeah. Treating human corpses like science fair projects for school? Super warped. Hank, wacky in his science ventures, totally found macabre shit like that interesting. Shrugging, Peter tucked the manilla folders he gathered under an arm. He grabbed his walkie, and reported to Scott.

“I got somethin’ else Hank might be into. It's totally messed up, he'll love it. But-uh…if that’s all he needed? I’m gonna jet now, ‘kay? I can’t take another minute in this scary ass place. Over and out.”

Before making his leave, Peter glanced around the room one last time. He appeared near the operating table in a picosecond, his brown eyes scanning the cart next to it. Curiously, Peter picked through some rusty, surgical tools.

Upon finding a scalpel in fairly okay condition, he swiped the tool and slipped it inside his back pocket. Whistling to Oingo Boingo's No One Lives Forever - in hindsight, kind of ironic - playing from his Walkman, Peter raised a foot to kick the cart. Watching it roll away into a nearby wall. Hasta la vista.

As Peter steered away from the operating table, a monstrous shadow loomed at the edge of his vision. His heart rampantly pounded in his chest, his senses still high strung. Jumping back with a terrified gasp, Peter climbed halfway onto the operating table. He fumbled for his flashlight, pointing the glow at the massive bundle of darkness. The light shook in Peter’s trembling hand.

But it-...oh. Phew! Nothing to be afraid of. Hah. What the heck was Peter gettin’ riled up for?

Like something straight out of science fiction, Peter’s shadowy monster proved nothing more than a giant pod. He squinted, moving towards it until close enough to observe it more clearly. The tech appeared big enough to hold a person of his size. Or, hell, maybe even someone of Beast’s size. Peter ran a hand along the surface of the pod, gathering a layer of dust on his fingertips. Scowling, he shuddered, wiping the dust on his jeans. “ EUGH! Eck-” Peter exclaimed to no one, “What’s up with this dusty, old thing??” Glass encased the outer layer of the large machine. It might've been see-through, if not for the unsanitary grime blanketing the entire thing. Years upon years of soot build up. Peter tried wiping the dust away with his elbow, to no avail. He couldn’t see inside, even with the aid of his flashlight.

Puzzled, Peter darted around the room in a silver blur, searching for clues. A switch of some kind? A secret code? He tampered with everything from the cracked monitors on the wall, to the colorful cables lining the floor. Peter even tried prying the pod open with a rusty hammer he found. Still, it refused to budge. Even with the power of speedster strength. Was it made of adamantium or something?

Sighing, defeated, Peter tossed the hammer away. It crashed into one of the screens hanging against the wall. Shattering the crystal display upon impact. Whoops. Oh well. How much more damage could be done to the place? Not like anyone would be making renovations anytime soon. Not in the middle of buttfuck nowhere island.

Making an accidental misstep, Peter slipped on his untied shoelaces. His ankle entangled itself in a circle of cables on the floor, and he lost his balance. Tripping, Peter stumbled backwards into some busted machinery, knocking his head. His back collided with the hard, metal surface behind him.

“ Auuugh. Shit.” Peter muttered. He didn’t understand how he could be so goddamn clumsy all the time, given - what the professor called - his mutant gift, “Ow. Dammit.”

He must have triggered a switch when he tripped. Suddenly, a loud hiss seethed through the air like a bus braking to a stop. A slow moving cloud of smoke rose from inside the pod. As it spread, filling the room, the fumes turned radioactive neon in color. It swarmed Peter’s nostrils, overflowing his senses with an earthy scent.

“Uhhh…uh oh.” He mumbled, “Is that supposed to happen?” Acting in haste, Peter scrambled to free his ankle from the cable’s tight grip.

A corpse reanimation research lab.

Nope. Noooope. He’d seen Return of the Living Dead enough times to know - whatever the hell’s happening now? Bad news. Couldn’t be good. Peter suppressed the urge to scream like a frightened child. A buzzing voice chimed from his walkie, startling him further. Dammit all, Scotty! He almost sent Peter into cardiac arrest for a hot second.

“Peter? Hey-uh, are you there? You alright? You didn’t stop somewhere for pancakes again, did you?” Scott crackled through the walkie, but Peter didn’t respond, “Better bring enough back for the whole class.” He joked, sarcastic.

Peter gawked at the sight before him in a mix of horror and confusion. Completely petrified, as Oingo Boingo played through his ear. The neon smoke emitted from the pod began to clear, revealing a body inside. A dead body.

Your dead body, to be specific.

Somehow, Peter recognized you. But that didn’t make any sense at all. He knew for a freakin’ fact he’d never seen or met you a day in his life. Unless… oh. Oh, holy shit. He hurriedly grabbed the extra folder he’d taken and opened it, just to glance between you, and the photo inside. And sure enough… The first and only successful trial run in reanimation.

Oh. Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no. Peter’s eyes blew open wide. His stomach dropped twenty thousand feet through the ground, plummeting to the Earth’s core. Swallowing thickly, he observed your slumbering body from his position on the dirty floor.

Your skin appeared ashier than it naturally should be. Y’know, on account of being dead and all. It more closely resembled a subdued, greenish color. Kinda Frankenstein-esc. Stitches lined each and every one of your limbs. As if some psycho nut job took you apart and sewed you back together again. Judging by the info in your file, they probably did. Embedded into your neck, were two bolts on either side. Also very Frankenstein-esc. You reminded him of a wax dummy on the set of some low-budget, horror flick. It’d be kinda funny, if he didn’t feel seconds away from screaming in horror.

You could be a dummy, if Peter had any luck. Yeah. This mission? Surely just a super elaborate prank set up by the team. Like a haunted house tour, made to scare the silver pants off him. Those sly dogs think they’re so slick, huh? ...R-Right?

Peter took a deep breath, keeping his terrified gaze fixed on you. In his ear, the funky tune came to an end. The lab fell into a deafening silence. Only broken by the faintest pitter patter of rain, and a quiet clamor of thunder now echoing at a distance. Signaling the passing of the storm. One less thing to worry about.

Though, he’d much rather agonize over a building’s foundation crumbling. He could handle a weather-related disaster wayyy better than a zombie coming to life, to - potentially - gorge on his flesh.

Raising his flashlight, he pointed the glow at your lifeless body. Again, Peter breathed a long sigh to ease his panic stricken nerves. An interference of crackling static ripped through the walkie then. Loud, and shrill enough to cut glass. At that very moment, your eyes - once locked in eternal slumber - popped open freakishly wide.

Oh. Oh hellllll no. Fuck that. Fuuuuck that.

Peter’s hunch proved totally right. You weren’t just dead. You were undead.

“ Mmmmmm nope.” Peter mumbled to himself, swiftly shaking his head, “Nuh uh. Nope.”

Shaking with adrenaline, he glanced between your dead-eyed gaze, and his trapped foot. Okay! No problem-o! Not a problem at all. For an X-Man, zombies made an easy foe, right? Peter could totally just-...

Just vamoose! Make a break for it! Right now!

Like, now.

Peter hadn’t run away yet. Why hadn’t he run away? Hellllloooo? Ground control to Quickie! Time to make a quick exit, and head for the hills. Lest he become zombie chow.

Stunned, Peter remained petrified. In an uncannily slow movement, you rose from the pod like Nosferatu out of a coffin. Peter cursed under his breath, willing his terror to take a one way ticket outta there. He needed to come to his senses, and fast. Even as Peter tried to move, his paralyzed state caused him to fumble again. His movements lacked their natural fluidity, and his blood ran cold.

Like a total doofus, in his failed attempt to escape, Peter tangled his foot even deeper through the cables. Sometime in the last thirty seconds or so, he dropped his flashlight. Within the inky darkness, he could barely make out your shape as you moved. You groaned a long, croaky sound. Guttural, like an eldritch abomination.

Another crash of lightning showered your living corpse in a white luster. Peter made direct eye contact with you. A gaze between life and death.

A yell vibrated through his lungs and bounced off the walls of the room, as Peter finally screamed. Your slow moving, zombified body climbed from the pod much like a spider. Stumbling at first, you connected your bare feet with the dirty, tiled floor. Once you found your balance, a cracking sound erupted from your limbs. Your bones clicked and popped audibly into place. Peter scowled, physically cringing.

Another scream tore from the depths of his chest, “SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! SHIT!” He shouted.

You dragged your feet in a limp, moving towards Peter with a slow gait. Stitched arms reached out for him in an unhurried motion, “ Luhhhhhhhh- ” You choked on a groggy gurgle.

Fuck. Fucking shit fuck. You definitely wanted to feast on his juicy brains and smooth flesh. No denying that. It had been, like, a decade since you last ate anything. And Peter probably looked like one hell of a snack right about now. Not even in a totally kinky way.

“WOAH, WOAH, WOAH! Hold yer horses there, baby! Yer gettin’ a liiiitttle too close fer comfort now! C’mon, huh? Do you really think I’m on the menu? ‘Cuz trust me. If yer gonna eat somebody? I shouldn’t be yer first choice! I really don’t taste all that great!” Peter yelled, throwing a hand out momentarily before returning to the tangled cables. He huffed an uneasy laugh, “SHIT! Yer not listening, are you? Ahaha! Yer gonna eat me. Totally gonna eat me. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck-”

Peter tore at the cables wrapped around his foot. Acting as quickly as his petrified state would allow, he pulled the scalpel from his back pocket. But the dull razor’s edge refused to cut through the wires. Dropping the useless tool, he ripped into the cables one more time using all his strength. Only to free himself a millisecond too late. Always late. You lurched forward, making grabby hands. 

Quicksilver vs. an actual, real life zombie. If he made it out alive, that’d make one helluva story.

But-

Wait a damn minute. Hold the freakin’ phone. Why were you…looking at him like that?

The glazed over eyes of a living corpse opened up, all big and doe-like. Gazing at Peter in - no mistaking it - infatuated fondness. Your supple lips parted with a wide smile of pure delight. Like sunshine peeking through hazardous, storm clouds. You leapt forward unexpectedly, squeaking a raspy squeal. Burrowing your face into the warmth of Peter’s chest, you linked your arms around his neck. Holding onto him tight.

“What the-” He whispered, looking down at your messy head of hair.

Uh. Okay. So, that just happened. Weird. Why weren’t you feasting on his flesh? Wasn’t he supposed to be your first meal since zombie hibernation, or something? Didn’t you wanna go chomp chomp chomp, and turn his guts into mush?

Peter realized, looking at you up close, you appeared perfectly clean and preserved. You didn’t reek like a dead body. The earthy scent on your cold skin wasn’t too unpleasant either. It smelled herbal. Floral, even. Your smooth skin lacked any signs of rot. Aside from one or two lesions revealing rib or arm bones. Kinda...freakishly cool. The surface of your skin looked see-through, with veins weaving underneath like intricate wiring.

A little spooky, sure. But not all that scary to look at, surprisingly enough. Not like Peter expected, anyway. As you snuggled closer into Peter’s body, he began to realize how oddly affectionate you were. Very out of character, for a zombie. You squeaked an unintelligible noise, attempting to communicate. But you just couldn’t form the words. Maybe your speech capabilities fizzled out after years and years of unending silence.

Peter creased his brows, lowering his defenses and calming himself down. Another thirty seconds passed. His brains remained intact, and you hadn’t made him your next meal. He pulled the earbud from his ear, hooking them around his neck and pressing pause on the Walkman. Craning your neck back, your glassy eyes met Peter’s own. You grinned so big and joyful, gleaming the innocence of a pure-of-heart, golden retriever. Despite being totally bizarre, Peter found your sweetness...sorta...weirdly cute.

“Uhmmm…hi? Hey. Uh-why’re you lookin’ at me like that?” He laughed, a little uneasy.

Maybe your affection stemmed from something simple. If Peter were locked up in a cramped pod for so many years, he’d be ecstatic if someone finally freed him. You were probably just uber thankful he’d broken you outta that pod thingy. And you showed gratitude through touching, since you couldn’t exactly flurry him with thank yous. He could accept that. Sure. For now.

The walkie hanging from his belt droned a buzz, and Scott’s voice called out. Peter finally reached for it, maneuvering between his body and yours. Your arms stayed around his neck, your body hanging like a stubborn monkey’s from a tree.

“Peter? Do you copy? Peter, are you there, man? Talk to us. Please. Should we send someone over to assist?” Scott asked, his voice itching with alarm. “Yeah! Yeah, nah. Uh-hey, Scotty! Hey, I’m here. I’m oka-...dude, it’s fine. Nothin’ to worry about. Seriously. But…I do kinda have a situation here? Over.” Peter replied.

Scott exhaled a relieved sigh on the other end of the line. In the crackling background of the walkie, Peter heard Jean’s voice. She asked, “Did he say over ?” Followed by a series of hushed chuckles. Peter smirked to himself.

“Oh! Oh my god. Thank goodness, Pete. We were all getting pretty worried about you over here. What’s going on? Are you still at the lab? You said there was a situation. What kind of situation? Did that old place finally cave in?” Scott asked. Many, many questions.

Peter heard even more frantic, muffled conversations in the background. While he couldn’t understand them, he recognized the voices. The entire team had gathered, just to make sure he made it out alive. Awww. How sweet. They were worried about lil ol’ him? If Peter hadn’t had the bejesus scared out of him not even five minutes ago, his heart would’ve melted.

“Heyyyy, guys! Uhhhh…soooo…I might’ve found, like, a zombie? No joke. Like, a real zombie. But it’s not tryna kill me. It’s-” Peter paused, raising a brow. You fluttered your lashes, giving him a coquettish look, “Bro, I think it’s makin’ eyes at me. Legit. Kinda weird, right? Definitely not what I was expecting. But it’s totally fine. I got it all under control now. Over.”

A long silence fell amongst the walkie’s noise. Until Scott finally responded in monotone.

“Did we hear you wrong, or did you just say you found a zombie?” He asked, his tone carrying a hint of disbelief. As if expecting Peter to say - Psych! Fooled ya!

Peter parted his lips to confirm. But the abrupt tickle of a chilly kiss on his neck silenced him. You stood up on your bare toes, giggling sweetly. Across his hot skin, you peppered your chapped lips. Instantly, Peter froze in place again. Shudders rang through his body. He reached for one of your arms, tugging you to try and pull you off him.

“Uhm. Y’know what? It’s no big deal. B-But yeah, it’s a zombie fer sure.” Peter tugged your arm with more insistence, urging you to let go. But you persisted, giggling into the crook of his neck, “Like I said. No worries here. It’s not like I’m in da- haaah okayokayokay-”

Your feather light kisses became soft, kitten licks. Flicking Peter’s flesh with your slimy tongue, you squealed, tickled pink. Peter jolted, shivers sizzling down his spine. He tilted his neck to the side, wincing. Over the walkie, he heard Hank’s gruff voice.

“Peter! It’s Hank-” The blue beast said, as if Peter couldn’t already tell based on his growly tone, “Are you a hundred percent sure the undead creature isn’t dangerous?” He asked, buzzing through a scratch of interference.

Coldness slathered and swirled Peter’s neck in slow circles. Fluttering his eyes closed, he replied, “N-Not dangerous. Ohhhh. Definitely not dangerous. No danger here. All good. Over.” Again, he tried to pull you off.

Your discolored arms tightened their hold around his neck and over his shoulders. Cooing noises dripped from your tongue like honey, so sugary sweet. You swiped his skin with your tongue, nuzzling your cold nose into the heated crevice of his neck. Pressing your body closer into his, you squirmed, littering him with zombie kisses.

Peter tensed, apprehensive of your affections. He didn’t want to be too harsh or aggressive towards you. Worried that any sign of conflict might make you snap. For all he knew, you might go bonkers and brain hungry. Really, he should’ve gotten it over with and pushed you away. Before you took things a little too far. And you did. Your teeth sank into his neck, lightly nibbling his flesh. As you pressed yourself even closer into his proximity, your breasts - covered only by a ragged crop top - met the swell of his broad chest. WOOOOOAH! Talk about twisted! Sure, okay, maybe your bites turned him on, like, a little. Flooding his body with a pleasant, all-over shudder of pleasure. But he couldn’t just fold for a zombie, could he? That’d be disgusting!

It’d be gross, right?

A subconscious desire in the recesses of his lonesome mind told him he wanted - no, needed - the attention. He hadn’t been intimate with anyone like this since the pogs fad. Easy, now, Peter! Down, boy.

But…shit. As much as he wanted to give in, he couldn’t. Not for a monster. A living corpse, left cooking in a secluded pod for a decade. Cloaked in discoloration and held together by expertly crafted stitching. Not entirely mindless, but so dense, you hadn’t the forethought to ask - “What happened? Where am I? Who are you?” No. Instead, you went after him the moment you saw him, showering him in bubbly, zombie lovin’.

He…shouldn’t find that hot. His fingers shouldn’t be tightening around the walkie, and his groin shouldn’t feel as scorching as it does. Oh, man. Could Peter be any more doomed? He’d have to be mad desperate - way out of his mind - to reciprocate your affection. Raising the walkie again, he cleared his throat.

“Hiya, Beastie. A-Acutally, I think they-...the zombie really, really likes me.” Peter added for no reason at all. You nibbled him a little harder, and he winced again.

“Well, now! That’s good then, isn’t it? Better than the alternative, I’d say! If at all possible, Peter, you should bring the creature with you. I’d like to look it over. Maybe run some tests. Figure out what brought it to life! This could be the secret to reversing brain death!” Hank chimed, excited.

Peter rolled his eyes. Of course Hank wanted to poke and prod at you like some little, lab rat. He opened his mouth to respond, but choked before he could get a word in. Your dull teeth clamped roughly into his neck. Peter braced a free hand on your hip, his thumb digging into the cool, exposed flesh there. Now, suspicion began to dawn on him.

You could be a clever, little zombie. Capable of luring Peter in with flirtatious wiles and sweet touches. Once he let his guard down, what if you planned on tearing into his guts? Well played, smarty pants zombie. Well played. But Peter caught onto your little game. You couldn’t get anything past him.

Instead of slurping his blood like a 7-Eleven slushie, or ripping your nails into his taut muscles; you suckled his skin lovingly. Pulling tiny hickies into his neck. Squealing and giggling in that girlish fashion, playful with every nibble. Peter gulped, biting his lip between his teeth. No way in hell he allowed a zombie to give him hickies.

…Except he did. So what? No harm in it, right?

“Y-Yeah. Sure. I’m good. Great. Just hangin’ out with my new zombie buddy. It’s totally not gonna eat my brains. Like, zero percent chance I’m gonna die an ugly, zombie death. So, y’know, Beastie, don’t lose any sleep over it.” Peter responded, before following it up with a condescending, “Over.”

On the walkie line, Peter heard a series of groans and faint giggles. Followed by Hank’s voice, as he passed the walkie back to Scott. The X-Men’s laser eyed leader sighed, his tone unamused.

“Whatever, Peter. Just…just hurry up, will you? And bring those documents over for Hank. Thanks.”

Peter tried, and failed to keep his composure. A cutie pie zombie kept macking on him like a lovesick puppy, and he had no clue what to make of it. You sucked more sloppy, violet marks into his neck. Tugging his skin with your teeth and nibbling like you couldn’t get enough of him. Peter’s skin flared up in cold creeps, as you trailed your chilly lips to his shoulder. Pulling his jacket and the collar of his shirt aside, you spoiled him in more undead affection.

“Gotcha. Copy that. Ov- mmm -” Peter whispered a moan, replying with a rushed, “Overandout.”

He clipped the walkie back onto his belt. Attempting once more to pry you off him, Peter gave your arm a strong tug. A little more forceful this time around. As you finally dislodged yourself from his neck, Peter took a few steps back. Avoiding any stray cables on the floor.

Now, with some distance between the two of you, he cleared his throat. Peter brought a hand to his neck, grazing fingers over the love bites you left behind. Tiny splotches of purple pooled with offsets of scarlet. Faint teeth marks left grooves in his skin. He hissed.

Giving you the freedom to pepper him with hickies might not have been the smartest idea. Hopefully, you didn’t infect him with some sick, zombie disease. One with the potential to end humanity as he knew it. He couldn’t cope with the weight of that responsibility on his shoulders.

You gawked up at him with those big, adoring eyes. Excitedly, you squealed, hopping towards him with your eager arms outstretched. Hoping to pull Peter into another close hug, just so you could litter him in more nibbly, love bites. He raised an abrupt hand, maintaining distance. Peter cleared his throat again. His cheeks burned hot, doused in bright pink.

Totally not fair, the way an overly affectionate zombie got him blushing.

“L-Listen. Uh. Yer sweet, but-” Peter started. Subconsciously, his gaze drifted down your body. He observed the stitches sewn into your neck and limbs. His dark chocolate eyes followed the rips and tears in your skimpy shirt. The flimsy garment revealed a tiny peek of your - admittedly pretty - breasts. And Peter swallowed, his throat running dry, “Uhhh…you can’t keep doin’ this, okay? The-” He wiggled his long fingers, gesturing to his neck, “The hickie thing. If yer gonna come with me, we gotta lay down some ground rules. Alright? You get me, babe?”

You tilted your head to the side, blinking slowly. Gazing at Peter with a look that told him you didn’t understand. But you didn’t seem to give a shit either way. You reached for one of his hands, a dazzled smile curling into your lips. Purring a candied noise of affection, you brought his hand to your cheek and nuzzled his palm. Your lips gently kissed each fingertip. Peter pulled a face, knitting his silver brows.

“Why’re you so damn-” He shook his head, “Whatever. Listen. Can you, like, chill out? No biting, you understand?” Peter paused to make a chomping gesture, clicking his teeth. But this only made you giggle. Which, unfortunately, he found super infectious.

Peter chuckled, scoffing playfully, “Stop that! I’m totally serious! No biting. No licking. No kissing. Like this. You see this?” He gestured to the hickies on his neck, their trail leading under his shirt, “No more ‘a that, you feel me? I dunno how I’m gonna explain this to the crew back home. They’re gonna think we got, like, freaky ‘er somethin’. Yeah. Can you imagine that? Like I’d ever fool around with-”

Fluttering your off colored lashes, you tilted your head to the other side. You parted your chapped lips, squealing as you edged his fingertips into your mouth. Pressing the salty pads to your bitter tongue.

“Oh! EUCK! Gross! Don’t-” Peter scowled, jerking his hand from you in less than a millisecond. With a horrified look, he observed his fingers as if they were germ-infested specimens, “Yer a real weird one, babe.”

His guard fell. While Peter kept his perplexed eyes on his fingers, you leapt forward. Burying your face deep into the fabric of his shirt, you squealed. Gleeful and bubbly. Peter groaned, only half-annoyed. He made a move to push you off him again. But your precious, little purring noises changed his mind. Peter couldn’t find it in himself to put his foot down.

Turns out he had a weakness. Cute, overly affectionate zombies. Who woulda thought?

Whatever. Peter had wayyy more important things on his plate. He knew he should gather up those folders he dropped, along with anything else he lost during his freak out session. Once he did, he needed to get the two of you out of this dingy, old lab asap.

“ Mmmmm …n-need…” You hummed your first word, before squealing, “Loooooove~!” Your voice strained, rattling like you’d been pounding down cigarettes by the plenty.

Peter’s eyes widened, and he let his sizeable hands fall to your hips, “Di-...wait a sec, did you just talk? Holy shit! You can talk?” Peter asked, dumbfounded, “Woah! Wow. Uh…so…you got a name? Can you at least tell me yer name?”

Your case file hadn’t listed your name, leaving you reduced to a number. Pretty messed up, if anyone were to ask Peter. Either you still didn’t understand him, or you couldn’t remember your own name. Instead of giving him an answer, you nuzzled your face in his chest. You tittered, so soft and smitten, your ragged voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt. Cold, tiny zombie hands tickled the back of his neck, raking gentle nails down his torso.

Standing on your toes, you connected your cool lips with his neck all over again. You kissed your previous love bites, as if doing so would heal them entirely. Ashamed of himself for letting it happen, Peter stifled a groan.

"Y-...You don't remember yer name, do you?" He mumbled. Peter's strong arms wrapped around your back, pulling you in, "That is...a seriously messed up situation. But, hey, I'm here fer you. Don't worry, 'kay? We'll get you to a safe place, and you can start over there. Sound good?" His caring nature shined through. But male horniness abruptly overshadowed it, as your wet tongue tickled his skin.

A guilty part of him, overrun with sympathy, felt bad for you. Those scientists hadn’t treated you like the victim of an unfortunate accident. More like a toy. Meant to be ripped apart, played with, and abandoned. It seemed wrong to perceive you in a frisky light. But then again…you wanted love. You may as well have been begging for it.

Love. One of the first words you spoke since your undead coma. Not that much of a surprise, if he thought about it. As a science experiment, loneliness probably consumed you. Even before your decade-long slumber. In a way, Peter understood. He too felt haunted by a longing for affection for far, far too long. In his mind, that made the two of you kindred spirits.

Ahhhh …dammit. Peter just couldn’t resist you and your sweet wiles anymore. His self control steadily slipped from his weakened grasp.

“ Mmmmm! Wa-....waaaant…love~! Neeeed… mmm …lo-....love~!” You squeaked, your cold tongue curling over a fresh, purple mark.

“C’mon, baby. We can’t-...you really have to stop this. We gotta head back to base, like, now. Everyone’s waitin’ on me, and I-” Peter muttered, and you pulled back. Gazing at him with that mystified, doe eyed look. Like you saw the beauty of the cosmos in him, and him alone. Your lips sparkled, wet from your lovin’. Peter clutched your hips firmly. His jeans seemed...somehow tighter all of a sudden, “Would ya stop lookin’ at me like that?”

“Looooooove~?” You cooed, your voice taking on a lustrous, but groggy tone.

“Yeah. I know. But…” Peter sighed, letting his hands feel up and down your curvy sides, “Yer gonna get me in soooo much trouble. But, fine. You win, okay? What kinda love are we talkin’ 'bout here, babe? You wanna hug? Want me to-uhm…to plant one on you? Is that it?”

You perked up then. Peter took it as a sign you understood him, more than you let on before. He arched a brow. At this point, why even hold back? Because you were dead? So what! Who ever said zombies couldn’t be smokin’ hot?

If he messed around with you just a little, no one would ever know. Which…made the concept even more enticing. You could be his little secret. An affectionate secret he’d forever bury in the ground. In place of the grave those scientists never gave you.

Peter fluttered his eyes closed, finally giving in to your closeness entirely. Lowering his big hands, he grabbed your ass. His palms squeezed over the torn, booty shorts you wore. Never did he imagine - upon exploring some horror movie, science lab - he’d feel up a cutie pie corpse’s plump bottom by the end. What a way to end a mission. Life worked in some wildly bizarre ways sometimes.

Kissing a zombie? Not as gross as he thought it’d be.

Okay. Maybe for, like, half a second. But the earthy taste on Peter’s lips didn’t faze him much. Once he pushed past the initial ick, he embraced you fully. Peter decided he didn’t give a flying fuck how unsanitary zombie smooches might be. Uncoordinated lip motions lured him in further. Pinkish teeth grazing his bottom lip between kisses. Soon enough, they turned sloppy, and Peter found himself frenching the living dead.

Zombie make out session. An experience he hadn’t planned to check off his bucket list. But now, he could.

One of his hands gripped your ass. While his other held your face and pulled you in for more tongue action. In the midst of swapping spit, you sought every opportune moment to nibble him. Peter couldn’t help but be super into it. You mewled softly, giggling when he gave your booty a hard squeeze. Chuckling, he parted from your lips to look over your greenish face. Your eyes bulged so big and wide, pupils an off-grey color and impossibly huge. Wonderstruck by his very existence. Darting down to capture your lips again, Peter stumbled forward. He guided your body towards the operating table, knocking you into it. Your hips collided with the edge, causing a loud, vibrating clang. The rough motion worried him enough, he stopped sucking face just to confirm you were alright. Peter feverishly kissed your cold lips, his hands exploring your body. Feeling stitched skin under his fingers.

You pulled from him with a joyous squeal, but Peter followed. Confused as to why you stopped, until you dove for the untarnished side of his neck. Dull flats of your teeth chomped straight into his flesh, grinding a little too roughly for comfort. Peter winced with a start, ceasing his love on your bootylicious bottom.

“N-No! Noooo! Hey, baby, look at me.” Peter snapped his fingers to get your attention. Not that he wanted to be so demanding. But you needed to understand his boundaries, before you tore into his flesh and guzzled his blood. Instantly, you reacted, retracting your teeth from his neck. You moved to make eye contact, and Peter fixed you with a soft gaze, “What’d I tell you, huh? Look, it’s not that I can’t appreciate some neckin’. 'Cuz I totally can. And I really dig it. Like, a lot. But you can’t be munchin’ on me! Really freaks me out when you do that.”

You angled your head again, curious. Doe eyes gaped at him with fluttering lashes, innocently confused, “ Mmm. Giv-....Giiiiive…love?” You croaked, pawing at Peter’s chest over his shirt, acting so needy.

He couldn’t begin to understand what you meant, or what you imagined love to be in your head. Were you really so desperate to bite him? Or, were you asking for something else? Wanton, bedroom eyes dawned your pretty face. Plush, ashy lips parting. You pawed his chest again, your blunt nails scraping across his shirt. In your desperation to communicate your-uhm…needs, you jutted your hips forward into his jeans. “L-L…Lo-” You started, throaty voice oozing innocence. Though, the look in your lidded eyes betrayed said innocence, “Loooooove. Need. P-Please?” 

Peter’s eyes popped open, as realization dawned on him. Oh. You meant you needed-... Ah. He understood now. The unreasonably cute, living corpse he found - dormant in a pod for, like, a decade - wanted to bump uglies. Great. Awesome. What the hell was he supposed to do about that? Fulfill your unbridled desire? C’monnnn. Didn’t boning undead cuties come with any moral implications? If he took you to pound town, would that make him a necrophiliac? Peter really didn’t wanna be labeled a necrophiliac.

But hypothetically, what if he admitted his own desperation to himself? He always fumbled every time he tried to step up his game and woo the ladies. Not like he had any game to begin with. And tonight, there you were. Practically begging for him to take you. He should acknowledge the fact that, yeah - no matter how much he tried to pretend otherwise - he found you very hot. So, ludicrously hot. Zombie traits and all.

And regardless of how many times he second guessed himself - at the end of the day - his dick didn’t have any qualms about zombie hanky panky.

Peter’s hand traveled up, thumbs curiously tracing the rough lining of your neck stitches. Before toying with the rusted bolts an inch or two above. Testing if you could even feel it. You didn’t react, and Peter wondered if scientists used those bolts to revive you. Did they awaken you Frankenstein style, with sharp surges of electricity? Or did you come to life by other means? A glowing, reagent liquid, maybe?

Hesitating for a fraction of a second, Peter tugged the front of your loose top down. A pair of off-green, zombie melons jiggled freely. Stitches circled each breast, and Peter may or may not have thought they looked hot as fuck like that. Call him inhumane, but he really dug your whole monstrous babe aesthetic.

His hands kneaded the softest pair of undead knockers he ever felt, making you squirm under his touch. Peter grinned, pleased with every choked squeak leaping off your lips. He flitted his dark gaze up to your face, then back down to your breasts; back and forth, back and forth. Admiring the delicate expressions you made, your precious face scrunched in pleasure.

“Damn. Anyone ever tell you how pretty you are? ‘Specially like this.” Peter chuckled, pinching and twisting your perky nipples, “Bet those bad guys never did. Sucks fer them. Yer a total babe. And sooo fuckin’ cute. Makes me want you all fer myself.”

Sooooo…about your…cooch situation. Yeah. Uh…Peter might’ve been somewhat worried about that. Taking your condition into consideration, he felt himself overcome with hesitance. Fearful that your-uh…flower, so to speak, may have withered away after a decade of darkness.

What about diseases? The thought made Peter squeamish. Even though you appeared and smelled relatively clean, you still hadn’t showered in a long freakin’ time. Then again, protection existed. Not to mention, you were so, so needy and cute. Your body looked undeniably amazing, and felt so soft. Fuck it. With some reluctance, Peter willed himself to test the waters. For your sake, but also for his own. Just to make up for the years he spent wishing he could get laid again.

A win-win for you both.

Tugging your tiny shorts down your smooth thighs - finding a little struggle along the way, since the meat of your thighs proved an obstacle - Peter snuck his fingers under the hem of your worn panties. The millisecond before his fingers met the supple curtains of your pussy, he second guessed himself for the zillionth time. Peter’s subconscious doubt pestered him enough, he almost withdrew his hand completely.

But the precious whimper you made gave him enough encouragement to keep going. His thick digits cautiously braved forbidden, undead territory. Finding an overabundance of cool, silky wetness between your lips. Peter swallowed hard, knitting his brows as he scoured for your clit.

“Jesus, baby.” He muttered. Judging by your bubbly squeak of delight, Peter assumed he found what he’d been venturing for. Leaning slightly forward into your proximity, Peter circled your stiff, little nub, “You want it bad, don’t you?”

“G-...G-....Gooooood! Mo-....More? More!” You mewled, clenching fists into his shirt. Mindlessly, you canted your hips, seeking his crotch. “Hey, it’s whatever you want, pretty.” He mused with a smirk, voice tender, “Relaaaax. I gotcha. I gotcha. ”

His fingers drew downwards, teasing for a beat before cruising into your silken entrance. Lush, deathly cold walls welcomed his digits in a loving hug. Beckoning Peter to sink them in deeper. You held his shirt like a lifeline, moaning an angelic, rattle of a noise. Pulling you closer into his warm body, Peter lowered his head to your shoulder. Thin strands of silver hair tickled your cheek. His thick fingers curled, hooking into a cushiony spot inside you. Your near-empty eyes saw hot flashes of light.

“L-LOOOVE~!” You whimpered through hitched cries.

“Mhm?” Peter laughed, impishly nibbling his lip, “Feel that lovin’? Feels good, doesn’t it, baby?”

Keeping you distracted for a temporary moment, Peter dotted your neck in warm kisses. Subtly easing his fingers in and out of your velvet pussy at a quicker pace. Your knees buckled, trembling the faster he moved. Until his motions became brutal. With a perfect curl, speedy digits rammed repeatedly into that spongy spot you loved. Your sugary sweet, unintelligible whines rose in volume, as your sticky, little, zombie cunt quivered.

You gnawed powerful bites as you came, your teeth digging into Peter’s neck. But this time, he allowed it. He forced himself to muscle through the pain, holding your shuddering body close, “ Shhhh. Shhh. It’s cool, baby. It’s - ahh - it’s cool. That's it.” He cooed with a careful tone, stroking the back of your head and threading fingers through your ragged hair.

Easing his fingers from your cunt, he double checked the digits, making sure nothing seemed off. Your release felt thicker and stickier than any living person’s, but didn’t have much of a scent. While usually he looooved to taste the aftermath of a total cutie’s orgasm, Peter opted not to. Sure, your wetness didn’t appear radioactive or hazardous. But the thought of guzzling zombie honey put him off a little bit.

“G-....Goood?” You ogled Peter with half-lidded, glassy eyes, your lips parting in an irresistible giggle.

Peter bit his tongue. Alright. Maybe he…could give it a shot. Just this once. Zombie love liquor couldn’t be deadly or anything, could it? Disease-ridden, maybe. But Peter knew a hyper-intelligent doctor who could whip up a cure for most ailments. Guess it didn’t matter anymore. By the time Peter second guessed himself yet again, he’d already sucked his fingers clean. A bitter thickness lingered on his taste buds. Peter salivated at the thought of drinking down more.

“ Mmmm … mhm …not bad.” He chuckled, lips humming around his fingers, "I'd go fer seconds." He added with a wink, making you laugh.

Yikes. If Hank only knew how reckless Peter acted in the presence of some zombified cutie. He’d lock him up in the infirmary and run a thousand tests on him. Just to make damn sure Peter hadn’t contracted anything lethal.

Politely pushing you off him, Peter turned his head. He double checked the perimeter for any signs of life, despite the lab being totally desolate. Hopefully Summers hadn’t sent anyone after him, since the speedster took way too long returning to base. Unbuttoning his jeans, he pulled his hard length from the fly. Almost immediately, you gasped in elation. Tickled squeals danced on your discolored tongue. Thick, and flushed a dark scarlet, Peter’s cock throbbed in his hand.

"I'm guessin' you like what you see?" He snickered, giving his dick a firm stroke, "I like what I'm seein' too...if you couldn't tell." Every word Peter said, every charming smile he gave, seemed to attract you considerably. Drawing more kittenish giggles from you.

With your freezing, zombie mitts, you ungracefully reached for him. Cold fingers squeezed his cock, stroking in a clumsy motion. Peter drew in a sharp breath, the cool sensation of your hands arousing his nerves. Even if your hand to gland combat lacked any skill, it felt damn awesome to be touched like this again. He stepped forward, his giant hands grabbing your hips. You played with him as much as your little, unbeating heart desired. Tugging his burning hardness with an overzealous grip.

You tried lowering yourself to the floor, your mouth falling open, tongue gliding over your lip. But Peter instinctively stopped you. His hands darted to your shoulders, pulling you into a standing position. He preferred if you didn’t take your biting addiction downstairs. Visitations of the oral variety were closed to any undead visitors. At least, for right now.

“Y’know, I don’t usually like goin’ all the way on the first date.” He spoke, fishing his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans, “Like, call me an old soul 'er whatever.” Peter worked quickly, pulling a condom out of his wallet. He slipped the latex over his length, “But I can make an exception. Just fer you, cutie. But this stays between us, yeah?”

You nodded, pushing yourself up onto the dusty, operating table. Peter cringed, curling his lip out of concern for you. This couldn’t be sanitary. Dragging his attention from the filth under your bottom, you parted your knees. With your body angled backwards, you pointed eagerly at your panty-clad pussy. Soaked and dripping under the thin fabric. Peter’s breath hitched.

“Looooooove~? M-Ma…make?” You cooed, scooting a little off the edge of the table. As if tempting him to give in and fuck you already, you wiggled your ass. Like a beautiful, monstrous display of stitches and postmortem skin. All for the speedster's taking.

"I-I mean-uh...sure. If you really want me to. What kinda guy would I be to turn you down?" He awkwardly joked, fighting his nerves.

Peter pushed a strong hand against your inner thigh. Warm on your deathly cold flesh. He pulled your thin panties to the side, teasing your glossy slit with the head of his cock. You whimpered, cute noises bubbling in the back of your throat. Edging you for a beat more, he slid the teary eyed tip over your clit. Before sinking his length through your walls. Inch by pulsating inch, he bottomed out in a flash, tip kissing your cervix.

“ Wohhhhh, fuck.” He groaned. A new kind of coolness enveloped his cock, plushy and soft. Hooking your stitched legs over Peter’s shoulders, you tilted your body. Inviting him to submerge as deeply as your tight cunt would allow, “Oh, baby…yer so-...ah, fuuuuck. ”

"G……..Goo-......Gooood~!" You whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut. Your strangled voice erupted in a mantra of lustful squeals.

By some act of divine intervention, Peter could feel the swollen, unyielding lusciousness of your pussy. Walls wringing his cock, like you wanted to suck him dry of everything he had. He swiftly rutted into your cunt, hard enough to make you bounce against the table. Peter’s sluggish eyes followed your breasts as they bobbed. Titties jiggling with such a soft, sexy whirl; He felt his cock twitch inside you.

Leaning down, Peter loomed over you, the rough fabrics of his clothes sliding along your bare skin. He kissed you tenderly, a little heedless. In the midst of fondling your precious, stitched breasts, Peter's hot palm curiously pressed against your chest. Feeling...nothing. No heartbeat, no blood flow. A little spooked, he refocused his attention. Playing with your bouncing, zombie titties again.

"Feels so-...you feel so good, holy fuck -" He moaned, his voice catching in his throat, "So pretty. L- ah ...love how tight you are." Playfully, Peter lost himself in the moment. He pulled a nipple between his teeth, suckling one of your Frankenstein tits, "Loooove these zombie boobies. Hah -oooohhh, shit-"

Lying in slumber for a decade must have left you majorly sensitive. In just a few more, aggressive, bunny humps; you came again. Hypnotic delight burst through your core, pushing you to the point of tears. Your pussy fluttered, sticky wetness gushing around his cock. Reaching up to link your arms around his neck, you clawed little etchings into his skin.

“M-Mmmmmooore~! More, mmm- ...more~!!” You pleaded, coaxing Peter to drill you with all the energy he carried. Not to toot his own horn, but - little did you know - he harbored enough energy for a hundred men. And then some.

"You w- fuck -want more? Want more, baby? God, yer gonna make me-" His voice wavered between moans, "G-Gonna make me lose it-"

Peter’s mischievous eyes met yours, as you gave him that doe eyed look he couldn’t fucking resist. Sharp jabs of his cock sped to a blur, slamming into your cunt in a brutal display of his strength. Keeping himself balanced, hands pressed to the table on either side of you; Peter showed no mercy. Abusing your precious, syrupy walls with a ruthless pace. But not fast enough that he’d tear his means of protection. A harsh surge of heavenly pain flared up inside you, as he tore into your pussy and bashed your cervix.

"LOOOOOVE~! Ah~! Peeeetur~!" In a moment of post orgasmic clarity, you called his name. Slurred, and barely recognizable. How'd you even know? Had you picked it up from his walkie conversations? Damn, his zombie buddy's more perceptive than he thought. Peter snickered, finding your pronunciation ridiculous. But the cute, needy sound of his name on your lips triggered something.

" ’Mgonnacum- ” Peter whined, his brutal pace more inconsistent and sloppy, “Gonna-...feels too good o h fuck oh fuCK -” 

A pearly white burst of thick heat stuffed the latex of the condom full, threatening to make it pop. Burying his nose deep in the crook of your neck, Peter moaned. Guttural whines ripped from his chest, drying his throat. Panting - not from exhaustion, but overstimulation - Peter loosened his muscles. In mellow, post nut bliss, he almost overlooked the sizzle of static buzzing from his walkie.

“Peter? Peter, answer me right now. So help me god. Everyone’s worried sick about you! Do you read me? Peter, I said, do you read me? Please!” Scott pleaded through a mix of agitation and genuine distress.

 Peter drew out a long, hard groan. Pushing himself up a little, he fumbled lazily for his walkie. A sluggish grin curled into his dimples, as he nibbled his lip and winked down at you. His eyes half lidded and hanging heavy.

 “Mmmm…’M fine. ‘M fine. ‘M fine.” He chuckled, overcompensating for himself. He knew he’d be in mega trouble with the crew by this point, “It’s all-uh…all good. Jeez, Summers. Did ya think I was dead ‘er somethin’? Haha…” Peter drolled, his tone slower than usual. He withdrew his softening cock from inside you, watching while you squirmed. On your back, you appeared a blissful, fucked out mess. Ultimately satisfied. Mission accomplished, “Don’t worry so much, bro. I was only takin’ my new, zombie buddy out to-uh…tooooooo…an arcade. Yeah. An arcade.”

On the other end of the line, a silence fell. Peter filled it with an, “O-Over.” to compensate again.

 “...You took the zombie…to an arcade?” Scott responded, an edge of irritated disbelief in his tone, “Peter, are you out of your damn mind? Do you not realize how much of a risk that is? I can’t even-...your priority for this mission was to retrieve those documents for Hank. Doesn’t it seem irresponsible to be dragging an unknown, undead creature around a public place? I can’t even believe you!” He heard Scott scoff, “Now, will you please return already with those documents? We’re all waiting on you. Bring the zombie too.”

“Uhhh…yeah. Sorry ‘bout that. Dunno what came over me. Sure. Okie dokes. Lemme, uh-” Peter spoke, playfully fighting you off. You reached for his neck, trying to pull him back down for post-sex cuddles, “Lemme grab ‘em. They’re goin’ hog wild with skee-ball right now. Crazy, right? They scored, like, sooooo many points. You should see all the tickets we got, man. We could totally get one ‘a those jumbo prizes. Say, Scotty, do you want, like, a giant Mighty Mouse?”

“Maximoff.” Scott replied sternly, without a beat of hesitation. His frustration oozed through the speakers, and Peter could feel guilt itching at his conscience.

In the background, Peter overheard someone - though he couldn’t guess who - mutter a, “Is Mighty Mouse even a thing anymore?” Oh. Once Peter returned, he’d be in for it. Royally fucked. Figuratively, and, thankfully, literally. In the short, momentary instance of silence between walkie communication; Peter disposed of the condom and straightened himself out. He disappeared for a millisecond, snatching a fresh towel from some luxury bath shop all the way in Paris. Dousing the cloth in warm water, he wiped you clean upon his ultra speedy arrival. Before helping you redress, making you look…somewhat presentable. 

“Fine. I totally get it, okay? Look, man. I’m sorry. But can ya really blame me fer wantin' to hang after the experience I just had? Doesn’t matter. Be there in a flash. M-Maybe don’t tell Hank, though. If you can hel-” Peter rambled sheepishly, slinging the towel over his shoulder. He stepped backwards, extending a hand for you to take. 

“Pietro Maximoff, I am beside myself with you!” Hank started, clearly agitated, cutting Peter off.

Peter groaned, mumbling quietly to himself as you took his hand, “He told Hank. He did it. He fuckin’ told him. Shit. I’m so fucked. I’m so, so fucked.” In a motion to guide you off the operating table, Peter pulled you forward by your hand.

“I have several questions. Why would you bring an undead creature to an arcade? What were your motivations behind taking the creature out, on a recreational activity? The potential danger or damage to the arcade and its patrons is far too high. And, furthermore, Peter, is there any scientific value to observing a zombie around arcade equipment? I understand you have this insatiable need to act out, but this is ridiculous! It is our duty, as members of the X-Men, to protect humanity from all threats. Including potential zombie related incidents at public arcades. Now then, please return the specimen immediately for further observation.” Hank ranted on and on and on and on-

A noise, like fabric tearing, cut uncomfortably through the air. Weak stitching around your elbow ripped loose, and Peter pulled your forearm clean off. Hank’s tirade met an abrupt end, as a blood curdling scream rocked the entire room. “Peter? Peter?? What’s happened? Peter, are you alright?” Hank panicked over the walkie.

Past the edge of terrified, shocked to the point of nearly pissing himself; Peter screamed. He wiggled his hand, trying to let go of your lone arm. But your hand held his tightly, your grip refusing to ease up. Once he finally freed himself, he expected your arm to drop to the floor. But your little fingers moved, crawling like spider legs. A zombie’s dislodged arm creeped up Peter’s shoulder over his jacket. Some real, Evil Dead kinda shit. He smacked at it, shouting like a housewife frightened by a mere mouse.

“YEAH!I’mfineI’mgreatI’mawesomesorryit’snothing.” Peter responded, rushed and unclear, “O-Over?” He cringed, scowling as you hopped off the operating table to retrieve your missing arm.

“...Pardon?” Hank asked, tone puzzled. Peter swallowed, shuddering while you pulled your freakish, deadite arm off his shoulder, “Are you…sure you’re alright, Peter? What’s going on? You’ve been acting awful strange tonight. Is there something on your mind?”

A lot. Peter had so much on his mind. Like, the totally real fact that he boned an undead, Frankenstein babe, for one.

“Uhm. It’s-...it’s nothing. Seriously, don’t even worry, Beastie. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Just-uhm…lab’s still-...there was some thunder, and the building-uh-” Peter nervously rambled, struggling to find his words, “Over.”

Another pause drew out long enough for Peter to realize his mistake. He cursed, smacking himself on the side of the head. How could he be scatterbrained, to forget his own lies in a matter of seconds? He had a feeling, deep in his gut; Hank would rip him a new one tonight once he got back. “...The lab? Peter…didn’t you just tell us you were at an arcade?” Hank asked, reasonably suspicious.

Peter’s voice broke as he replied, “I mEAN-” He cleared his throat, “Uhhh-...heh. I-I ran back! Forgot-uh...there was somethin’ I forgot. Like I said, doesn’t matter. I’m totally fine! I’m juuust peachy! Hang tight. I’ll be right there. Over and out.” Peter took a second to collect himself, clipping his walkie to his belt. He silenced the device, ignoring any further questions from Hank. Subconsciously, Peter took a step back as you reached for him again. His veins vibrated with a buzz of adrenaline. With your arm dismembered, you moved abruptly forward. Nuzzling your face into Peter’s chest, the same way you had all night. Still just as smitten with him. Groggy purrs rumbled in your throat.

Rolling his eyes, Peter patted your head, smoothing out your ragged, messy hair, “What am I gonna do with you? Yer nothin’ but trouble, y’know that?” He teased, pinching one of your cold cheeks, “Whaddya say we get outta here already? But I gotta make a couple ‘a pit stops. And you gotta behave yerself. Don’t get any funny ideas about eatin’ anybody.” Peter wrapped an arm around your waist, holding you close. Pointing at you with an accusatory finger. 

You tilted your head, confused again. Peter really couldn’t get enough of that cute, clueless look. Hank and Scott had no idea what they were talkin’ about. His zombie buddy? Totally harmless. You’d never even hurt a fly.

Okay. First order of business. Find a Mighty Mouse plush, just to really sell his arcade story. After that, he planned on snatching you some nicer clothes. Anything to protect your modesty. Thirdly, Peter wanted to teach himself some gnarly makeup tricks. Cover up his hickies. Yeah. No sweat! He could do all that in a flash.

Oh. And late night pancakes. Peter refused to skimp out on those. He’d been craving them all night, and his body desperately needed to replenish its energy. Surely, the gang back home wouldn’t mind. After everything, they totally wouldn’t be supremely pissed and fed up with Peter’s bullshit. And the waitress serving at whatever diner he picked? She wouldn’t bat an eye at some undead, zombified customer, would she?

Why's he even kidding himself?

Gathering Hank’s files, Peter tucked them under his arm. He zipped around in search of whatever other knick-knacks he lost, including his fallen flashlight. Stepping towards you, Peter brought his earbuds to your ears. He exchanged the tape in his Walkman for another, aiming to keep you entertained with music while he traveled at superspeed. As soon as the tune graced your ears, you leapt in place. Squeaking a surprise chirp. Your shoulders bunched, and you darted your hazy eyes around.

“Hey, easy, easy-” Peter reassured, cranking the volume down low so you could still hear him, “It’s just music, baby. It’s nice, right? You like it? You like-uh…you like the Monster Mash? Crypt Kickers? Bobby Pickett?” He gestured with his hands, suggestively raising his brows, “We had a graveyard smash, didn't we, eh?” You simply stared at him, clueless as usual. Huffing, Peter pressed a kiss to your forehead, “Seriously. What am I gonna do with you?”

You clutched your dislodged arm tight, cradling the appendage close. Throwing a quick glance your way, Peter shook his head. He pulled his goggles over his eyes, and braced a warm hand at the back of your neck. The few seconds before he took off, he leaned in close. Hearing that Halloween melody playing from the earphones you wore, he quietly sang along.

As much as he liked cuddling ‘Ro on Halloween, horror movie nights; A new idea crossed his mind. He might just snuggle up on the couch with someone special this year. 

[is-emily-real]

In Love With The Boy

Richard couldn't care less that his son was gay. Quite the opposite, actually. He’d had his fair share of dalliances in his day, and he was glad Steve got to be open about that part of himself.

No, Richard Harrington had a problem with who his son chose to date.

“I don’t like this,” he said as he leaned against the doorway.

Helen touched up her lipstick in the bathroom mirror. “Like what?”

“This whole situation with the Munson boy.” 

She fixed him with a glare. “Now, you swore to me that you’d love our son no matter what.” Even after all this time, she couldn’t drop her drawl when she was ticked off.

“No no, it’s not that. I just don’t think Eddie’s a good idea for Steve.”

“Oh. Well, can’t help love, I suppose.”

“I’ve heard some rumors about him from Darlene.”

“Baby, Darlene’s older than Moses. You ain’t gotta listen to her.”

“I do if I don’t want my coffee poisoned. That woman’s mean.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m sure Eddie’s perfectly fine. Steve’s happier than he has been since he and Nancy broke up, and we are not going to ruin that for him.”

He put his hands up. “Alright, but I’m allowed to not like him. Father’s intuition.”

“What was it my daddy said the day we got married?”

“When he told my great-aunt I was dumber than a box of rocks or when he called me a no-good papist bastard in front of the priest?”

“Exactly. And it’s been twenty-three years since then. But,” she sighed, “if it makes you feel better, we can come home a bit early tonight, and I’ll talk to him before he leaves.”

He pressed a kiss to her temple. “Thank you. If we hurry, we can get seats by Alan and Brenda.”

Helen flashed that beautiful smile that’d caught his heart so long ago. “No, sir. You and Alan are trouble together.”

------

It was a lazy date, but one Steve wouldn’t give up for the world. He and Eddie were curled up on the couch, a movie playing in the background that he didn’t give a damn about. Instead, he was distracted by the feeling of the man in his arms.

These moments were so different from how Eddie portrayed himself. Out in the world, he was larger than life, eccentric, untouchable. But here, under the blankets, he shared his softest smiles, undid him with the lightest touches. He told Steve stories he’s never told before, shared the little details of his experiences and questioned the meaning of the universe. He drew the same from Steve, until there was nothing in his life that he would hide from these intimate moments.

He traced the scars along Eddie’s sides. If Robin was his other half, Eddie was his compliment, fitting around his curves and edges just so. They moved with each other in intricate patterns, calming and encouraging in turn, bringing out the best and tempering the worst. He adored Eddie and felt adored.

No one had ever made him feel that way before.

“Stevie?” Eddie asked.

He hummed, pressing a kiss behind his ear.

“Where do you see us in the future?”

“Wherever. As long as you’re there, I’m happy.”

“Really? Anywhere?”

“I’d follow you to the moon if you asked.”

Eddie smiled. “I followed you into hell, so it’s only fitting.”

Steve laughed. “Of course.” He took a beat to consider it and continued, “I mean, we can get a little house somewhere and have a couple pets, babysit for the neighbors, grow a little garden. I’d like that.”

“I would too.” He flipped over so their chests pressed together, faces mere inches from each other. Eddie had a mischievous grin on his lips. “I get to pick at least one fight with someone on our street.”

“What for?”

“Blood feuds are the staple of suburbia, sweetheart. How am I to be properly domesticated if I can’t have that basic right?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Fine, but if it comes to blows, I’m not bailing you out.”

“What if they really deserve it? Not even then?” He pouted, giving him those puppy dog eyes he couldn’t resist.

“You’re a menace.”

Eddie pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose. “Yes, but I’m your menace.”

Steve pulled him close, basking in Eddie’s smile as he kissed him soft and slow. A few years ago, he wouldn’t have imagined that he’d be here with the whole world in his hands, content to let the hours pass by as they clung to one another. 

He was safe. He was home.

Eddie drew back, fondness in his eyes as he posed the next question. “Will you spend the rest of your life with me?”

His heart soared. “You mean…”

“Marry me, as soon as we can. Even if we have to run away.” Eddie slipped off the silver skull ring he always toyed with and held it out. “I’ll save up for wedding bands, I swear.”

He almost couldn’t get the words out, the way his heart pounded. “God, yes,” he whispered. The warm metal was snug on his finger, and then, then he was being kissed like the Earth was on the verge of collapse.

They held each other tight, joy and need spinning into something desperate that kept their lips moving against each other, hands tangled in clothes as they let gravity overtake them. Steve felt it snare around his heart, hook them together in a way he’d never protest. 

He never had to let Eddie go again.

The crunch of tires in the driveway cut through his bliss. “Shit!” Eddie squeaked. “You didn’t say they’d be home early!”

“Maybe it’s just someone turning around.” The car came to a stop and cut off. “Son of a bitch.”

They sprang apart, rushing to make themselves presentable. His mother’s heels clicked up the steps.

Eddie’s eyes were as wide as saucers. He grabbed his wrist. “Hey. I love you, okay?”

One short nod. “I love you.” 

The key rattled in the lock. He took a breath, composing his face into casual coolness before the door opened. 

“Boys!” his mom called, wrapping him in a hug. 

“Hey,” he replied, “how was tonight?”

“Oh, it was fine. I’m just a bit tired today, so we figured we oughtta come on home.” She frowned. “We did miss dessert, though. I think I’ll have a slice of pie before bed. Come have some, Eddie.”

She had him by the arm before he could protest. He threw a panicked glance over his shoulder, but Richard’s grip on Steve’s arm stopped any interference. “Steve told me you’ve got family in Tennessee. What part?”

“Just outside Savannah, ma’am.”

“You don’t want to get involved in that.” Richard let him go. “Let’s talk in my office.”

Steve felt like he was going to puke. He followed his dad down the hall, carefully sitting in the armchair across the desk.

Richard fell into the desk chair with a sigh. “You and him are seeing each other, correct?”

Cold sweat dripped down his spine. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat. “Yes.”

His dad pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why couldn’t it have been a good one like Tommy?”

Steve wasn’t normally this slow on the uptake, but it took a few moments for the dots to connect in his mind. “What?”

“You understand that you being with a man is going to make things harder for you, right?” He nodded. “And him having murder accusations worsens it.”

“Obviously false accusations.”

His dad smiled wryly. “Not the way a lot of people in town see it. And your mom went over those NDAs with a fine tooth comb. They’re watertight.”

“Hold on, are you mad that I’m in love with a guy, or are you mad that the guy is Eddie?”

“The latter, and I’m not mad, just disappointed.” He leaned forward to rest his elbows on the desk. “I’m not losing my only son because of who you fell in love with.” 

The confusion must have been apparent, because he continued. “Your mother and I love you, and nothing’s going to change that. We just want to make sure you’re safe and he’s treating you right.”

Steve ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, um, yeah. Sorry, this… this is not how I expected this to go.”

“You know how to be a gentleman, and you shouldn’t tolerate any less from him.”

“He’s been perfectly sweet. Why— Why are you not freaking out about this?”

Richard gave him a look. “Have you ever really thought about how we call Terry your uncle even though he’s just Mark’s roommate and we’re not really related?”

“Well, yeah, they’ve lived together for fifteen… Oh.” The final piece clicked into place.

“Yep. Kinda saw it coming, to be honest. You’re a bit vain for your own good.” He shrugged. “You boys are being safe, right?”

“Dad!”

“And not just with the sex stuff. You can handle yourselves in a fight?”

Steve, despite never having won any fight against a human person, nodded. 

“Good.” He stood and walked around the desk to wrap Steve in a brief hug. “You’re my son, and you’ll always be welcome here.” Just as briskly, he let go.

“Thanks,” Steve winced at the sound of his voice cracking.

Helen’s voice rang out warmly. “Good night, Eddie! Drive safe!”

He took that as his cue to step out. In the hall, he found Eddie, face pale and eyes wide as they flicked back and forth from his parents’ bedroom and the plate in his hands. 

Eddie turned to face him with a haunted look. “I’m scared of your mom.”

Richard clapped him on the back. “We all are, son. You boys don’t stay up too late.” With that he walked down the hall, shaking his head. Eddie was smarter than he looked. Maybe it’d be good for Steve to keep him around.

[moonlight-prose]

Heyy I never send requests because honestly I can’t explain what I mean but can you do

*hard to sit here and be close to you, and not kiss you* from the fritz gerald sentence starter list with steven grant

I loveeeee the way you write him 🥰

THE WAY THINGS CHANGE

a/n: thank you so much darling! i've been off my writing game for awhile. but i was listening to the head and the heart last night and gained some much needed inspo for steven. only to find this perfect request sitting in my inbox yet to be answered. so i hope you enjoy this late response.

summary: memories of steven grant haunted you like a history you could not change. they were your dreams, nightmares, and wishes that never came true.

word count: 1.5k+

pairing: steven grant x reader

warnings: none, angst, my attempts at being a writer again, idk this is probably not very good so be warned.

The sky was set aflame as the minutes and seconds ticked by. Your mug filled with cheap wine sat on the edge of the roof, your hands clasped around it. You wondered if you imagined hard enough that maybe the liquid would burn hot. Would it turn to coffee? The same type you had with him. Would the sun fade to a soothing darkened sky, scattered with very few stars and even fewer wishes. 

His smile was an object of permanence in your mind's eye. The quirk of his lips, the pink hue that fell into a pout of confusion. Even if it was just to show he was listening.

Although when it came to Steven, he always listened.

If you shut your eyes—imagined a night sky of infinity and constellations and stars not yet wished upon—you could see him. You could feel the way his curls twined around your fingers. The soft brown was somehow your favorite hair color now. You never knew you had one until him. They became a staple when you remembered him. The singular trait you latched onto when you could no longer trace the shape of his face, the curve of his jaw, the slope of his nose.

“What’s your favorite thing about the night sky?” you asked on a whim. The coffee perked you up slightly. Bitter and grainy on your tongue but perfect nonetheless. It allowed you to stand there at least, to stay awake as his own mind fought against the exhaustion that no doubt riddled his bones.

He never complained though.

Never told you that he lived on barely enough; that his mind was a place of chaos he’d been privy to for quite some time. You saw him as much as you could, but sometimes time never seemed to work in your favor. Time seemed to be intent on keeping the two of you apart.

He smiled—bright enough to put a sunset to shame. “The moon.”

“Of course,” you huffed.

His life wasn’t a secret to you. Steven—ever the man to consider others emotions—made sure to be upfront with you. As much as he possibly could of course. But some secrets were simply not his to tell, not a history he could divulge. So he made up in whispered words of lands that existed centuries ago. In stories that bridged the gap between humanity and the past. He regaled you with the history he could speak aloud with the hope that it would be enough.

That you’d be okay with just that.

“Tell me yours love.”

Somehow breath turned nonexistent around Steven. Your default had become to live eternally without it. Not that you minded much. Breathing was no longer a necessity when you yearned for the sensation that came without it. The skipped beat of your heart, the warmth that spread through your stomach, and the love you felt spark along each nerve and each limb.

With Steven you felt like you existed on a different plane. Problems were nonexistent. Humanity became an afterthought, and the possibility of anything flourished like a flower at the start of spring. Bright and beautiful and full of endless potential.

You’d describe your relationship with Steven that way. A perfect replica of that actually, but every now and then life collided with your shining star, knocking away the wish before you could make it. Steven held your hope in his open and inviting palms, yet the thought of permanency with him…felt further away with each passing day. He couldn’t remain. He could barely stay for the moments spent awake together.

“The stars,” you whispered, casting your gaze out onto the sea of tiny shining sparks in the sky. An endless amount of them out in space, yet so few shone in the night sky.

“For the wishes?”

You smiled. “I guess so.”

Oblivious to you, he had moved closer, his leg centimeters away from brushing against yours. “What are you wishing for tonight?”

Could you tell him? Could you reveal that your mind—your heart—was set on him. After all this time it would always be him. Steven had sunk into your life as one would fall to the bottom of a river. Softly, smoothly, until your breath slipped free in a thousand tiny bubbles. Yet you held the option to come up for air; you had every choice layed out in front of you.

When it came to Steve though…sinking was the choice you’d make every time. You’d rather drown in his sweetness than live without it. A fact that you’d come to terms with months ago.

“You tell me,” you replied, your eyes meeting his. So full of life, so full of hope. It nearly broke your heart in two.

He smiled. “It’s not really a wish.”

“I don’t care.”

“It’s…uh…” He tapped his finger on his leg. A subtle beat of morse code, each letter spelled out before your very eyes. You caught the makings of an L and an O, but the echo of his cough dragged your attention away. “It’s hard.”

“What’s hard?” you breathed.

He cleared his throat, a hint of crimson spilling onto the tops of his cheeks. “Hard to sit here and be so close to you, and not kiss you.”

Your stomach swooped, breath escaping your lungs faster than you could suck it in. Yet you still held his gaze. You kept it like a closely guarded secret; dug your fingers and nails into its makeup hoping that some part would remain once this moment ended. Once you were alone again, yearning for him to return. That was the thing about Steven though. You never had to hold on so tight, because without knowing it, he was already embedded in your heart. He was a part of your DNA.

“It doesn’t have to be,” you said softly, leaning a bit closer. The heat of your mug seared into the skin of your palms, but you ignored it for favor of the burning ache that spread through your stomach. Until it wrapped tightly around your heart.

Like a vice you’d never be able to escape.

“No?”

You shook your head, leaned even closer, and watched his eyes flick down to your lips. “Guess you figured out my wish.”

He let out a breath, shaky and warm, and you nearly collapsed as it washed across your face. Perhaps he wanted to say more, or maybe you should have been the one to keep talking, but Steven was never one to keep you waiting. He yearned for you like the moon did the sun. An ongoing cycle of passing one another by, until nothing remained but your simple silly little wishes scattered across the sky.

He held onto each one with reverence. With the patience of a man who knew that your time together would come. You’d flourish together, pass across one another. Even if it was for a brief amount of time. Steven had always been your wish, your eclipse that was yet to come, yours in more ways than you could imagine.

Cupping your cheek, he tugged you close enough until his nose pressed to your skin, his shaky breath an indication that he felt just as nervous as you. That this small moment of time was anticipated with a fervor you’d never understand. His lips met yours, barely there at first, a soft brush of skin against skin. You felt hesitant, scared that he wouldn’t want more than this.

Until you heard him groan. Broken and long and absolutely withering. He tugged you closer, his lips slotting against yours rougher than before. And you felt the heat spill searingly into your chest, a soft moan bubbling to the surface to echo in the night air. He swallowed it with ease, his fingers lightly digging into your cheek, hand moving to press into your waist. You could still taste his nerves on your tongue, feel the way his body remained slightly tense, but with each touch of your skin to his he began to loosen.

He bloomed for you right there on that balcony with the moon as your only witness.

Hot tears slipped down your cheeks, the sunlight spilling back into your vision as you finally opened your eyes again. Sunset melted into dusk, the soft hues of blue and purple streaking across the sky. Until you could see the moon begin to rise in the east. A glimmer of the man that once held your heart in his.

The creak of the roof door echoed behind you. Probably another tenet coming to admire the view. You gathered your mug, wiped the flow of tears that refused to stop, and moved to give them the space. You’d seen enough of the moon for one night. There was no reason you had to stick around to pick out hopeless stars and lost dreams. That would remain in the past with the rest of your memories.

“What are you wishing for tonight love?”

The breath caught in your throat, eyes wide as you whirled around to face what you assumed would be a figment of your imagination—a cruel trick of your mind. Yet there he stood. Wearing different clothes, and holding a different demeanor, but you’d recognize him anywhere.

You smiled slightly, your fingers tightening around the mug. “You tell me.”

[dont-offend-the-bees]

Spinning on That Dizzy Edge

So I was NOT gonna write one today. But then I had a train ride, a notes app, completionist tendencies and no self control. So I'm gonna keep the commentary short and sweet, as I am writing/posting all of this on my phone xD

Short, sweet, somewhat suggestive (the M rating is probably over-cautious, but Charles is feeling frisky!), no warnings off the top of my head. Bon appetit!

Title/various lyrics referenced in the fic are, of course, from Just Like Heaven by The Cure. The other lyrics referenced are A Little Respect by Erasure!

1k, M-rated, also available on Ao3. Thanks again, @painlandweek !

There was a haunting at the old Lamplighter's Arms. 'Least that's what the locals said.

It was an ancient place, older than the dirt, all bare brick and low beams. Inside there was an old upright piano, and it couldn't have been as old as the building, but no one could actually prove that. Dark wood and centuries of drunken etchings, a little warp and wonk in the keys that lent it a honky tonk air. No one knew how it had survived so long, and no one had ever had the heart to replace it. Or the courage to disturb a piano that, supposedly, on a dark and stormy night, was known to play itself.

Urban legend had it that it was the spirit of Susie Shipton, the old innkeeper's daughter - mournfully playing for her husband who went to sea, never to return. Singing sweet songs to lure his wandering spirit home from the troubled depths.

Unlike most pub-haunting legends Charles had come across, this one was actually bang on. Or at least it had been. They'd met Susie Shipton last year; lovely girl! And with a little help from the Dead Boy Detectives, she'd been able to shuffle off to her lovely afterlife. Hand in hand with that wayward soul she'd been singing to all those years. It was dead romantic — Charles might've had a bit of a cry about it.

Susie had moved on, but the Lamplighter still had a haunting. It had just swapped the one resident ghost for a couple of part-timers.

"Bit gloomy this one, innit?" said Charles, swaying on the spot. It was about as close to dancing as he could do when the tempo was this bloody wistful.

Edwin hummed, not looking up. His hands spidered effortlessly along the old wooden keys, picking out interesting little harmonies like it was nothing. He handled the notes like he was crafting a spell. "Mother used to play this one." His brow furrowed. "At least, I seem to recall..."

Charles leaned on a table, smiling at the back of Edwin's bowed head. He remembered the way Edwin's eyes had lit right up when they first spotted the old upright piano. How he'd watched Susie's hands on the keys with barely-disguised envy. He'd been eyeing up her spot on that piano stool since the moment he clapped eyes on it.

"The legend of Susie Shipton has long been a staple of this establishment, Charles," he'd said, all pretending to be casual, as he'd suggested what they ought to do with the first stormy night since solving the case. "It would be a pity to let it die out, don't you think? One must consider historical preservation..."

They'd been coming ever since, showing up with the thunder and lightning. It was one of Charles' favourite things to do. Dancing around, having a laugh. Or even just lounging against the bar, listening to Edwin's music pattering along with the rain on the rattly old glass windows.

Edwin lifted his head a little, tilting his ear back like he was listening for Charles. Then, his playing shifted, smoothly. Slow, meandering melodies gradually becoming faster, more repetitive. Sketching out a familiar riff...

Charles laughed, clapping his hands together. "I tried to discoooover!" he sang, cheerfully off-key.

"A little something to make me sweeter," Edwin joined in softly, throwing a smirk and a twinkle of his eye over his shoulder.

"Oh baby refrain! From breakin' my heeeeaaart!"

Edwin chuckled as he played, watching Charles dance around out the corner of his eye.

"Mate," Charles gushed, a bit breathless after belting out the chorus. "When'd you learn to play this one?"

"I'm quite good at picking things up by ear," said Edwin, smiling as he threw in a few little flourishes that weren't there on Charles' record. "And you've certainly listened to it in the office enough."

"It's brills," Charles grinned, sloping on over to drape an arm round Edwin's shoulders. "You're brills."

Edwin smiled, a lopsided flash of his teeth, and he played on - finding ways to work in some more of Charles' favourite eighties riffs into some sort of medley. When he meandered into The Cure, Charles, tongue in his cheek, tucked his face into Edwin's. Sang the words into his ear, quiet and personal.

"Show me, show me, show me how you do that trick, the one that makes me scream, she said..."

Edwin shivered, just a little, eyes dark as they flickered to him. "Charles," he said, sternly. "You're being very distracting."

Charles grinned. "God, I hope so." He stepped up close, fitting himself into the sliver of space between the piano and the stool, pressed as near to Edwin as he could manage. Fingers teasing the hair at the nape of his neck. "Show me how you do it, and I promise you, I promise that —"

"I'll run away with you," Edwin chorused, smiling eyes and smiling voice.

Charles felt fizzy on the inside, like someone had grabbed him by the heart and given it a shake. Sometimes Edwin just had to look at him, and all Charles could feel was bubbles. "Oh, oh I'll run away with you!"

Charles let him finish the first chorus without interruption. But before Edwin could sidle into the next verse — the proper sad one — Charles took his face in his hands and kissed him.

Edwin's hands came down in a clumsy thonk on the keys, before getting with the programme and getting all over Charles, instead. Well, not quite all over — so far, he was keeping them settled oh-so-politely on his waist.

Charles made to lean on the nearest thing — which just so happened to be the keyboard — but Edwin stopped him with a pointed clear of his throat at the first hint of discordant notes. Edwin reached around him, with both hands, and carefully lowered the wooden lid over the keys.

"You may proceed," he said primly.

Charles laughed, propped himself up on the piano lid, and got right back on the job of tempting Edwin into doing some very impolite things to him on it.

Give him a minute or two, he'd have Edwin forgetting his manners good and proper!

~~

Thanks for reading beloveds!! I shall see you tomorrow for the grand finale of Painland Week! 💛💛💛💛💛