#things are easier to deal with a step removed

[softness-and-shattering]

Seeing a post thats making me angry: ahh how do I disagree in a way that isnt confrontational and might help them see my point is there any point ahhhhh ummmm noticing that the post is from following a tag, not a mutual: oh fuck that, they can be wrong. 

[toytulini]

at the tags on prev post before anyone gets mad at me about being opposed to automation or some shit: i am referencing situations where the "automation" doesnt do shit except to make the human's job needlessly harder, something which was in the process of happening at my old job which was fascinatingly stupid to watch, especially cos in other buildings of the same company they DID employ automation that actually removed steps and made peoples jobs easier etc. automation is fine as long as it makes fucking SENSE. if all youre doing is adding a touch screen to it, youre not automating shit youre just introducing more ways for that entire job to get borked

[tiddygame]

ok look, my meds are making me feel Funky again but…

after soap is released from the hospital, he moves back in with his parents, everything already having been taken care of.

ghost moves in as well, but it’s a much slower and much more gradual affair.

sure, simon spent every second he could at johnnys side, but he still didn’t live there or anything. and he didn’t intend to leave his stuff behind, but he was called in for an emergency and didn’t have time to brush his teeth, much less gather his things.

and he was going to take his stuff back to his flat, but mrs. mactavish insisted that it wasn’t a problem and that it might be easier for him to just leave some stuff there for when it happens again.

and since johnny is… well… unwell, it might be a good idea to change his emergency contact too. and of course mrs and mr mactavish are more than happy to take care of it!

simon doesn’t even stop by his flat any more when he’s on leave, heading straight to the mactavish house as soon as he’s cut loose

johnny is getting better, slowly but surely. there are a lot of steps back and some days are a lot worse than others, but simon breaking several laws just to call him when he’s on a mission is a nice reminder that no, simon didn’t leave him, and is actively fighting to get discharged so they can be together.

johnny mentioned that sometimes listening to simon’s voice is the only thing that helps him sleep, so simon leaves voicemail after voicemail so that even when he can’t properly call him, he can still talk to johnny

.

mrs mactavish had been doing the laundry when they knock on the front door. she knew what it meant when the officers apologize as they remove their hats with a sorrowful look.

she was borderline hysterical, refusing to believe it. mr. mactavish tried to console her, but he wasn’t doing too great either.

they don’t know what to tell johnny. they can’t tell him. how could they? he was finally getting better and now they’re expected to tell him that those voicemails from simon are the only thing he has left?

they consider waiting until the funeral arrangements are being discussed, but they knew it wouldn’t end well. they figure brutal honesty was better than the betrayal he’d feel if they tried to keep it from him.

when they m tell him, he just laughs and says he’ll believe it when they recover the body.

his parents sigh, and nod. they figure it’s best to leave him be, at least until the funeral.

but lo and behold, barely a week later, simon appears on their porch late one night with his arm in a sling.

he was grumbling that being caught in a building collapse and missing exfil shouldnt be enough for him to be assumed dead, but is cut off when mrs mactavish hugs him.

he was surprised, just apologizing for making them deal with the whole dead/undead thing, but she was still crying and refusing to let him go.

he didn’t know what to do and just awkwardly returned the hug with one arm, patting her back as he tried to figure out what the hell was happening

it wasn’t until mr. mactavish pulled him into a hug as well, muttering something about how he’s glad simon is safe, calling him son, that he breaks.

he hadn’t had a family in so long and he doesn’t know what to do. but mrs mactavish does, saying that he must be hungry and getting him something to eat.

johnny just laughs, both at his parents for assuming he was wrong about the body recovery thing, and at simon for taking that long to realize that he’d been abducted adopted by the mactavish family, telling simon that his fate had been sealed the first time johnny brought him home

[dogwithrabies]

【★】 gn reader but described as afab, slight? sadomasochism themes, scara and reader match each other's freak somehow, not proofread I'll correct mistakes later (maybe)

【☆】 part 2 of this I will never settle on just one interpretation of scara i'm gonna keep flip flopping abt him…..

word count 3.7k

You made it out of the office.

It’s been a few weeks since the last encounter with the Balladeer, since he so kindly let you go with an invitation for next time. The walk back to your private headquarters wasn’t as humiliating as one would think, but the way your step had a little happy hop to it made a few heads turn.

Even the guards at the door's entrance shared a glance, it truly is unusual to make it out alive.

After your visit to his office, everything seemed easier, the amount of physical work you had to do greatly diminished, but all this newfound free time is somehow, always spent in the workplace. The moment you finished your tasks for the day you’d get called in his private headquarters. And most of the time you’d be doing nothing for the whole duration of your stay.

There was a couch next to his desk that you’d sit on and watch him work. Sometimes he’d even grace you with the opportunity to sit near him (he was surprised when you immediately decided to sit on the floor between his legs, but he doesn’t mind as long as you don’t hinder his work). Sometimes, people would walk in, completely clueless of your presence, which spooked you at first, but then quickly made way for other fantasies. You could suck him off in front of your fellow soldiers and they’d have no idea, and you wouldn’t mind even if they managed to catch you. But you’ve still got to figure out some things first.

As much as you’d love to throw yourself at him, the line between what he deems acceptable and not is still thin and almost invisible to you, it’s like walking around eggshells, constantly pushing your luck whenever you make a move or try something new. You’ve been scouting his boundaries and limits, and so far you’ve learned that:

He doesn’t mind physical touch when he initiates it (or when he feels like you’re revering him enough). Sitting at his feet and squishing his legs on the sides of your face also allowed you to feel his structure and constitution. His legs were as soft as you remember, but the skin around his kneecaps had a little dent, almost like the bones under it were disconnected, segmented. They also felt robust, like he could cave your face in with a single kick. And yet they were so dainty and looked so fragile, and thinking about it makes you go a bit crazy.

And lastly, he never takes off the bands around his wrists, even when he removes the armor there’s another layer of cloth covering them.

This isn’t much information, but he’s not keen on entertaining your questions when working (and you think he wouldn’t like the idea of having his whole being analyzed so clinically).

So you stick to keeping yourself entertained, whether it be catching up on lost hours of sleep on the couch or thirsting over his legs like an old perverted man.

You quickly start to realize that your stay in his office is a double edged sword, you got to overhear a lot of sensitive information you shouldn’t have access to. He doesn’t seem too bothered by it, he knows you know the consequences of any of this getting leaked. It’s almost like he’s pushing you even deeper in the dealings of the fatui, you had no plans to leave, but now, knowing what you know, it was completely impossible. The less logical part of your brain is almost tempted to try and escape, just to get him to punish you. But it probably wouldn’t stop at that, he’d have to ensure that what you heard in this room, stays in this room, and he’d probably have to put you out of commission, permanently. You imagine him choking you, he’d look so pretty above you, but it also would be too much work (not that you’d put up any resistance), he’d probably just shock you to death. It’s significantly less personal but you’d still take it.

You’re completely caged, and it’s all his doing. 

You huff against the skin of his leg. It sure is a bore, to be so close to what you want but unable to get it. Your hands slide under both his knees to squeeze his legs at the sides of your face.

Above, you can hear the sound of papers being moved around. So he’s still not done, you think to yourself as you wiggle out of the tight space under his desk and move to the couch. 

Why does he insist on keeping you around if he’s just going to ignore you?

You lay on your side and kick your shoes off (he scolded you last time you kept them on) and turn around to look at him.

He doesn’t even look at you, the loss of your presence is irrelevant and goes unnoticed.

He can feel your eyes boring holes through him, he knows you’re bored by how restless you’re acting. He has half a mind to reprimand you, you should be honored he’s allowing you to spend time in his presence, and yet you have the gall to act bored.

Can’t you see all the favors he’s doing you? Reliving you of your work, taking away most of your responsibilities so you can spend more time with him, you ought to be on your knees thanking him. He doesn’t dwell on the fact that he is also stripping you of your agency, he knows of humans’ fixation with being independent, they can be hard workers, he’ll give them that. This intrinsic feeling isn’t as different from his own need to be useful. The need to be needed. But it’s different, to him, he’s long abandoned his flimsy childish desire to become a human, he knows he is destined for things far greater than any human could ever stride for.

But alas, humans are simple minded creatures, truly inferior to him in any category, they could never hope to grasp the grandiosity of his divine being. 

So he shall give you a pass, and a treat to keep you entertained and docile.

So he puts away the stack of papers on his desk, the action catching your attention, eyeing him as he makes his way to you, as he sits next to you.

“My lord,” you address him as you push yourself up and make more room for him.

“Come here,” he motions with his hand, “Don’t waste my time,” he adds when he sees you hesitating.

You shuffle closer to him, it’s stupid to be this careful now when you’ve spent the last few days squishing yourself in his personal space. Maybe it’s the fact that this is new, he never prioritizes you over his work, only indulging you after he’s done.

 So you feel like a fish out of water.

But if one could read minds- you could have sensed the shift in his energy, or perhaps at least brace yourself for the moment his hand roughly grabs at your hair, bringing you closer to him and exposing your pristine neck.

He lets out an amused huff, and it’s all the warning you get before he pulls you even closer, forcing you to awkwardly hoist yourself up over his lower body. His mouth is warm on your skin, but it’s not those soft lips that you so much adore that make contact, instead, it’s a wet, nasty bite like he’s trying to rip you apart, make you bleed, and some more. 

But he doesn’t linger on just one spot, letting his mouth wander, leaving a trail of what will surely darken and bloom into ugly sore marks. Every time his teeth sink in a yelp threatens to leave your lips- and he thinks it’s funny, the way your eyes squeeze and lips purse trying to silence yourself. 

But no matter how strong willed you are, he will find a way to break you, too.

And he gives you a moment of reprise, as he admires his work. Nothing that your uniform wouldn’t cover, but it’s his ego talking when he riles himself up with the thought that only he can mark you, not the other way around. 

You’re convinced he would’ve just straight up eaten you up had he spent just a few more minutes gnawing at your neck. A rational part of your brain is urging your muscles to move, do something, to get out of this situation, but it’s so quickly drowned by another flow of thoughts. You wouldn't mind if he chose to consume you, in any way he prefers.

He latches once again on your skin, the front of your neck this time, biting and sucking until the skin swells around the hard grip of his teeth. And this time, you don’t have it in you to stop yourself from whining, tears collecting at the corners of your eyes. And he finally seems satisfied by your reaction, pulling you closer to his face, admiring your distressed expression. 

The way your eyebrows furrow together, tears blocking your view as you try to squint them away, desperately trying to get a look at him. You’ve never been this close to him, face to face. He exhales and his breath fans over your face, and it just feels empty. Like an ordinary gust of wind, prive of any trace of the usual warmth any other human would possess.

But you’re not given any moment to dwell on the thought, his other hand grips your face and brings it closer to his, for a moment you expect the sting of another bite, but you’re met with a sensation that leaves your head swooning. The warmth of your tears is replaced by a soothing kiss, and another, and another, and soon the wet sensation is replaced by another equally wet feeling, the pressure of his tongue licking up the trails the tears left.

He doesn’t miss the very apparent blush creeping up your face, chuckling to himself before picking you up with an inhumane amount of strength and repositioning himself. Now he’s above you, again so so close, with wide eyes observing every inch of your face, drinking in your ruined expression.

The glutton that he is, looking is never enough and he can’t keep his hands to himself, off of pretty things. 

So he lunges forward, and your mind blanks the moment his lips cage yours. It’s everything but kind and soft, his teeth immediately nib at your lower lip, tongue forcing itself inside, licking at your mouth.

It takes you a second to register the new feeling, your body melts into it and you don’t have the will (nor want) to fight it. He’s so rough, not giving you a chance to get used to the rhythm, he seems so intent on letting you participate in whatever he is planning to do.

Something quickly dawns on you, sucking any sound you emit straight from the source, it’s filthy and messy and he doesn’t relent even when your hands desperately push him away, trying to put some distance between the two of you, trying to get even a gasp of air.

He laughs softly against you, sensing your struggle, but still not showing any sign of mercy, if anything it just spurs him on, grabbing the sides of your face to push you against him. He shifts his body, actively laying on you, caging you with his full weight.

He’s half hard in his shorts, you can feel his length throbbing with each slight movement of his hips, grinding himself on you. But still, his grip on you doesn’t relent, he can feel you slowing your movements, resisting less and less while still struggling for even a gasp of air.

You think he’d be content with smothering you with his lips (and what a way to go that would be), but then he suddenly pulls away, a wet string of saliva connecting your mouths. You’re panting under him, desperately trying to catch your breath as he busies himself with lapping away whatever glob of tears dares form in your eyes.

He stands unnaturally still above you, watching you gasp over and over until it slowly dies down and fades into a slightly more labored breathing. With a normal amount of oxygen flowing to your brain you also start to regain awareness of your position.

You can feel him twitching and grinding against you, despite all the layers of clothing. 

His gaze on you remains unwavering as his hands move to unclip all those annoying buttons, unclasping every single one until he can take off your coat, and you let him, body almost limp as he slides it off you.

“Don’t tell me you’re already gone, I was just starting to have fun,” he murmurs against your neck, gently nibbling on it this time.

All you can muster is a small mh-hm, it’s enough confirmation to asses that you are still conscious (and alive).

He makes you the favor of getting off your chest, moving your limbs out of the way so he can settle between your legs, ridding you of your remaining clothing. Despite being in his office, the air is still relatively chill, the moment you’re fully exposed a shiver runs down your spine as you adjust to the new temperature.

He, on the other hand, is busying himself with manhandling you, pushing you further up the side of the couch, and letting your head rest on the side arm. 

“You’re awfully wet,” he says once he’s satisfied with this new position, “a bit of kissing is enough to get you this turned on?” you can hear the grin in his voice as he speaks. You could say the same about him, his erection is VERY hard to ignore and he’s so hard it almost looks painful. You want to reach out and touch him, stroke him to completion as he comes undone over you, but he’s faster and you can just watch as he lowers his shorts just enough to free his dick.

“Surely you won’t mind if we skip preparations. You seem ready enough.” you immediately feel him nudging your folds, slowly rubbing himself, his tip bumping on your clit as he shifts higher.

“I don't mind-” he uses his finger to apply more pressure, “I want you inside me. Please.” “How bold, How can I say no to that?” His hands move to your hips as he holds you in position, his tip sinks into you and he wastes no time pushing in the rest, too.

You make a sound as you throw your head back, the sudden feeling of being so full overtakes you. You can feel him throbbing inside you and it’s driving you insane- alongside his little huffs above you- you could come just about now.

You feel him pull back slightly before pushing back in, slowly at first, and then picking up speed once he’s found a satisfying rhythm. The stretch is still a bit uncomfortable, but you’re so wet you’re leaking against his pelvis and the front of his shorts. 

“So tight,” he bends lower so his mouth is directly next to your ear, “it’s like you’re sucking me in.” All you can do is moan into his shoulder, sliding your arms under his so you can hold him closer to you. He takes it as an invitation, pushing himself impossibly close to you, picking up his ministrations on your neck again.

He’s not as heavy as you expected him to be, you can still comfortably breathe with his weight on you, and with how close he is to you, you can feel his pelvis rut against your clit with each shift of his hips.

His teeth sink into you again, he stills there and he sucks on the spot until it darkens. There isn’t a single spot he hasn’t sucked or bitten, the whole zone feels so raw.

“I knew it,” he mumbles into your neck, “You bruise so beautifully,” he says while looking at you.

It shouldn’t turn you on this much. That’s not a normal thing to say to anybody, however. He feels you clench on him as your hips roll into him, tiny mewls spilling from your lips as you chase your high. 

“F-fuck, fuck- please-” It’s muffled but he can still hear you and it only spurs him on. 

“Please what? Please fuck me faster? Harder?” He says in a mocking tone. You want to answer him but you don’t even know what you’re begging for. With every thrust, your brain melts a little, and you find yourself pathetically moaning under him.

Your grip tightens on his back as you grow rigid under him- it’s a surge of warmth that passes through your body so suddenly, leaving you gasping under him. It’s even wetter now, his dick is practically sliding out of you as he fucks you through your climax.

“How cute,” he muses. “That fast?” He stills his movements and lifts himself up once he feels you limp.

Your brain is buzzing as you recover, lust still clouding your mind. His cold hands a juxtaposition to your warm body, he pushes your legs up and higher, the angle making the back of your knees burn uncomfortably

“I hope you don’t think we are done yet, I intend to have my pleasure too.” 

He resumes his thrusts, harder this time. His tip reaching the deepest part of you, so rough it’s like he’s trying to push even deeper. He’s just using you for his pleasure now, fucking you like you’re just an object for his pleasure, a toy to fuck and fill up until he’s satisfied.

He applies more pressure to your knees, squashing them against your upper body. His cock catches against a spot, softer in texture than the rest, and you gasp.

“Good?” He asks, already knowing the answer, but he takes enjoyment in the way you mindlessly nod in response.

“A-again, please.” He twitches, and obliges your request, angling himself to hit that spot with every thrust, and his ears are immediately graced with the sound of your sweet whimpering.

Your hands flail around, before settling on gripping the cushions under you. You miss his back, his presence against you, the bits of hair tickling your hands whenever he lifted his head. But you’re not gonna complain, not when he’s pummeling into your cunt like he intends to break you. Matter of fact, you can hardly form any thought that isn’t just mindless blabbering.

He curses, as he moves one hand to shove his shorts lower, exposing more of himself, every time he pushes into you now there’s an audible plap of skin against skin contact. It’s impossible to ignore, and you’re sure whoever’s passing by his office must hear what’s going on inside (if your moaning didn’t give you away already).

But he doesn’t care, the way you clench against him every time he slides over that spot, the surge of liquid leaking on him as he fucks himself deeper inside you, it’s too good to stop. 

Your pleasure comes after his, but archons does he want more of you. He repositions you roughly, hoisting one of your legs up as his other hand busies itself with rubbing your clit.

It’s messy and he’s applying a bit too much pressure, but the effect is immediate and you couldn’t care less. Your stomach tightens as a burning feeling intensifies, he talks you through it and it only intensifies the feeling.

“Oh? Are you close again?” he taunts you, but it’s affecting him too and it shows in the way his movements get more desperate.

“Then do it, come for me, come for me again,” and it’s embarrassing how you can do nothing but obey him, clenching around him as you spasm and flutter around him. Your free leg squeezes his side,, your back arches and he huffs. But he doesn’t give you time to rest this time, he ruts in you, leaning on you, even as the pleasure turns into overstimulation.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.” He sounds raspier, almost winded. He’s close and the thought is almost enough to make you come again.

With one pointed thrust, he pushes himself impossibly deep and stays there. And then, it washes over him, as he fills you up in waves and waves of his seed.

He lets go of your leg and leans back, his cock slipping out of you.

You feel so empty without him, and the feeling of his come slipping out of you doesn’t help. He watches your fingers as they make their way to collect whatever spilled out of you to push it back in, slightly shivering everytime you brush up against a sensitive spot.

Are you trying to rile him up again? He laughs at the thought.

“So insatiable,” his voice catches your attention, “let me help you,” he says.

There truly is no end to his greed, all he knows is to take. And it’s what he’s planning to do now, too.

You want to question him but the thought quickly dies on your tongue when you feel him penetrating you again. Your insides accommodate him with no resistance this time, but you can’t help but notice that he’s still hard.

“...no refractory period?” you think out loud. He hums in amusement.

“So you do have a brain, here I was thinking all you could do is think about my dick.”

You bite the side of your cheek, “Well, you’re not wrong. But…”

He twitches at your admission.

“I couldn’t help but notice some things.” 

“Like?”

“You just seem so different.”, his gaze hardens for a moment and you hurry the next part of the sentence out, “Not in a bad way! It’s just… you’re stronger, faster, and prettier than anyone I've ever met”.

He doesn’t respond, inviting you to elaborate.

You don’t mention the rumors going around, not that they’re reliable, coming from another Harbinger’s subordinates, but every lie has a base of truth to it.

“There are other details, but the whole picture got me thinking…” Your voice dies down as you momentarily sink back into your thoughts.

“So what, you want an answer from me?” You don’t respond, focusing on how his tone has shifted into something more malicious, and how his hips started slowly moving again.

“Too cock-drunk to think?” He muses to himself. “That’s fine. Maybe you’ll figure it out one day.”

His cock rolls into your walls, pushing little gasps out of you.

“But for now, I’m gonna make good use of you.”

[frudoo]

Mmmm unethical ER Doctor!Gaz…

Warnings: Fingering, edging, medical malpractice, inappropriate doctor/patient relations. Fem!Reader.

Your toes curl as you swing your legs off the side of the exam table, fingers tapping against your thighs nervously. It took forever for you to get called back, and it seems even longer, now, that you’ve had to wait on the actual doctor to show up. The bright fluorescent lights have started to make your head pound. Biting your lip, you debate on just leaving to try and deal with this… issue on your own again. The very issue that made you seek out help to begin with.

The paper sheet beneath you crinkles as you hop down, cursing yourself for wasting your own precious time. You grab your purse and open the privacy curtain to leave, effectively running into the doctor who had finally showed up. You’re not usually one to bitch and moan to people who are only here to help you, but you’ve been waiting for over an hour and you are in agony, damn it. For the first time in your life, you prepare to chew out a person you don’t even know, sucking in a deep breath.

“About time you… showed… up…” Your mouth drops open when you actually glance up to get a good look at the doctor’s face, immediately feeling your heart drop down to your stomach.

Towering over you with a cocked eyebrow and a cheeky smile is the most gorgeous person you have ever seen in your life. Flawlessly smooth skin and deep brown eyes, maddeningly straight teeth and a perfectly kissable nose. You find it impossible to tear your eyes from his luscious lips, entranced and frozen in place.

“Righ’. Sorry ‘bout tha’ wait. Would ya mind havin’ a seat up there f’me?” He hums, and fuck, even his voice is delicious.

“I- um- I’m so sorry,” you mumble, scrambling back to sit on the exam table once again.

“No’ to worry. I’ve dealt with far worse attitudes than yours,” he teases, and you curl your fingers into the hem of your skirt. “I’m Dr. Garrick, yeah? Says here your problem is… oh. Oh, my.”

You’re mentally cursing yourself. You could literally die right here and the only thing they’d put on your gravestone is ‘idiot.’ A very horny, very broke idiot.

“Yeah,” you tuck your lips into a tight line, humiliation evident in the way your entire body is trembling.

“Alrigh’. I can have a female come in t’do this if you’re more comfortable-”

“No! P-please, I just want it out,” you plead, nearly in tears at the thought of having to wait any longer.

“Hey, hey, tha’s fine,” he soothes. “Go ‘head and remove your bottoms f’me, I’m gonna step outside t’give ya some privacy.”

Dr. Garrick does as he said he would, closing the curtain behind him. With a shaky sigh, you remove your skirt and panties and set them aside, laying back on the table with your feet flat on the surface, knees bent and pressed together. After a few moments, the curtain slides open and the doctor steps back inside, clearing his throat softly.

“I’m jus’ gonna place your feet in some stirrups, alrigh’? It’ll be easier f’me, and hopefully more comfortable f’ya,” he explains, plopping onto his chair and rolling towards the table.

In the cubbies below you, there’s a contraption that pulls out to act as stirrups, and Dr. Garrick helps you guide your ankles onto them carefully. He then drapes a paper slip over your bottom half, giving you a false sense of security given what he’s about to do. You take a deep breath when you hear him go to wash his hands, wishing you were just about anywhere else but here. The seat puffs again and you flinch when you hear him snap on a pair of sterile gloves. Fucking hell. This is getting too real.

“Gonna have a look, now,” he says softly, placing two gloved fingers at your entrance.

Cautiously, he pulls your outer labia open in an attempt to find the object lodged inside of you. Shaking his head, he sighs.

“Can’t see it from out here. Gonna have to push inside,” he explains, gently pressing his middle finger inside of your pussy and feeling around. “Y’know, there are safer options than a hairbrush. I would recommend investin’ in a genuine sex toy, preferably with some kinda base at the bottom.”

“Noted,” you grit your teeth, biting back a moan when he inserts another gloved digit.

You’re already sensitive from having the broken hairbrush handle stuck inside you for over two hours now, and the way his fingers are stretching you out and rubbing against your walls is nothing short of overstimulating. With your eyes squeezed tightly shut, you don’t notice the way your doctor smirks, but you sure as hell feel the way his digits brush against your g-spot.

“Ah, I feel it, now,” he murmurs, curling his fingers to hit that bundle of nerves again.

You don’t expect him to shove his fingers in further, nor the way he speeds up, rapidly massaging your sweet spot. You can’t hold back the whimper that escapes your throat, your back arching uncomfortably, ankles slipping in the stirrups.

“Sorry, I know it’s sensitive,” he says, but there is no sympathy in his tone.

Dr. Garrick rests the pad of his thumb on your clit and circles it tightly, muttering something about needing stability to help him pull the object out. You bite your lip, thighs already trembling as you curse yourself for getting off from this. You simply can’t help it—a pretty man knuckles deep in your pussy, hitting all the right places flawlessly. You’re right on the edge when he pulls his fingers out, popping the hairbrush handle out with them.

“Got it,” he smiles proudly, and if tears weren’t blurring your vision, you might have seen the smug glint in his eye because he knows he ruined your orgasm.

You hear a clank and then the snap of his gloves being pulled off. A weary sob escapes your throat at the newfound emptiness, your cunt clenching around nothing and your swollen clit still throbbing. Dr. Garrick helps your feet back down from the stirrups, watching the way you just lay there limp. He sniffs, hovering over your body and leaning in close to your face.

“Y’know, if ya don’t want a toy, ya can always give me a call. I won’t keep ya waitin’ next time.”

[wosoamazing]

Eventual Answers

Part 3 | Beneath the Surface

Warnings: Endometriosis, Hospitals, Surgery, Mentions of Infertility, talks of emotions surrounding life long conditions (specifically Endo)

Notes: I hope this is okay, I tried to make it accurate, and include some of the emotions one might feel. Let me know if I did anything wrong and I’ll try to fix it up. This is the last official part of this series however if anyone has any one shot or blurb requests for this universe let me know. (Also I hope it's not boring, let me know what you think)

You clutched onto your Mum’s hand for dear life as you sat in the private waiting room, you had positioned yourself between Leah and your Mum, your knees bounced anxiously as you tried to convince yourself you were fine and that everything was going to be okay, however it wasn’t working, and a tear rolled down your cheek as you sniffled slightly.

“Bubs, you’re okay,” your Mum told you as she wiped away your tears, you shook your head in response to her, before she lifted you onto her lap, “what’s going on in that head of yours hey?”

“W-what if it’s all just in my head, and there isn’t anything wrong at all,” you admitted to her

“Bubs, that’s not going to happen, it’s okay to be nervous it’s a big thing, surgery is never easy,”

“C-can you tell me what's going to happen again?”

“Do you want me or Leah to tell you,” your Mum said as she reached a hand out for Leah to hold, who was also clearly nervous, however she seemed to be doing a good job of hiding it from everyone else.

“L-leah,”

“Okay,” Leah said before she took a deep breath, hoping her voice wouldn’t give away how nervous she was to you, Leah explained every single miniscule step to you, including telling you that they were going to use a mask to put you asleep before they did anything so you wouldn’t have to deal with any needles. Just as Leah finished explaining, one of the nurses called out your name and you went back along with both Leah and your Mum, and everything happened exactly as Leah said it would.

“Leah, Maddie,” the doctor greeted them as he came out and sat opposite them, “So, surgery went well, she is in recovery now and after we speak you can go see her, we did find endometriosis, stage 3, we removed serval adhesions and there are none left, we also removed most of the tissue along with two cysts on her right ovary, there is some tissue remaining that we couldn’t remove but hopefully most of her pain is now gone.”

____

“Hey bubs, how do you feel?” your Mum said as she noticed your eyelids flutter open, she gently brushed some of the hair out of your face, before placing a kiss on your forehead.

“Mmm, sore, bit sick, head hurts, tired. Where’s Leah?” you mumbled as your eyes slipped shut again, before you fought to lift your eyelids up.

“She’s just in the bathroom bubs, you can go back to sleep, it’s okay. We’ve got to stay here a bit longer before we can go home,”

“Did it go well?” you asked hesitantly as you tried to get yourself comfortable on the bed, the pain medication slowly wearing off at the same time you found yourself becoming more alert was not the best combination for being able to find comfort. Leah smiled and nodded at you, before she softly lifted up your jumper, revealing your abdomen, where you had 4 separate dressings.

“So it’s real?” you asked.

“Very real, they found you had stage 3, they removed all of the adhesions and most of the tissue and they removed two cysts from your right ovary, the tissue they left behind is mainly in and around your pelvis and there is some on your right ovary, so you’ll most likely still have the pelvis pain at times during your cycle and the back and leg pain during your period but it shouldn’t be as bad, you might also still get some pain will ovulation as well” Leah informed you.

“Thank you,” you said before tears of relief started to fall from your cheeks.

“We couldn’t be prouder of you bubs, and hopefully now this makes life slightly easier,” your Mum told you as she hugged you very carefully, before Leah returned with a big box in her hands, you hadn’t even noticed she left, let alone had enough time to retrieve a box of this size.

“We got this for you,” she said nervously as she placed it on the bed next to you. You opened it up and it was filled with various things you loved. There were some tim tams, shapes and a tin of milo, a new lip balm, and some hair products. There were also a few new card and board games, as well as a new pair of nike trackies and a matching hoodie. Which when you pulled out you looked up to Leah who was smiling back, it was one of the sets you told Leah you liked 2 months ago, and you were surprised she remember, you also had some new white nike socks, they have your initials embroidered on the bottom of them, probably so Leah couldn’t ‘accidently mistake them as hers’ again. Leah and your Mum sat with you until you fell asleep.

The next day Katie and Caitlin came around, at 11 the doorbell rang and as your Mum passed the living room to answer the door, she found you and Leah passed out on the couch, the night having caught up to you both, you were both talking to each other 10 minutes ago. 

“I’m so sorry, they’ve both just fallen asleep, and I don’t really want to wake them because they need it. She was up most the night crying and Leah was trying to calm her down,” your Mum said as she opened the door, both of the women were understanding and didn’t mind.

-

Leah had woken up during the night, however she didn’t really know why, she didn’t often wake up during the night without a reason so she was confused, until she heard a choked sob from your room. She doesn’t think she had ever moved so quickly at 11:00pm before. She opened the door to find you sobbing in your bed, your face was red and your eyes were bloodshot.

“Bubs,” Leah said as she crouched down beside your bed, “bubs,” you looked at her, “what do you need? Does it hurt? Do you feel sick?” Leah’s words came out calm but her head was anything but, her thoughts raced around at a million miles per hour as she tried to figure out what could’ve gone wrong.

“I don’t want this,” you cried out and Leah knew you weren’t physically hurting but mentally. She slipped in beside you and you immediately shifted your position on the bed, lying on your back you placed your head in her lap, burying your face in her stomach, you would’ve preferred a hug however you couldn’t have one so this would have to do.

“Bubs, I need you to take some deep breaths for me,” Leah told you as she started to card her fingers through your hair, which you did, allowing you to calm down slightly, you were no longer sobbing however tears still poured out your eye.

It was a weird feeling, being relieved and angry at the same time. You were glad that it wasn’t all in your head and that it was real but it being real meant a plethora of things. You might never get to have kids of your own, you’ll have to have more surgeries to remove the tissue in the future, you could lose your reproductive organs, you would have to live with a disease that affected your life so much, yet there was so little awareness, so little knowledge, so little research. Your crying continued for most of the night and Leah did nothing but be there for you, silently supporting you.

The following week passed by in a bit of a blur, a mix of emotions, pain, and recovery.

Two days after surgery you posted a photo your Mum had taken of you and Leah when you were having a nap together, you were curled into her side, her arms tightly wrapped around your shoulders, and the clear evidence of recovery surrounded you. The caption had no words, it was just a yellow ribbon emoji, something that people with the same experience would know the meaning of and so too would your close friends and family. You wanted to post about it one day, bring awareness to it and help others however currently you weren’t ready for that, you weren’t ready to tell the whole world, telling the world would make it more real, make the possible infertility struggles real, make the fact you may never be able to be intimate with a partner without pain real, it would somehow make everything just that much more real, something you weren’t quite ready to face yet.

[helios-sol]

Cold Love, Warm Blood

Pairing: König x reader

Summary: König needs to be patched up. You’re there for him.

Warnings: injury, blood, kissing, excessive use of the name “big guy”, unspoken feelings and unexpected kisses, lil’ bit of spice.

Notes: i really didn’t expect to start writing again, ESPECIALLY for call of duty but here we are. This is brought to you by the idea of hood kisses with König that a friend and I couldn’t stop thinking about. If you want to be in my mind while I wrote this listen to Aqua Regia by Sleep Token.

The call had come in little after midnight followed by rushed orders for a field medic down to the emergency wing. Considering that you were the only medic on base at the moment, you’re the one stumbling through the door half asleep. Lieutenant Riley had filled you in before you’d stepped through the doors but nothing could have fully prepared you for what’s on the other side.

König sits slumped on the edge of the bed, sniper hood completely blood soaked and shredded to bits. Based on what you’ve seen in the field there’s a strong possibility that most of that blood is not his.

But you know, Riley told you all you need to know.

You approach slowly and König barely looks up. You notice his fidgeting, thumbs twiddling and leg bouncing.

“Hey- König-“ you speak softly, like you’re talking to a wounded animal.

His gaze is feral and you feel like you might actually be dealing with a wounded animal, spooked and looking for a way to run.

“Hey- I need you to lift your hood for me, okay big guy?” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

Your words don’t register in the slightest. König clenches his hands into tight fists before drumming them on his thighs.

Your hand reaches towards his hood and you speak loud so that he knows what you’re doing.

“I’m going to lift your hood, I need to get you patched up.

König catches your wrist before you’ve even reached his face.

“Lass mich das machen.” He rasps.

You nod in agreement.

Slowly he removes his helmet and sniper hood all while avoiding your eyes.

The only thing that you can even think to say is-

“Jesus Christ, König. What happened?”

His expression falls and he’s back to nervous fidgeting.

“Frag grenade. Got sprayed with shrapnel.” His voice wobbles.

His face is a jigsaw of blood and scars. There is a fresh gash, starting near his cupid's bow and running up towards his right nostril. His left cheek is busted and a black eye is blooming, forcing his eye to swell shut.

Your heart aches. You’ve become so close with König over the last year working with him. You know that he’s increasingly aware and self conscious of how he is perceived without his hood. He’s explained that he prefers the anonymity of it, wanting to keep his identity to himself and those that he trusts. You’re a lucky one that he trusts, which is why it stings to watch his face fall at your reaction. You know he asked specifically for you upon returning to base meaning he trusted no one else to help him.

Your fingers shake as you gently grab his chin, tilting his face towards the warm overhead light. He still avoids your eyes, opting to stare at a blank space on the wall. You don’t take it too personally. You know how it is coming down from an adrenaline trip.

“It looks like all you’ll need is some stitches and a really good night's sleep.” You attempt to smile.

He hums in response.

You turn to the side and grab your med kit before wedging yourself between his thighs. Even with your stool all the way up it is still a struggle to reach certain spots on König’s face.

“Can you lean towards me?” you ask, squinting as you examine his upper lip.

König leans down and you adjust the overhead lamp so you can see what you’re doing. The silence as you set to work is comfortable and you notice König has ceased his fidgeting. That alone makes you breathe a little easier. You won’t push him with questions, lord knows he will get enough of them in the debrief. But you do find yourself curious enough to ask just one.

“Ghost said you asked for me specifically,” you pulled your thread taught, “why?”

“You were the only one on base.”

He’s a terrible liar. You can feel his pulse quicken under your hand.

“Hmm. Sure that’s it?” you push the question just a bit further.

“No-” he hesitates, hissing as you pull too hard on accident, “I wanted to see you.”

He isn’t fully ready to admit that he was scared so shitless that he thought he’d never get to see you again.

“I’m glad you did come see me and didn't attempt to be a tough guy about this.” you tell him, tying off your stitches.

You move on to cleaning up his minor scrapes and cuts, careful of his bruised cheek. His one good eye has finally shifted to look at you, watching you work. You catch his eye just before he looks away and smile at him. He might be blushing but it’s hard to tell with all the shit his face has gone through.

“Alright big guy,” you pat his thigh before rolling backwards in your stool, “you’re all patched up. Try to take it easy for the next day or so. I don’t want you pulling the stitches on your lip.”

He nods before standing to his full height.

“Danke,” he murmurs.

“Bitte.” you smile at him.

You turn to chart something but König catches your shoulder. You crane your head up to look at him but he’s stooping down and pressing his lips to yours before you can even get a word out. He keeps his hands well above your waist, placing both of them on your shoulders in a respectful manner.

But nothing is respectful about the way he’s kissing you, hungry and desperate. You taste copper on your tongue and you know he just pulled the stitches you just did but you don’t care because he’s pushing you up against the counter like he’s trying to become a part of you.

“Es tut mir wirklich leid." He apologizes when he pulls away, trying to back away from you. Your hands press into his chest, gripping his tactical vest, and keeping him in place.

“Why are you sorry?” You pant, gazing up at him. His eyes soften and you realize there’s a bit of green in the blue of his eyes.

“I shouldn’t have done that. I should have asked.” He murmurs. You watch his tongue poke out and lick at the blood that’s running from his stitches.

“Shit, I pulled my stitches.”

“No sweat big guy.” You breathe deeply, “I’ll stitch you back up and send you to Ghost for debrief.” You nod for him to sit back on the bed.

“Thank you.” He bows his head, cheeks ablaze.

You smile as you sit back down to re-stitch him up. The silence isn’t entirely uncomfortable but König began to bounce his leg again.

“Hey-.” You duck into his view, “don’t bounce so much I don’t want to hurt you.”

He stops and instead begins to fiddle with his fingers again until you’ve finished. When you tie off your work and toss your gloves König is already pushing himself to his feet and making his way to the door, grabbing his hood and helmet and placing them back onto his head securely.

“Hold up there big guy.” You stop him at the door, striding right up behind him.

He turns and you grab the front of his hood to bring him down to your level. His eyes widen in surprise, words caught in his throat as you lift his hood just past his nose and press a gentle kiss to his lips.

“Come see me after debrief.” You mumble against his lips, licking at the freshly stitched wound.

“S-sure-yeah-“ König stutters, eyes drooping like he’s kiss drunk already.

There’s a bang on the door and König goes flying backwards from you.

“Hold your horses Riley, he’s COMING.” You holler out the door.

“It’s a bloody busted lip! How long could it take?” Ghost yells back.

You smile up at König before pushing him back towards the door.

“Get outta here before we both get our asses chewed out.”

König smiled sheepishly before ducking out the door and hollering back at you “see you doc!”

[steddieas-shegoes]

how are you even alive?

for @steddielovemonth prompt ‘love is watching them do stupid things’

rated t | 1,351 words | cw: minor injury, suggestive language | tags: established relationship, hurt/comfort, the hurt is Steve being stubborn, the comfort is Eddie loving him even though he should accept help

♥️❤️♥️❤️♥️❤️♥️❤️♥️❤️♥️❤️♥️

Twice a year, Steve deep cleaned the house.

Eddie had never witnessed anything like it before.

It’s not that he and Wayne were slobs, but they just did what was necessary, never spending an entire week going over a checklist a mile long to cover every inch of their house.

Steve did.

He said that when he was young, his parents hired people to do it and he was always fascinated with the way the house smelled so fresh for weeks after. He loved watching something go from dusty to shiny, loved seeing the way the windows glistened without any fingerprints from him.

And as he got older, his parents stopped hiring people and just expected it to get done, so he did. And he loved it.

Eddie couldn’t understand it, but he did love the way Steve’s eyes lit up when they got to his cleaning weeks in March and September. He’d plan it all out on a notepad by room, made a list of cleaning supplies he needed, and put stars next to things Eddie would have to help him with.

There were few stars, thankfully.

Eddie didn’t really mind helping. It was his home, too, and any time spent with Steve was time well spent. But the bleach sometimes bothered his sinuses and he’d end up coughing and sneezing for two days after.

He checked the lists now and noticed his name was only on three things:

Flip mattresses

Gutter cleaning (hold ladder and refill pressure washer)

Bookshelves (remove all books, dust, put books back)

He fist pumped once at the realization that he got off easy this time, much easier than he’d been expecting.

Actually, he almost always was enlisted to help with holding the ladder when Steve dusted the-

A bang interrupted his thoughts and he ran without even thinking what it could be.

He walked into the kitchen to see Steve on their ladder, some kind of homemade cleaning solution in a spray bottle in one hand and a washcloth in the other.

“What was that noise?” Eddie asked, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched Steve reach as far as he could without falling off the ladder. He’d probably land on his feet from that height and be fine, but it wouldn’t exactly feel great.

“Dropped the other bottle I had hanging on my belt. It’s fine, just furniture polish. I can get it when I’m done dusting,” Steve was busy, barely even glanced back at Eddie as he answered.

“Why didn’t you tell me you needed a supervisor?” Eddie found the furniture polish and set it on the counter, watching as Steve furiously rubbed at the top of the cabinets.

“I don’t. But gutter cleaning is tomorrow and I’ll need one then.”

“Steve…”

“Don’t Steve me. I’m fine! I’m already halfway done.”

Eddie rolled his eyes and stepped away, not wanting to argue with Steve when he was at his happiest.

“Can you put the radio on please, baby? I forgot to before I climbed up here.”

Eddie went over to the radio on the kitchen table and turned it on, surprised to find it tuned to the rock station instead of the hits station.

“Well color me shocked! Were you listening to,” he gasped and held his chest. “Rock?”

“Yes, I was. But if you’re gonna make a big deal about it then change it to the hits,” Steves eye roll was almost audible.

“No, no. Let’s listen to Def Leppard, sweetheart. It’s been my dream for one whole minute to check out your ass while listening to Pour Some Sugar On Me.”

Steve snorted, but continued his work.

Eddie continued watching.

And then Steve wobbled a little. He caught himself, but Eddie stood up straighter.

He wobbles more and Eddie started to move towards the ladder to hold it steady.

But it was too late.

Steve was already falling.

He landed on his ass with a yelp and a groan, the washcloth and bottle flying across the floor.

“Shit, Stevie, you okay?” Eddie crouched down next to him, hands cupping his cheeks as he looked him over.

“Yeah. Just twisted my ankle a little when I tried to catch myself,” Steve gestured down at his ankle. “Might need to ice it before I clean more.”

“Maybe you should rest so it doesn’t swell.” Eddie rolled the sweatpants he was wearing up and saw the way it was already swelling. “Okay, you have no choice but to rest since it’s swelling.”

“Fuck me.”

“I can do that after we ice it,” Eddie said as he gently moved his ankle left and right to see if it was broken.

Steve snorted. “Of course this would happen the first day of my spring cleaning.”

“Maybe if you’d let me supervise earlier…”

“I never lose my balance on the ladder! I thought I’d be fine.”

“Steve, you remember how last year when you were cleaning the pool you insisted the water wouldn’t overfill because of the filters?” Eddie smirked. “And then 6 hours later we were trying to rescue your pool chairs from floating away?”

“That isn’t the same!”

“And then when we first moved in and you insisted you could paint the ceiling yourself and you insisted on handpainting instead of a roller because it wouldn't be even to you and then you dripped paint everywhere and we had to get new carpet? Remember how you ended up breaking your finger because you insisted on rolling the carpet yourself?"

"Okay, that was just bad luck."

"And when you put out the Christmas decorations last year while I was helping Wayne with his truck and I came home to you stuck on the roof?"

"Listen, I am almost 100% sure one of the neighbor kids knocked the ladder over. There was no other way!"

Eddie kissed Steve's forehead. "I'm not sure how you're even alive. You're asking for an accident to happen."

"Weren't you supposed to be getting me ice?" Steve pouted.

Eddie leaned in and nipped at his bottom lip. "You want help getting to the couch first?"

"Nope. It's cleaning week. 20 minutes with an ice pack and then I'm back to dusting."

Eddie shook his head. "You're ridiculous. We'll ice it for 20 and then you're gonna rest for at least an hour so we know if we need to wrap it and keep weight off of it."

"I'm fine, Eds."

"Humor me, sweetheart."

It's a damn good thing Steve did because an hour and a half later, they were on their way to the emergency room for x-rays.

As the doctor told them both that Steve seemed to have fractured a small bone in his ankle, Eddie did his best not to look too smug.

"It won't require a cast or boot, but I do recommend ice every couple of hours and staying off of it as much as possible for the next week or so. If anything starts to hurt worse, come back for a boot."

"Thanks, doc." Eddie waited until the doctor left the room to turn to Steve. "How about next time you want to dust above the fridge and the top of the cabinets, you let me be there to catch you?"

"Yeah, yeah. Fine."

Eddie kissed his lips softly, barely brushed them just in case someone decided to walk in again. "You want me to stop on the way home to get some more pain meds?"

"Please."

"You hurtin'?"

"A little."

"You want me to take your mind off it?" Eddie wiggled his brows suggestively. "I can keep your ankle elevated, even."

"We'll see when we get home. But you know what?"

"What?"

"Someone has to do the cleaning, baby. Since I can't, looks like you've got a checklist to get to."

"Or we could just put off the cleaning until your ankle heals."

Steve shook his head. "No, I think you can handle it. I'll supervise."

"You're lucky you're so pretty," Eddie groaned.

"Don't forget I'm also very good at sucking your-"

"Yeah, yeah. Okay. Let's go before you get us discriminated against."

[laladellakang]

burgundy lipstick

masterlist | wattpad

italics dialogue = english

how the dark blood: engene ver. photocard shoot played out

real quick! i personally don't think that neck kisses have to be racy, like a peck to the neck is brief and innocent 

but the one i'm referring to in heeseung's relationship with della is the racy one, whoops.

The Dark Blood, Engene's version album. The most anticipated version among fans and the Enhypen members themselves.

The source behind the members' excitement? A neck-kiss that was supposed to take place.

For the photocard, all members but Niki were set to bear a kiss mark on their neck, with Della's lips serving as the boys' human-stamp and whoever wins rock-paper-scissors as Della's.

Yet the execution was cut short. Very short.

"Kiss here?" Della pointed at the side of Jungwon's neck. The first person appointed was decided by the staff. Perhaps Jungwon was chosen because he was the leader.

His coming-of-age could be an alternate reason. Since he is a recent adult, the staff wanted to check if it works with him.

And of course, there's always a possibility of the choice being completely random.

"Yup, just there. Maybe have it slightly askew," as the creative director and Della discussed placements, the young leader grew more nervous at the thought of his first ever neck-kiss.

"Okay, understood," Della mirror-lessly smeared on a burgundy lipstick, smacking her lips at the camera pointed at them. The rest of the members were all watching from afar, trying to be subtle with how excited they are for their turn. "Ready, Wonie?"

"Mm," Jungwon stretched out his neck for easier access. "Della is gonna make a kiss print on my neck," he explained to the future photoshoot sketch viewers.

"We're all friends here," Della clarified. "This is just bros being bros," as if their fans (or anyone) is gonna believe that.

"It's just a print," Jungwon added, immediately holding his breath when Della's head moved close.

"Like this?" Della asked the creative director.

"Uhh..." he stepped back and thought of it for a second. "It might be too sexy actually. It's a little too... suggestive– too grown up" he hissed with a tilt of his head. "Will buttoning up his shirt help? Jungwon, can you button your shirt?" but even with the slight change in wardrobe, the view was just too provocative.

"I think we have to discard the kiss idea and just switch to vampire bites," the creative director decided. "Unbutton them to how it was before and I'll inform the makeup team of the change. Please scrap this from the video," he informed before walking away.

As a leader, Jungwon was just hoping that his hyungs could get it together and not openly show their disappointment.

"I'll get going now," Della bowed her head and left to join the other members.

"What happened?" Sunghoon asked the girl. 

"The kiss thing is scrapped. We're getting vampire bites instead," immediately after, the boys let out a chorus of 'ahh..'s. 

Jungwon barely managed to hold in a scoff. It's just one tiny neck kiss, what's the big deal?

"Ya– how can they just cancel the kiss after testing it out on Jungwon?" Sunghoon groaned and threw his head back. After the shoots, all eight members were left alone in the green room to prep themselves before heading off, and it seems like the oldest five still held some unresolved feelings.

"They said it was too suggestive and sexy," Jungwon explained. "We all agreed that it is, didn't we?"

"I knowww, but couldn't they just make all of us get the mark first and THEN have it removed?" Sunghoon replied. "And while they're at it, NOT remove it from the behind episode?"

"Why? What difference does it ma–" Jungwon was cut off by Jay.

"It's easy for you to say! You were first up!" he pointed with a grin. Sometimes It's hard to tell whether he's actually serious with the second maknae. He usually gives out a smile while saying certain things. "You could quickly snap a few selfies and post it on Weverse or something. What a missed opportunity."

"What?" Jungwon seriously, truly did not understand what the big deal was.

"That's why I should've been first– they should've gone by age or something." Heeseung added with a sigh, manspreading on the sofa. "Della, darling, come here please," he pat his lap. 

"No, you're staying here," Jake wrapped his arms around Della, who was already on his lap. "Hyung, if we went by age then Jungwon will be first anyway since he's leader."

"That's not what he meant." Sunoo pushed Jake lightly with a giggle. "Like actually just age without consideration for leader."

"Ah is that so?" Jake monotonously said. "I want a lipstick print in public mannn!" he groaned out loud.

"I already imagined mine to be around here," Sunoo stretched his collar to show his collarbone. "What do you think, hyung?"

"It doesn't matter what we think if you're not getting it at the end of the day," Sunghoon replied, smirking at the pout the younger let out. "I imagined mine to be near my throat."

"Well it doesn't matter when you're not getting it at the end of the day!" Sunoo fired back with wide eyes.

"Ish!" Sunghoon balled up his fist with a grin. "Ya–"

"I wanted mine to be here, kinda," Heeseung distracted the two by pointing on the spot under his ear, just where Jungwon got his.

"Isn't that your sweet spot?" Jake asked. Della immediately scoffed out a laugh at his remark.

"How do you know where Heeseung-oppa's sweet spot is?" she laughed. The female member will never stop teasing her boyfriends about their never-fully-straight behaviour. 

"Anyways! I wanted mine around–" Jake tried to change the subject.

"Aish, get over yourselves, hyungs! I wasn't even set to get one," Niki laid his head on Heeseung's lap. "Stop being so horny," ever since he learned the Korean word for 'horny, he's been constantly using it to tease the older members.

"We're not!" the hyuppas and Sunoo protested.

 "With no mark on me, I was gonna look left out of the relationship," Niki muttered and closed his eyes.

"We're sorry, Niki," "We're really sorry, we didn't mean to," the members apologised.

"It's totally cool. Besides, if it's the neck kisses you're after, you could all just ask Della for one like any other day, simple as that."

"Of course! You need to give me some once we get home!" Sunghoon pointed at Della.

"Ya, ya, ya– me too! I want neck kisses too!" Jay sat up straight.

"Of course! You can't just leave any of us out!" Heeseung added.

"Why are you leaving me out then-" Niki was cut off by Sunoo.

"It's not your time yettt." he whined.

During times like these, Della usually stays out of the bickering. She can easily put a stop to it, but where's the fun in that?

Without a word, she got off of Jake's lap and made her way over to Niki, where she placed a chaste kiss on his neck.

"YA, YA, YA, YA, YA! What is happening?!" as his hyungs protested, Niki cheered and pulled Della in for a cuddle. Jungwon, Della and Sunoo were the only ones laughing.

'My men are absolutely adorable,' Della thought.

"You're laying on my lap and you do this to me?!" Heeseung playfully yelled at Niki.

"Maknae on top! Maknae on top!" Niki laughed, pointing at Jungwon and himself. Jungwon clapped his hand as he laughed aloud.

Being up first for the shoot has its perks.

accidentally posted my draft for this and deleted the original ask

check out jungwon’s pov here! (15+? 16+??)

taglist! @afiaaaa19 @riikiblr @i90snoo @one16core @danyxthirstae01 @seulgifted @clar-iii @hiqhkey @nichmeddar @jiwlys @duolingofanaccount @nvmbheart [@studioreader @sarang-wonie @fairydosii @hoonstrology @jaetint @4sahii @8-itsmee-8 @toriluvsfics ]

[jo-harrington]

Stranger Than (Fan)Fiction - Chapter 3: Lore Dump

Previous Chapter: Out of Character

Summary: After your bombshell revelation, Eddie finds it difficult to wrap his head around what is now his reality to empathize with your shared predicament.

Word Count: 8k

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Fem!Reader

Warnings/Themes: No-Upside-Down AU, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Lore Dump (literally), Isekai, Mentions of FOI-compliant events and characters, Various References to Movies and Television, Criticism of Fanfiction, Meta Fiction

Note: Ok besties here we are and the chapter, or at least one part of it, is very much as the title says. It's a Lore Dump as we figure out how Reader and Eddie have found themselves in this predicament. Warning everyone that it might be a little mind-fucky but a lot more will be explained in detail in future chapters. We've only just scratched the surface here.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

You'd never run so much in your entire life.

Alright, that might have been a little dramatic.

But that didn't mean it wasn't true.

"Is it always like this?" you panted as you chased after the flopping brown coat of the man a few steps ahead of you. "With the running?"

"Oh yes!" he called out. He looked back at you with a charming, crooked grin and pointed ahead. "You'll get used to it. Allons-y!"

This whole nightmare started when you crashed your car into, what you thought was, an unassuming blue "police box."

And now, several days later, you were running, ducking, diving...surviving all manner of monsters that seemingly popped up out of nowhere in the middle of Texas. With a goofy man with unbrushed hair and a buzzing screwdriver called The Doctor, and his companion--whatever that meant; it sounded suspicious to you--Martha, who kept staring at you like you'd grown another head.

You supposed adventure was the idea when you left the borders of Port Geneva proper, but this kind of adventure wasn't exactly what you had in mind. Static monsters who could literally take the words out of your mouth and a hive-mind controlling overlord whose goal it was to steal knowledge.

You might have been a lover of fantastical stories, but this was something beyond your wildest fantasies, and apparently something Martha and the Doctor encountered regularly, if their cool reaction to some of the atrocities you'd seen was indicator enough.

They both seemed to have it in mind that you were joining them for this type of ordeal from now on, though.

Especially the Doctor, if that "you'll get used to it" was something to go by.

"Come on, faster, faster," Martha called out to you from the threshold of a solid metal door just up ahead. "They can't get in through the iron."

You pumped your legs faster and ignored the burn in your lungs as you passed the Doctor and joined Martha in the safety of the bunker, with the man of the hour himself following shortly after. Martha slammed the door shut and then used the sonic to ensure the lock would hold.

They let you have a moment to catch your breath as they strategized plans for the next steps, which seemed impossible now that you were stuck in a bunker filled with junk and no exit.

"Nothing's impossible," the Doctor exclaimed as though he could read your mind. Maybe he could; you wouldn't put it past him. "And we're not stuck."

He removed the brown trench coat and got to work sorting through the junk in the bunker, while Martha took a seat beside you and patted your knee.

"You should be proud of yourself," she said gently. "It's really hard, dealing with all of this. And I've been with him for almost a year now. All the running, the monsters, all of the...impossible--

"Nothing's impossible Martha," the Doctor interjected.

"--improbable things," she amended. "It doesn't get easier, but you will get used to it. Besides, you'd think you were on the track team like Sam with how fast you've been running. Maybe you should have been the star relay runner instead of her."

Martha might have laughed.

But you didn't.

You felt a cold sense of dread overtake you. You'd told them about your friends back home earlier in the day, when you'd panicked over your impending doom. You cried and told them you wished you were still back there, safe and sound; in hindsight, it was a pathetic moment.

It wasn't what you'd said that gave you pause now, though; it's what you hadn't.

"Martha," you muttered nervously. "How did you know that Sam did relay?"

Martha's eyes went wide and she looked to the doctor in a sudden panic.

"I...I never told you she was on the track team."

It was a standoff.

A staring contest.

You and Eddie watched each other, unblinking, as if to see who would break first.

Eddie knew it would probably be him because his mind was racing, but he would give you the chance to repeat yourself, or elaborate, or maybe yell "surprise" first.

None of those things happened of course, so he was left in stunned silence trying to formulate the words to respond to your groundbreaking revelation.

We are in a fanfiction.

Fanfiction.

He had heard about fanfiction before. Drove the guys out to some comic book shop in Fort Wayne to celebrate Jeff's birthday and the nerds behind the counter were talking about a Star Trek fanfiction they read in some celebratory fan magazine.

He'd honestly never thought about Kirk and Spock like that and he really didn't want to again.

Even though it kind of made sense.

He just wasn’t that big of a Trek guy either.

But damn, even though he and the guys might not have been the popular kids, they were definitely not dorky like that, were they?

Except that they were. He was.

He wrote his favorite characters into his DnD campaigns as NPCs and he fantasized about what it would be like if he was Han Solo instead of Han himself, and tucked away in a drawer at home, there was definitely that story about you...

"Shit," he finally breathed out, blinking and breaking eye contact with you. "Shit, I did this. I mean, I know I did this, but did...did I do this?"

"What?" You frowned at him. "What do you mean, did you do this? Eddie, did you hear what I said?"

"No, yeah, of course I did," he began rambling. "I just...before you showed up in Hawkins, I...I wrote about you. I wrote about you leaving Port Geneva and coming to Hawkins and meeting me and...fuck...that means you know."

You stared at him blankly.

"You know that Port Geneva is a TV show," he clarified and then ran a hand through his hair. "Jesus Christ, how did I...how could I have done this? Shit. Shit."

You crossed the short distance and took a seat on the couch beside him, comforting hand finding his knee instantly.

"Eddie--"

"I'm sorry I did this. I'm sorry I just...you're my...my favorite character and I..."

"--you didn't do this. Someone else did."

He took a few breaths, heart pounding in his chest, and then swallowed hard.

"Who?"

"That's...a little harder to answer. But I think the thing you need to focus on right now--the thing you're missing--is that we are in a fanfiction. You and me. Together. Because I'm not the only one from a TV show. You are too."

Eddie was dumbstruck for a second.

Well, he was pretty dumbstruck about this whole thing. But he only had a second to really process it, because the next thing he knew, you were in his lap, lips pressed to his, hands fisting his jacket, and the door to the greenroom burst open as his friends walked in.

You pulled away from him as the catcalls and whistles and jokes began and glanced over your shoulder at the guys to bite your lip bashfully.

"Ah, looks like the original song worked after all," Jeff teased.

"Good, cuz then we don't have to play it anymore, bleh," Gareth stuck his tongue out. "You know, for everything you preach about metal and only metal Eddie, you sure wrote some sappy Greg Brady shit."

Eddie's ears rang as he answered. Well, as his mouth moved and voice spoke, saying something that got everyone laughing. Something that he had no control over once again. You turned back to him and he widened his eyes in some silent plea but you simply shook your head at him.

Instead you leaned forward and kissed him again, softer this time. Gentler. Different from the unexpected kiss just moments before, this was one of understanding and comfort.

He relaxed under your touch.

"Alright guys," you announced as you pulled away, words and tone of your voice not quite matching the softness of your gaze as you continued to watch him. "Your set's over. You don't have to go home but you can't stay here. Bev wants you out."

"What was all of that?" he demanded as you stepped out of your car.

After driving the guys home, he sat on your porch and waited. Chain smoking and lost in his thoughts until you got back to Forest Hills after your shift.

"Can I at least get inside first?" you asked with a nervous laugh. "Do you want to wake Granny up? Jesus."

He was on your heels as you unlocked your door and stepped inside, almost followed you to your bedroom when you said you'd wanted to change into PJs, and even declined a soda when you got settled back in the living room.

And once you couldn't stall for any more time, sitting next to each other on your couch, he stared at you and begged, "please, I need to know I'm not in a nightmare here. Or dead."

You let out a honk of laughter and then reached over to take his hand in yours, and he felt the slight edge of abject terror start to lessen.

"You're not in a nightmare," you reassured him. "Or dead."

"Then...then what is this?" he whispered desperately. "Is this a trick? A joke? Start from the beginning. Please."

You took a breath and began.

"It's fanfiction." You hummed contemplatively for a moment. "This is...I don't know when it started, actually. For me, that is. For you...well, there's no way we could say for sure; I can only talk about my own experience."

You paused and then said your name, the same way that you had introduced yourself originally. And then Eddie realized that you were introducing yourself again as you squeezed his hand in yours.

"I was born and raised in Port Geneva, and then in 1985 after graduation, I left to start my adventure. And from that moment on--for years--I got to have it. I got to have...a hundred adventures. A thousand. A million maybe? As many adventures as there have been people to imagine them. As many adventures as there have been fans to write them.

"Fans like you, Eddie," you smiled at him. "You said you wrote a story where I came to see you."

"Yeah," he nodded, cheeks hot under your gaze. "I did."

"And I'm your favorite character?"

He thought about you, thought about himself and the countless nights that he watched you on the screen.

"How could you not be my favorite?" he asked gently in return.

Your gaze turned soft and you looked down at his hand, clasped tightly within yours, and then you continued with your story.

"I got to see the world, got to meet so many people, I got to fall in love...except I never realized it. Until...until I met him."

"Him?" Eddie asked sharply, thoughts immediately spiraling.

Love.

You said love.

Who was this Him that you were in love with? Even through Eddie's confusion and panic about the predicament he was currently in, he could still feel a bitter jealousy roiling deep inside his gut.

"The Doctor," you whispered.

"Doctor Who?"

You snorted. "Exactly."

"I don't get it," he shook his head.

"Doctor Who...that's...it's the name of a television show. Been around for a long time, but I'm not sure how popular it is here. If it even exists. You have a lot of media that we didn't have in Port Geneva but there's a few things that...I dunno...that your writers haven't mentioned. Or The Writer hasn't included yet."

You explained it to him, or the gist of it at least.

An immortal time-traveling alien and his usually human companion, all of the adventures and misadventures and danger. Being able to go to different times and timelines and universes.

In any other scenario, it would have sounded cool. Maybe a little scary. But now, all Eddie could think about was this mess you were in.

"And...this Doctor...he's what brought you to Hawkins?" he questioned hesitantly, figuring that it made the most sense. "He thought he was bringing you back to Port Geneva's universe and brought you here instead?"

"Uh, no," you frowned. "That was The Writer. The Author. Whatever you want to call them."

"Because this is a fanfiction."

"Yeah. That was. And this is. I just...didn't know it yet. I didn't realize it was fanfiction until later. But, uh, whoever wrote that crossover story just brought me from my world into Doctor Who, and that was when I realized I was a fictional character from a TV Show. Because they wrote me as a character who jumped from a television show into the 'real world' of the Doctor and his friends."

Just like you were now: a fictional character in his world.

"It's hard to explain, but the Doctor made me aware of it. Made it make sense." You faltered. "Well...not really, but that's when it started. He told me that I wasn't real--"

"Wait,” he interrupted you. “But you said I was from a tv show back at the hideout. So you're telling me I'm not real?"

"Ed--"

"Because you’re from a tv show and so am I and this Doctor is too.”

“I wouldn’t try to think about it so hard.”

“Is that...the Doctor told you that you were a character in a TV show and you weren't real? And that's what you're telling me right now too?"

"It's hard to explain--"

"Because I don't know sweetheart," Eddie chuckled sardonically and shook his hands out of yours so he could run them over his face, through his hair. "I...I feel plenty real. And if there's anyone who isn't real here...well, I have a stack of video tapes back home that can provide enough evidence."

He’d thought about the barebones of it when he’d been outside waiting for you to get home, but faced with the truth of it now, the dominoes were starting to fall.

He was real, he had to be. His whole life, all of his memories, all of his friends, what about th—

"Can you let me fucking finish?" you snapped at him with a sharp clap.

His shoulders heaved and he stared at you with wild eyes.

"You're real," you explained calmly. "I'm real. We're both real. Real people. Real lives. Real memories. For the most part."

Eddie didn't like the sound of that.

"But this world...is your world and I don't belong here. Just like I didn't belong in the Doctor's world either. He explained it to me in some way I didn't quite understand; I'm just a girl from the midwest. I barely graduated high school and suddenly he was telling me there was some cosmic anomaly that pulled me out of my world, my tv show world, and that I was transported into his world. It was wild.

“The important thing though was that he didn't know how to get me home. So, until he could figure it out, I was stuck. And I traveled with him for a while. With him and his friend Martha…and then with another friend Donna. Until somewhere at the end of it all...I died."

Eddie's heart stopped in his chest; you...died?

The question was stuck on his lips, the demand to know more, but he felt himself choke up when he thought about it. Even more when he watched the tears well in your eyes as you remembered your own death.

"I died alone, bleeding out in the middle of an alien planet..." you recalled, wrenching your eyes shut. There was a beat of silence and he let you have a moment to recover. He watched your eyes dart around beneath your eyelids as you gathered your thoughts, as you recalled whatever horror you went through. When you were through, you blinked and looked up at him with the weight of a thousand truths in your gaze. "And then I wasn't dead anymore."

"What?!"

"Well obviously I'm alive,” you motioned down to yourself. “Maybe I’m a little worse for wear inside but I’m fine. Back then though...I was dead. One second I was in oblivion. And then next, I woke up in the driver's seat of my car, outside of a hotel in Odessa, Texas. With a man from the future named Hiro Nakamura, who told me I had to save the cheerleader if I wanted to save the world.

"And it all just started over again," you sighed.

You recounted this next place to him. Places, actually; plural. Names that meant nothing to him but seemed to mean something to you--Hiro, Claire, Peter, Sylar--and it all sounded fantastic. Another unbelievable adventure, but there was still something off.

"I...I tried to ask questions. About where I was, about where the Doctor was. It was always ignored. I tried to control things but it seemed like I couldn't, no matter how hard I tried. Tried to do things that I instinctively knew I wanted to do, but I just couldn't. It seemed like there was something controlling me instead. Like I was a puppet on a string. And everything that happened around me...never seemed to make any sense, no matter how hard I tried to wrap my head around it.

"Sound familiar?" you asked.

Eddie scoffed, thinking about the traumatic, out of control moments he had had the past few days. That hopeless, helpless, sinking feeling he'd had.

"It fucking sucks, sweetheart. You feel like that...all the time?"

"You get used to it." You shook your head. "Get used to playing along. I learned that really quickly; I resigned myself to this life where I was just a passenger in my own body. Until I realized if I just played the part that whatever forces-that-be wanted me to play, I could have a little more control."

There was a tense pause as you let Eddie absorb the information. And absorb it he did. He didn't like it, the idea that he had to play a part; it was something he'd been fighting all his life. But maybe if you said it was something that would make him feel more in control, he could try.

He turned to the next thought ever-present in his mind.

"So," he cleared his throat to start again. "How do you know this is a fanfiction? When did you figure that out? Because...when you showed up, I thought about all the possibilities--a dream, a nightmare, hell, heaven, a portal, a wormhole like in a comic book--and that was never one of them."

"Because of the interviews."

"Interviews..."

"They're fun and silly, I guess," you shrugged apathetically. "You'll be in the middle of your life, middle of your day, middle of a fight...and then the world goes dark and you'll find yourself sitting in a room alongside the people you know...and The Writer. An Interview with the Characters.

"I was already familiar with the fact that I was from a television show and in a world I didn't belong in. But I was the only person aware of that fact; to the Doctor, I was a fictional character, but here Port Geneva the television show...didn't exist. I was just another citizen of planet earth, and my home was a real place on the map, as real as Odessa or New York.

"But suddenly my friends and I were in that room sitting in front of someone. A writer. The Writer--SylaireIsMyOTP117--and they were all aware that they were characters in a television show called Heroes, that I was a character from Port Geneva, and that we were all in some kind of...story in another universe, written by this SylaireismyOTP117. Something they never seemed aware of before.

"And SylaireismyOTP117...she acted like she was our friend too, like she had our best interest in mind and valued our opinions. Everyone laughed along with all of her jokes. Answered all of her questions. Except me, because then it all came into perspective. She was the one playing with our lives--playing with my life--and putting us in danger. She made us travel through time to dangerous places, she created more dangers, she even killed Peter's older brother--something that apparently hadn't happened in the show. Well...not yet anyway."

Your hands clenched and unclenched.

"I thought I figured it out," you said through gritted teeth. "Found the person responsible for this predicament I was in. Because she was so...sure of herself. She even had the audacity to apologize for pulling me out of my world and into Heroes. I asked her why she made me die with the Doctor just so I could be a part of this world instead... but she didn't know what I was talking about.

"Suddenly she had this pink magazine in her hand. Pulled it out of her back pocket and waved it around, saying she found it in her mom's childhood bedroom. Said I must have been thinking about one of the stories from it. The Port Geneva Teen Fanzine. SylaireismyOTP117 told me she was sad that people had written me the way they did. Out of Character. That she wanted to give me something better than than had. A better adventure. Then the interview was over. And that was the end of that. Or just the beginning actually.

"Mystery solved." You held your hands out in front of you like you were presenting the secrets of the universe. Eddie could even imagine a glowing sphere floating there if he tried hard enough.

You started naming names then, of movies and books and television shows. Heroes and Lost and Vampire Diaries and The Dark Knight.

And. And. And.

The list just kept going and going.

It made Eddie's head spin to hear all of the places you had been, all of the lives you had lived, the things that all of these Writers had put you through.

To hear how sometimes you'd wake up in a new world, sometimes you'd seemingly get your happily ever after, sometimes none of the above. Sometimes you were even back home in Port Geneva--relieved--only to get ripped away all over again.

It never seemed to end the same way, but it always started with you in the driver's seat of your car. Chugging along to the next destination. Sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse.

"And that's how you ended up here in Hawkins?" Eddie asked, then paused. "Do you know...what my show is called?"

"Uh," you winced and folded your hands together in your lap. "Yes. I do. And I know it seems like I know all of these things. I don’t. Rarely, actually. But sometimes the Writers think they're funny and they work the title into the story; that’s how I find out. Because it's out of place.

"But, uh, it’s not the first time I've been here in Hawkins, actually."

It was a record scratch moment for Eddie.

"You...you have?" He smiled and suddenly felt a sense of hope; alright, so his love for you was so undeniable that this wasn't the first time someone had brought you to him. To give him something good in his miserable shit life. "Well so, what happened last time? Why can't I remember? Is that just...well, I guess, what makes this time different? Why am I aware of it all this time?

"Wait! Wait! What's my show about? Is it...is it like...the Misadventures of a Wannabe Rockstar or something? You said that when we had breakfast at Benny's. Is that the title? It has to be."

He rambled for a second, excitedly trying to predict his future, a future where you got to see the ups and downs of his life as he and Corroded Coffin navigated their way to fame.

You let him ramble, let him live in hope for those few moments. Until he realized you weren't chattering excitedly with him.

Until he saw the pain in your eyes.

He deflated, mind suddenly turning to the worst scenarios. At least in his mind.

"We don't make it, do we?" Was the conclusion he could come to. "But it's Wannabe Rockstar, right?. Not Future Rockstar. I'm gonna end up working at Thatcher Tires instead or something. Dead end job, stuck in this town..."

"It isn't your show," you whispered. "Just like Port Geneva...wasn't really mine."

Eddie swallowed hard.

"It's called Stranger Things," you explained. "And it's...I dunno...there are monsters. The first time I was here, I wasn't transported in as someone's favorite TV character. It was 1983, Port Geneva was a real place, and I was a transfer student at Hawkins High. And awful things happened. But there was no Eddie Munson. They must've written you in later in the show."

You continued your own rambling then, as you tried to make him feel better about it all. How he must've been a beloved character for someone to write a story about him. How whatever story they were writing was a good story too, because there didn't seem to be any monsters in Hawkins, not like there were the first time you'd been there.

"And...and The Writer of this story must love you a lot," you concluded. "To bring your favorite tv character in to be your girlfriend. For us to...like each other, love each other--and I do like you Eddie, I want to make that very clear. You make me feel like I'm close to home for the first time in a long time--but it seems like they want to give you a happy ending too. One you deserve."

But your words didn't help. The sinking feeling was back, but this time The Writer didn't have anything to do with it.

It was him, all him. All this misery and he wasn't even the main character of his own show. He should've seen that coming. And yeah he could live with being someone's favorite, enough for them to write a happy ending or something but...

"'s that mean I have a sad ending in the show?" he wondered. "If there are usually monsters here but there aren't, and I get something...something good, does that mean I die or something?"

"Eddie, it's..." you trailed off, but the rest of the sentence was hanging in the air, clear to both of you.

It's better not to think about it that way.

He nodded slowly and pulled his hand away from you to run it over his face.

It was confusing, it was upsetting.

All of it.

The cherry on top of the shit sundae that was his week. His life.

Fuck, but none of it was real, right? Contrary to everything you said. So could he really be upset? Should he? At least he knew he had something good to look forward to. A happy ending.

But how could he look forward to it when he knew that...well, when he knew that he didn't deserve it in the first place. That wasn't what fate had in store for him.

Or the writers of this Stranger Things show.

His happiness was at the whim of The Writer. At the whim of some...loser nerd writing about him in another universe.

A nerd just like him.

Fuck, it was giving him a headache.

"I uh...have a lot to think about," he whispered. You nodded as he stood and crossed towards the door of your trailer so he could leave. He paused at the door, instinctively remembering that he had to kiss you goodbye. Until everything hit him all over again and he decided it was better not to. "I'll, uh, I'll call you. Ok?"

"Yeah," you nodded eagerly. "Call me whenever. Please. It's...it is a lot. And honestly, we only scratched the surface. But we can figure the rest out together. I can help you through it. I promise. I'll be here."

He left without another word.

Denial was the easiest way for Eddie to go about this whole ordeal, or so he thought. How the fuck else was someone supposed to come to terms with the fact that...

Nope he wasn't gonna go there. Not yet.

He knew that he would need to deal with it eventually--need to think it through and talk to you--but until then, he was just going to live his life like he normally would.

So he avoided those feelings, and avoided you.

And it seemed to work.

School, home, trip to Rick's to re-up his inventory on Wednesday, grocery run for Wayne on Thursday, Hellfire on Friday, no date on Saturday.

Dealing at a few parties, band practice where the music was all normal, and then finally back at the Hideout for their gig on Tuesday.

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

It was a normal week and aside from the still-obvious markers of this new life he was living, like the mess in the trailer and the fancy renovations at the Hideout, Eddie felt relieved and a little less like he was about to lose his mind.

It was both a blessing and a curse though, because at the end of every day he realized just how much missed you.

You'd rooted yourself solidly in his life--both on tv and now in the flesh--for years. Even when he didn't have new episodes to watch and stories to enjoy, he had his reruns. His tapes. Then you were suddenly there in person and on the phone.

So the you-shaped hole that he punched in his life, when he decided to ignore his predicament, was gaping and obvious.

Yeah, he could tell Wayne about the great battle he'd come up with for Hellfire, or complain to the guys about the bogus chemistry homework. But it wasn't the same. Not anymore.

So he resolved to talk to you on Tuesday after the set, only you weren't there.

"Shouldn't you know Junior? That's your girl," Bev dismissed him with a wave of her hand. She must have taken pity on him at the sight of his sad eyes, and she just sighed and continued. "She called in sick. Took the night off. She seemed fine yesterday; better not be cuz of you, kid."

He feared you might have left town, maybe to spare him or something--how that would work with the fanfiction Gods? Weren't you supposed to stay in Hawkins? He wasn't sure--but your car was in front of your trailer by the time he got home.

Everything was quiet, and all the lights were off, even the porch light which you usually kept on. He debated knocking on your door, waking you up, but decided against it.

If you really were trying to give him space, or simply avoid him like he had avoided you, it was best not to wake you up and piss you off.

"Tomorrow," he told himself. "I'll talk to her after school tomorrow."

Of course, that was the plan and fanfiction or not, sometimes even the best laid plans went awry.

He was still Eddie Munson, after all.

Things never went his way.

Once again, he had Chrissy Cunningham to thank for his plight.

It was on this, the day of his reconciliation with you, that she decided her hunt or conquest or humiliation of him would take place.

Maybe all of the above.

It was raining, he was running late.

He would have cut classes--should have just cut--but despite all odds being against him now more than ever, he promised himself that he was going to try when it came to school.

He had just opened the door to his locker when she appeared, the tips of her pristine white sneakers kissing the sides of his muddied converse.

"Hey Eddie!" Chrissy greeted with a too-big smile and sparkling eyes.

Eddie jumped and looked around the hallway, conveniently lacking its usual amount of students who loitered around before class. Thankfully, no other cheerleaders or jocks in sight either, though; it was either a blessing or a curse, he couldn't tell for sure.

"Hey, uh," he coughed and glanced at Chrissy for a second, before distracting himself with the contents of his locker. Fuck, it was pretty messy in there too; now was as good a time as any to clean it. "What's up?"

"Nothing, I just wanted to talk to you," she beamed.

He felt a bubbling of annoyance build within him, somewhat out of his control.

"You can't want to talk to me and also not want anything Chrissy," he scoffed pretty harshly as he grabbed a handful of papers to sort through. "So do you want to buy weed for a slumber party or something? Or have you suddenly decided to throw your Homecoming crown in the trash so you could join Hellfire ?"

She shuffled her feet and clutched her books to her chest and then took a deep breath.

"I wanted to know if you'd like to hang out some time," she announced loudly, bravely. Eddie froze in shock and then turned to her; her cheeks were red but there was a resolve in her eyes that he'd never seen in her before. "There's a new movie playing at the Hawk. Clue. I don't know if you've heard of it, it looks a little spooky..."

She rambled on and Eddie was left to stare at her, dumbfounded.

Chrissy Cunningham? Asking him out? Ok so Gareth was right?

But was Gareth right? Was she really hot for him or was she just using him for her own amusement? Or was this another little...storytelling mishap that the Writer was putting him through?

Shit, how could he tell?

This kind of shit sort of always, sort of never happened to him before.

Plenty of popular girls thought it was fun to go out with The Freak just to get off or to have a laugh, sure. But everything else in his life was turning upside down thanks to the Writer. So was this just another layer to that absolute shit show?

Gah, what the fuck could it be?

The anger bubbled inside of him again, and he had the vaguest realization that the anger didn't really belong to him. It felt too intense, almost manufactured. He was hit with the sense of deja vu that he'd felt this way before--in the cafeteria before the almost-food-fight and then at Family Video--and he decided to put a stop to it immediately.

"Listen Chrissy," he interrupted her with a cool, indifferent tone. "The movie sounds cool, but I'm really not interested in going out with you." He turned back to shut his locker and get to class when she stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"If this is because of Jason," she began softly. "I'm...you don't have to worry. I'd break up with him if we went out."

"It's not about Jason," he snapped, out of control once again. Well and truly out of control. He felt himself shrug her hand away. "I have a girlfriend. A girlfriend who is actually cool and nice and interesting. Who likes the things that I like and doesn't like silly things like magazines and cheer and scrunchies." He watched in horror as he lifted his hand and flicked at her ponytail, and then felt angry at himself, at this situation, at The Writer when Chrissy flinched and dropped her books on the floor.

"It's almost funny that you'd think I'd be interested in someone like you," he spat at her venomously.

He felt the sudden urge to slam the locker, felt the urge to walk away, felt the urge to laugh in Chrissy's face.

But he resisted all of those urges with every fiber of his being.

He just stood there until the puppet strings were cut once again and he felt the rage and anger dissipate.

All the while, Chrissy went from a fearful, trembling mess in front of him, eyes welling with tears, to...nothing.

She just stood there too.

She looked down at her feet, shuffled back and forth for a moment, and then she scuffed her shoes against the floor, nudging the fallen textbooks.

She suddenly didn't look like Queen of Hawkins High Chrissy Cunningham, or someone that was afraid of the Wrath of the Freak, or some lash-batting temptress like she had been just moments ago.

She just looked like the girl who was hiding in the Auditorium at the Hawkins Middle School talent show all those years ago.

A person. Just like him.

Eddie cleared his throat and knelt down to help Chrissy pick up her books.

"Sorry," he muttered when she knelt beside him. "Sorry I--"

"No, it's ok. I guess...I don't know. I guess I just felt a little lost for a while," she explained softly. "And the only thing that seemed like it could fix it was you."

Interesting.

"But not anymore?" he wondered.

"Uh, no," she shook her head. "I don't even know...why I asked you out Eddie. No offense...but you're not really my type."

The two of them laughed for a second as they stood back up.

"You know," Eddie turned Chrissy's books over in his hand, "if you wanna break up with Carver, you can just do that. You don't need to use me as an excuse."

She froze in front of him, cheeks red again, as she hummed nervously.

"Thanks Eddie," she whispered. They both smiled softly, a silent understanding shared between them, and then Chrissy held out her books so he could stack the ones in his hand atop them.

And that's when he saw the book--magazine--at the top of her stack.

A pink-covered, handmade looking thing with a familiar name printed at the top of it.

Port Geneva Teen Fanzine.

His heart stopped.

That was the thing you said your Writer had shown you once upon a time, in your Interview.

For a second he wondered how Chrissy had it, but then he tried to figure out the logic that you were from a TV show and transported here. If he was a fan, there must be other people watching the show and fans of it too. Maybe the magazine transcended universes. Just like the show did.

It honestly made his head hurt trying to think about it.

"You...you like Port Geneva?" he asked, trying to remain as casual as possible.

"Hmm, yeah," Chrissy smiled down at the 'zine. "It's one of my favorite shows. My mom and I used to watch it together. Sam is my favorite character."

Somehow, that didn't surprise him one bit.

"Do you watch?" she questioned, brow quirked curiously. "It doesn't seem like your kind of show."

"I mean, I'm full of surprises," he teased, trying to keep his tone as lighthearted as possible. "But, uh...yeah. I used to."

"It's a bummer that it's over right?"

"Yeah...hey Chrissy, I know you don't owe me any favors or anything but, uh, can I borrow that?"

"Seriously?" she snorted. "It's just got like personality quizzes and little stories and stuff in it. Nothing special."

Little stories? Bingo.

"Yeah, just curious."

"Sure." They traded her textbooks for the magazine, and then with a shrill ring of the bell overhead, they went off to class.

He sat in his room after school, holding the Port Geneva Teen Fanzine like it was some sacred document not meant for the eyes of a mere mortal peasant like him.

The Dead Sea Scrolls or the Magna Carta or The Declaration of Independence.

It had burned a hole in his backpack the whole day, anticipation getting the better of him, but he knew that he didn't want to read the 'zine in front of his friends.

"So stupid," he scoffed at his own antics. "What was gonna happen? Davey wouldn't want to take the 'which character would make the best chemistry lab partner' quiz."

Maybe just in case there was something just inside the pink paper cover that would change his life forever.

"Like what? It's not like your yearbook picture's gonna be on the first page, idiot," he sighed and tightened his grip on the magazine. "Just gotta rip off that bandaid."

He closed his eyes tightly, took a breath, and flipped open the cover.

When he cracked one eye open to take a peek, he sighed in relief.

His face wasn't staring back up at him. No faces, actually. Just a table of contents that looked a little grainy, like it was copied on a Xerox machine and haphazardly thrown together.

There were different headlines just like there would be in a regular magazine--interviews, behind the scenes, quizzes--and then some unique ones--fan art, fan submissions, show theories. At the bottom of the Table of Contents, there was a little slip that could be cut out, filled, and mailed along with a few dollars to some address in California to get the next copy of the 'zine.

Eddie flipped through the pages curiously, and he truly enjoyed some of the pictures of fans visiting the set and getting pictures with a few cast members. Then an interview with the actress who played Sam's mom, who said what a joy it was to see her young co-stars grow up and come into their own, just like their characters.

Then about half-way through, he reached the Fan Submissions.

A section filled with fanfiction stories.

A section where your name was plastered practically everywhere.

Stories of you getting to go to big cities, ones where you finally returned home. A heartbreaking one where you returned in time for Sam and Pat's wedding and you cried because...

Because...you'd actually been in love with Patrick the whole time?

Eddie made a noise of shock as he read the detailed description of your heartbreak and the way that you recalled how sad you had been the day Pat had come to ask for your help with the proposal.

"Were we even watching the same show?" Eddie scoffed.

There were a few fanfiction submissions that characterized you that way, having this unrequited love for him.

But you never really showed any interest in him, other than friendship. Aside from Mark, you never had any romantic feelings in the show.

How had these so-called fans misread your relationship with Pat so terribly?

Or had Eddie's obsession with you clouded his ability to perceive the signs? Maybe he had been watching a different show than everyone else.

He wallowed in that feeling as he waded through the fan stories slowly--although one story about Bonnie and Bill seemed a little interesting: a Bakery/Flower Shop soulmate romance--until he got to one at the very end that caused the hair on his arms to stand on end.

A story about you...and Alex P. Keaton?

It was the only crossover in the fan submission, and it made Eddie nervous once again that he misunderstood your character.

Alex P. Keaton who read the Wall Street Journal for fun?! And you, and artist who followed your heart and went on an adventure to find yourself?! No, there was no way.

"This is a bunch of bullshit," he muttered. He shut the magazine and ran a hand over his face and into his hair.

Eddie wasn't the one who misunderstood you; it was everyone else who did. And if they had written you so wrong in this magazine, he could only dream of how wrongly they'd written you in all of those other stories you told him about. How miserable you must have felt in all of those different worlds.

Shit, and it was not only you who felt miserable, but him now too.

The wild events of the past few weeks had made him feel like he was going crazy. Yeah, at least he had an explanation for it now, but it didn't negate the fact that he suddenly felt like a stranger in his own life.

And if he felt like that, God only knows how you must've felt.

"Shit," he muttered.

He needed to talk to you.

He quickly got up from the bed and raced out of the house, panting as he jogged across the trailer park to get to your door.

He knocked frantically and impatiently waited for you to answer.

His resolve broke when you finally did.

Clothes--pajamas, actually--mussed, eyes bloodshot and puffy, you looked a lot like you had during the episode where Mark had broken your heart and you'd cried to Sam.

Had you thought that he was ending things with you because he had been avoiding you? Because of this whole situation? He ached to think that he'd hurt you like that.

"Sweetheart," Eddie whispered softly. "I should've called. Shit. I'm sorry I--"

"No," you sniffed and shook your head. You were smart enough to put two and two together and realize what he was apologizing for. "No, it's...Eddie this isn't because of you...I mean yeah, actually it is but..."

"I'm sorry," you both said simultaneously.

"I'm sorry that I just left the other night," Eddie elaborated. "I'm sorry that I avoided the whole thing, but I needed...I needed some sense of normalcy in all of this."

When he paused for breath, you immediately swooped in with your own apology and explanation.

"Well I'm sorry I seemed to have brought all of this bullshit with me to Hawkins," you stared at him pathetically. "I've never...no one has ever seemed aware of it before. I've been dealing with this alone for so long. I know I sort of dumped it on you; not only to explain, but maybe because I found some sort of relief that I wouldn't be going through it all alone anymore. I'd have you with me at least.

"And then, after you left, I really had time to think...how long it's been. My show aired in the 80's. And your show...Stranger Things? I mean...between my last time here...someone put me in a modern movie for a short time...and then I guess your season was a few years later maybe? Twenty-twenty-something?"

Eddie's throat tightened. They were still writing stories about the 80's that far in the future? Sure there were war movies and stuff. Man, people must've been really nostalgic and weird otherwise...

"It must be like...a historical documentary at that point," he laughed dryly.

"You calling me old?" you choked on a laugh, and then looked down at your hands. "I guess I am, though. I've lived through all of these different stories for...lifetimes. One story might take...I dunno, a few months for its Writer to finish, but it spans years. Years that I've lived through, one day at a time, with no break."

"Shit...that sounds..."

"Terrible?"

"Yeah."

"It is. I've been dealing with all of this...alone...for hundreds of years at this point I guess. Through stories that still write me as a teenager, or a middle-aged woman. I've lived and died over and over. I've been an artist, a writer, a dancer, a private investigator...I can't even remember the last time I got to go back to Port Geneva.

"And now that you're stuck in this hell too," your voice dropped to a whisper. "It made me sort of dread that for you too. Dread what kind of life that Writers might put you through, especially if your story in your show had a tragic ending like you said. They could give you everything you ever wanted, or they could just kill you again and again, for fun.

"And it's horrible and beautiful and great sometimes, but at the end of it all, it's tiring. Talking through it with you made me realize how much I wished I could be free, that maybe...maybe this Writer who brought me here would just be happy writing a story about the two of us for the rest of their lives or something. Spare us both anymore torture.

"Because at this point...I don't even know who I am anymore."

Your eyes welled with tears again and your shoulders heaved as you held back a sob.

And Eddie wished that he could tell you that he understood.

That his few days experience being aware that he was in a story could compare to everything that you'd seen.

He could tell you he appreciated your concern, that he felt that sense of dread that you felt for him. Assure you that he'd be fine. That it would be alright as long as you were in it together, just like you said.

But truthfully before hearing you say it right now, he hadn't come to that conclusion that he might be stuck in some endless loop of happiness and misery forever.

Because he did what he always did: he avoided the bad things. He ran away from this problem.

So what could say that could help you? That would make you feel better?

He wracked his brain for a moment, coming up with the right words.

But if there was anything Eddie did better than run away, it was say the right thing at the right time.

And he did.

"I know who you are," Eddie finally found his voice.

He took one of your hands in his and then cupped your cheek so you could look into his eyes.

"You might have forgotten who you are, but I know. I've always known. From the first time I saw you on screen, I felt such a connection to you."

He felt nervous, revealing his feelings to you. Confessing his fanatic behavior, his love for you. They were things he never said aloud to anyone and it made him nervous and vulnerable. Made him feel like he needed to run again. But your eyes glittered with unshed tears, and he knew he had to soldier on.

"Meeting you was like...the happiest day of my life. And you weren't anything that I expected, but everything I knew you were, deep down. And you...you've always seen the real me too, which is something very few people have the patience for. You're exactly who I've been waiting for.

"So maybe," he paused and cleared his throat. "Maybe we only have a few weeks together, or a few months, or maybe it'll be a few years for this Writer to give us a Happily Ever After. Maybe they'll put us through hell. But at least we're in it together. And I'll be here to remind you who you are if you ever forget, and to make sure you're not alone for as long as I can. As long as you promise that you'll do the same for me too."

In hindsight, a kiss was probably not the best end to his little declaration, but it felt right, so he did it anyway.

He leaned in and softly kissed your forehead, then the tip of your nose, then caught the softness of your lips between his.

The sound of your sigh, and the feeling of you melting against him, were the sweetest sensations he'd ever felt. It was a relief.

For a moment, right before he pulled away, Eddie felt a smug sense of superiority over everyone. All the writers who had made you question who you were, all of the love interests that they'd written for you--Alex P. Keaton could get fucked--and he resolved to make this a story for the ages, even if it never wound up on some fanfiction writer's page.

"Thank you Eddie," you whispered against his lips when all was said and done.

"We have a deal?"

"Yeah," you bit your lip and grinned at him. "It's a deal."

You backed away and, hands still locked together Eddie looked around the trailer park and sighed.

"So..." he scratched the back of his neck. "What happens now?"

Next Chapter: Reader Suggestions

There is no taglist for this series, please follow the STFF Updates tag or check the series out on AO3.

[mywritingonlyfans]

hey pau 💙 can you write one 1 shot with kuku about how they deal after a light fight?

Love's Assurance. // Esteban Kukuriczka X Reader!

...

(2,1 words)

It affected you in a way that left your mind distant throughout the day, but deep down, you understood. He was tired, and although he was wrong, his insomnia without you by his side at night and his swollen eyes watching you leave in the morning made you realize that he was aware he had hurt you.

And knowing Esteban, he would be brooding over it while disciplining himself on how to reconnect with you and make things better.

"Come closer," you whispered, foam already all over his beard, and under normal circumstances, he would have kissed you and made a mess. You liked how you didn't neglect each other amidst complications; you loved him too much to go without touching him for long, and he was no different.

Despite the thoughtless and cruel words from the night before, he came to pick you up from work, waited outside with a cigarette as always, and kept your favorite songs playing even after you got into the car without giving him the usual long, lingering hug. He remained silent, his hand passing over his eyes along the way, and you would be foolish not to notice him struggling to keep them from getting misty.

You didn't fight much, but you had been together for a long time, so yes, it wasn't the first time. With your attention turned to the window, you placed your hand on top of his, intertwining your fingers and listening to him sniff softly, in a way so discreet and embarrassed that if it weren't for the years, you would have missed it.

He squeezed your thigh affectionately; his fingers were cold, but yours soon made him comfortable. As you stroked his short arm hair tenderly, he felt stupid, both for what he had done and for still not knowing what to say or how to say it. You weren't angry with him, not at all, but you didn't like the feeling.

He took a deep breath, nestling himself between your legs, his long fingers grazing the hem of your shirt (which, by the way it hung to your thighs, was clearly his), gradually stealing the warmth from your hips to his palms. You smiled gently as his eyes met yours; sometimes he sensed he didn't deserve you. You felt him within you as you wet the blade and then held his face for better stability.

"Why're you lookin' at me like that?" You continued to remove the excess and then resumed the hair removal process that you so adored. Esteban wasn't very patient with his beard; whenever he had to do it alone, the results were intense itching and reddened skin. You never failed to take good care of him, and he appreciated it greatly. And with an audition for a play the next day, there you were, helping him and working your miracles.

“Like what, pequeña?" His voice was velvety, albeit cautious. Realizing it had been a while since you heard him, your body tingled. You trembled in a longer sigh, and your legs tightened around him; you wanted him close as if he could heal yourself from the pounding in your head. You wanted to say everything was fine, but you wanted to be honest in saying you were hurt. Yet, above all, you were waiting for him to take the first step. Things are much easier said than done.

Your face was furrowed in concentration, or perhaps annoyance; at that moment, he couldn't tell, but it seemed like you were about to carve a hole of distress into his face, and he couldn't help but smile upon finding you adorable.

"I don't know," you whispered. Despite looking tired, he still had a sweet expression on you. The wrinkle between his relaxed eyebrows and his caramel eyes shining even on not the best days. You liked that. He was yours.

He nodded, tracing circles on your skin, waiting for you to keep going. When you finished, you dried his face with the warm towel and applied soothing lotion. The added bonus that you loved about it was that you would sleep with the comforting scent of him impregnated on you. You ran your hands over his bare shoulders, appreciating each freckle, and solemnly, he pulled you into a hug.

Your forehead fell against his chest, your hand intertwined around his waist, and gradually, his breathing comforted you. He nuzzled his red nose against your cheek, down to your shoulder, and after lightly kissing it, he nibbled to hear you smile. It was the good and novel sensation of him without the beard on your skin.

"Thank you for takin' care of me, pequeña," he said, still feeling heavy. His face nestled into your neck, and he couldn't bring himself to meet your eyes. "I really cherish these little moments with you." He felt like an idiot, stating the obvious as if it would somehow make things better. His fear wasn't about apologizing but rather realizing how much he had hurt you with his actions.

You nodded against his skin, small in his embrace. "You know when we go to the market?" Your voice trembled, and he felt the dampness spread softly across his chest as you rubbed your hand on him. A lump formed in his throat as he held you tighter. "This is going to sound silly," you laughed without humor.

He watched you through wet eyelashes, holding your face and letting your foreheads rest together so you could look into each other's eyes. Your hair stuck to his, and he tried to pull them away in vain, perhaps they were meant to be stuck to each other forever. "I want to hear you out, it'll be important comin' from you," he said, his voice catching as he spoke.

You swallowed hard, closing your eyes. "I like how you smile at me when you 'find' me in the market, y’know? Your eyes, even the freckles seem to sparkle, I don't know if you've ever noticed, but it always happens, even though you know I'll always come back to you after finding one of the items on the list. Sometimes I think I do it on purpose, disappear among the shelves and then reappear with something in hand to show you, and it never fails. You squint your tiny eyes and then break into a smile with teeth and rosy cheeks that makes me want to hug you." You sniffled, feeling weak. He was just as emotional, yet he held you close, making you feel heard. "I'm afraid this will end," your voice trailed off, then you shook your head vehemently. "I hate thinking that you might get tired of being with me, and even though I know you acted in the heat of the moment, I can't stop thinking that it's a possibility." They were truths, and you felt apprehensive about being too vulnerable.

There was silence. And it wasn't uncomfortable. He held your face in his hands, you felt the tip of his nose nuzzle against your skin, and kisses were planted on your cheek. He offered you the same affectionate look as always. "It won't end, I promise. I'm so sorry." He held you tighter, hating himself beneath his own skin. He didn't realize he had left you alone dealing with those feelings. Sometimes he wished you'd be angry with him and scream at his face, but fortunately, you both knew better than that. "I didn't mean to hurt you, I was tired and ended up unloading my feelings on you when you were trying to help. I didn't know you felt this way, I'm glad you feel comfortable talking about your feelings with me. I'm so sorry, I'll keep looking at you the same way as always, I'm in love with you and that won't change overnight. You're stuck with me, pequeña.”

“I know you didn't mean it." The tips of your fingers touched his nose, trailing your thumb to his eyes as you smiled weakly seeing that he had shed tears. "I’m upset, but not angry at you. And I know I'm stubborn and have been forgiven for my questionable actions before.”

He chuckled at his own words, cheeks and the tip of his nose red. Indeed, he hadn't noticed, but upon reflecting on memories, he loved having you close to him. In public, whether at the market or any other event, the voices in his head and external noises became more persistent, almost paralyzing, and having you at his side made him feel lighter; with his mind in place. Loving you made him feel more patient, that warm feeling in his chest and the assurance that everything would be alright because the person he cherished the most in the world was with him.

The difference was that he knew you would know what to say and would resolve everything masterfully; you wouldn't leave room for insecurities to take hold on his head. He didn't have much to say; he had failed you, something that took less than 2 minutes, and he still replayed the sad look in your eyes and the lowered head you gave him the previous night as punishment.

You opened your arms, noticing how he had withdrawn into himself and hovered low in his own thoughts. "Take me to bed, Kuku," he forced a smile, holding you close. His hands firm on your waist as you intertwined your legs around him.

“I won't do it again, I won't make you feel this way again. I love you. I'm sorry." It sounded more breathless, but not desperate. It was polite and well-articulated. It was as if he believed he needed to prove something to you because words wouldn't be enough. And even though he would apologize more times because of how concerned he was, you knew he would be careful not to do it again. He had always been good at listening to you.

Your back sank into the mattress, and your fingers wound through his hair as his face nestled into you. "I don't like sleeping without you," he whispered, lifting his head. His hand roamed over your cheek and chin, enamored with how he closed his eyes at your touch and sighed. You kissed him lightly, and as you sank into the bed again, he stole another kiss from you. Soon the tips of your fingers followed the path of his freckles, and he understood, he would miss you if fate decided that you didn't want him anymore at any time.

"Yeah?" Your eyebrows arched, wanting to hear more even as you snuggled closer to the pillow, feeling very exposed to his eyes.

"If you apologize again, I won't forgive you; you'll have to stay alone. I know you won't do it again." Your voice didn't carry bitterness, and he felt lighter. You pulled him to be more comfortable beside you, soon snuggling up to him, there was a faint sigh against your cheek, and you held on tighter to his warmth. His hands were touching your back through his shirt, making themselves comfortable around your waist. He dragged his beard-less face on your forehead, kissing the spot, and you whispered in a sing-song tone, "Kuku?"

"Yeah," he laughed, in the sweet way that lit up his face. "I like how you tell me about your day and listen to me ‘til we both fall asleep," there was a brief pause, his fingers tracing over your skin, and he sighed contentedly that you were there, close and being filled with his kisses. "I also like the mornings, when you mess with my hair until I wake up and have you smiling, tangled up with me, or when I wake up and the bathroom light is on, and I can see you washing your face or brushing your teeth." He held your chin, so that you were looking at him. His mind hovered over how frequent those scenes were, and he still loved them equally.

There were countless times when he was away for filming and fell asleep on a video call after hours of talking to you. And you had a habit of taking random everyday photos and sending them to him, and just like today, whenever he didn't receive anything, he wanted to call you and have you describe your surroundings to him (but he never did because he imagined it as something lame). "I need you, I'm sorry," before he could continue, you covered his mouth, feeling his breath catch as you smiled openly at him.

“Your mother called early today inviting us to lunch with her; I said we would go after your audition." Your breath was light against his chest, and the lightness of the words made him chuckle. It was silly to think that his mind had led him to think that you would consider not forgiving him when, as always, you were open to talking about it, no matter how wrong he was.

He grumbled, and somehow he brought you even closer.

[twistedwonderlandimaginesblog]

Sebek + Orange Rose please?

Sebek Zigvolt:

Orange Rose - experiencing constant as well as distracting thoughts of the other person.

Sebek was flustered.

He swatted at your caring hands knowing you were the source of his discontent in the first place. Horseback riding had always been a way to clear his head, to set himself straight when his thoughts may wander while he was on duty. Even if it was a challenge to find a horse who could stand his booming voice, he had overcome the obstacle with great pride because nothing could stop him from being who he needed to be (AKA the best bodyguard for Malleus).

Yet how could he overcome an obstacle like you?

He supposed going back in time was unthinkable even with magic, since even the powerful Malleus couldn’t move the hands on a clock backwards. He thought maybe keeping a careful distance might work yet you were insistent on barging into his life, just like you did minutes before as an example.

Sebek had been riding along a quiet path, filled with a decent amount of shade from the plentiful green trees that hung over it in an almost protective gesture. It would allow him to bask in the pleasant outside air, a warm spring day that Sebek had looked forward to all winter. He didn’t choose this of his own accord as he disliked being away from Malleus for long periods of time but his master had disappeared after requesting solitude, leaving him with no choice but to train. He had even considered that he might run into Malleus back here due to how isolated it is and how rarely the path was used, a little daydream he had that unfortunately distracted him.

When you accidentally stepped into the horse’s path, emerging from the woods like a startled deer, Sebek cursed your name as he reared back in a desperate attempt to change direction. Saving you from a painful fate was less of a heroic scenario and more of a treacherous deal sealed with a handshake as he went flying from the horses back instead. He grunted as he landed hard in the brush, thankful that at least fate hadn’t sent him into thorny bushes, too.

“Sebek!” His name leaves your lips in such a frantic tone, one he can’t pin.

Was that from realizing the danger you were in, or for him who was hurt in your stead?

A zap of electricity shoots through him, the tingling in his chest remaining in the aftermath. He opened his mouth to loudly scold you for not paying attention to your surroundings; you couldn’t hear the hooves trampling dirt and rock a mile away? What if it had been some less skilled rider, or even worse, some type of predator set on sinking its teeth into you? He doesn’t know why the concept of you wounded with no one to protect you makes him feel anxious, but decided it’s easier to connect it to his natural protective instincts as a bodyguard.

“Don’t be stubborn!” You huffed as he stood, brushing himself off like he’d simply tripped. “At least let me heal up the little things!”

Sebek thought it’s a waste of both of your time (and your magic) to heal some measly scratches but he’s rendered speechless by you yet again as you removed his gloves with ease to touch the bare skin of his hands. Your magic required skin-on-skin contact and he knew this, so why did he suddenly become so aware of how intimate it felt to hold another’s hand?

A warmth spread from his hands to his entire body, your magic doing its work and perhaps something more. It’s a few blissful moments before you retract your hands, satisfied that he’s in perfect working order. You even smiled as you handed him back his riding gloves, and Sebek had to divert his eyes for a second to concentrate on slowing his rapidly beating heart.

“There you go! I know as Malleus’ bodyguard you wouldn’t want to look messy sooo…” You plucked a twig out of his hair, flicking it to the ground. “There! Handsome as ever!”

Sebek suddenly wished this place was more populated, that there was a chance of interruption as he had no idea what to say next. The polite thing would be to thank you for your help, or perhaps to go back to his original idea of scolding you for not paying attention, but for some reason he remained tongue tied. If he thought about it enough, he could remember the gentle feel of your hands, the way your brow furrowed as you concentrated on healing him quickly and efficiently, the sparkling smile as you admired your handiwork before you called him handsome—

Sebek suddenly felt very resigned to his fate, knowing that as long as you existed you would always invade his thoughts.

[lgbtqasacrew]

Izzy x reader nsfw pls?

Summary: After constantly being at each others throats, you and Izzy settle your differences in the bedroom

Relationships: Izzy/gn!reader

Word count: 1.4k+

Warnings: 🔞NSFW minors dni 🔞

A/N: Sorry this took so long for me to get out, I hope it’s what you were thinking of

Ever since Izzy had joined the ship, you two have never got along. Constantly at each other’s throats about anything and everything. Which is why it’s surprising, or maybe it’s really not, that one night you find yourself pressed up against the wall of Izzy’s room with the first mate’s tongue down your throat. “This doesn’t mean anything” he growls as he pulls away.

“Just shut up for once” you retort pulling him back in for a searing kiss, you’re fed up of hearing his voice, always barking orders, telling you you’re not good enough, this is much better you think as you deepen the kiss.

Oh how he was easier to deal with when he’s not talking, and he’s a decent kisser. You’d half expected him to be a biter, but that might just be because he reminded you of a small yappy dog nipping at your heels. You watch as he begins to undress, untying the cravat around his neck, carefully folding it with the golden ring and placing it safely on his desk. You’d always been intrigued by that ring, you’d never have pinned him as sentimental, it must really be something really special to him. Not that you’d ever ask, not that he’d ever tell you if you did ask.

Izzy’s furious at himself, how had he let this happen. One minute he was berating you about how annoying you are, how you never listen to a thing he says. Now you’re in his room unbuttoning your shirt whilst he removes his own clothes. What had you done to him, he hated you, you were constantly getting under his skin, maybe he’s sick, yeah that must be it.

You’ll both get it out of your system and then everything will just go back to normal, he’ll give you orders and you’ll tell him to fuck off. You’re a decent pirate, which is as much of a compliment as he’ll ever give you, but your incessant need to talk back is grating. If you just listened to a simple instruction maybe he wouldn’t find you half as irritating.

He’s taken out of his thoughts by your naked torso, he must’ve seen it before, when you’ve gotten too hot on deck or when Bonnet made the whole crew have a beach day. But here in the close confines of his room, under the dim light of the candle burning on his desk, it’s something else. He has the sudden need to run his hand over your chest, what’s wrong with him, he really must be sick.

Managing to pull his gaze away from you, wouldn’t want you to think he was into you or anything, he takes his own clothes off, folding them neatly into a pile on his desk.

“Is that really necessary?” You quip, why did you always have such a problem with everything little thing he did.

“Yes” is all he replies before stepping towards you until you’re face to face “if you have a problem with that you can get out”

You put your hands up in mock surrender, which he uses to his advantage, taking your hands and holding them above your head as he pins you against the wall, his prick pressing into your thigh.

“Someone’s eager” you tease.

“Shut up” he growls before kissing you with fervour, just needing you to stop talking for once in your life.

Your lips remain connected as he slowly guides you away from the wall and towards the small bed that sits in the corner, pushing you onto it and straddling your thighs, his prick flush between you. He finds himself grinding against you like some sort of desperate animal, he feels pathetic but he can’t stop.

You can feel his prick against your stomach as he continues to grind against you. Taking a small vial from his bedside table, pouring some onto your fingers, you take his prick into your hand, it’s bigger than you’d expected.

He’s moaning into your mouth just from the small touch “mm you’re so desperate aren’t you?”

“Fuck off” he growls

“Fine guess I’ll just stop then” you remove your hand, sure you hear a small whimper from the loss.

“Not what I fuckin’ meant”

“Well you better be careful with what you say, don’t want me to get the wrong idea”

“Just fuckin’ get on with it” he grumbles

“Ask nicely” you demand, laughing internally at the scowl he gives you in return, that man thinks he’s so intimidating, but he never has been to you.

“I’m not-“

“Ask nicely, or I’ll go” you don’t think you actually would at this point but it would be nice to see him be polite to you just once in his life

“Please” he says through gritted teeth

“Good boy” you praise, delighting when you see a dusting of blush on his cheeks, so he likes praise, you shouldn’t be surprised really.

You can feel him shiver as you move your hand up and down his length, enjoying the weight in your palm. You trail kisses down his neck, brushing along the swallow tattoo before sucking on the gentle skin above his collarbone.

Izzy hadn’t felt this good in so long, he told himself it was nothing to do with you, nothing to do with the way you touch him, or kiss his neck as if he was something precious. No, it had just been a while since he’d had another person’s touch, he’s just extra sensitive that’s all.

Your touch was firm but with a gentleness he hadn’t expected but appreciates nonetheless, you weren’t rushing just to get it over with. You were taking your time as if you actually cared about his pleasure, but he must be mistaken, he knows you only view this as a quick exchange, one that neither of you will mention again.

Before he even knows what’s happening, you’re manoeuvring him off your lap and laying him on his back. “I want you inside me Izzy, is that what you want too?” you purr, sending a rush of heat through him, he finds himself nodding eagerly.

“Good” he watches as you lower yourself “Izzy you feel so good” he can feel his face getting warmer at your praise, what is wrong with him.

As if you know what effect it’s having on him, you continue to praise him “you’re doing so well Izzy, you feel so good” he’s getting close just from the praise alone, he feels pathetic, but also, he feels good, better than he’s felt in a long time.

With a couple more shifts of your hips, he releases inside you, collapsing into the mattress as intense pleasure courses through him. Barely noticing as you reach your own orgasm, collapsing beside him in your own haze of pleasure.

When he eventually comes back to himself, he feels good, more than good even, but he also feels a little disappointed, he knows that when he opens his eyes you’ll be gone. He should feel relieved, you’ve both got out of this what you wanted and now you can just go back to your lives. So why does part of him wish you’d stayed, wished that for once that someone had stayed, but more importantly that that person was you.

He almost yelps when he hears rustling in his room, opening his eyes to find you standing there in your underwear holding a cloth, you freeze as if he had caught you doing something wrong. “Sorry I just thought maybe you’d like to clean up, but I’ll go” dropping the cloth on the desk beside you and heading for the door.

But Izzy catches you both by surprise “It’s fine” he wants to say so much more, that he’s glad you’re still here, that the fact you care enough about him to want to clean him up is thawing his cold heart, but he can’t get any more words out.

Luckily those two words are enough for you, he watches with a small smile on his lips as you retrieve the cloth and gently clean him up. As you place the cloth back on the desk, he’s worried you’ll leave again, a small “stay?” manages to pass his lips, part question, part plea. Now he knows what it’s like to have something, he’s scared to let it go in case he never has it again.

You nod, climbing in wordlessly beside him, trying to keep a small distance between you despite the small size of the bed, as if you’re still scared he’ll chuck you out despite him being the one to invite you. He counts to sixty trying to find the courage to hold you like you deserve, it’s purely selfish really, a deep need to feel you in his arms.

Slowly wrapping his arms around you, giving you the chance to pull away if you please, but you don’t, you lean into the warmth, his chest now flush with your back. In that moment you both knew this wouldn’t be a one time thing.

[whereserpentswalk]

Ttrpg safety tools and the dog test

A quick rundown of what safety tools are: tools for setting boundaries in ttrpgs. Can be useful to some people, but often used really wrongly, and often seem overly gamey to me personally. It's like therapy speak for rpgs. And is similary used by the people it was meant to be used against.

One of the most common examples of these is the X card. The X card is a card with the letter X written on it. It sounds like a good idea if you've never interacted with people before. The X card is a boundary where one of the rules is you can't talk about the boundary. It's very useful for anyone who want to weaponize it, and not very useful for asserting actual boundaries.

There is also a type of chud who dislikes the the idea of safety tools because they think they're "woke". The only way to have a productive conversation around safety tools is to ignore them. Bad faith questions don't deserve good faith answers.

Now, a lot of people would think that its easier for a player to step out then deleate a scene. But a lot the culture around safety tools is based on this toxic highschool mindset around ttrpgs where someone feels like they both have a right, and a duty to be at every single momment of every session, and everyone else does to. So every single safety tool you'll see will assume the of lack the option of leaving the table at all. Being able to leave at any time is the ultimate boundary in ttrpgs and many other safety tools are attempting the impossible task of establishing boundaries without it. People compare them to safe words in bdsm. But it's like trying to create a safe word system but you have to cum and can't take breaks.

See part of the problem is 4chan and reddit have cultures of rpg horror stories. Which are useally lies. I'm not going to say fiction because that implies a relationship with the audience that they don't have. And these lies almost always have queer people, ND people, leftists, and anyone you'd see called a degenerate or weirdo as villains. While the type of nerd that Scott Pilgrim was the first book makes himself out to be a hero. And reddit also happens to be where the concept of safety tools was popularized.

It's this problem where people aren't trying to deal with actual triggers, they're trying to police content they morally condemn. R/rpg horror stories is the home of people who consider themselves outcasts for liking star wars and then have a deep fear of a marginalized person or someone from a slightly less mainstream subculture showing up at their table. And when they're the ones defining what a boundary conflict in rpg space looks like it's useally pretty bad. When a lot of safety tools go bad it's the case of weapons made to catch monsters being bad at dealing with humans.

And beyond all that. Beyond the specifics of rpg horror stories and it's influence. The way people talk about safety tools is mostly about removing content they deem objectionable from ttrpgs. When people talk about the X card and things like it, they're useally afraid someone will talk about something taboo and the table, and want a way to stop them, with the assumption that the rest of the party agrees. The extreme nature of how much someone has the power to censor, is brought with the assumption that what will be censored won't just violate their personal boundaries, but a community sense of morals.

They don't just want their triggers removed, they want things they deem immoral to be removed (not everyone who uses safety tools of course, but the hoard of bearded cishet white men who play 5e who dominate the conversation on them). That's just what a lot of the conversation around safety tools always comes down to. When somebody says they want safety tools to remove torture scenes or sex scenes from their table, it's not their personal triggers, its that they don't believe these things belong in the medium at all. They don't imagine what it would be like to be the only person in the room with their trigger, because the narrative they've created with problem players and safety tools, has made it so they assume the majority of the room shares their boundaries. Safety tools as they exist and are talked about are not built for a minority of players to be able to assert boundaries agaisnt the majority of players.

The dog test: so basically, while safety tools in ttrpgs have good reasons to exist, a lot of the time they're weapons players use to remove content they deem immoral. So often every discussion around things like the X card comes with a lot of moral condemnation, and assumptions about what content can ever be triggering vs what is ok. And this culture of moral condemnations can make safety tools especially dangerous for queer people and ND people, or just members of certain subcultures.

So I've developed the dog test. The dog test, is an example used to test if a safety tool (or more commonly someone talking about them) wants boundaries or wants moral policing. The dog test is simply to see how the safety tool is viewed if it's used to remove dogs from a game. Basically taking the commonly used examples like blood, or sex, and replacing them with the existence of dogs. Perhaps to add to it let's say the only case this hypothetical person will be ok with dogs is if they're killable enemies. This isn't unrealistic, a lot of people have trauma from dog bites, it's probably more likely to be a good faith trauma than a lot of the examples.

If they person is as willing to work with the needs of a player who has trauma around dogs as they are more sympathetic triggers than they've passed the dog test.

Disclaimer. A lot of these thoughts were developed in a discord conversation with @dragonpurrs and a lot of these words were originally things I said to it.

[eirakairos]

Rendezvous Chapter 2

You were supposed to have a rendezvous with him away from the shackles of the city. You were supposed to tell him great news. He was supposed to have a rendezvous with you and be away from the shackles of reality. He was supposed to tell you great news.

A/N: I continued writing after but I liked the end part. I often think Sylus doesn't fully cry, but for the first time, he was a bit emotional from the dream, especially after what happened.

It took a while because I was busy with work and family but I'm working on the next one!

Words: 3,004

Chapter 1

Tags: Hurt/comfort, minor violence, and injury, character death implied!, pregnancy and childbirth, don't worry this is angst but with happy ending

You inhaled sharply with a groan when you reached consciousness. Everything in your body is screaming in dull pain. You were supposed to be out of the office to meet with Sylus then BAM! You heard a pitched noise piercing your eardrums as everything pristine suddenly turned into rubble. You tried to fight your consciousness as everyone was screaming for help, you knew Sylus would be there for you. But before you can move further, a pair of arms carries you and before slipping further, you hear their rough voices.

“Give her first aid! She has to be alive enough for the transport!”

“Finally! After so many weeks! We can use it to take over the grasslands into our empire!”

You hear the humming sounds of the engine and speeding. You glance at a nearby window and assume you are in a plane, as there is nothing but the night sky, the moon illuminating, and a few clouds. You are still in your hunter clothes but without your weapons. You think that maybe the people who brought you here were the ones who took them.

‘This chamber, I felt I was here before…’ you thought. You looked around the dark confinement around you. A memory started to resurface.

“This was one of the Onychinus ships we use for the transportation of goods,” Sylus said as they were walking in the ship. “It is an old model, but still useful,” he followed. You were looking around in wonder as you were there with him for an errand.

“What are you going to do with it?” you asked. “A faction under Onychinus was needing one,” he replied. “This ship has a lot of issues since I used to use it a lot.”

“Like what for?”

“I… Modified some things so I can deal with things easier,” Sylus grinned. Your eyes squinted. He pointed at an enclosed room, similar to where you’re now. “Like in this one, I made a pathway to get out of the halls.” He walked to the room and removed a panel, showing a form of door access. “It's not detected easily unless you know it's there,” Sylus went in the pathway.

“So a sort of escape plan, it seems. I feel you’ve been in a situation where you get jailed in your ship,”

“Well, there are such circumstances that happened,” he smirked and went closer to you. “If things fail, this would be handy.” He tapped on the crow brooch you won against him after he challenged you.

“Huh? I thought this was just a decoration?” You said.

“It's not just access to N109 Zone safely, Kitten,” he smirked.

You quickly went to the back of the room and gently touched the panels installed.

And indeed it was removable. You placed the panels on the side and went in before putting them back on again.

You are in no condition to fight as you meticulously try to sneak out of the halls. You hear murmurs in the far end going closer and making you panic, looking for any place to hide.

“Onychinus is making moves far more aggressively than expected,”

“Who knew that the leader’s weakness… is a woman?”

You quickly went to the metal cabinets where they would put clothes as their steps got louder.

You clenched your fists, they probably had heard of the Aether Core in your heart and wanted to take advantage of it. Sylus has one too, but they won’t dare to face him. You can fight them because of their comments but you’re on the shit end of the stick at the moment.

“We are almost there after two days of traveling in the skies. I’m so beat,”

“When we arrive, we are going to put that girl in the operation to extract the Aether Core if Sylus didn’t go to our demands,”

‘As if, even without Sylus, I will bring you all down,’ you thought. You peeked through the small slits of the cabinet to see them walk away and turn to the next hallway. You slowly went outside and walked to the other side of the hallway. You are trying to remember the map of this ship as you sift it in your memories.

“Does this ship have any last defense?” You asked. You are walking in the same halls as him. He was checking to decide if the ship was good enough to be given.

“Well… If exploding itself is what you call a last defense… Then yes,” He replied. You were surprised. “There are bombs in this ship?!” You exclaimed. Sylus grins as he goes to a security panel…

And you punched the code, it was your anniversary date with him. It opened a slot, it looks like a circular item should be placed in. You shuffled around your body to find the crow brooch he gave you in your secret pocket. You inserted it in the slot and it shines red, accepting the brooch. “Self-destruct will start in thirty seconds…” a robotic voice confirmed. Alarms are heard as you panicked again, running through the exit.

“High-security alert! The subject has escaped! High alert to all personnel!”

“It is not just a crow brooch…” You said. Sylus smirked as he closed the panel after showing it to you. “The brooch is… for really special guests,” he continued. In nearing the wide exit, he went to open the hatch. Gusts of wind suddenly burst inside, almost swaying your body away.

“What- What are you doing?!” you yelled.

You open the hatch as the footsteps are getting frantic.

“Well, we are going on to the errand a bit different this time,” he said as he tossed over a parachute backpack to you. “Huh?!” you yelled as Sylus carried his on his back. He went on you to adjust the backpack and grabbed you by the waist.

“Ready to escape this hellhole?” Sylus asked as you got dragged to the edge of the hatch.

“Six… Five… Four…”

You ran to the hatch as the men saw you and started to shoot.

“Remember we need her alive!”

You were afraid because the drop was so high. “Well, I have no choice, aren’t I?” you said, nervously smiling at him. “You are stuck with me after all… Don’t worry, I’m with you,” he reassured. “If you get lost, I will find you,” he continued. You held onto him tighter as you two jumped together.

You suddenly feel the weightlessness of the sky as you jump. BAM! You shielded yourself from the debris as you saw the ship go into flames. At the appropriate height, you activate the parachute as you gently glide down, you see neverending grasslands below you. Your adrenaline is starting to go lower, and the pain is starting to be more felt, especially since you just saw a gunshot wound on your side. Exhaustion is starting to take over you as you unlatched yourself from the parachute and looking around, realized you are in the middle of nowhere. Everything is overwhelming, even though on the good side you escaped but otherwise, you have no idea what was happening, only to put pieces together.

Before you can react, your body was unable to keep active any longer. You wish your love was here with you, he would know what to do.

“Sylus…” you murmured as your vision got blurry and completely went dark.

You stir and see yourself inside a hut. You do feel tired, but the pain is survivable.

“Good day, finally you gained consciousness,” You looked at who was speaking, who was an old woman, cooking in the makeshift kitchen. “How are you doing, dear?” she asked after placing a bowl of soup beside you.

“Where am I?” You asked. You’re still a bit disoriented. “Who are you?”

“You are in the grasslands,” she answered. “The warriors had found you collapsed while they were hunting. They brought you here for healing. I am the healer and advisor in my tribe,” she said. You looked at the bowl and scooped it with a spoon. You are starting to wolf it down, making the old woman amused. “My assumption is right, you were famished.” she smiled. “Based on the peculiar clothes, you came from a far place, didn’t you?” she asked. You stopped and nodded. “Yes, it was a long story,” you said. You did retell the tale from your point of view. The old woman listened eagerly. “It seemed you have endured so much, dear,” she spoke.

“How… How would I get out of here to return?”

The old woman sighed as she went to the cabinet. “Well you have to travel for five days to get to a nearby village, then traverse further around two days more to get to the main city,” she said. “But we are nearing the hibernating season, where we don’t travel because the journey are being perilous,” she continued. “You needed a longer recovery time. In the meantime, do stay and rest.”  You were disappointed, the travel is going to be long. But you have to return… Back to him. She gave you fresh clothing, which is simpler than your tattered uniform. You noticed the robes and the accessories were very familiar. You suddenly remember you are in the grasslands. The hut looks different, much modern but familiar.

The old woman is working on her table, with her herbs, roots and stones ready. “Also, Miss, I would like to ask something,” she spoke. You hummed and looked at her.

“You’re pregnant, aren’t you?”

In the following weeks, your wounds were healing well but you have gone sicker occasionally. You slowly acquainted the women in the village and do help with menial, lighter tasks since you are carrying a baby… Sylus and your baby. It just sunk to you. You were in the office many weeks ago, getting your things ready to go on a special date with him. You were exiting the floor when you just felt being blasted away. You were excited to go with him and tell the good news. After grueling weeks, you were looking forward to being with him again. You are having this indescribable feeling, that it is probably better that when you can return, you won’t come back as a hunter again. So much time was wasted, even just spending time with Sylus. You missed him so much, you wanted to return but your pregnancy was very delicate, especially after your body went to the limit because of the explosion and the kidnapping. You wish he would find you again soon.

“Miss, are you alright? Why are you crying?”

You stopped your thoughts. You just saw your hands on your tummy and felt tears rolling down your cheeks. You quickly wiped it away. “Sorry, it's probably the pregnancy,” you chuckled.

The ladies were calmed and continued weaving robes. You are trying your best to gain weaving skills, but it was a bit more complicated than you expected. You were amazed the ladies were doing it very well and fast. 

You are almost on your way to your pregnancy several months later. Your belly is very obvious now and nearing its due. “I’m glad to see the baby is strong,” the old woman said. “It shows that she is a fighter like her mother,”

“Wait… She?” you said, astonished.

“Well, that is my assumption, based on your appearance, the shape of the belly, and what I see in the stars,” She hummed. You are half believing and not in the other. You imagined a baby girl in your arms but has Sylus’ hair color and eyes or your colors to a baby boy. You smiled at the thought, you would love them anyway, as they are half Sylus.

“What about the father of the baby?” the old woman asked. I won’t be surprised if it takes long to find you if he does,” she continued. We are really in a remote place, and people who come by to the tribe either have a purpose or a fated coincidence.” There was silence for a bit. What is he like?” the old woman curiously asked.

You believed in Sylus, he would find you wherever you go. He has always done that since you’ve met him. “He is a formidable warrior. A… Leader in his tribe,” You answered. He is despite the environment of his place is the opposite of the grasslands. “Despite the comfortable life, he did… Has his bargains and sacrifices, especially whenever I’m involved,” you followed. In peaceful times like this, you did wonder if abandoning everything with him would be worth it. “I hope he would find you sooner, dear… Does he know? It would be quite a surprise if he didn’t,” she smiled. You looked down on your belly. You were going to, as you got a confirmation hours before the meeting. You were excited to welcome a little being, half you and half him.

You were resting beside the hut as you saw young ladies making little pouches. You remembered the dagger and when you were transported to the grasslands with Sylus. You remembered the tribe’s culture of a girl giving a pouch they made to the man they liked. You gave one to Sylus, which you hope he still keeps it. You suddenly felt this longing for him, questioning why is he not here with you, anxiety sets in that probably he had forgotten about you and moved on. It’s been a few months, if his stalking skills were good, he should’ve been here by now. Are the grasslands that remote? If he were here, he would know what to do, much better than yourself. You wanted him here beside you, being happy and ecstatic to meet his little one soon. You miss his company, his eyes glaring at you, his protectiveness wherever you go, you feel… Much helpless and lonely here.

Sylus sees himself in the endless field of grass as he wonders where his dream is taking him this time. He had been having nightmares since you were gone from the explosion in the Hunter’s Association months ago. The investigations had been slowed and people had moved on, but not him. He searched the nearby cities everywhere and took revenge against any people connected to the tragedy. The job was far from being done, they took you away, and he will take away the world from them.

Sylus kept on walking until his eyes widened, he saw you sitting under a tree. You are in a tribe as you are wearing similar clothes like them. He runs as fast as he can, he didn’t have such dreams as this, as seeing you alive and… Pregnant? This is definitely a dream, his dream of just wanting a family with you, you carrying his child, making the limited time witness of your love together. He was going to but it seemed a far-fetched wish now. You looked so beautiful as always but much more in reaching motherhood.

You didn’t have any reaction when he was already in front of you. Your eyes were looking at the distance, almost teary. “Sylus…” He heard you whisper. He called you but you seemed to not be hearing him.

Suddenly your face contorts in pain. “What’s wrong?” he asked but you screamed more, alerting the tribe members. He wanted to comfort you and give aid but whenever he tried to touch you, his hand goes through. He realized that you were going to give birth, and he followed you as the people helped you to get back to the hut. The healer prepared the childbirth as you were huffing and started to push. Sylus felt helpless, he wanted to reassure you and be at the most comfort despite the situation. “My beloved, you’re doing good, don’t worry…” Sylus whispered beside you. He wished he can hold your hand, to somehow deal with the minuscule of pain of your grip. He whispered support and reassurances to you, even if this is a dream, he is angry at himself for not being with you. In real life, he still tries to find answers, even though in logical circumstances, you are not alive anymore. His heart beats in happiness seeing you here, despite it is only an illusion.

A cry stopped his long mile of thoughts as it felt it was hours. You are a fighter indeed in his eyes. “It is indeed a girl!”

You are exhausted, far, far much worse than dealing with a horde of wanderers. You heard stories about childbirth and it is scary and painful as they said. You heard the cry of your baby, she is alive and finally arrived here in this land. You cried as you saw the baby girl and held onto your arms. You also heard that childbirth is a rewarding, unexplainable blissful feeling of seeing a piece of you and Sylus merged into a tiny human. You are a family, despite him being away. You know deep down he would be here if he knew.

There is this protective and proud feeling to Sylus in seeing you and your child together. A little family of his own, and he is now a father, even if it's only in dreams. He went to kiss your cheek, he wished you would feel it. But you are crying in happiness looking at his daughter. He smiled more at seeing his daughter, she had tiny white strands of hair. He would give everything for this to be a reality. He would give the world to his beloved partner and daughter.

His eyes opened and blinked a couple of times, realizing he was looking at this high ceiling, being back to his darkened room as he roused. In the blink of an eye, he lost you two again. He looked at the ring box on his side table, then at the dark red sky in his window, the slimmer of light illuminating tears forming to the edges of his eyes.

[23raccoons]

in the jack-o-lantern's glow - Ao3

Sasori x Sakura

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Pumpkin carving, Jack-o'-lanterns

“It’s pumpkin carving Sasori, not brain surgery.” Sakura says as she uses her hand to scoop another blob of pumpkin goo into the bowl, not even minding the sleeves of her oversized sweater that are pushed up past her elbows don’t come into contact with the mess. “It’s supposed to be fun.”

Sasori thinks they might have vastly different ideas of what is considered to be fun. He’s made it as far as cutting the top off his own pumpkin. They’re not fully jack-o-lantern-sized, but it’s hard to find things like that in Suna, whose residents don't particularly participate in all the traditional holiday festivities. Sakura likely paid a pretty penny out of her own pocket to get the little pair of pumpkins in front of them now. 

He frowns at that, he would’ve bought them had she asked. But she’s often stubborn, insisting her money is just as good as his. It is technically, but it’s the principle of the matter. And the fact that he’s inherited a good deal of his own wealth, and Sakura works very diligently for her money at the little hospital in Suna. 

He also just enjoys spoiling her anytime the opportunity presents itself, to buy her whatever little snack or trinket that she looks so longingly at. 

Sasori looks inside his pumpkin again, at its slimy guts. Sakura has given him a large metal serving spoon to scrape the seeds and stringy bits out. It takes a few attempts to get a good scoop, plopping it in the bowl with Sakura’s. The second scoop comes easier, and he does his best to not touch the messy insides, but he gets it on his hands nonetheless. 

Sakura finishes emptying hers first, sorting through the slop bowl to pull out all of the seeds. Once he’s finished, she washes her collection, patting them dry with a towel and laying them out evenly on a pan. Tossing it in the oven and kicking the door shut with her foot. 

“Now the fun part,” she says with a smile, holding up a collection of sharp tools from his woodworking collection he had deemed acceptable to use on her pumpkin carving foray. 

Sasori raises a brow. “I thought the first part was supposed to be fun.”

“Yes,” Sakura leans in to press a kiss to his cheek. “But you’ll like this part the best.”

She has a few markers, handing one to Sasori. Who takes it skeptically. 

“I just carve a face?” Sasori clarifies, looking at the bumpy leather-like surface. 

“You can carve anything you want, baby.” She pauses, scrunching her nose a bit. “Well within reason of what the pumpkin can support, of course.”

He must be giving her a look, because she rolls her eyes and stands right beside him at the little table of her apartment. 

He watches her type out ‘jack-o-lantern ideas’ into the search bar, scrolling through the pictures of the carved orange vegetables. Some of them are not faces, but cats or ghosts or any  number of other misunderstood nocturnal animals. 

“I’ve seen enough, thank you,” Sasori tells her. Sakura slips her phone into her pocket, stepping between Sasori and the table to lace her arms around his neck.

“Sasori, it is something children do. You’re overthinking it, okay? There’s no wrong way to carve a pumpkin.” She kisses him for good measure. “You make spooky stuff all the time.”

“I make art, not mutilated vegetables. Let’s get it over with. Then we can do something else that's fun.” He barters, giving her a kiss back. 

“Deal.” Sakura steps around to the other side of the table from Sasori. “No peeking though.”

Sasori does peek, not at her pumpkin but at the face of concentration she makes as she traces out lines with the marker before carefully working the blade through the pumpkin flesh. The way she bites her lip as she works. She gets up every so often to wash her hands and shake the pumpkin seeds around, removing them when they have reached the appropriate level of crispiness. 

She feeds him a few, a crunchy, lightly salted, and a little nutty. Sakura is ecstatic when he deems them 'not bad'

They are nothing like the sugary pumpkin caramel marshmallow latte monstrosity she had ordered at the trendy coffee shop on their way here. Taking a single sip when she offered, much too sweet for his double shot of espresso tastes. He had upsized it after she ordered—paying for both—and had sat through several rounds of selfies with her and their respective to-go cups. 

Sakura knows he doesn’t like having his picture taken much and is always sure to only post his face to her ‘close friends’ and not her main feed. She calls the pictures that get posted on there where his hand or back is in the shot a ‘soft-launch’. He tells her she can post whatever pictures of him she likes, and she always tells him ‘she knows’. But a small part of him is always glad that she doesn’t, that she keeps him private, and he gets to keep that part of her world all to himself. 

She had also helped him set himself up a private account to follow her, a handful of his friends, and a few puppet-making accounts. 

Sasori carves a ‘spooky’ face. Sharp, harsh angles and a mouth of jagged, craggily teeth. He hates to admit, once he gets the hang of it, that it actually is not the worst thing he’s ever done. It would be much better if his hands weren’t so sticky from it, but he does always enjoy working with Sakura around to share the space with.

He steps back to admire his work. It is not wood. It will rot and mold and crumble, gone before the start of winter. Nearly a waste of his skill. He frowns at the orange face. 

“I’m done!” Sakura cheers. Smiling brightly at her pumpkin, excitable at the outcome, it’s enough to have his Sasori’s lips quirking up before he remembers he’s being grumpy about all of this. 

“Oh, are you done, too?” Sakura’s looking at him now. 

“Yes,” He would really like to wash his hands now. 

“Okay, we’ll show each other on three?” Sasori nods, placing his hands on his pumpkin, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious at the thought of showing her. Sakura counts, “One, two, three!”

They twist them at the same time, revealing their faces to one another. 

“Ahhh!” Sakura screams in half mock horror and half delight. “I love it!”

She moves to go wash her own hands, presumably to get her phone out to take pictures of their jack-o-lanterns. But Sasori can’t take his eyes off the face carved oh-so-carefully into Sakura’s. 

It’s Hiruko. The most beloved piece of artwork Sasori’s ever made. A large intricately carved wooden puppet, a demon scorpion with a complex joint system controlled marionette style. He spent years and years perfecting him and still enjoys tinkering on him from time to time. Sakura had carved the likeness of his toothy face into her pumpkin. 

He’s speechless. He had expected something cutesy, not the sneering face of the main art fixture on display at his own house. 

Sakura's finished washing her hands, noting his silence has stretched well past the normal contemplating he does. “You hate it.” She frowns. 

Sasori never enjoys spoiling Sakura's bright moods. 

“Oh no, darling.” Stepping over to slip his arms around her, taking care not to touch his hands to her clothing. “It’s perfect. It was simply unexpected.”

“Really?!” She perks back up immediately. “I wanted to surprise you, so I spent all morning practicing drawing him, and I was so nervous I’d mess him up.” 

Sasori kisses the top of her nose before moving to wash his hands. By the time he’s finished, Sakura has set the two next to each other, candles firmly in place as she lights them up. The lids go on top, and Sasori reaches for the pull cord on the fixture to turn off the light. 

The horried faces glow, and Sakura takes entirely too long taking pictures, but she looks so lovely in the orange light as she moves everything just so. And he doesn’t even complain when she sets the little timer for a few pictures of them standing together, holding their ‘art’. And if he’s looking at her in all of them instead of the camera, that’s fine with him too. He always finds pleasure in watching her enjoy herself, even if it’s something he finds to be silly. 

After eons of him patiently waiting, Sakura blows out the little fire hazard in hers, and Sasori flows suit. 

He picks Sakura up, despite her squirming as she locks her legs around his waist, carrying her down the short hall into her bedroom. Laying her out on top of the fluffy duvet he has purchased for her after she had admitted how much she liked the one on his bed. 

“In a hurry, Sasori?” She giggles, already flushed across her cheeks as he crawls over her body. Poised like a scorpion ready to strike. 

“Mmmm, you had me waiting,” he says, pressing his lips to hers. Again and again and again. “And I am especially impatient when it comes to you.”

“Did you like it?” Sakura asks when he comes up for air again. Nose to nose with each other. 

“Did I like what?” He feigns ignorance. 

“Carving pumpkins?”

“I liked carving pumpkins with you,” Sasori tells her truthfully. 

Sakura pulls him in for a kiss this time. “I knew you would.”

Sasori’s cleaning Hiruko the next day when his phone dings, Sakura having sent all the pictures she’d taken from the evening before. She posted a picture of their jack-o-lanterns last night, garnering a mass of likes and comments praising their skills. 

Sasori saves them all to his camera roll. He doesn’t even have to scroll to find the ones of them holding their pumpkins together, faces a little dark and blurry, the glow from the candles messing with the focus. He picks one where their timing was off, neither looking at the camera. Sakura’s smiling down at her pumpkin, and Sasori’s smiling softly right at Sakura. 

He opens the menu to click the little share button. He frowns at the screen, unsure what to type in the caption box. Sakura would tell him he’s overthinking it again, so he scrolls through the emoji to find the little jack-o-lantern and the teeny black heart. Taking the time to tag Sakura’s handle so it doesn’t cover any of her up when it’s clicked on. 

Sasori hits the post button before he can doubt himself out of it. Locking his phone and setting it down on the workbench. It lights up again almost immediately, the notification banner informing him Sakura has liked his post.