#waves my hands around manically

[puppyeared]

When you backread through a fun conversation you had with someone for hours an angel gets its wings

[pucksandpower]

Help, My Cat Drank My Red Bull!

Max Verstappen x veterinarian!Reader

Summary: in which Sassy gets into an open can of Max’s energy drink and inadvertently leads Max to the love of his life

Max sighs as he exits the sim-rig, stretching his arms over his head. After a few intense hours of virtual racing, he could use a pick-me-up.

He wanders into the kitchen, spotting the full can of Red Bull he had left on the counter earlier.

Perfect.

But as Max reaches for the energy drink, something catches his eye — a sticky puddle on the granite countertop where the can should be. He leans in, sniffing cautiously. The unmistakable sweet scent of Red Bull wafts up.

“What the ...” His voice trails off as a blur of tan fur darts past the corner of his vision.

Sassy skids into view. Her pupils are dilated to the size of marbles and she’s practically vibrating with excess energy. Max’s jaw drops as the realization hits.

“No, no, you didn’t ...”

But the evidence is irrefutable. Sassy must have knocked over the can and lapped up every sugary drop.

Max runs a hand through his curls, panic rising. Too much caffeine could be incredibly dangerous for a cat her size. He needs to get her to a vet right away, but at — he checks his watch — 2:14 in the morning, his usual clinic will be closed.

“Come here, Sassy!” He calls, slowly advancing on the hyper feline.

But Sassy just stares at him, unblinking, before bolting in the opposite direction with a manic burst of speed. Max gives chase, cursing under his breath as she darts around furniture and ricochets off walls. After several frantic minutes of pursuit, he finally manages to corner the cat and scoop her into a carrier.

Sassy yowls in protest as Max secures the door, but he has no choice. He grabs his keys and races down to the parking garage, carefully settling the carrier into the passenger seat of his bright red Ferrari before peeling out toward the nearest emergency vet clinic.

The drive seems to take an eternity with Sassy howling the whole way. Max’s knuckles are white on the steering wheel as he haphazardly parks outside the clinic and jumps out, slamming the door behind him.

Only to stop dead a few steps later, the realization crashing over him like a wave. In his haste, he left the cat in the car.

“Shit!” Max spins on his heel, cheeks burning as he hurries back and grabs the carrier, cradling it awkwardly against his chest.

He strides through the front doors of the clinic, the receptionist looking up in surprise at his abrupt entrance.

“Please,” Max gasps out, eyes wide. “My cat, she drank a whole can of Red Bull. What do I do?”

The receptionist’s brows knit together briefly before her features smooth into a professional mask. “Okay sir, please have a seat in exam room three. The doctor will be right with you.”

Max nods frantically, hurrying down the hallway as directed and gently depositing the carrier on the exam table. He resumes his pacing, running anxious hands through his hair.

After what feels like an eternity, the door finally opens. But the person who walks in absolutely takes Max’s breath away.

You are, without a doubt, the most gorgeous woman he has ever seen. From your cascading locks to your warm eyes, Max can’t tear his gaze away. Your figure is highlighted by pale blue scrubs as you cross the room, a soft smile playing at the corners of your mouth.

“Good morning, I’m Dr. Y/N Y/L/N. What seems to be the trouble?”

Max’s throat is suddenly, inexplicably dry. He clears it harshly. “U-uh, hi. I’m Max. Max Verstappen. My cat, Sassy, she — well, I had a can of Red Bull out and she must have knocked it over because when I came back, it was empty but the counter was sticky and then she was just … super hyper and crazy ...”

His words stumble to a halt as you lean over, gently pulling the still-feisty Sassy from her carrier and depositing her on the table. You murmur soothingly, stroking her soft fur as you examine her dilated pupils and elevated pulse.

“Hmm, yes, it does sound like she’s had a bit too much caffeine.” You shoot Max a reassuring smile that makes his heart skip a beat. “Not to worry though, we’ll get her taken care of.”

As you deftly slip a mild sedative into the crook of Sassy’s leg, Max can’t help but watch in awe at how gentle and caring you are. He’s never seen someone so compassionate and loving toward an animal before.

Within minutes, the sedative takes effect and Sassy transforms from a blur of frantic energy to a lazy puddle of fur, watching the room with heavy-lidded eyes. You scratch between her ears, lips quirked.

“There we go, that’s better. She’ll be feeling pretty groggy for the next little while as the caffeine works its way out of her system.”

Max nods dumbly, completely mesmerized as you deftly check Sassy’s vitals again.

“Her temperature and heart rate are looking good. I’d just recommend keeping her awake and hydrated until the effects have fully worn off in six to eight hours, then she should be back to normal.”

“Okay, yeah. Thank you so much, really,” Max gushes, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “I was so worried when I realized what happened.”

You shrug with an easy smile. “Oh, it’s no trouble at all. Better to get these things checked out, just to be safe.” A teasing glint enters your expressive eyes. “Although, I have to ask — how exactly does a Red Bull can get knocked over and lapped up by a cat?”

Max feels his cheeks flush again as your gaze meets his, warm and friendly and so incredibly beautiful up close.

He clears his throat. “Uh, well, you see I was sim racing for a while and just left it out, which was dumb of me ...”

As he rambles through the explanation, Max can’t tear his eyes away from the crinkles that form around your eyes when you smile or the melodic lilt of your laughter. By the time he’s finished, he’s even more smitten than before.

An awkward silence falls as you finish up examining Sassy. You turn back to Max, expression soft.

“Well, it seems like your girl is going to be just fine. I’ll get the discharge paperwork ready for you.”

Your footsteps retreat toward the door and panic seizes Max’s chest. He can’t just let you walk away, not without at least trying ...

“Hey, uh, Dr. Y/N?” He calls out before he can overthink it.

You pause, eyebrows raised expectantly as you turn back.

Max suddenly can’t remember what he was going to say. His mind goes blank, palms growing sweaty, as he shuffles his feet. The words completely escape him as he’s overwhelmed by your warmth and beauty.

“I, uh … thanks again. For helping Sassy,” he stammers out instead, mentally kicking himself.

You smile patiently. “Of course, I’m just glad she’s going to be okay.”

An awkward silence stretches between you as Max wars internally, desperately trying to muster the courage to ask you out properly. But the moment slips away as you begin to turn back toward the door.

“Well, I’ll get those discharge papers ready for you.”

“Right, yeah, okay. Thanks ...” Max’s words trail off lamely as you exit the room.

He squeezes his eyes shut, smacking his forehead in frustration. He just completely blew his chance with the most incredible woman he’s ever met, all because he’s a bumbling idiot who can’t even form a simple sentence around someone that effortlessly beautiful and caring.

Max blows out a long breath, trying to refocus on the fact that Sassy is going to be alright, at least. As he carefully gathers her sleepy form back into her carrier, he can’t help the pang of regret that settles in his chest.

Maybe your paths will cross again someday under better circumstances. A guy can dream, right?

***

The next week drags by for Max in a blur of monotony. He finds his thoughts drifting constantly back to the emergency vet clinic, replaying his disastrous non-attempt at asking you out on a date. Just the memory of your radiant smile and warm eyes is enough to make his heart stutter.

But as the days pass with no sign of you around Monaco, Max’s hope slowly fades. Of course someone as incredibly kind, caring, and beautiful as you would never go for an awkward guy like him. He’s an idiot for thinking he even had a chance.

Exactly one week after the Red Bull incident with Sassy, Max is moping on his couch, idly stroking Jimmy as he channel surfs. He pauses on a cheesy romcom, watching with mild disdain as the bumbling male lead performs increasingly ridiculous stunts all for a chance to see his love interest again.

It’s utterly ridiculous. And yet … Max feels a strange sense of kinship with the hapless romantic on screen.

Because as he stares at the TV, a crazy idea begins to take shape. If he wants to see you again so badly, why not take a page from the movie’s playbook? With a jolt of determination, Max scoops up a disgruntled Jimmy and tucks him into his carrier.

“Looks like you’re coming with me on an adventure, buddy,” Max murmurs, grinning slightly at Jimmy’s unmistakable look of disdain. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it worth your while. I just need you to play along so I can see Y/N again. You’re going to help me make her yours and Sassy’s new mom.”

Jimmy yawns pointedly, seemingly unimpressed with Max’s romantic scheming. Max just chuckles, scratching the cat between the ears before grabbing his keys and heading for the garage.

He settles Jimmy’s carrier into the passenger seat of his Ferrari, the engine roaring to life under his expert control. As he navigates Monaco’s winding streets, Max keeps up a steady stream of conversation with his distinctly unreceptive feline audience.

“You’re going to love Y/N, I just know it,” he insists, pulling up to a red light. “She’s the kindest, most compassionate person I’ve ever met. The way she took care of Sassy with such patience and gentleness ...” Max shakes his head in wonder. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Jimmy blinks slowly at him, conveying an impressive blend of judgment and displeasure at being awake, much less participating in this ridiculous plan. Max just barrels onward.

“Look, I know this seems crazy. But Y/N … she’s just special, you know? And if this is what it takes to get to know her better, then I’m all in.”

He pulls up to the familiar sight of the clinic, parking much more calmly this time before grabbing Jimmy’s carrier and heading inside. The same receptionist from before looks up in surprise as he approaches.

“You again? Is everything okay with Sassy?”

Panic grips Max’s chest as he realizes he didn’t actually come up with an excuse for bringing Jimmy in beforehand. He scrambles for something, anything, to say.

“Uh, well, actually it’s Jimmy here who needs to be seen,” he rushes out, nodding toward the disgruntled cat. “You see, I was just, uh … brushing him earlier and he seemed great. But then I went to pick him up and it was like … bam!” Max mimes an explosion gesture. “Total f-fur explosion, just hair going everywhere! It was like he was … moulting, but not in the normal way, you know?”

By the time Max finishes, the receptionist is staring at him in bewilderment. He can feel the flush creeping up the back of his neck as she blinks slowly.

“A … fur explosion,” she repeats flatly.

“Exactly!” Max insists with a vigorous nod. “Just an absolute furpocalypse, you would not believe it. So I figured I’d better bring him in to get checked out, just in case?”

A beat passes as the receptionist seems to silently debate arguing with him further. Finally, she just shakes her head.

“Okay, well … go ahead and take Jimmy back to exam room three again. Dr. Y/L/N will be right with you.”

Max’s heart leaps into his throat at the mention of your name as he forces a polite smile and heads back down the hallway to the familiar room. He carefully lets Jimmy out to explore as they wait, praying fervently that you’ll actually be the one to walk through that door.

The minutes drag by in tense silence, Max gnawing nervously at his thumbnail. Just as he’s starting to think this was all a terrible idea, the door swings open and you step inside.

It’s like the world stops spinning for a moment. You are … breathtaking, even more gorgeous than Max remembered. From your tumbling locks of hair to the gentle curve of your smile, he’s completely mesmerized all over again.

You glance up from the chart in your hands, doing a slight double-take as you recognize Max.

“Well, hello again you!” Your voice is bright and melodic. “I can’t say I was expecting to see you back so soon. What happened?”

Your inquisitive gaze meets Max’s and he very nearly blurts out the entire truth right then and there — that he absolutely made up an excuse just for the chance to see you again. Somehow, he bites back the words at the last moment.

“Oh, uh, it was the weirdest thing,” he stammers instead, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I was brushing Jimmy, my other cat, earlier and all of a sudden his fur just started … exploding everywhere! Like, full-on furmageddon. It was insane.”

He cringes inwardly at how stupid he sounds, watching as a crease forms between your brows in contemplation. After a moment, though, your features smooth out into an easy smile and you move closer to gently stroke Jimmy’s silky fur.

“Well, let’s take a look, shall we?”

For the next several minutes, Max watches in rapt fascination as you thoroughly examine Jimmy from ears to tail, gentle hands ghosting over his fur as you murmur soothing reassurances. Just being in your presence is intoxicating.

You’re so caring and patient, even with the obviously fabricated reason Max invented to see you again. It only makes his growing infatuation burn all the brighter.

Finally, you straighten back up and turn to Max with a warm smile.

“Well, I can definitively say there was no fur explosion or moulting crisis with Mr. Jimmy here,” you tease lightly, arching one perfect eyebrow. “He seems perfectly healthy to me. Is there anything else I can help you with today?”

Your knowing look pins Max in place, cheeks flushing guiltily. He rubs at the back of his neck again, trying to decide if he should just come clean or stubbornly dig himself deeper into this ridiculous invented scenario.

But as he opens his mouth, ready to try and bumble through another excuse, something stops him. Maybe it’s the patient understanding in your warm gaze or the gentle amusement playing at the corners of your mouth. Or maybe it’s just Dutch stubbornness rearing its head.

Either way, Max’s words grind to a halt as he takes a deep, fortifying breath.

“You know what? I’m just going to put it all out there,” he blurts before he can second guess himself further. “The truth is … I made up this whole thing as an excuse to come see you again.”

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but Max presses onward, suddenly unable to stem the flow of words.

“I tried to ask you out last week after you helped Sassy but I completely chickened out like an idiot. And I just … I couldn’t stop thinking about you, about how caring and amazing you were.”

Max’s heart thunders in his ears as he runs an anxious hand through his hair.

“So, I don’t know, I got this stupid idea to bring Jimmy in so I could see you again. Which is insane, I know, and you probably think I’m some total weirdo stalker creep now but-”

“Max.” Your soft voice cuts through his panicked rambling like a lighthouse beam in the fog. “Breathe.”

He sucks in a shuddery breath, feeling his cheeks flush scarlet under your gaze. This is it, the moment you shut him down for being a complete crazy person and he has to slink out of here in shame. Maybe he can move to Timbuktu and become a goat herder to escape his humiliation-

“I have to admit, this is a new one for me,” you continue, a teasing lilt to your words. “Most guys don’t go to such elaborate lengths just to see me again.”

You take a step closer, eyes sparking with a hint of mischief that has Max’s breath catching in his throat.

“Though I have to say, faking a pet illness is definitely an … original move. Do you go to such dramatic extremes for all your romantic pursuits?”

Max can’t help but huff out a surprised laugh at that, some of the tightly-wound tension easing from his shoulders.

“No, I uh … you’re pretty definitively the first person I’ve literally made my cat an accomplice just to spend more time with.”

The laughter that bubbles up from you at that is bright and infectious, warmth blooming in Max’s chest as he drinks in the delighted crinkles at the corners of your eyes.

“Well, as harebrained schemes go, I suppose I’ve encountered worse,” you tease warmly. “Though in the future, you’re welcome to just ask me out like a normal person.”

A weighted pause hangs between you as realization dawns in Max’s thundering heart. Is this … is this your way of giving him that very opening?

He clears his throat roughly, feeling oddly like he’s standing at the edge of a precipice, every molecule vibrating with anticipation and hope and sheer, pounding need.

“Does that mean … I mean, would you want to?” The words stick in his suddenly dry throat. “Go out with me, that is? On like … a date?”

The breath rushes from Max’s lungs in a dizzying whoosh as he finally gets the words out. He watches you intently, hands clenched into nervous fists as he waits for your response with bated breath.

For a moment, you’re quiet, considering him with an inscrutable expression. The silence seems to stretch into eternity, suffocating Max as a thousand worst-case scenarios start to race through his mind.

This is it, he’s blown it forever. You’re going to turn him down, probably with a gentle let-down about having to be professional or not dating clients or something. He’ll be crushed, forced to slink away and change his name and flee to the farthest reaches of Nepal to become a hermit and-

And then, finally, you smile. It’s soft and warm and sends relief crashing through Max in a blissful wave.

“You know what, Max? I would really like that.”

He blinks, feeling a little dizzy as the words bounce around his head. “You … you would?”

You laugh again, low and melodic, taking another step toward him. “I would. In fact, I’d love nothing more.”

A giddy grin splits Max’s face before he can rein it in. You actually said yes! To him! After his utterly insane made-up pet emergency, you still somehow agreed to go out with him.

The absurd wave of giddy elation and disbelief must show on his face, because you shake your head fondly.

“What am I going to do with you, Max Verstappen?” You say, voice warm with wry amusement. “Anyone else might have turned and ran after that nonsense, but I have to admit … there’s something terribly endearing about your attempts at romance.”

You brush past him then, headed for the door with a coquettish glance over your shoulder.

“I’ll get those discharge papers ready. And maybe once the completely fabricated fur crisis is dealt with, you can take me out for that date one of these days?”

Max can only nod dumbly, wide smile still firmly in place as the exam room door swings shut behind you. He glances down at a disgruntled Jimmy, scratching his cat’s ears with a breathy chuckle.

“Looks like your little acting gig paid off after all, buddy. Your new mom’s gonna take me out on a date!”

***

A few months later, Max can barely contain his excitement as he weaves through the familiar organized chaos of the Monaco paddock. This race holds a special thrill every year as one of the marquee events on the calendar. But today, there’s an extra level of anticipation thrumming through his veins.

Because for the first time ever, you’re here with him.

After months of gentle coaxing and meticulously planned days off, he’s finally convinced you to spend an entire race weekend as his guest. The chance to show you his world, the intoxicating intensity of a Grand Prix up close, fills Max with a buzz of elation.

He can’t wait for you to experience it all — the roar of finely-tuned engines, the crunch of data analysis, and even the mundane periods of hurry-up-and-wait that are all just part of the hectic lifestyle he loves. Just having you by his side makes everything seem that much more vibrant and alive.

Max throws you a brilliant grin as he catches your eye, unable to resist drinking in how gorgeous you look, face glowing with curiosity and excitement at taking it all in. His breath catches a little at the warmth in your returned smile. Even after months together, he’s still constantly amazed that this funny, caring, wonderful woman actually agreed to be his.

A gentle hand on his arm breaks through Max’s reverie. He glances over to find his trainer indicating they should move on for the next pre-race commitment. Max nods easily, squeezing your hand as he slows.

“Why don’t you wait here? I’ll just be a couple minutes with Rupert going over some details, then we can grab some food, yeah?”

“Sounds perfect.” You lean in to press a lingering kiss to his cheek that makes his head swim. “I’ll be here.”

Max’s grin is so wide it borders on goofy as he tears himself away to follow Rupert toward the motorhome, throwing one last look over his shoulder. You’ve settled onto a stack of tires just around the corner, radiant smile still in place as you watch the surrounding action unfold.

His trainer’s voice pulls Max back to the present as they walk, and he does his best to shelf his heartsick infatuation for a few minutes to focus. This is it, the most famous race of the year. The track with no room for error during qualifying. He should be mentally locking in, triple checking every detail and sensor read-out.

Instead, his mind keeps drifting back to how soft your lips felt against his cheek, how undeniably right it feels to share this with you.

By the time their brief walk-through wraps up, Max is practically shaking with anticipation to rejoin you. Only as he turns back toward where he left you, jacket slung over his arm … you’re nowhere to be seen.

A crease forms between Max’s brows as he scans the scattered tires and tool chests, looking for your familiar figure. You couldn’t have gone far in such a short span.

Then a flash of movement from the Mercedes garage entrance catches his eye and Max feels his heart plummet. There you are, crouched down animatedly in front of the German team’s pit … with none other than Lewis Hamilton and his bloody bulldog Roscoe.

Of course. Of course Lewis-freaking-Hamilton would zoom in the second Max’s back was turned to try and work his charms on you. Even bringing that dumb dog out like the world’s most obnoxious prop to appeal to your soft heart for animals.

Max sees red, an irrational wave of protective jealousy surging through his veins as he watches you laugh at something Lewis says, completely charmed. Your hand strokes Roscoe’s broad head idly, pure affection written across your features.

And just like that, Max is moving before his brain can catch up, feet carrying him hastily across the pavement as if drawn by an invisible cord.

You glance up as he approaches, smile stretching even wider. “Max! Lewis was just-”

But Max pays your words no mind, slipping an arm around your waist and tugging you snugly against his side as he sizes up Lewis with narrowed eyes.

“Everything okay over here?” His gaze pointedly avoids the dog panting at their feet.

He sees confusion flicker across your features, but Lewis just chuckles good-naturedly.

“Just making a new friend is all! Your girl here is an absolute natural with Roscoe.” He shoots you a warm grin and motions to his dog, who thumps his stubby tail happily against the pavement.

Max feels his jaw tighten, irrational possessiveness flaring hot and bright as Lewis’ approving gaze lingers a little too long for his liking.

“Oh, the pup’s adorable!” You enthuse, dropping into a crouch again to ruffle Roscoe’s velvety ears. “You’re being such a good boy, aren’t you?”

Max scowls down at the dog, annoyed by his besotted panting and frantically wagging tail as you dole out affectionate pats. Like the mangy thing has any inkling how lucky he is.

Leave it to Lewis to trot out something irresistibly cute like that just to try and win you over.

Seeming to sense his silent brooding, you straighten back up and loop your arm through Max’s, squeezing his bicep gently. “I’m getting a little thirsty, actually. Do you mind if I run to the hospitality tent for a drink quickly?”

Lewis perks up instantly. “I can show you whe-”

“She knows the way,” Max cuts him off, perhaps a bit too sharply judging by your surprised blink. He softens his tone with an effort. “To Red Bull hospitality, I mean. I’ll walk you over.”

He turns on his heel, tugging you along in the wake of his hasty dismissal. Your brows knit together and you open your mouth, no doubt to question his odd behavior.

But Max stubbornly presses on, only slowing once you’ve turned past a row of transport trucks and the Mercedes garage is out of sight. He releases a long, slow breath, some of the weird, clawing tension ebbing away now that you’re back by his side.

“Everything alright?” You ask carefully, mouth curved into a bemused half-smile. “That was … a bit of an abrupt exit back there.”

Max snorts, shaking his head ruefully as you fall into step together. How is he supposed to put this in a way that doesn’t make him sound like a completely irrational, jealous idiot?

“Yeah, everything’s great. Just felt like it was time to move on before Lewis could really get going, you know?” He shoots you a sidelong look, arching one brow meaningfully. “Dude loves to hear himself talk.”

You huff out an amused breath, lips twitching like you’re struggling not to grin wider. “I’m not sure I’d go that far. He seems perfectly lovely from what I could tell.”

Max shrugs one shoulder, brushing off the statement and its implicit critique of his attitude. Lewis is a fine enough guy … he just also happens to be a chronic flirt who clearly recognizes a beautiful, charming woman when he sees one. And that activates Max’s protective instincts on a level he didn’t quite anticipate until he saw Lewis zeroing in on you like that.

You drift closer as you walk, bumping his shoulder with yours playfully.

“You know, it was kind of sweet, actually — him bringing Roscoe out to meet me. I think he knew I’m a sucker for a cute dog.”

Sweet. Right. Because Lewis was just doing it all out of the goodness of his bleeding heart.

“Don’t you mean Roscoe is the real competition here?” Max tries for a teasing tone, only half-joking. “Pretty sure that mutt was the one working overtime to charm you.”

He tosses you an exaggerated leer, stoking the banter to cover his lingering irrational annoyance at the entire situation. If you noticed his blatant brush-off of Lewis, you’re being mercifully subtle about calling it out.

Sure enough, you lift one delicately arched brow, lips curved into an indulgent smile. “Is that so? And here I thought it was just Lewis trying to get on my good side. My, what a dilemma!”

Max chuckles despite himself at your playful tone, some of the weird tension ebbing further from his shoulders. Of course you’re not fazed by all this nonsense — you never are. Not only are you unfailingly kind and patient, but you clearly know him well enough by now to recognize when his protective instincts are causing the occasional bout of unreasonable jealousy.

Even though he swears up and down he isn’t actually jealous, not really. Just … being cautious after finally finding someone as incredible as you.

Red Bull hospitality comes into view up ahead, its distinctive energy drink logos splashed across the entrance. You start to slow as you approach, hand trailing lightly down Max’s arm until your fingers brush his.

“I wasn’t gone that long, you know,” you point out, regarding him with those warm, knowing eyes. “I wouldn’t just run off and leave you behind on your big weekend.”

Something in your tone, soft yet insistent, assures Max that you see right through his childishly competitive display. He doesn’t even have the decency to look sheepish as you continue.

“Max, you don’t have to worry about anyone trying to steal me away or whatever it is that’s going through that handsome head of yours. I’m yours, remember?”

Your fingers tangle through his and your free hand comes up to cup his cheek, grounding him fully in the moment. He nods slowly, leaning into your touch as the last wisps of stupid, needless jealousy evaporate under the warmth of your fond gaze.

“You’re right, I know. I do remember.” He turns his head slightly, brushing his lips across your palm. “And I’m yours.”

“Exactly.” You raise up on your tiptoes to dust a feather-light kiss across his mouth that leaves Max’s head spinning delightfully. “Now, what do you say we get something to drink so we can enjoy the rest of the weekend together?”

Max grins, feeling lighter than he has all day as he catches your hand and tugs you toward the tent entrance.

“Lead the way, liefje. I’ll follow you anywhere.”

And he absolutely would, too — past Lewis and Roscoe and any irrational jealousy that rears its head. Because having you by his side through all the whirlwind of Formula 1, getting to share this wild life with the woman he loves more and more every day?

It’s the only competition Max has any interest in winning.

[queers-gambit]

Two to Tango

prompt: the aftermath of Carmy's words seem to rattle him more than you.

pairing: Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto x female!reader pairing: Carmy x Peach

fandom masterlist: FX's The Bear

collection masterlist: Clingy Baby

word count: 5.4k+

note: author still does not want any messages about glorifying toxic relationships. typically, but not always, when someone calls you clingy, it's weaponized and is abusive. this fic is not meant to portray that! it’s meant to show internal agony and the journey to forgiveness - Carmy apologizes 'cause he's actually sorry!

warnings: cursing, reader folds 'cause who wouldn't for the sweet puppy that is Carmy, hurt and comfort, small angst, small fluff, we talk about Mikey a bit, author uses writing as therapy, relationship angst...? barely edited.

part one: God's Plan

"It's six in the Goddamn morning!" You raged at your front door, stomping up to it, "Are you dumb in the fucking head!? Who the fuck in their right mind knocks like the Goddamn cops at six in the fucking morning!?"

You whipped it open, the force causing a breeze of air to blow your bedridden hair back and highlight your exhaustion. "Hiya, sunshine," Richie beamed down at you, holding up a paper bag, offering, "donut?"

"Richie!? I know you're not fuckin' stupid, baby boy, so, what the fuck is wrong with you? It's six in the morning on my day off - do you want to give me a reason to punch you? You hate your nose that much?"

He tisked at you mockingly, "Someone's cranky this morning."

"What do you want?"

"You're not gonna invite me in for coffee? I brought us donuts! See? C'mon, Peach," He jostled the bag around with a shit-eating, closed-lip smile. "Dooonuts," he taunted.

You had to pause, count to ten in your head, then sigh through your nose. You offered kindly, "Richie? Would you like to come in for some coffee? Since you kindly brought donuts?"

He grinned, "Awwh, thanks, Peach, thats real nice of yah! Don't mind if I do!"

"Don't call me that," you snapped, leading him into your kitchen. The door shut and locked.

"Oh, someone's touchy."

"What do you fucking want?" You whined, pouring two mugs of hot coffee. "You come bangin' at my door, early ass in the mornin'. You better have a good-ass reason," you slid the mug over the counter he sat at. "Cream or sugar?"

He shook his head, fiddling with the mug for a moment before admitting as you dressed up your own coffee, "Uh, so... It's Carmy."

You paused, taking a slow sip from your mug, waiting for more that wouldn't come. So, you quietly asked, "What about Carmy?"

"He's falling apart."

"O...Kay?"

"Peach," he frowned, "you know that your relationship was the only thing that made sense to him - he's falling apart without you there."

"Okay," you nodded, taking another swallow of hot bean-water.

"That's it? Nothing else to say? Dude's losin' his fuckin' shit, Peach. Okay? Barely leaves the restaurant, h-he's all manic and shit, doesn't stop cookin', isn't gettin' a lotta sleep, and Syd said his clothes are all over the apartment - he's not keeping himself in order."

"So, he needs his mother?"

Richie glared with a clenched jaw, "Not fuckin' funny, Peach."

"I'm not laughing."

"He needs you."

"I'd argue otherwise, he's a grown fuckin' man who doesn't need to be taken care of. Look, if he was man enough to call me a desperate, clingy bitch, he's man enough to deal with the fallout of his words."

"Look, hey, hey, hey, I'm not sayin' he's not in the wrong," he waved his hands, eyes widening, "actually, the exact opposite. We all chewed his ass out when we found out what he fuckin' said, Peach. And look, I've never seen Fak that fuckin' angry."

You semi-pouted your bottom lip, "Really?"

"Fak was ready to strangle Carmy, I think," Richie sighed. "I yelled, Sugar yelled, Fak lost his shit, Syd even cornered him in the office and laid into him..."

"I thought she didn't like me," you whispered.

"She's getting to know you, but she likes you," he assured, "and it's obvious the affect you have on Carmy. We all respect that - "

"Oh, great, so everyone except the one person who needs to respect our relationship - respects it!"

Richie frowned at you, nodding in agreement before admitting, "He's a dumb fuckin' idiot, Peach, we all know that, but the dude is losing it without you."

"Sucks to suck."

"Peach," he groaned, slapping his hands to the counter with exasperation. "Don't you love him?"

"Of course I love him, but I also have this little thing called self-respect! He said some shit - shit he can't ever take back. The fuck I look like going back to him when he's the one in the wrong!? I don't hate myself that much, and despite what he says, I'm not that desperate for love."

"How is talking to the man you love - "

"Richie," you paused him, "your Cousin said a lot of hurtful shit. It's been weeks, okay? He's gonna snap outta it, realize what he's done, and right the wrongs he's committed. I don't need to speed that along in any way, shape, or form - he's a grown man. And I'm a grown woman, I don't have to fall to anyone's beck-and-call, he can figure his own shit out."

"I know - look, it's been fuckin' weeks of us dealin' with him losin' his fuckin' mind!" Richie snapped. "We tried to respect that you wanted distance and time, we really did, but he's losin' it, Peach, more than he's lost it before. Okay? I'm concerned about him, more than I was when the shit with Mikey went down..."

You sighed and leaned on your kitchen counter, wiping your fingers over your eyes to pinch the bridge of your nose after. "Okay, okay," you paused, sighing again, blinking as you looked at Richie, "so, what would you like me to do?"

He pouted dramatically, "Talk to him? Please?"

"To say... What?"

"I don't know, you guys can work that out together, but he's miserable, Peach. Just talk to him, just..." He sighed, shaking his head, "I know it's not fair to ask of you, but he's slippin' off the deep end. You're all he knows, all that makes sense to him, and with you gone..." His eyes turned red as he held back his tears, "I-I'm not sayin' he's gonna do anythin', Peach, but everythin' with Mikey's still so fresh... I just - I can't go through this again. Can't lose another Berzatto."

You frowned, understanding now why he appeared so frazzled.

"Carmy's not Mikey, Richie, okay?" You reminded him softly, reaching for his hand; leaving your extended to reach him, "And you're not gonna lose any more of us, you hear me?" You gave a squeeze, "I'll talk to him."

"Really?"

"I will," you assured softly, seeing the single tear drop from his waterline when he bowed his head and sniffled harshly. "Hey, Richie...? Do you, maybe, wanna bring some flowers to Mikey today? Think you wanna visit?"

He shrugged, "Maybe..."

"Maybe it'll be nice," you assured calmly. "It rained a few days ago, so, the ground won't be too soggy anymore, but the grass will be lush and green - hydrated and shit."

"Right," he chuckled, nodding, "yeah, okay, maybe that'll be nice, yeah, you're right."

"Maybe Carmy could use a visit, too."

"He won't go."

You nodded, "I know, but sometimes it's nice to just have the offer."

Richie agreed, downing the last of his black coffee. "All right," he cleared his throat, "let's go - you wearin' that?"

"What?"

"You gonna wear that? To go talk to Carmy?"

"It's not even seven in the morning!"

"He's at the restaurant," Richie shrugged. "Dude doesn't leave. C'mon, he needs a nap or somethin'."

You groaned, knowing he wouldn't leave unless you left with him. So, you got ready quickly while he sat at your desktop computer; playing Facebook's FarmVille - the same you left your little cousins to play when they needed distracted. He was enraptured by the adorable virtual sheep, laughing to himself as he learned the ropes of the game; and when you were ready, you had time to fill a to-go tumbler of coffee while he signed off.

When you arrived at The Beef, it was still closed for the morning prep; and inside, chaos rained in a fury of angry voices. You listened to Carmy snap at Marcus about something petty, going as far as to slap a pastry out of his hand as they argued in one another's faces with ignited passion.

"Ooookay," you moved through the kitchen and got between the two men, hands on Carmy's chest, "that's enough, Chef, hey, hey, hey, c'mon, walk away - just walk away, Carmy, don't do this. Hey, hey, don't do this, c'mon, just step off - walk away with me, please. Please, Carmy, hey, hey, step off, walk away with me, please."

"Fuck you doin' here, Peach?" He asked with red, swollen eyes. He looked sullen; pale between the angry red blotches to his skin, bags under his tired eyes, looking worn out and thinner than you remembered.

"Yeah, hey, hey, we'll talk about that, c'mon, outside, outside, outside," you directed him, sighing at the sight of the splattered pastry you were forced to step over. "I'm so sorry, Marcus," you whispered, seeing him nod and wave you off as you and Carmy pushed outside into the alley.

The door shut behind you, making Carmy snarl, "What the fuck, Peach - "

"No, I think that's better asked to you," you snapped. "The hell's wrong with you? Yellin' at Marcus like that? You know how rude it is to slap shit outta anyone's hand?"

He paced in anger, wiping a hand down his face; circling his mouth with his fingers, eyes ringed with red, hair greasy and tossed in a mess. His pants looked baggy, his shirt wrinkled, stained, and dirty with sweat marks.

"What're you doin' here?" He asked in a pant, hands going to his slender hips, head shaking as his tear-filled eyes avoided yours.

"Carmy, we need to talk."

"No shit," he breathed, scoffing after and widening his pace.

"Hey, Carmy, hey, hey," you reached for him, taking both his wrists in your grasp so he had to face you. "I need you to pause for me, please, hey," you stepped in his way when he tried to move. "Carmy, you're no good to anyone when you're like this - least of all yourself. So, I need you to talk - "

"You left," he panicked, pulling back to start pacing again. "You left - you left me. We got in a fight and you left, you fucking left. You walked away and you left me."

"Carmy, we got in more than a fight," you sighed. "You lashed out at me, then turned avoidant, and I don't linger where I'm not wanted."

"How can you think that?" He demanded, still pacing. "That you're not wanted by me? That you're not welcome, what? In my life? At my side? With me? Baby - of course, you are!"

"You didn't exactly make me feel any different," you pointed out sharply. "Carmy, can you please fucking pause for me so we can talk this out - "

"I know I fucked up," he ranted to himself, huffing and puffing as his emotion strangled him. "I know I did, I kept - I couldn't - I fucked up. I know I did. I couldn't get my head outta my ass," he listed, pacing as he panted when panic took hold of his being, "and I hurt you, and it was like I had to keep hurting you because I couldn't be alone in what I felt and I couldn't exactly figure out what the fuck I was feeling - I just needed you to hurt, too."

"Carmy," you sighed patiently.

"And I couldn't stop, I just kept going, and when I realized how bad I made it, I couldn't fucking stop - I needed y-yo-you t-to know what I felt, but I couldn't find the words. I-I hate that I did that, I-I fucking hurt you and I made this so much worse than it ever had t-to be, and I fucking know, Peach, okay? I know you're not clingy, you were just loving me. Y-You were loving me, you were using your own love languages, and I felt y-you so fuckin' close to me, and freaked out - I just - I just don't know why. I just - I panicked, I couldn't stop whatever I felt, and I'm so sorry," he breathed, shaking his head, wiping his cheeks as the tears started. "I-I-I'm so sorry, Peach, I couldn't control myself and I-I hate that I hurt you, and I know I don't deserve your understanding, but I just - I couldn't stop - "

"Carmy," you stepped directly in his footpath; needing to seize hold of his swollen biceps to catch his movements as he all but barreled right into you, "I need you to breathe."

"Nah, I'm okay - "

"No, you're not," you spoke sternly, shaking your head. "Baby," you eased your tone to a softer tone, seeing a glimmer of hope spark in his baby blues, "I need you to take a breath and remain in the present with me, okay? Just stand here with me," you watched as he blinked a couple of times; reaching out to hold your waist tentatively. "And stay in the present, okay? Stay here with me."

"I'm so sorry, Peach," he whispered, stepping closer so he could feel your breasts against his chest; caging you with his arms. "I'm so fuckin' sorry, I didn't - I didn't know what the fuck I was even trying to fight with you about. You're not clingy - you're not any of the things I said, I didn't mean it - any of it."

"Calling me desperate?"

"I didn't mean any of it."

"A bitch?"

"Please," he whispered, bringing you in closer so he could rest his forehead on yours. "Don't repeat it, I know what I said, and I'm so fucking sorry for all of it. I know I don't deserve your forgiveness, but I'm goin' crazy without yah, Peach. I need my best girl, and I don't deserve you, but I fuckin' need you." He sniffled, pulling back to caress your cheek, whispering, "I need you, Peach, you're the only thing that I know - the only thing I can understand, that makes sense to me. I think I just felt stressed and overwhelmed, I wasn't sure what to do - I couldn't find the words, I'm so sorry."

You nodded slowly, "I think we can work through this."

"I don't deserve you."

"Maybe not, but you have me anyway," you whispered, bringing his forehead to your own again. "But you can't do this again, taking anger out on me when I haven't done anything."

"Never again," he sighed, now nestling into your neck for comfort; arms tightening so you were the closest you could be with your head bent to keep his head caressed with yours.

"I don't think we can say 'never', but we can make an effort to leave work stress at work, right?" You whispered softly, letting one around coil around him to keep him close; the other caressing his jaw. "You don't get to treat me like that," you reminded him, "because I'm on your side, Carmy, I'm not the enemy."

"I know," he squeezed you tight.

"And the people doing their jobs are not the enemy," you smirked.

"I know," he chuckled lightly. "I owe Marcus an apology..."

"I'm sure you owe it to the others, too," you mused, holding his cheek as you turned your head to kiss his forehead. "Promise me we're done with that reactive bullshit. It doesn't make navigating a relationship easier on us."

"We're done, we're so fuckin' done with that shit," he whispered, deflating into your embrace as you held him close. "I'm so sorry, baby. I really am."

"I know," you comforted softly. "I forgive you."

"I don't deserve it."

"Hey, hey, this self-deprecating stunt has to end, too. We've gotta go forward with at least some confidence if we're gonna figure this out together."

He nodded, pulling back but keeping hold of your waist. "I am confident about this... About you - about us."

"Hmm?" You gently pushed a few stray curls from his forehead.

"Move in with me - officially."

Your face contorted in mild disappointment, "Oh, Carmen - "

"No, no," he rushed, sighing as his hand flattened on your jaw and cheek again, "just listen to me. I've wanted to ask you for a long time, okay? I've wanted this for - like - fucking years. Hear me? I just," he sighed, "I wasn't sure how to ask. I want this for us, I want us to be together, okay? Officially. I-I want us living together, Peach, okay? I want to come home and just - I want you there. I want all of you," he frowned, tears swelling again, "and all your shoes in the foyer, hair in the shower drain, perfume on the counter, and every-single-way you know how to love me. I was wrong to say you were clingy - and everything else I said. Baby, the last couple weeks, I've felt so fucking empty, so lonely and - just - cold. I've been cold without you. I need you, Peach, I need you with me, and I need you to be exactly you - no holding back. Because you're exactly who I need to love me, I'm so sorry I fucked that up before."

"Carmy."

He frowned, "I'm sorry."

"I know," you smirked, "and I forgive you. But you know it's gonna take more than a few pretty words and some tears, right?"

He nodded, "Anything to make this work again."

You sighed in patience, "Go say your apologies to the others, we've got t'make a stop before going back to yours - and you're going to take a fucking nap."

"I'm fine - "

"Look me in my eye and try to tell me in the past 72 hours, you've had decent, restful sleep."

He frowned, opening his mouth a few times but then sighing. "You know I can't," he whispered.

"Exactly why we're going back to yours."

Carmy paused, brows furrowing as if a thread pulled them together. He asked softly, "Is that a no to us... Living together? Is that why you're calling it 'my' place?"

You offered him a look of patience and leaned in to peck his lips for a few prolonged seconds, promising, "There's your apartment, there's my apartment, and then there's gonna be our apartment. Somewhere that's just ours, 100% us." His mouth stretched in a grin, so you swiftly cut him off, "But you have to ask me again when you've got restful sleep under your belt. I want you clear headed when you make this kinda decision."

"Yes, ma'am," he agreed. "Where're we goin' before?"

You swallowed nervously, telling him softly, "You absolutely do not have to go with us, but I think Richie could use a visit out to Mikey's grave. I said I'd take him with some flowers, but you do not have to get out to go with us - not if you're not ready."

He blinked a few times, rolling his lips between his teeth as his eyes dropped from yours. You were about to coo his name and assure him again, when he nodded at you and tried to half-smile. "Okay," he breathed.

"Okay?"

"Mhm. I'll, uh... M-Maybe I can, just, hang back in the car."

"Sure, baby, whatever you're comfortable with," you whispered, leaning in to peck his forehead. "You good?"

"I will be."

"Mhm," you hummed, caressing his cheek again before pushing your hand into his curls. "Now, let's get a move on - I want you to march in there, say you're sorry to your Chefs, and then we'll leave."

"Yes, ma'am," Carmy whispered, leaning in to kiss you - but you pulled back.

"Aht," you halted him with a teasing finger to his lips, "after we've got everything worked out, then you can kiss me."

"You got t'kiss me," he mumbled against your finger; making you hum as you fought off a stretching smile, and lower your hand.

"Fair point - just one then - "

He cut you off by, indeed, pressing a single kiss to your lips, but not pulling back. His hand raised to hold the back of your head, your lips spreading in a grin against his; finding rhythm to move together before pausing to press in prolonged passion.

When he pulled back, you both paused to smile, and when you tried to peck his lips again, he pulled back, teasing, "Aht, just the one."

"Oh, fuck you," you laughed lightly, letting him take your hand before leading you back into the kitchen. The other Chefs lingered, sparing you and Carmy a few nervous glances, making you whisper in his ear as you squeezed his hand, "Go ahead, baby, get it done."

He nodded and called the kitchen to attention, clearing his throat, and beginning to make his apologies. He singled out Marcus, then Sydney, Richie, and Sugar; the kitchen staff all accepting his words and insisting he could take the day off - even the next few days if he wanted! You had to usher him to grab his things a few times, nudging him in reminder and verbally pushing him back into action. That boy's ADHD would truly be the death of him.

"So?" Richie smirked at you as Marcus handed you a packaged box of pastries.

"We're talking it out."

He chuckled, "Good. Get him outta here, Peach, dude needs to breathe."

"I got it," you swatted him away as Carmy exited the office. "But we've got somewhere to be first, right?"

He paused, then nodded and asked in a mutter, "He said okay?"

"He's got time to decide what he wants to do, but he knows we're going. C'mon, get your coat."

Richie met you at the front of the restaurant and with a parting wink to Sugar, you took Carmy's hand, tangled your fingers together, and left to venture to your parked car. Carmy got in the front, Richie in the back, and after a stop at a corner bodega to grab three bouquets of flowers, you drove to the cemetery. Carmy was silent, no music played, and Richie's leg bounced in anxious tension; making small conversation with you about your job in an effort to distract himself.

When you arrived, you pulled up on the access road that you knew was closest to Mikey's grave. Richie spared a glare between you and Carmy before muttering that he needed a cigarette and got out of the car to leave you alone. "Baby?" You whispered, reaching for his hand. "Hey, look, if you don't want to go with us, it's okay. We won't be long... But maybe you want to sign this," you showed him the small, blank name card left in the flowers.

"Why?" He whispered.

You shrugged, "So he knows they're from you."

"Peach," he sighed, meeting your eyes.

"Baby, I know it's silly, I know it's easier to ignore it all. But I'd like to believe it's just a nice gesture for our own closure - it's a signed gift from us, to them... And maybe it's nice to pretend that wherever they are, they know what we've left for them."

Carmy nodded slowly, "I-I don't think... I don't think I can go..."

"It's okay, baby," you whispered.

"But," he sniffled, opening his hand to you, "I'll sign it, if you'll leave it for me?"

"Of course," you rushed, opening your purse to producing a pen for him. The clank card rest on the center console of your car, pausing, swallowing nervously, then scribbling his name as he cleared his throat. He offered you the pen, waited until it was put away, then offered the flowers. "Hang tight, we won't be too long," you whispered, leaning in to rest your forehead. "You okay?"

He nodded, pecking your forehead before letting you get out of the car. You handed Richie his own flowers with a signed card, holding your own and Carmy's; linking arms with Rich to venture up the small grass hill and moved about halfway down the cemetery plot line. When you came to his stone, you understood this was what Rich needed more than you, so, you knelt and laid the two bouquets down before starting to quickly groom the area around his tombstone.

You told him, "I'm sorry it's not much, but I'll be back later for a picnic and a chat. I brought you flowers from me a-and from Carmy. He's in the car, but he's here, Mikey... Give him time," you whispered, brushing dirt from the stone before standing. "Take your time," you told Richie softly, seeing the tears gather in his eyes.

"Thanks, Peach," he whispered, offering you a tight hug. When you pulled back and started to walk away, Richie lowered himself to kneel and lay his own flowers down; hearing him tell Mikey, "Don't gotta worry 'bout us, Mike-Man, Peach is the glue that keeps us together. Shit, she even got Carmy out here..."

You made it back to the car and got in, smiling at Carmy - but dropping it the instant you saw tears in his eyes. "Talk to me," you whispered, reaching for a wet wipe in your glovebox to clean your hands after plucking the grass and brushing off dirt from the grave.

"Why can't I get out?"

You only stared at him for a long moment, unsure what to say.

"I'm here... I'm finally here... Why can't I get out?"

"You're not ready," you nodded, tossing the wipe aside to a plastic bag. "It's okay, Carmy, it's okay to not be ready yet. We can come back when you are," you reached for his hand.

"I think this added to my frustration," he admitted. "I couldn't... I didn't go to the funeral, haven't been here since he was... You know."

"Laid to rest."

"Yeah," he sighed. "Fuck's wrong with me?"

"You're grieving," you relented, nuzzling closer so your head rested on his shoulder. "It's not linear, Carmy, baby, just let yourself feel. When you try to repress your emotions, you lash out inappropriately."

"I know," he whispered, "'M sorry."

"It's not your fault," you promised, the two of you quietly bowing your heads together. You remained as such until Richie got back in the car, and from there, it was quiet as everyone stewed in their own emotion. You dropped Rich back at work before promising to call him later and driving away; heading for Carmy's apartment in the soothing silence, his hand locked in yours.

When you arrived at his apartment, you froze upon seeing the interior's state. "Oh, Carmy, no," you whispered, frowning deeply.

"Looks worse than it is," he deflected. You only hummed and let him lead you to the bedroom; watching him strip and prepare for bed before joining you on the mattress. He crashed almost immediately, sighing in relief as he pecked over your shoulder and collarbone, muttering, "'M so glad you're back. 'M so sorry, Peach."

"I know you are, and I forgive you," you told him softly, carding a manicured hand through his hair. "Just get some rest, baby."

He was asleep nearly instantly. He deflated on top of you, deeply resting enough to not notice you slip out from under him. You cleaned his entire apartment; doing laundry, cleaning, scrubbing, replacing necessities he deemed himself too lazy to pay attention to. You did dishes, cleaned out his fridge, and as you mopped up the floors, the sun set and Carmy emerged from the bedroom.

"Baby?" He mumbled in earnest confusion, sighing in relief when he saw you.

"What? Afraid I disappeared on you?" You teased with a small grin.

"For sure," he mumbled, wiping sleep from his eyes; making your amusement dim when you realized the nerve it struck. "The hell you doin'?"

"You didn't seriously think I could rest knowing this monster of a clean-up job lingered out here, did you?"

"I don't want you t'clean after me."

"Well, too late," you smirked. "You good now?"

"I feel better, yeah."

"Good."

"And I made up my mind."

"Hmm? About what?"

"I'm gonna take some time off work," he nodded, "and focus on us. Get us in a new crib, it'll be nice."

"Think you can handle that?"

He nodded, "I'll have to, you're the most important thing in my life, I can't lose you. So, if I gotta take time off, that's the least of my worries. I'm only here for us, for you."

You smiled at him, setting the mop aside to wrap him in your arms. "I like the sound of that, us making a home together - being able to decorate a new home. But don't let me overdo it, okay? I get all excited and kinda bulldoze my way through projects. I don't want you t'find real reason t'resent me."

"Nah, that ain't possible," he promised quietly.

True to his word, Carmy took three solid weeks off; agreeing to a fourth week as a contact-only consultant. You and he slept in most days, looking at apartments, and not once did he even mention work. He was diligent in his attention, focused on you and you alone; putting in overtime to rebuild that what was broke by focusing on shared interests again. You found a place you loved ready for what was basically immediate move-in, taking time to pack your respected places and prepare for the official start of your cohabitating relationship.

You didn't forget what he said, being reserved in your displays of love. Yet Carmy was different; he was totally clingy the moment you returned to his life. He feared letting you go meant you'd disappear again, feared you'd run away again. He held your hand at every possible opportunity, got you a fresh bouquet of weekly flowers, ran all his errands with you; never went to bed without you, cooked all meals with you in the kitchen - perched up on a counter. Most showers you took together, and almost every night was spent cuddling on the couch or in bed with either a book being shared between you or a new show playing on the mounted flatscreen TV.

Carmy clung because he thought if he showed you acts of his love, it'd allow comfort towards your loving behavior to flourish again - and he was right. It took a little bit of time, but Carmy clung tighter and tighter; ensuring you started to reciprocate before ever easing up in the intensity of his affectionate displays. He didn't want to overwhelm you, but knew you needed the reassurance.

You were cautious, you were apprehensive; tiptoeing around Carmy even when living together before warming back up to him. You didn't need to repeat the words he hurled at you all those weeks ago, not wanting to dredge up repressed feelings, but never letting him forget what he said. Your actions spoke enough, skittish around his affection; something Carmy took note of and despised himself for. He made up for it, of course he did, it was Carmy and he hated tension and conflict in his closest circles of life. Yet it wasn't so easy for you two to move forward, they weren't just words to you.

They were direct insults to you as a person; to you and how you loved others. Carmy had seen your deepest fear and used it as a defense against you - wanting you to hurt the way he was, too. He understood this wasn't acceptable, knowing the next time he resorted to such despicable actions, you'd simply walk away; never dealing with disrespect, so, he needed to be acutely aware of his words.

You would never allow yourself to be someone else's doormat, but part of being an adult is understanding that people were allowed to make mistakes - it's part of being fucking human. How terrible you'd feel if someone held your own mistakes against you, because the truth was, you weren't perfect either.

Part of being in a(n adult) relationship is understanding when someone apologized, it was best to accept and move on because nothing was ever solved by dragging turmoil out. This didn't mean forget what happened, forget whatever emotion was evoked - but to do your part to repair what was broken; no matter who was at fault, it always took Two to Tango.

And in this song and dance, you were ready to sweep around the dance floor if only with Carmy. Because that's what a relationship was; a conscious effort by both partners to work as one, to dance in-sync; owning the art together, as equal partners.

requesting rules and masterlist

The Bear masterlist

Clingy Baby collection masterlist

[ramhaiba]

𝖡𝗈𝗒𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽 (𝖸𝖺𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖲𝖺𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗎 𝖦𝗈𝗃𝗈 𝗑 𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋)

SNEAK PEEK

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT a/n: this fic is a lot darker than normal of my work contains: noncon sexual themes, manhandling, breaking up, biting, oral (f receiving), baby trapping, modern au

The truth is, you should have broken up with Satoru Gojo a long time ago. Two years ago, the thought of even considering taking a break from Satoru would have sent you into a coma. Why wouldn’t you want to be known as ‘Satoru's girl?’ Being with a guy like him would cause no one to dare look at you in the wrong way. 

Besides, he buys you things that cost more than your rent, and will refuse if you dare to give it back to him because you ‘don’t need such expensive things.’ 

So what exactly is wrong with dating Satoru?

Obsession. 

“You’ve been spending so much time with your friends...sometimes I think you forget who your boyfriend is”

“Jealous? Me? Baby, it’s only because I care about you”

“You know I don’t like it when you’re away, it hurts me. Do you want to hurt me, Y/n?”

“You look great in that dress. But I feel like I should be the only person to see you in it. Why don’t you go change so you don’t embarrass me” 

And the list goes on and on...and on…

If it wasn’t his words that would send you to this point, his constant touching, rubbing, groping, and kissing in public just to scare any guy in your five-mile radius away was something you couldn’t ignore anymore. 

The final straw is when you heard furious knocking on your door, knocking so loud that you could have sworn that whoever was behind it would just kick it down, surprised that you could hear it with the storm outside. Unlucky for you, you were middle of a shower, not expecting to be bothered in the middle of the night. You were forced to wrap a towel around your torso, covering your chest to your upper thighs, and rushing down the stairs to open the door.

You slowly open the door for your boyfriend,  his chest heaving as the rain pours down on his white hair. 

“Satoru- wh-what’s wrong.” you stuttered, clenching the towel wrapped around your body.

“Bastard ” he muttered, stepping inside, letting his wet footprints stain your floors. 

“What? Satoru, why are you even here- it’s late” you questioned, in disbelief. 

“Tell me-tell me that he didn’t fuck you, Y/n. Please” Satoru begged, his hands gripping your shoulder as he forced you to the wall, blue eyes without a trace of sanity.

“Wh-what the fuck are you talking about “ you yelped, unaware of what put your boyfriend into such a manic episode.  

“Is he still in the house? Huh? He is right?” Satoru started laughing, his head leaning into the crook of your neck, 

God- at this point you wouldn’t be surprised if he bit your neck off.

“Satoru, you’re starting to scare me. Please just tell me what’s wrong and I can help you” you responded, trying to caress his face, only for him to pin your hands above your head. 

“Nanami, you’re fucking him, right? Suguru saw bring you to your house. Holding hands or some shit. Looking too friendly” Satoru hissed, just the thought of you being touched by hands that didn’t belong to him sent waves of fury into him. 

You didn’t even question why Suguru was watching you when he had no reason to be in your area- 

Thinking back at it, you wondered if Satoru begged asked Suguru to watch you while he was too busy to do it himself. 

“Nanami only came over because I asked him to help fix my door” you answered. 

“Then what? You rode his dick as a reward?” 

“Satoru, I would never” you argued. 

“Then show me… Prove to me that you’d never betray me” he erupted, clicking his tongue 

“Please” he added.

That’s when Satoru stepped away from you, knowing what you have to do, your hands shakily let the white towel around your chest slip off, falling onto the floor, using your forearms to cover your breast and pelvis. You turned your head to the side, finding it unbearable to watch his degrading facial expression as he examined every inch of your body, tears of embarrassment threatening to spill out of your eyes. 

“What’s this,” Satoru asked, eyes hooded, his fingers prying your thighs apart, tracing over a faded bite mark. 

“It’s from you, remember” you answered, voice cracking. Suddenly, you felt Satoru’s hands pull your face towards his, blue eyes locking with yours, refusing to let you look away, “want to bet on it?” he questioned. 

You watched hopelessly as Satoru’s lips trailed down your chest to your inner thigh, his knees on the ground, stopping at the bite mark, his pupils dilating as he took a good look at it, before sinking his teeth right into it, causing you to yelp, tugging on his white hair, silently begging him to stop. And when he finally did, he pressed a wicked kiss on it, pulling back to analyze it, 

“I knew it”

He smiled as he looked up at you from between your legs, pressing his chin on your thigh, “It’s a perfect match on my teeth, I knew you’d never cheat on me baby” he smiled. His hands rubbed your waist as your tears fell from your eyes, heart still racing from the rush of adrenaline.

 Satoru didn’t mind you were crying, in fact, he thought you were always at your prettiest when crystal-clear salty tears dripped down your heated cheeks, eyelashes damp. 

Full version

[bkd-b3ans]

You try to repair a watch, Boothill is being annoying as usual, you end up discovering his neurolink perfectly mimics human emotions.

-> Ship: Boothill X Mechanic!Reader (or just tech savvy idk the term really)

-> Rating: Safe for All

-> TL;DR: Boothill visits you after closing hours, nearly ruins a 5 million watch repair commission, stares for a bit too long while you work and overheats for a bit, ends up learning you live above your own workshop and you learn he gets flustered easy.

-> Extra notes: No idea where I will go with these, I just love writing stuff. Next one is going to be more about touching / feeling, but until then, you too can experience casual chatter. I do not proof read, whatever is written is in accordance to Ellios script, go meow at him. Take this "2nd" part as pure world-building.

-> Word count: 2k~ ish

-> First part: here

Thank you for reading and bearing with my awful English. If you have any prompts I would be more than happy to hear them.

"Pardner? Yoohooo~" Boothill was waving his arm like a manic from the front of the counter, trying to catch your attention, but you were too engrossed in your work, tinkering away with some expensive watch you were paid to fix, the tiny gears and springs neatly organized in your table in tiny boxes with labels, while you were hunched over the table, looking through a magnifying glass and listening to music, tongue almost sticking out like some cartoon character while you were trying to place the gear in its place carefully using some precise tweezers.

For all you cared, your shop was closed for the day, so why would anyone in their right mind, or that knows how to read a sign, would even bother you? Of course you didn't take into account a Galaxy Ranger that had a passion for annoying you at random times.

"Psst, hey, over 'ere..." he sighed, "Fudge this". Impatient as ever, Boothill just helped himself with one of the expensive motor oil cans in the counter and stepped around it, taking off his hat and placing it on your head.

The whole motion made you jump out of your skin, dropping the tweezers together with the very important, one of a kind gear, that you could barely notice while it was on your table, let alone on your floor, rolling off into the void like all of the pens you've lost throughout the years.

"WHAT THE FUCK, MY FUCKING WORK OF MY AEONS-" you took off the hat annoyed, hand still shaking from the scare and heart running laps in your chest. Shoving the hat into Boothills chest, you couldn't help but be angry at the man, sighing.

"Damn sugar-cube, didn't know ye were this jumpy. Ye should be more aware of yer surroundings you know?"

"What the hell does that mean. MY SHOP IS CLOSED BOOTHILL, CAN'T YOU READ??"

"Well, not your language no, it's all a bunch of jumbles and lines"

You looked confused for a moment before realizing that neither of you were from the same planet. You rubbed the bridge of your nose, trying to get rid of your furrow.

"Just, shut up and help me look for that gear. AND PUT THE DAMN CAN DOWN"

He raised his arms in defeat, putting down the can of motor oil and looking around your workbench while you were painfully looking for the gear with your magnifying glasses.

"Lotta' shiny pieces you have on the table. Are these really more important than your good old buddy, Boothill?"

"Unless you're willing to give me 5 million, then yes"

Boothill choked

"5 million?? For some beautiful watch?"

"What can I say, some people have more than they know what to do with. Now stop yapping and get on your knees, I can't see shit."

"Is that an invitation, darling?"

"... BOOTHILL!"

"Aye aye, don't get your feathers ruffled like this darling, just sit there and be pretty"

----------------

You couldn't help but be annoyed still, slumped in your chair, fiddling with your pen, while Boothill was looking around. How long has it been already, maybe a few minutes? Hours? Days??? Your work couldn't wait that much, and each ticking second felt agonizing. You were so close too, getting interrupted was the last thing you needed right now. You always had plans, a schedule, deadlines, you couldn't afford the unpredictability that is Boothill sometimes.

You almost got too lost in your thoughts before you heard a sudden thud, metal against wood, and a proud exclamation.

"Here it is sugar-cube, your pretty little thing... Cogwheel whatever. Now can you stop looking like someone spat in your food or do I need to repair this watch myself to make you happy?"

You could swear sometimes he was like a dog, a big doberman. For as scary as he could look sometimes, you couldn't help but be unable to push him away. All you could do was just let out an amused scoff, taking the gear piece in the palm of your hand, and gently placing it in it's box.

"No, no, you've done enough damage already. Why are you here even?"

"Just wanted to pay my best buddy a visit? What, a man can't do that no more?"

"No fixing your body? No maintenance work? Really nothing? Just a visit? Odd, thought you were a busy man"

"Oh I sure am sugar-cube, but sometimes even I need to sit down and relax."

"... In my workshop"

"In yer workshop, yes."

You sighed

"Fine, fine, stay for as long as you need, but don't touch anything that is in this-" you motion around your workbench "general area"

He tipped his hat in acknowledgment

"Aye aye, I'll stay put, fudge me, you can be very serious sometimes."

"5 million"

"Right yes, that's understandable."

You went back to work, trying to finish placing the last pieces inside that damned watch, headphones back on your ears. Boothill was simply slumped on the couch you kept around the waiting area, that barely saw any use to begin with. He was just looking around, bored out of his mind, the silence really starting to get to him. On occasion he's throw you glances, looking like a kicked puppy only to be met by your back either way. Yet he couldn't help but notice the few tics you had, tapping your foot, humming to yourself from time to time, arranging your hair by shaking your head around, and just how damn beautiful you looked in that dim warm light.

By no means we're you prettied up and groomed, after all, working with machinery all day will just lead to one always being covered by oil or sutt, clothes messy, the tools around your belt loud and heavy, but to him, it was part of the charm. The passion you had for what you did, the care you treated everything with, even his own body when it needed repairs. Sure, you two may butt heads more often than goats, but you were the reason he kept making his trips back to your workshop for any needs. He trusted you, felt comfort in your presence.

He could feel his insides start to heat up, his mind trailing off. Sure, he couldn't blush for the love of him, after all blood stopped flowing through his body long, long ago, but his body still reacted from time to time to strong emotions, and now it was no different. It felt, uncomfortable almost, a strange emptiness in his metal gut. Maybe it was the bullets he snacked in like some chips, or maybe it was more than that. He just simply pulled his hat over his eyes to focus and calm down.

-------------------

Finally, after so many hours, you were finally done, the watch ticking gleefully, almost as if happy with it's new look. You sighed in relief, finally placing down your headphones and slumping in your chair, pulling your glasses up.

"Finally... I swear they are trying to drive me insane with all these new 'trinkets' that have way too many small pieces for their own good. How you holding up, Boots?"

"Fine as ever sugar, bored out of my mind, but rested"

"Yeah, I can see that, you've already made a dent in my couch"

"Hey, I helped ya find that gear for free, can't I get some more respect"

"And who's fault was it that I dropped it?" You said, raising your eyebrow.

"Aye aye, sorry 'bout that."

There was a moment of pause

"Say, partner, you've messed around inside my body for a while now. Do you know if there's any functions that might mimic proper human emotions?"

"Human emotions? Hmmm"

You thought for a moment, trying to remember if you've seen any kind of code that might do that.

"I don't think I've seen anything like that, but I've also never like, actually paid attention. There may be some functions that mimic that, after all, you might need them to think and work properly. Why?"

"Ah, nothing important, was just wondering."

"I can always check if you want. Of course, for a price"

He couldn't help but scoff, amused "You were never free eh?"

"Someone has to eat"

"Sure, sure. I mean why not, might as well get this mystery solved, since I'm here and have nothing better to do."

"Then come with me"

You both went inside your garage, Boothill already used to all the steps, laying down on the weird table chair as he put it while you connected the cables to the back of his neck, opening the hologram screens.

"Let's see..." you rubbed your chin, pacing around while moving around screens, trying to find anything remotely similar to what Boothill mentioned, but it was rather hard. Every line kept changing dictating different functions every moment.

"Hmm...."

"Anything the matter?"

"No, I just realized why I might have never seen that kind of function. Your neurolink is adapting to everything you do, so it's changing constantly. I think the only way to spot anything us to trigger whatever made you so curious about your 'emotions'"

"Trigger em? And how the fork do you plan on doing that?"

You thought for a moment, moving next to Boothill, dragging the screens along with you. You didn't really give a warning as you poked his chest with a screwdriver, noticing some changes.

"What in the beautiful sky are you doing?"

"There it is" you just pointed at the screen at the suddenly changing lines.

"Your body reacts to your mental state. Right now you are confused"

"I sure as warm lake I am, you're poking me around with a screwdriver."

"What else would have you wanted me to do? Touch you with my own hands?"

He was about to say something, but you grabbed one of the screens, squinting at it.

"Getting flustered, Boots?" You could almost feel your own smug smile forming on your face.

"Flustered? Please, you'd think I'd get 'flustered' from just a check-up?"

"Bashful... Interesting"

"Hey! Stop saying things and answer me, sweetheart"

"And annoyed. Yeah, you do seem to have those functions, and they're damn advanced to mimic human emotions. Guess you aren't just metal after all. You still have the ability to feel. It's interesting how this changes..."

You got too focused on the lines of code, not paying attention to how you started leaning against the table, your hand extremely close to Boothills, fingers almost touching. Sure, you were just staring at the lines changing, but Boothill was staring at your hand, annoyed almost that he couldn't just grab it, only to be confused over why he was annoyed. You just chuckled to yourself and pushed the screen away, unplugging the cables.

"Well, mystery solved, your neurolink functions exactly like a brain and it sends the proper signals, so your body will be affected by your emotions."

"Great-" he rolled his eyes, standing up and scratching the back of his head "You need a new table, this one is forking uncomfortable."

"I don't take feedback"

"Yeah yeah, whatever you say darling." he just hopped off the table, adjusting his hat.

"H-"

"1k credits"

"Damn, let me finish at least. Fine, you know the drill"

"Nah, I'll let it slide this time. Getting to check your internals can be fun sometimes" you patted his back

"I'll go home, unless you want to guard my shop, you should leave too."

"You don't just live in your workshop??"

"...what...?"

"You know, like, I've always only seen you here, where is your home even."

"Oh... Oh! I guess you can say that? My home is upstairs, I bought the whole building when I opened so everything on the ground floor is the shop, upstairs is my place."

"Ok that makes sense... Can I-"

"No"

"Fine fine, I'll go my merry way then. I'll see you next time partner, and thank you for the free check-up"

"Don't get too used to them"

He nodded, tipping his hat and leaving.

[yanderemommabean]

Drider Mahito please mama I am begging on my hands and knees

The spider crawls forward, humming and tilting his head as he examines a few spots of his surroundings. A small bush here, a skittering critter over there, and of course a terrified bounding deer that’s trying to avoid the fate of the current one dangling and bleeding in the creature's mouth. 

He’s so excited,the electricity thrumming over his skin. He wants to catch as many meals as he can, he’s sure if he catches the most then things will go just as planned! 

Mahito was positive that all he needed to do was show he could hunt, gather, and track to be able to win your heart. He’s kept an eye on you for about a month now, watched you celebrate a holiday here and there, and was just in awe. You’re so intriguing. Most humans have boring and too bland of a life for him to care for, but you…You have a way about you. The way you carry yourself, the way you stand up to people despite their rank in your nest, the way you favor one thing yet despise another. 

He wonders if you’re the kind to appreciate the beauties of eating one's family members. He could scoop up that pesky relative who questions too much, you seem to have an ire of sorts towards them. 

Ah, maybe as a first courting sort of gift. For now he has to at least get his feet in the door! 

Maybe you’d like that street cat as well? You cuddle the other ones though…mmm…No, best to leave it be. You humans have weird ways to show some creatures affection, and others horror and disdain. 

Though, he supposes that's every creature. 

Trudging around in the trees, he hums a small tune and waves to the other Driders and Nagas, finding their meals and their bones to chew on. Some wave with a smile, others move on with their eyes down or a soured look on their faces. 

They’re smart. They see the markings that Mahito bears and know to stay a good distance. He has a reputation for mauling and using his venom just because some dare to look him in the eye. But that doesn't mean he’s a monster! What? He can’t have fun and play around?! 

A crackle of leaves and twins makes everyone alert, and a wide, almost manic smile grows on Mahitos face. It's you! That scent, that heart beat, the heat he can see on your flesh-It’s you! Oh he can't wait! He can’t wait! 

He scurries forward, blood and meat dripping down his chin and chest as he hurries toward you, pupils wide and wild as he manages to pinpoint exactly where you are. Ah! Now that he’s this close, he’s suddenly nervous! 

But you look so pretty, so delicate, so easy to break and eat and devour if you were more of his prey….

Thankfully you’re his mate! Or, well, you will be! See, he isn’t keen on being told no to something he desperately wants. Be it food, territory, or a way to be with you every single day for the rest of his life. 

You’ll accept, you’ll come home with him, learn his name and learn to stay inside at all times when he isn’t beside you. You’ll kiss and laugh and you’ll tell him how much you love him, how he’s such a good boy for you, how he’s such a hard working hunter who deserves your attention and love and- 

He’s so lost in his excitement he doesn't hear the horrified screams you make as he drops the raw meat and bones at your feet. He just grins, a large tongue coming to swipe at his blood stained teeth as he waits like a dog for your answer and your praise. Surely you see how hard he’s worked on this right?! 

Oh…you’re…scurrying away again? 

Well that’s rather ungrateful don’t you think? 

After everything he’s done? 

His expression sours, but he doesn’t let you get away as he easily gets ahead of you, lifting you up with ease as you dangle in his grasp, begging for your life and terrified of the creature holding your life in his hands, literally. 

“Insolent little wretch. I swear. I did all of this and you’re just going to turn away?!” he hisses, teeth coming close to nipping your skin as you feel your heart seize in your chest. Your voice, quivering and weak, speaks out as he dangles you higher, wanting to see the fear in your eyes for denying him your courtship. 

“Please don’t kill me”. What? What the fuck are you talking about?! Why would you assume-

It clicks. You see him as a predator on the hunt rather than a mate to be loved by. Huh. How did you ever come to that conclusion? It’s like you think he’d eat your bone marrow or something! 

Then there’s a simple solution to this! He just holds you in his hand, tight and firm, carrying you and your wriggling body away to the dark edges of his territory as he explains how he’ll prove himself. 

It’s easy! You just have to let him show you how much he wants you! Well, it's more of a need at this point. He went feral just thinking of you with some other mate, human or not. And if those Naga's want their tails intact they’ll know to keep their distance.

-Mommabean (I hope you enjoyed!)

[vaaaaaiolet]

Sleep-deprived Leon's upstairs neighbor works late 'cause she's a singer on a deadline, and he's having none of it. He comes up with a wild solution to the problem in a moment of desperation, and he's surprised when you actually go along with it, but anything to get a full night's sleep, right? Then he finds himself wanting a bit more than camaraderie with you in the process.

f/m, romance, fluff, does this count as crack??? popstar reader w/ a twist, ID leon is USELESS w tech + lives under a ROCK, also you manic pixie dream girl a bit too close to the sun but it's ok bc ur cute LOL

word count: 2.6k // read this chapter on ao3

a/n: req fic + belated bday gift for my lovely 🍍 anon!! as usual i got carried away and butchered it. um. NOTHING makes sense just go w the vibes i beg you </3 pt. 2 coming out asap bc this fic will not leave me alone in the best way :)

chapter one

Rule of thumb: don’t bang on the first date. 

Leon’s wrapping his pillow around his head like a pair of goddamn Beefs (or is Beets? those tacky, overpriced- oh, forget it) while his upstairs neighbor gives her bed a run for its money on a Friday night, at a blessed 9 PM no less. 

Oh yeah. Her.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump. 

R-rated suspicions aside, Leon tries hoping for the best. His new neighbor might just be an interior designer of the nocturnal sort. Sick of his previous rowdy, college kid-infested apartment building, he’d moved into this complex not too long ago thanks to a very politely-worded call to Hunnigan about open listings in quiet, senior citizen-friendly neighborhoods. Call him old, call him boring, but after a long day of running around saving humanity from the newest bioweapon to hit the market, all Leon ever wants to do these days is get a few winks of sleep. He’s pushing 30. Insomnia’s no fountain of youth, people. 

Thump, thump-thump-thump. 

New Girl upstairs seemed to have the same idea but with far more nefarious intent. She’d moved in at the same time as him, he’s sure – Leon saw a flash of her face a few days ago when she was lugging boxes of stuff into the elevator up to her floor. She’s the only sign of life from the 21st century he’s encountered since the day he came to sign his lease papers. Why? 

Because Hunnigan had fulfilled his request to a T. Leon’s new apartment building is long-term care home adjacent. 

Full of grandmas and grandpas who got about as loud as their record players, only leaving their homes to fetch the mail – telegrams by the wrinkles on some of them. It was perfect. Leon was positively thrilled when Eunice from Unit 202 very, very slowly, waved hello to him on his moving day.

THUMP-THUMP! THUMP-THUMP!

And then she happened.

Maybe he’s just a grumpy old man right where he belongs, in all his 29-and-a-half glory. But the pounding that girl is giving her bed with some frat boy right now is giving Leon the college dorm experience all over again. It takes him half an hour of tossing and turning in his sheets to throw on an old jacket, beeline to the elevator, punch the neon 3 button, and darken New Girl’s doorstep. 

His turn now. A quick knock, knock is enough for Unit 304’s door to open a crack.

“Hey, I’m from downst- oh my God, are you decent?”

And you, standing at the door in a dress that’s more sheer than his disbelief, only tilt your head to go, “Huh?” 

“Listen, I know tomorrow’s the weekend but I- shit,” his face burns, “could you keep it down, please? You guys are really loud and it’s late.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You- you and whoever you’re with, could you not do this right now?” Leon croaks. 

Your hands flail wildly in dismissal. “Oh no, that was just me jumping on my bed! Helps with my creative process,” you say, smiling weakly. “I didn’t know the floors were that thin, I’m sorry.”

Bullshit. “They are.” Leon grimaces, “And um, it’s fine if you guys are loud, just save it for when everyone’s asleep next time.”

A frown interrupts your smile. “I just said it was me. There’s no one else here, seriously.”

“So what’s with the getup?”

“The-” your eyes drift down to the near see-through of your dress and Leon gestures vaguely, as if you need more explanation to why he’s avoiding eye contact with your chest. “Oh, this?”

He nods. 

“Creative process!” you chirp brightly.

“For what, pray tell?”

Curiously, that puts the wind out of your sails. Suddenly you having trouble meeting Leon’s eyes, lashes fluttering as you look up, down, anywhere that’s not his face. 

“For school,” you finally make out, fingers wrapping around the edge of your door. “I’m a music major.”

Pianos and prancing on beds don’t exactly mix. He can’t help but squint at you. “And the jumping helps with…?”

“Getting past writer’s block!” 

Back to bubbly with the ball in your court, you go so far as to open your door a little further to explain. Leon’s cheeks blaze as he tries his damndest to keep his eyes from drifting south. 

“I read online that moving around helps with ideas, and I’m supposed to have a whole album written by the end of the week. I probably shouldn’t have procrastinated…” you trail off with a half-hearted chuckle, “so now I’m throwing everything at the wall to see what sticks, y’know?”  

He hums. “You wanna be a singer?” 

“Mhm!” Your updone hair bobs with you, reminding him a little of a bobblehead. It’s almost cute enough to make his AMs worthwhile.

“Then you better start singing somewhere else, sweetheart. The walls are just as thin as the floors.” 

And Leon immediately turns his ass around to go back to sleep.

In hindsight, it might’ve been a little mean of him to leave like that. But his bed is just so heavenly, and with the sleep deprivation he’s been racking up lately, Leon’s half sure he just dreamed that entire exchange. There’s no way a girl like you in college – in her 20s, give or take – is seriously jumping on her bed on a Friday night for a homework assignment. That too in a dress fit for the club to add to the irony. Are all creatives this weird?

He pinches the bridge of his nose as the elevator descends, pushing aside his last glimpse of the glum expression he left you with in your doorway. So much for first impressions. But hey, you didn’t really make a great one either. He’ll call it even. Maybe get you a gift basket for chivalry’s sake.

He considers all this as he slips back under his blankets, finally, at 9:45 PM.

And then he hears a creeeaaak.

“Please,” Leon groans, jamming his pillow over his ears. 

Thump…thump?

Nix the gift basket.

6:00 AM on Saturday finds Leon with his eyes wide open and glazed insomniac red.

His alarm blares as if to say, you actually thought you’d need to get woken up, didn’t you?

It’s a little patronizing. He teaches it a lesson by throwing it off his nightstand.

Sometime between 11 and 12 at night, you’d gotten bored of your bed and taken to something with wheels. An office chair is Leon’s best guess. You’d rolled across your floor all night, and the resulting clatter of plastic grating on hardwood had kept him awake until the sunrise. Hangovers were more pleasant than the night of sleep (or lack thereof) he’d just gotten, and Leon’s no wimp. He’s a man, goddamnit. A decorated government agent!

So he handles the problem at its source. Whips out his flip phone like a man, and makes a very important call.

A disgruntled female voice crackles through at the first ring. “May I remind you that this line’s only for emergencies, Leon?”

“It is! I need you to find me another apartment, Hunnigan, please,” Leon sits up, rubbing his eyes to plead his case to an unimpressed Ingrid Hunnigan. “My upstairs neighbor won’t let me sleep. The floors are thin as hell and she’s been moving around all night. It’s even worse than my last place.”

“Really? An old lady is giving you that hard of a time?” 

“She’s college age — a singer — and when she starts singing for her homework all the time, I’m really not going to get any sleep. I’m begging you, Hunnigan. Get me out of here.” 

“Strange.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Truly,” Hunnigan deadpans. “You know how hard of a time I had getting you into an apartment building only for people over 55, Leon?” 

He winces, holding the phone a little further from his ears just in case. 

“How many favors I had to cash in, strings I had to pull, all because you’re hopeless at navigating an apartment listing site, let alone anything on the Internet? Do you realize I had to do that in my personal time because your request would fall under illegal use of federal intelligence resources?”

Leon falters. “I didn’t-”

“So here’s what you’re going to do,” Hunnigan says shortly. “You are going right back to your neighbor and working out a solution like an adult.”

“But I already-”

“You’re solving this on your own, Leon. Figure something out because I know you can delegate. Got it?”

He really doesn’t. He’s only good at that outside of the US.

“Is that clear, Agent Kennedy?” Hunnigan repeats for semantic measure.

“Crystal,” Leon mopes, sapped of all hope when she ends the call with a ‘good luck’, just like back in Spain. A familiar routine.

He’s back in front of Unit 304 by 9:00 AM. 

You open your door with a half-chewed yawn, wrapped in a robe and looking deceptively angelic, that is, if it weren’t for the immediate pinch your pretty brows take on when you grace him with a decidedly sour look. 

“Up already?” Leon tries.

This time all he gets in response is a quick nod, a mouth parted in distaste. 

Forward march, Kennedy.

“You were up past midnight. I heard you, y’know, on your chair. Kinda loud.”

“I’m not annoying you on purpose,” you sigh, tucking your arms into a tight cross over the fluff of your robe. “I just really have to turn my album in on time and I’m having crazy writer’s block. They told me the people here are quiet and easygoing. I haven’t had a single noise complaint so far except for you, did you know that?” 

“That’s because everyone in this building either has hearing aids or doesn’t realize they need them yet,” Leon grits. “I don’t even know how you got in here, to be honest.”

“A sparkling letter of recommendation, thank you very much. And you?” You push up on your toes indignantly. “Are you just older than you look? ‘Cause you might need a pair of hearing aids yourself.”

Leon bites back a scoff. “Don’t need ‘em. I can hear you plain as day from below.”

Sirens are starting to blare in his head and it’s like he can feel Hunnigan glaring at him from her HQ in the sky. Aborting mission again isn’t an option. If Leon doesn’t fix things now, he’d be starting bad blood that might outlast the combined remaining lifespans of the building’s tenants. His salary could cover rent that long; his ego, not so much.

You’re about two seconds away from shutting your door in Leon’s face before he interrupts with a save pulled straight from his ass: “I’ll help you write your songs.”

So instead, you squawk, “What?”

He sticks the toe of his shoe in your doorjamb for insurance. Blurts, “I mean it. I’ll help you come up with ideas.”

“How on Earth would you do that?”

Great question. No better time than the present for the both of you to find out. 

“You said moving around helps?” Leon repeats for you to confirm with a quizzical nod, “I’ll take you anywhere you want. Anywhere in the city, you name it, I’ve got a motorcycle I’ll get you there on. It’ll be a change of scenery. Just whatever you do, enough with the gymnastics at midnight.”

It’s a desperate lifeline, a creepy one now that he’s had more than two seconds to think about it, but a lifeline nonetheless.

And to his horror, all you do is stare. 

The resulting silence feels like crystallizing amber. A clock ticks agonizingly from somewhere in your living room. Tick, tick, shit, he desponds. But thankfully, your laugh bubbles out not a moment too soon, sending a tsunami of relief down his shoulders. 

“Gymnastics, really?” you snort, covering your mouth with a well-manicured hand.

“I’m serious.” Leon shoots for a winning smile. “But I have to ask, is working late also part of your creative process?”

Your eyes crinkle maybe, but you shake your head no. 

“Then we’ll go whenever you’re free. Show you a few of my favorite spots, see if it speeds up your songwriting. Sound okay, sweetheart?” 

“How about now?” you pipe up.

Leon coughs his splutter into something more dignified. 

“You said whenever I was free! It’s a Saturday, you’re free,” you point a finger at his chest, “I’m free,” turn it back on yourself, “and I need to finish writing my album by, like, yesterday. This is perfect!” With a miniscule squeal, you disappear back into your apartment.

Leon’s left standing in your entryway wondering when his lifeline became a dynamite detonation cord.

“You haven’t even asked me my name,” he calls out to deaf ears. Cups his hands for effect because he can hear you flinging hangers onto the floor. “Don’t they teach you about stranger danger at school?” 

“I’ll find out eventually!” floats back your worrying response.

You’re an efficient dresser, Leon gives you that. A thankfully normal one too at the dress and heels you rush back up to the door with. A large pair of cat-eye sunglasses perched on the bridge of your nose makes Leon do a double take at the cloudy sky outside, but then again, maybe it’s another part of your creative process. Beyond his pay grade.

You adjust your sunnies with gusto, grin up at him when he gives you a curious look. 

“Well, go on,” you say, pulling out your phone. 

Leon blinks at the glowing rectangle.

“Number, name?” You tilt it as if you’re trying to entice a toddler. “I can’t just keep calling you Mr. Noise Complaint.”

“Aw, you’ve been telling your friends about me?” Leon chuckles at last, pulling out his flip phone and handing it to you.  

And suddenly it’s your turn to stare at a piece of foreign technology.

You take your sweet time putting in your number. It’s very entertaining, the way the tip of your tongue sticks out the tiniest bit when you make a mistake and the sound of furious keypad backspacing follows right after. Leon’s no better, setting himself on your phone as “LOEN KEENAYD”, and with his pride bordering on hubris, he has no choice but to keep it that way.

“Really small backspace key,” he fibs when you peer at the gibberish in your contacts. 

Your lip bite makes for a piss-poor job of hiding how funny it is.  

“It’s Leon, by the way. Leon Kennedy. Apartment 204.” 

You fix his name in half the time it took him to put it in. He holds his hand out for a shake, timeless enough, and you give it three businesslike pumps.

“I have to grab a spare helmet from my place, I’ll meet you down at the garage,” Leon promises.

You point at him before stepping into the elevator. “Either your idea works or I’ll have to work past midnight to get this album done and then you’ll really owe me, Leon.” 

In another life, you could’ve been a CEO. You’ve certainly got the pointer finger for it. 

Leon tips his chin in acknowledgment. “Whatever it takes to get back into your good graces, ma’am,” he grins.

That gets a cackle out of you as the elevator doors slide shut.

And he takes the stairs this time, waves good morning to Eunice in 215 on his way to pick up that helmet for you. It must be a good day, Leon thinks, sounding out your name in his phone’s contacts. Eunice even has a post- Great Depression era vinyl playing on her record player. Maybe it’s a sign to not be so glum about his situation. He’s finally fixing it, isn’t he? 

So be it. A guy can dream. In Leon’s case, he’s hoping he gets eight hours by Monday.

psst, find more of my work here!

comments and reblogs are very much appreciated <3 take care and i love you!

divider by @/saradika-graphics <3

[urhoneycombwitch]

imagine being loved by me

🍯 honey flavour: your love has stood the test of time, thus far, but a party fit for a rockstar brings up some bitter emotions.

🐝 the bees: rockstar!Eddie x jealous!Reader

wc: 8k

cw: drugs and alcohol consumption, mentions of weight gain (eddie’s, in a positive manner), R has panic/anxiety attack, jealousy (talked about and resolved tho), softdom!Reader, softdom!Eddie, oral (E and R receiving), R has breasts + a V and referred to with she/her pronouns, P in V sex, cumming inside w/out protection

foreword: timeline is wobbly and may not align perfectly w canon bc I’m bad at math so shhhh suspend ur disbelief. based on this anon thank you v much anon <3

___

It’s the coldest January Hawkins has seen in ages. Snow banks sit high on the roadsides, air thick with snowflakes, three-AM fog brought in courtesy of the bitter wind chill. 

Under the yellow floodlight of a nearby streetlamp, your boyfriend is sucking down the last of a joint while you stamp your feet against the gravel parking lot.

“C’mon, Eddie,” you whine, crossing the arms of your fleeced puffer jacket, bouncing on your heels to keep the blood flowing. “My toes are gonna get frostbite.”

“A touch dramatic,” Eddie replies, unbothered. The cherry of the joint between his lips burns orange, casting a warm glow over Eddie’s cheekbones, the twinkle of snowflakes caught in his bangs. “I told you to go in without me, princess. Warmer in there.”

“Without you? As if.” You pull the pity card, and it works, ‘cuz it always does- that boy has got to learn how to say no to you, one of these days. 

Not today, though, because Eddie is tamping out the ember on the sole of his boot and crunching up the snowy path to sling an arm around your neck.

“Grub time,” he says against your hair, pressing his cold lips to the side of your forehead as you both make your way into Benny’s Burgers.

The heated air is a welcome relief, and save for a couple of old-timers at a side table, you and Eddie are the only customers in the place. 

Benny greets you both from where he’s flipping patties on the kitchen grill, waving a spatula at the corner booth- “All yours, kiddos. Want the usual?”

You and Eddie call out affirmatives as you sink into opposing seats, unwrapping yourselves from all your winter gear as you go.

“God bless Benny Hammond for expanding his night hours,” you say, piling your green scarf on the tabletop. “This is a good tradition for us, y’know. Post-band practice smoking and coffee- very rock and roll.”

“I concur.” Eddie tosses his knit hat at you playfully. “You, my lady, have the most rock ‘n roll soul I ever did see.”

As Benny approaches with two mugs of steaming coffee, you muse aloud, “Not sure if the amount of sugar you’re about to dump in your coffee is very metal, per se...”

“Y’hear that, Benny?” Eddie grabs a fistful of sugar packets and shakes them indignantly. “My girl’s trying to keep me on the straight and narrow. How’s a rockstar s’posed to live in these conditions?”

“Lord knows,” Benny says, sardonic, setting the mugs down and turning back to the kitchen.

Eddie winces as his hands wrap around the heat of the mug, and you notice right away. “Your fingers splitting again? I have that salve that you used last time, but it’s back at the trailer.”

He puts his hand face-up onto the table, and you slip yours into his, the deep fingertip grooves from guitar strings rough against your soft palm.

“I’ll live. Plus, it’s kind of metal, right?” Eddie runs a calloused thumb across the back of your hand.

You squeeze back, give him a wink. “Very metal.”

Eddie’s been working himself to the bone lately. Trying to stay in school and not drop out is a feat in itself, but compounded with the band practices that have only ramped up in length recently, it’s a lot to balance.

He hasn’t complained at all, of course. It’s not really in his nature.

In the past few weeks, however, he’s been imbued with this near-manic energy, a renewed sense of purpose. In between your own fitful sleeps you often wake in the early hours of the morning to find Eddie hunched over his desk, pen flying across his notebook as he reworks an old song or outlines a new one. Not that you weren’t proud of him before, but seeing him apply this newfound passion to his music has been a huge source of joy for you. 

And, if you’re being really honest, also a major turn on. I mean, the boy’s got swagger like no other, and you’re so glad he’s finally utilizing it on stage. Even if that stage is in the middle of a piece of shit dive bar. Still counts, in your book.

Benny drops off baskets of hot fries, a burger for Eddie, and a BLT for you. Methodic and familiar, you offload half your fries to Eddie’s basket as he slides his burger towards you for the first bite. 

After a few minutes of peaceful eating, Eddie balls up a napkin in his fist and raps the table with his knuckles. “So, uh. Kind of have some news.”

You slot the ketchup bottle back into its metal holder and look up with raised brows. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He looks suddenly nervous, knee knocking into the underside of the table as he bounces his leg compulsively. “You remember Paige Warner? Graduated in ‘81, brother is a baseball jock?”

When you nod, Eddie blows out a breath- his unease is kind of setting you on edge. 

“What about Paige Warner?” you prompt.

“She moved out to L.A. for a job and she’s working this scouting gig for some bigshot record,” he continues, absently pulling the thin napkin in his hands into pieces, staring vacantly at the mess. “And she wants Corroded Coffin to record and send out a demo to the label.”

As the news sinks in, your jaw drops. “Holy shit. What?”

“Yeah.” Eddie’s fidgeting with the paper scraps now, still not making eye contact with you. “She wants us to start recording next week. I haven’t told anyone else, yet, I wanted to make sure you were the first-”

You interrupt him with an excited little squeal (drawing glares from the old guys across the diner) and shove up from your side of the table to throw your arms around Eddie.

“Holy shit,” you repeat, laughing as Eddie pulls you into his lap- “Eddie, that’s amazing!”

“You think so?” he asks, your enthusiasm allowing his own to creep in; He slides his hands to your denim-clad hips, his self-professed favorite stress toy (well, tied for favorite with your thighs). 

“How come you were so nervous to tell me?” You ask him, gently, tucking his dark hair behind his ears so you can see his face better. “Were you thinking I’d react differently?”

He looks up at you wide-eyed, shakes his head- “No, no, I wasn’t worried about you reacting a certain way. I just… I’m just worried about what this’ll mean. You know. For us.”

“Us?” You echo, encouraging him to continue. 

Eddie squeezes at your hips, presses the crown of his head against your collarbone like he’s mustering up the courage to speak. “Yeah, us. I know L.A. isn’t your dream- shit, I don’t even know if it’s mine- but you didn’t sign up to go on the road like this. You’ve got college to consider, and-”

“So I’ll take a gap year,” you interrupt, putting a hand to his cheek to make him look at you again, and when he starts to protest, you talk over him. “No, Eddie, I’m serious. I don’t know what the hell I wanna do with my life yet anyways. Following my hot rockstar boyfriend to a new town sounds like a pretty good deal to me.”

He shakes his head again, and you can feel his dimples spring to life under your hand as he teases, “Gonna be my little groupie?”

“And more,” you confirm, giving him a kiss (chaste, so as not to invoke any more ire from the grumpy other customers) and sliding off his lap to return to your own seat. “I’ll be your assistant extraordinaire, if you want. Or bodyguard. Make sure none of the other groupie chicks get too close.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, fondly. “You’re the only groupie I need, sweetheart.”

Settling back into your respective seats, you both work on the last basket of fries while chatting genially about the future. Eddie mentions getting an apartment in Los Angeles, so there’s less of a commute, which branches the conversation into the logistics of a cross-country move, and then on to more important topics such as the alleged coolness of west-coast parties. 

“Who’s your celebrity hall pass?” you ask, out of pure interest, dipping a fry into the well of ketchup. “Like, say you’re rubbing elbows at some famous muckety-muck’s party and someone catches your eye. Who’re you taking back to the motel for a slutty roll in the hay?”

Eddie snickers at your phrasing, then says, “I mean, preferably, my super hot girlfriend-”

You throw a fry at his head. “That’s such a cop-out answer. In this hypothetical, Joan Jett is in red leather petting up on you and you’re saying you wouldn’t take her up on a one-night stand?”

A laugh bursts out of Eddie, a real, proper one where he throws his head back. “Are you actively encouraging me to hook up with some bimbo at a random party? Without you? Unlikely scenario on all fronts, babe.”

This earns him another launched fry, and he squawks, trying to shake it out of its place caught in his hair as you reprimand him- “Joan Jett is not some bimbo, watch your mouth! And what I’m saying is, if you didn’t at least try to score us a threesome with her, I’d be pissed.”

“Okay, baby,” Eddie soothes you a tad derisively, likely a ploy to avoid more flying food- “if I meet Joan Jett I will do my level best to get her in our bed. Scout’s honor.”

He holds up two fingers and wiggles them obscenely, grinning when you laugh again. “All right, Nosey McGee. Who are you taking home from the party?”

You hum, eyes flicking up to the ceiling, contemplating the options. “I guess I could be talked into a night with Kirk Hammett.”

Eddie’s turn to launch a fry. “You slut,” he chuckles, “That was a way quicker answer than mine.”

“Okay, fine. If I meet Kirk Hammett, I promise to at least make a bid for threesome. Deal?” You extend your pinkie across the table.

Eddie loops his little finger into yours. “Deal.”

____

The memory of that cozy diner evening years ago fades as you shake yourself to the present.

You aren’t two highschool kids with lofty dreams, anymore- after Eddie’s recovery from all that Upside Down bullshit in ‘86, Corroded Coffin took off. Even though Paige didn’t end up coming through with any deals, Eddie and his bandmates fought like hell to get signed- and by the end of that year, a small record label in the heart of downtown Chicago had taken the bait.

Corroded Coffin turned out to be the best thing to ever happen to Arken Records; by the spring of ‘87, business was booming thanks to the help of Corroded’s debut album, The Banished Ones- their new single was a chart-topper for over 6 weeks. (Smash Hit magazine’s latest review was titled “Fresh Sound Rises from Dirt Nowhere.” You have the paper clipping saved in your ever-growing folder with “rockstar boyfriend!!!” handwritten in black ink.) 

And in a few weeks, the band will set off on their first real tour, starting in Chicago and ending with a bang in an already sold-out show in Hawkins- Dustin, Steve, and the rest of the gang with VIP front-row seats, of course. 

As much as you and Eddie have grown and matured in the past few years, the core of you both has remained the same. Eddie is still just as dorky, goofy, and caring as he always has been, while you’ve kept that tenacious spirit and quick wit that he fell in love with back in the early days of dating. Even now, with his popularity rising and his rockstar dreams on their way to coming true, Eddie constantly brings his focus back to you. 

Pillow talks in cushy hotel beds, late night ramblings over post-show whiskeys, holding hands in the back of yet another cab- when he could be talking about the thousands of exciting things happening in his own life, Eddie is asking about you.

Did you talk to Robin last night, sweetheart? How’s ‘ol Birdie doin? What do you wanna wear to that dinner thingy tomorrow… could go naked for all I care. In fact you probably should because of feminism and all that. Did you sleep okay last night? Let me look at ya. You thinkin’ any more about those applications you got?

You’d taken a gap year to support Eddie, which you were happy to do, but with ‘87 drawing to a close, he’s been more insistent lately that you take a look at all your college options. Honestly, you’ve been enjoying the adventures that come with touring way too much to consider going back to the rigidity of school. 

And plus, having the love of your life nearly bleed out in your arms in a parallel dimension has totally realigned your priorities. If folks thought you and Eddie were attached at the hip before… 

He’ll likely argue you into academia, eventually. He always rolls high on persuasion. Damn him.

For now, you’ve got a party to attend. 

Arken Records is playing host, on the last night of 1987- in celebration of Corroded Coffin’s success and to kick off the New Year’s festivities, they’ve rented out a house in east Chicago for the event. 

Well, house isn’t the right word. More like mansion. Vaulted ceilings tall as a church’s, huge windows overlooking the Chicago river, a grand chandelier with flickering candles in nearly every room. 

When you and Eddie had toured the place a few days previous, he’d made a joking complaint low in your ear about not having the time to fuck you on every surface. Your laugh had reverberated off the sweeping mahogany floorboards, mostly at the expense of Eddie’s poor publicist who’d happened to hear his comment. (Melanie had really been putting in overtime lately; you made a mental note to send her a very nice flower arrangement and vouchers for a spa trip.)

The party was in full swing by the time you and Eddie arrived, fashionably late, and he had been folded into the throng of other musicians and partygoers against his will pretty much immediately- which you’d expected. The last hour, he’s been throwing you piteous looks from his spot across the room, where he hasn’t had the chance to move an inch with the amount of people keeping the conversation going. You’ve slipped to his side a few times, refreshing his drink, letting him curl an arm around your waist as you perch on his knee, only half-focused on whatever story some producer is saying as Eddie’s hand trails up your thigh. 

You’re back on the nearest wall again, sipping champagne, taking it all in. There are probably over a hundred people crammed into this banquet room, bass thumping through the floorboards, tables shoved to the outer corners making space for a makeshift dance space. 

The air is hazy with smoke from various cigarettes and joints; as the night has progressed, the smell of freshly-applied cologne has been replaced with heady sweat as the dance floor calls more people to writhe and grind in groups and partners. Eddie is still stuck in the lone pod of living room chairs, surrounded by a rapt audience of people crammed in to hear him better over the blaring music.

He looks damn good tonight, in a cut-off black tee and his favorite ripped jeans, leather jacket hung on the chair behind him. Silver catches the light from every angle- on the chains at his hips, around his neck, glinting off his rings as he gestures animatedly mid-story. He’d asked you to do his eyeliner at the hotel earlier, and although it’s smudged and blurred at the edges now he’s still pulling it off. Tiny silver stars, hand-drawn with your eyeshadow brush, twinkle across his cheeks like freckles.

Eddie wanted to match with you, whined until you added a belt made of gold-plated stars to your outfit. You went simple, the gold to his silver- belt cinching your short black satin slip dress, delicate brass rings and bracelets around your fingers and bare forearms. The one piece of silver you are wearing is a chain around your neck, Eddie’s guitar pick nestled snug between your breasts. 

You still resolutely refuse to wear heels, even after Eddie’s stylist cajoled you into practicing on stilettos for a disastrous media training session last month- tonight you’re in a chic pair of Mary Janes with the slightest suggestion of a heel. Compromise. 

There’s a big laugh from the crowd in the corner again as Eddie knocks a hand into Gareth’s chest for emphasis, nearly knocking the younger boy off his seat. You stare unabashedly at Eddie’s forearms, biceps on full display; he’s filled out a bit since leaving home, his usually lean frame boasting a bit more weight and bulk now that he’s got consistent access to well-rounded meals. 

He’s looking healthy, down right glowy. You’re thinking about that smattered trail of dark hair that slides down the crest of his stomach, now with extra padding enough to sink your teeth into. As if he knows, Eddie catches your eye from across the room and winks, cheekily. 

You shiver and unconsciously press your thighs together, hiding your grin with another swallow of champagne.

The alcohol turns a bit sour going down, though, as a crimped-haired blonde girl worms her way to Eddie’s side, laughing a little too loudly at the joke he just told. When she places a manicured hand on one of his shoulders, the thin stem of your glass nearly snaps in your grip.

The thing about rockstars is they have crazy sex appeal. The thing about your rockstar is he’s only interested in you, something that has been proved many times over.

So why is tonight hitting you so hard? Why do you feel nauseous the longer Eddie lets some random woman’s hand stay on his bare skin when you know he’s going home with you, and only you?

Maybe it’s the alcohol, or the overcrowded room, or the memories of Benny’s diner still lingering like a bruise in your mind. Hard to pinpoint exactly. All you know is that jealousy is gnawing like a thing raw and seeking in the pit of your stomach, and if you don’t get out of this stuffy room soon you’re gonna do something tabloid-worthy, like cry in the middle of a New Year’s Eve party.

By the grace of some god you make it across the dance floor and into a side bathroom unscathed, the pulsing sound of the party blissfully dimming as you shut the door behind you. Your mind whirls as you grip the gilded sink for stability, blinking hard at the tears beginning to form. 

You love having a boyfriend who’s larger than life. You love that he’s taking up space and getting to use that charm that was nurtured on the DM throne back in Hawkins. You’re so proud of him, you really are. 

You’re just starting to hate the way other people’s surface-level love of him makes you feel.

Because that’s what it is, right? Just surface-level, you reason with yourself- the level of intimacy that you and Eddie have is unmatched, something that the newly-formed masses of admirers won’t ever get to experience.

Christ, can jealousy give you hives? You grab a handful of paper towels and soak them in cold tap water, then press the damp bundle to your chest, breath stuttering.

You’ve never been the jealous type, or the overbearing type- it’s a new feeling, and maybe that’s why it feels so scary. The more you try to tamp it down, the more it rears its ugly head, making you, in turn, feel embarrassed for having such a strong reaction in the first place.

It’s a vicious cycle that’s only seeming to gain speed as you realize you haven’t yet managed a full breath since coming to your hiding spot. Your lungs are pinched and burning as you drop the soggy paper into the sink, leaning into the lip of the porcelain to steady yourself.

There’s a knock on the door, and you choke out “Just a minute”, not sure if the person on the other side can even hear you over the music when Eddie’s voice leaks through.

“Baby? That you in there?”

Against your better judgment, you open the door, and he crams in the small space, locking it again behind himself.

“There you are, I saw you leave and thought you were getting a drink or something but then you didn’t come back and- are you okay?”

He interrupts his own stream of consciousness when he notices the state you’re in. You give him a trembly smile, waving a hand dismissively.

“Yeah, all good. I’ll come back with you, just needed to pee.”

Eddie is not so easily thrown off the scent. He murmurs your name, sliding his hand into yours, looking at you with a wounded puppy gaze- fuck, you can’t have a breakdown. Not here, not on New Year’s in some knockoff-Playboy’s bathroom.

And certainly not in front of Eddie, who’s asking you to tell him what’s wrong, what happened, with an increasingly pleading tone that’s really, really not helping your whole Don’t Cry agenda. 

Hoping your voice doesn’t break, you clear your throat and pull your hand from his grasp. “Nothing happened, okay? I just had too much to drink, feeling overly sentimental or something. I’m okay.”

You think your white lie was convincing enough when Eddie reaches back for the door handle, that maybe he’ll rejoin the party and leave you to have a good cry, but after poking his head out the doorway briefly he grabs onto your wrist, tugging you to his side and hissing “Quick!”

And then you’re both making a break for it down the mostly-empty hallway, Eddie pulling you smoothly past a wall of expensive-looking oil paintings before going through a set of double doors that lead to the outside.

It’s December in Chicago, which means a light layer of snow covers the terraced garden that Eddie is leading you through, stopping at a stone bench flanked by two scraggly bushes. 

“Made it,” he huffs with exertion, dropping your hand to shrug his leather jacket off in favor of draping it around your own shoulders.

“You’re gonna be cold,” you sniffle, partly from the tears, partly from the crisp night air.

“Yeah,” he agrees easily, wrapping you in a hug. You press your forehead to his chest. “Got my girl to keep me warm, though.”

You stay like this for a few moments, his arms solid around you, breaths coming easier as the familiar smell of his tangy skin and that spicy bar soap he uses fills your senses.

“You gonna tell me what’s wrong?” he asks, gently, holding you at arm’s length to study your face.

When you shrug, unsure of where to start, he lets go of you and walks backwards, taking an unflinching seat on the snow-covered bench.

You gasp despite yourself, reaching to pull him up even as he twists out of your grasp- “Eddie, jesus, you’re literally gonna freeze your ass off. Get up!”

But he’s solid in his seat, widening his stance, boots planted on the ground- “I’m not moving until you tell me what’s going on in that head of yours, so you better start talking before my jeans freeze to the concrete.”

“It’s nothing,” you insist, but he’s giving you that look again, the one that cracks through the tough exterior every time, and you wrap your arms around yourself under the warmth of his jacket as you admit, “Okay, fine. It’s something. I’m just… having an overreaction.”

“To the shellfish?” he deadpans.

“No, asshole, to the blonde girl who was rubbing up on you earlier,” you snap.

Eddie blinks, genuine confusion in his voice- “There was a blonde girl… rubbing up on me?”

“She was petting your shoulder,” you continue, scuffing the toe of your shoe against the ground. “She was touching you, and I got- jealous, I guess.”

“Baby, if it makes you feel any better, I don’t remember her, at all,” Eddie emphasizes, spreading a palm flat against his chest in a gesture of sincerity, hair shifting across his shoulders as he cocks his head to the side.

His face is too familiar, too earnest for you to be able to say what you’re feeling without bursting into tears, so you turn on your heel, pacing a short loop in front of the bench, your breath hanging in misty clouds as you speak. 

“It’s not even about her, necessarily. It’s about me and my stupid emotions. I’m not usually like this- jealous, you know? Like, I’m so proud of you, and everything you’ve accomplished, and I don’t mind sharing you, really I don’t, it’s just…”

You pause in your pacing, let your head drop back to look at the inky black sky pinpricked with stars, and your next words fall out like a confession.

“I just feel like I’m in mourning.”

You can feel his eyes on you still, as you loose the feeling that’s been caught tight in your chest. “It sounds so dramatic, when I say it like that. But I think that’s what it is. I miss when it was just the two of us, in this little bubble where no one knew our names and we just had each other.”

As the words leave your mouth, you scramble to explain, to soften the blow, hands tightening around your upper arms as you turn back to face the boy on the bench. “And I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, or, like, a total jealous bitch, because I really love you and I hope you know I’m not- are you laughing?”

Eddie tries his best to stifle the laughter into his fist when he sees how indignant you look. He rises from the bench, still a bit mirthful, pulling you back into his space. “Sorry, honey, I’m not making fun of you, I promise.”

You’re glaring at him now, and he ducks to kiss at the lines between your brow before pulling back and saying, “I think what you’re feeling is normal, and I don’t think you’re overreacting at all. Remember that asshole at the Smith Center party who kept trying to get your number right in front of me?”

“Vaguely.”

“I wanted to punch his lights out. Make a real scene, kiss you sloppy in front of some cameras.” Eddie cups your face in his hands, soothing his thumb against the wetness of your lashline. “What I’m saying is, I get jealous, too. And I don’t think that’s a bad thing.”

“But…” there’s a well of emotions that you’re drawing from, and it’s not empty yet, one nagging thought still surfacing. “But these girls that are coming on to you, they’re like… really hot. I don’t look anything like them.”

Eddie frowns. “Are you seriously trying to make a case for yourself on the grounds of not being really hot? That’s not gonna hold up in court, gorgeous. I mean… have you even looked in a mirror recently?”

He lightly taps his knuckle against your head, trying to get you to crack a smile, but you’re not ready to give in yet. 

“You don’t think you’ll get bored of me?” you whisper, dropping your eyes from his consuming gaze to the wyvern inked on the inside of his arm. 

“Sweetheart…” Eddie sounds genuinely pained. The ink in his skin stretches as he slips a hand to the back of your neck, cold rings against your skin making you shiver. “I couldn’t ever get bored of you. Not in a million years. We've been through too much together for you to think like that, hm?”

He strokes his thumb down the column of your neck, those doey brown eyes on you again. “Now I’m not saying you shouldn’t ever be jealous, ‘cuz god knows it makes me hot under the collar when you are. But I’m sayin’ I never wanna make you feel like you need to earn me, okay?”

His thumb tracks back up to the hollow of your jaw, taps twice questioningly, and you nod, letting out a shaky, “Okay.”

When he kisses you, it feels like every other time- comfortable, grounding, familiar. His tongue presses against the seam of your lips, and you let him lick into your mouth, gripping at his arms, flushing hot as you give it back to him in spades.

With a short groan, he pulls back, a wet click as your mouths separate- “As much as I wanna jump your bones in this wintry wonderland, I think the snow might’ve actually frozen my balls off.”

You giggle, spanning your hands around the meat of his waist, kissing up into his mouth again- “Poor baby. Want me to warm ‘em up in my mouth?”

He gives a solid smack to your ass for that, his palm smoothing over the stinging skin with condescension when you yelp- “All dish and no take, baby? Not exactly fair.”

____

Despite your weak protestations that you both should probably rejoin the party, at least until midnight, Eddie insists on taking you back to the hotel. 

“This party blows, anyways,” he says over his shoulder to you as he leads you back through the halls of the house. “If I hear one more Tears for Fears track I might throw myself into the river from one of the hundred balconies in this place.”

He manages to track down Melanie with some effort, winding his way through the throng of people to where she’d been chatting with a reporter, plucking at her elbow to get her away from the crowd and into the quieter hallway with you.  

“We gotta scoot, Mel,” he tells her, really hamming up the charm as the young publicist widens her eyes. “Think you can get us a ride outta here?”

“Mr. Munson, you can’t just leave,” Melanie insists, frazzled. “Someone from Rolling Stone has been waiting for the last hour to talk to you, if you could just-”

“No can do.” Eddie shakes his head, mock-apologetic. “There’s been an accident. Of a personal nature.”

You manage to choke down your laughter as Eddie turns around to show off the dark stains on the back of his jeans. They’re just wet from the snow that he sat in earlier, of course, but it looks convincing enough to make Melanie blanch and pinch the bridge of her nose.

“I’ll have a cab out front in ten for you both. Please keep a low profile until then.”

Eddie gives a sharp salute and you mouth an apology at her before she retreats to find a phone.

Okay, so maybe add a hefty bonus to that Nice Things for Melanie list of yours. 

____

One of the perks of having a rockstar for a boyfriend is the sweet digs- the label shelled out for Chicago’s finest penthouse suite; an entire luxurious upper floor with a private elevator, windows overlooking the far-below city lights, and a sunken bath big enough for two.

Also included? Soundproof walls.

A perk you’re very grateful for as Eddie walks you backwards into the room, sucking a mark with stinging teeth into your neck as you moan, then giggle breathily, admonishing- “Christ, Eddie, slow down. We have all night.”

Eddie pulls back just far enough to frown down at you, his hands slipping under the hem of your dress to squeeze at your ass. His rings are cold against your bare flesh, and he grins when you shiver. “Uh huh. Sure do have all night. You gonna take advantage of that?”

He wiggles his eyebrows, cheekily, but that smirk drops from his face in record time the second you shove him to the bed. As his knees give out in favor of sitting on the mattress, you steady your hands against his broad shoulders to swing yourself into his lap.

Eddie’s looking up at you, cinnamon eyes darkened with lust- it makes your stomach flip something awful. Your skin feels alight with heat as Eddie’s hands drip like water down your sides, then to your parted thighs.

You sigh into his mouth as his fingers trace the front of your underwear, the silk sticky with your arousal.

“Oh, baby,” Eddie says, equal parts admonishment and pitying as you squirm into his touch. “What’s got you this worked up, hm?”

He’s asking like he doesn’t know- like he didn’t tease you with filthy whispers and wandering hands in the back of the car the whole way here. 

“Whaddya think,” you scoff, not quite ready to give in yet, enjoying the thrill of being cagey as Eddie hooks a finger to tuck your panties to the side.

He grins, simmering, enjoying the chase just as much as you. His middle finger swipes through your folds and you shudder in his arms, hands tightening into the meat of his shoulders as he brings the wetness up to your clit.

Eddie rubs quick, steady circles until you’re mewling, bucking hips grinding down to seek more friction. You can feel the wetness seeping out of your core, dampening his jeans as he licks back into your mouth, capturing the soft noises you’re making as he winds you up.

“Can’t believe a pretty thing like you has anything to be jealous of.” Eddie noses at the spot under your jaw, and when you let your head fall back on a hinge to grant him access, he sucks another mark into the column of your throat. “‘M all yours, sweetheart. You gonna take what’s yours?”

Truth be told, your mind went fuzzy the second Eddie got his hands on your clit, the consistent build of pleasure sparking between your legs rather distracting. You’d almost forgotten how the night had started, but you let the jealousy and possessiveness creep back in as you push at Eddie’s chest.

He goes down easily, toeing his boots off and lying flat on the mattress; big hands settle on your waist as you rest your weight into him, warm cunt pressing against the bulge of his clothed cock.

At a light drag of your nails against his bare chest and across his nipple, Eddie groans low, squeezing your hips and rucking into you.

“You’re all mine, Eddie, right?” 

His pupils nearly eclipsing their soft brown irises, Eddie stares up at you like you hang the moon and stars every night just for him. “Yeah, sweetheart. ‘M all yours. Lemme show you.”

Eddie pulls at the backs of your legs, helping you shuffle up his body until your knees are dipping into the mattress at either side of his head. Your core hovers just above Eddie’s mouth- you can feel his breath speed up on the inside of your thigh at this new position. 

“Oh, fuck, Eddie- jesus… christ,” the last word ending in a moan as Eddie’s tongue licks a wet stripe through your folds. 

He pulls you closer with an arm over each thigh until you’re sitting on his face, his nose hitting your clit with each tilt of his head. You’ve got no idea how he’s able to breathe down there but you’re hardly able to hold onto that thought when his tongue has started plunging in and out of you.

Automatically, your hands shoot out to stabilize yourself- one hand goes to the headboard and the other ends up in his hair, gripping the roots hard. Eddie groans, sending vibrations that make your cunt clench around his lithe tongue.

“Like the taste of my pussy, baby?” you coo down at him, regaining some of your breath to give him attitude. 

Reaching a hand back to palm at his cock, you say “No one else can have you like this, hm?”

Eddie catches your eyes as he mouths wetly at your clit, then sucks it into his mouth. Your thighs shake around his ears, your orgasm unfurling in clenching ripples.

“Oh, yeah, Eddie, fuck, I’m coming- just like that, fuck fuck fuck…”

He doesn’t stop suckling at you until you’re gushing around his mouth, then pulling him off by his hair to make him stop.

Eddie heaves in a breath, kissing at the inside of your thigh, his lips and chin shiny with your release. “God, baby. Such pretty noises for me.”

“Mhm.” You shuffle down until your hips are aligned over his, then lean in to lick his mouth clean. “Gonna make some pretty ones for me, now?”

After helping pull his shirt off, Eddie whines softly as you press kisses down his bare chest, and by the time your mouth is pressing over that dark trail of hair that leads into his denim, Eddie’s begging.

“Please, angel, please- need your mouth. Do anything for it, baby, please…”

You rub your cheek against his bulge before pulling back to pop the button on his jeans, then help him shift them down and off his body. Once his black briefs join the growing pile of floor clothes, Eddie’s completely bare and at your mercy.

He gets on his elbows to watch as you mouth at the inside of his thigh, dark hair splayed around his shoulders, chest heaving when you ignore his leaking cock in favor of grazing your teeth against a sensitive spot. “Fuckin’- christ, sweetheart. Come on. Please?”

“Sound pretty when you beg,” you say, mildly, kissing across his heavy sack, hiding a smile when the contact makes him jolt. “Gonna do it some more?”

You keep eye contact as you take one of his balls into your mouth, watching his own eyes roll back so far you can see the whites of them as you use your tongue on him. 

“-yeah, baby, yeah- just like that- fucking, fuck, you’re killin’ me…”

Eddie sounds wrecked already, and a hot flush of pride courses through your body at the knowledge that he could come from just this and it’d be you getting him there. 

You mouth over to the other side of his sack, rolling the skin wiry with coarse hair against your tongue as Eddie moans above you. When your hand wraps around the base of his cock, starting to move in tandem with the pull of your mouth, Eddie makes a noise like he’s been punched.

A line of drool breaks and hits wet against your chin as you straighten up, settling yourself into the V of his legs and using his thighs as handholds while you begin to kiss up the line of his leaking cock.

He’s got a gorgeous dick, truly. Thick and long, curving slightly to the right, a pretty blue vein snaking up the underside that you lathe your tongue against, seeking out the salty brine at the ruddy head.

Eddie moans, brokenly, white-knuckled hands twisting into the sheets. When your mouth closes around the tip, his elbows give out, leaving him flat against the mattress as you work his length further in.

“Oh my god. Oh, fuck, baby. Please don’t stop. Please. Y’feel so good…”

You hum around the stretch of him in your mouth, relaxing your throat to draw him in a bit more. The spiky jealousy from earlier really is your biggest motivator here; covetous, you’re thinking back to all those first times with Eddie- trembling hands under your bedsheets back in Hawkins, stilted voices and giggles to cover up the awkwardness of trying to learn the other person’s body.

No one will ever know him like you do. No one will ever have all that shared history, those fumbling nights that slowly turned to lovesick days; memories of him on his knees for you, learning all the little things that make you tick, memorizing the song of your body.

The boy is all yours. 

Your throat automatically constricts at the intrusion of Eddie’s cock slipping past your soft palate- his hips cant up, which you can hardly fault him for, patient as he’s been with your retrospective and teasing.

Before he can apologize you’re sitting up, wiping at the excess drool with the back of your hand and shucking your dress over your head, letting it and your belt fall to the floor with a soft clunk.

Eddie reaches for you again as you slide your panties down and off, and you let him help you up his body, your knees coming to rest alongside the lightly raised scar tissue at his sides. You stroke a hand down his chest, giving in to a moment of softness before seating yourself fully in Eddie’s lap.

His hands snap to your hips, a near-brutal squeeze as you sink onto his cock. The stretch is always an adjustment, but you’re so wet right now that he slides in easily, a breathy moan from the both of you as the walls of your cunt fit snug around his sizeable length.

“Fuck, you’re perfect.” The crown of Eddie’s head is pressed back into the bed, veins in his taut neck on full display as your hips start to swivel, blunt nails scraping into the soft flesh of your waist. “Just like that, sweetheart. Fuck me.”

With your knees planted on either side of his body, you begin to bounce in steady, rhythmic earnest, going for gold, the desire to bring your boy to the babbling edge overtaking every other thought.

“Feel so good, Eds, so big… can barely fit…” There’s a wet squelch accompanying each bounce now, slick dripping down to the base of his cock, your vice of a cunt flexing with every movement.

“S’all you, baby,” Eddie rasps out, toes curling in the efforts to keep his orgasm at bay for awhile longer. “Got a perfect pussy. Takin’ me so well.”

He’s almost in delirium territory, with you chasing after that bright unwinding pleasure at both of your cores; your hips stutter, hands flat on Eddie’s chest to center yourself, a hunger that you can’t seem to satiate gnawing at the edges.

Eddie notices immediately, feels the falter in your motion and brings his hands to your forearms, rubbing a path up them soothingly- “What’s wrong, angel, hm?”

You’re not sure how to put it into words, wishing (not for the first time) that you could just rest your forehead against his and transmit all the complexities of your emotions through touch alone. 

Instead, you sigh out the name that you use when you’re done with taking, a name that lights Eddie up from head to toe as you say it- “Teddy.”

In one swift movement, Eddie slips an arm behind your back and flips you to the mattress, his hair a curtain around both your faces as he leans in to whisper against your mouth- “Teddy’s got you. Arms around me.”

You’re quick to obey, looping your arms around Eddie’s wide shoulders. He slides one hand up the back of your leg, pushing a knee up until it’s at your chest, mouth dropping open briefly when the new angle allows the head of his cock to kiss against that gummy upper wall of your cunt.

“Bored of you,” he huffs, recalling your words from earlier with disdain. “You’re talkin’ to the guy who memorized the first six chapters of The Hobbit just to recite for your bedtime.”

A quick thrust of his pelvis into yours has your stomach clenching in anticipation, brows on a tilt and knitting together as Eddie grins down at you. “Got a wicked attention span, baby. Lemme show you.”

He starts slow, agonizingly so, every inch of his thick cock dragging in and out, wetness pooling down your ass and probably the sheets, too; errant thoughts of housekeeping are rapidly erased as Eddie begins snapping his hips into yours in faster tempo.

He’s working to find that spot, the one that turns your brain to mush and is guaranteed to cause full-body muscle fatigue from the force of your orgasm. Your back arches off the bed, breasts pushing into Eddie’s chest, one arm still supporting your lower back as he laughs hoarsely, half-amazement and half-pride.

“That’s the spot, huh, sweetheart? Atta girl. M’all yours. Take it. Good girl…”

With each thrust, the wiry patch of hair dusted across Eddie’s pubic bone grinds slick and filthy against your clit. You’re so close to the edge now, a wave of pleasure cresting as you look up at Eddie.

There are two thin tracks of black makeup trailing down his face from where tears have made a mess of his eyeliner; rosy spots of flushed color in his cheeks, eyes like twin pools of chocolate, locked with yours as he rocks into you. 

He’s learned the song of your body so well, knows every chord to strike- his hand leaves your leg to grasp at your breast, calloused palm against pebbled nipple sending more shockwaves through your body, applying just the right amount of pressure to make you sing for him.

“All yours,” you gasp out, and it feels like victory when his hips stutter and the cresting wave crashes around you both at the same time.

The pleasure roils through your gut, clit throbbing and cunt spasming around Eddie’s cock as he spills into you. 

A wrecked, broken string of moans leaves you as you ride out the highs together. Eddie presses his forehead to your collarbone as he chants your name, twitching out the last of his spend, warmth blooming inside. 

The quiet that follows is filled with shaking breaths, soft kisses, murmurs of “good job, sweetheart” as you both float back down to earth.

Eddie stays in you for longer than usual, his draped weight a grounding comfort as you trail gentle fingertips up and down his skin, lovingly against the scars that interrupt the smooth flesh of his back. Through the closed windows, you can hear the distant sounds of car horns and the deep boom of fireworks. 

Sometime in the last foggy hour of lovemaking, 1987 has given way to a new year. 

Eddie pulls his heavy head up from your chest to press kisses to your collarbone. “Happy new year, lover.”

You tuck his hair behind his ears, hands squishing lightly at his cheeks to bring his face close enough for a kiss. “Happy new year to you. Hell of a way to kick it off.”

Eventually, Eddie extricates himself from the intoxicating heat of your body (with minimal whining) and brings a warm washcloth to tenderly wipe away the mess between your thighs. Once you’re both cleaned up, he stretches out against the sheets, pulling the covers up as you hook a leg around his waist and snuggle in. 

“So I was thinking,” he starts, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, “I wanna take a trip back to Hawkins. Before the tour.”

Your hand stills in its rhythmic circles against Eddie’s chest; heart in your throat, you tilt your chin up so you can gauge Eddie’s reaction. “...yeah?”

“Yeah.” Eddie picks up your hand on his chest, twining his fingers with your as his other hand settles on your bare hip beneath the sheets. “Could visit Wayne for a few days, fool around in that twin bed like we’re teens again.”

He grins at your giggle, taps playfully at your hip- “Gonna parade you around all our old haunts. You’ve gotten even hotter since we left, babe. Gotta really rub it in the faces of those Hawkins Tigers burnouts whose best dates are their own left hands.”

You snort, and Eddie looks pleased again, but then sobers a bit before saying- “I mean, I’ve got my piece of home with me. But I think it could be good, to visit. Just the two of us.”

You’re quiet for a moment, a longing for home that you’ve managed to ignore these past few years resurfacing. “Can we get high and go to that diner? I mean, Nell’s isn’t as good as Benny’s was, but I’ve been craving a Hawkins milkshake.”

“Christ.” Eddie hides his smile in the crook of your neck, dimples springing to life. “You could ask for the Mona Lisa and I’d find a way to get it to you. Fries and a milkshake, that all I need to keep my girl happy?”

“Yeah,” you reply, a contented noise as Eddie settles against your chest again. “That’s all I need.”

___

thank u thank u for reading if you made it this far have a little kiss from me to you <3 xx lulu

[lucidia-sys]

Waves my hand. Yo Undertale fandom. I'm making a hot take real fast bc I'm realizing something. Let's STOP saying Horror would have a food based job. Let's STOP saying the guy with the very obvious eating disorder and manic behavior would be able to work with humans. This includes cooking when under Nightmare's control. Horror very obviously has an eating disorder. He'd NOT be able to handle a job like that, even with years of therapy and help. He's greatly unstable around food and, ESPECIALLY humans. He would not be able to handle the smells and temptations. He fits more specifically for a job like a night guard, more specifically something like a museum. Most often they are empty and quiet. Not much happens, so very unlikely for him to be triggered by anything. He'd LOVE to look around at the exhibits as he makes rounds, learning new things he can go back to the others babbling about in the morning when he leaves. Following this, I'm going to go at the others of the MTT (+ Nightmare) because frankly the fandom sucks nards at deciding jobs. I believe Killer would work at Ccino's cafe, introducing cats to it. Ccino would handle the cafe in general, while Killer handles the cats as they are his cats. Plus a bonus, he brings extras from the cafe back for everyone at Nightmare's castle. If a customer gets all up in Ccino's face, Killer would get their ass to back down. He's the cat care, AND customer support. Dust is unemployed. Not only because of depression, mania, and the whole schitzo-ghost brother thing. Well actually because of that. He'd not be able to work because of it. Getting work with severe mental issues like that, and the fact Dust probably has bad mobility because of the overbearing amount of power in his body, is near impossible. Nightmare is a tricky case, what with many jumping to mafia boss of some sort. But that is INCREDIBLY DANGEROUS to ALL of his subordinates. He'd fit more to be dabbling in black market products, or just illegal things in general rather than mafia shit. I'm not including Cross here bc I don't like Cross and he's not rlly one of Nightmare's subordinates tbh. Keep in mind, these are all my opinions. My headcanons. You are allowed to think what you will, this is somewhat me venting outish my own thoughts and what I think they'd do.

[novaursa]

https://youtu.be/3eWKe9PN5dw?si=uWC8yLUbdfLLCdXb

Can you make this one to in your serie with Rheagar and his sister/wife? 👀 #fireandgoldserie

Fire and Gold (the innocent)

- Summary: Rhaegar chooses you over her. And Ceresi never forgives you for it.

- Paring: sister!reader/Rhaegar Targaryen

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (just to be safe)

- Previous part: 2

- Next part: the spider's offer

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

- A/N: Again, context matters. I can only guess what you wanted based on the provided link. HOTD is a different world from GOT (and an entirely different universe from ASOIAF books). Without more information provided I'm in the dark.

The Red Keep is in chaos. You can hear the screams, the echoes of horror reverberating through the stone halls, the distant clash of steel as guards and servants rush in a frenzy. But all you see is blood. Crimson stains the floor, splattered in grotesque patterns, soaking into the hem of your gown as you kneel, trembling. You cradle the small, limp body in your arms, your fingers trembling as they brush through his hair. His eyes, once bright and curious, now stare lifelessly at the vaulted ceiling above. Your child. Your sweet boy. Gone.

You can barely breathe, the weight of your grief suffocating you. Rhaegar is beside you, his face stricken, eyes red and hollow. His hand rests on your shoulder, the grip tight enough to bruise, as if anchoring himself to you, to this dreadful reality. His tears mix with yours as he pulls you close, burying his face in your hair, his sobs breaking through the shock.

"How did this happen?" he chokes out, his voice thick with anguish. He looks up at the assembled Kingsguard, his gaze blazing with fury and despair. "Where were you?"

Ser Barristan steps forward, his white cloak stained red at the edges. "Your Grace, we—" But his voice falters, the usual calm shattered.

You lift your gaze, the room spinning around you. Every breath feels like fire in your lungs, every heartbeat a dagger twisting in your chest. The guards stand in a circle, faces pale, eyes averted. Except one.

Jaime Lannister shifts uncomfortably, his gaze flitting to the side as if he can’t bear to look at you, or the child you hold. His hands are clenched at his sides, knuckles white against the steel of his armor. There’s something in his eyes—a flicker of guilt, a shadow of unease—that catches your attention, even through the haze of your grief.

Your mind drifts back, unbidden, to that night nearly a year ago. The night of your royal tour. The confrontation after your eldest wounded hers, Cersei’s voice sharp and venomous as she hurled her accusations, her jealousy like a blade cutting through the air. You remember the glint of steel, the sudden pain, the scar it left on your arm—a wound you’d thought would be the worst of it. But now… now it’s this, a deeper, more grievous wound that will never heal.

King Aerys’s voice cuts through your thoughts, a roar of rage that shakes the very foundations of the keep. He storms into the room, eyes wild, hair unkempt, his fury a palpable force. “Who did this? Who killed my grandson?” His gaze sweeps over the room, manic and dangerous, before it settles on Jaime, and for a moment you think he knows, that he sees what you do.

“Your Grace, I—” Jaime begins, but the king silences him with a gesture, a flick of his hand that sends a servant sprawling as he seizes a burning torch from the wall.

“I’ll have their heads!” Aerys screams, his voice breaking with the weight of his grief. “All of them! The traitors, the murderers—burn them all!”

Rhaegar stands, drawing himself up to his full height, his presence a stark contrast to the king’s frenzied wrath. “Father, please,” he says, his voice strained but steady. “We must find out what happened. We must—”

“Find out?” Aerys spits, his eyes blazing. “It was that Lannister bitch, wasn’t it?” He waves the torch wildly, and the guards flinch back. “Always scheming, always whispering in her father’s ear. And you,” he snarls, turning on Jaime. “Where were you, golden boy? Where were you when my blood was spilled?”

Jaime’s face is a mask of stone, but his eyes—those eyes, shifting and evasive, tell a different story. He swallows hard, glancing at you, and in that moment, something cold and sharp twists in your heart. There’s a truth there, hidden and ugly, that you can’t yet grasp, but you will. By the gods, you will.

You look down at your child’s face, his features so peaceful, so wrong in their stillness. You press a kiss to his forehead, your tears falling onto his cheeks, mingling with the blood. You don’t look up as Rhaegar kneels beside you again, his arms wrapping around you both, his sobs quiet now, broken.

“When I find who did this,” you whisper, your voice raw and ragged, “they will burn.”

You feel Jaime’s gaze on you, sharp and almost pleading, but you don’t look at him. You can’t. Not yet. Not until you have proof, not until you can make good on the vow that’s already forming in your heart.

Rhaegar tightens his hold on you, his lips brushing your hair, his breath warm against your skin. “We will find them,” he promises, his voice trembling but fierce. “I swear it, Y/N. We will.”

The Red Keep is still in chaos, the screams and cries echoing through the halls, but here, in this small, blood-soaked corner, there is only the three of you—mother, father, and the child you have lost. You hold him close, your tears endless, and you know, with a terrible certainty, that nothing will ever be the same again.

[jesswritesthat]

Bakugou Katsuki: Model Student

Fandom: BNHA // MHA — [ Masterlist ]

Summary: 2k+, fluff

• When you’re sent to assist designer Bakugou Mitsuki, you get more than you bargain with both food and explosives.

Warnings: Mature language, slight spoilers, Class 3A

>>>>——————————>

When Bakugou Mitsuki 'politely demanded' that you accept a long term job on behalf of her fashion company you couldn't exactly refuse -not that she'd let you- but like your other modelling contracts, it wouldn't disrupt your hero studies aside from spending your free time at her home. The only unexpected factor, was her infamous son.

"WHO THE HELL IS THIS?"

You practically jumped out of your skin, the measure wrapped around your waist was left unattended as Mitsuki slapped the demanding newcomer upside the head.

"Manners Katsuki! This is (L/n) (Y/n), they're the model for my latest assignment."

"Nice to meet you." You gave an awkward wave, attempting to keep the tape in place as you did so but he did not seem impressed, only scoffing and walking away (regardless of the infuriated scowl his mother painfully engraved into his retreating figure).

"I apologise on his behalf, being apart of U.A's latest Big Three went to his head a bit but he's grown a lot since his first year with everything that happened. Still a moody 18 year old though." The woman forcibly laughed whilst resuming her work. Presumably he was home for the break like you, but worked at an agency to fill the time. If nothing else, this job assignment would be flammable.

—

Despite seeing him on a few visits, tonight’s encounter was the second time you’d actually spoken. Finally you got to rest, you'd tried to help as much as you could once Mitsuki got what she needed from you and she'd urged you to take a break in the lounge to prevent you from helpfully intervening and exhausting yourself.

Luckily, Bakugou was unintentionally keeping you company with reluctant conversation whilst he was cooking his dinner, you meanwhile took residence at the table scrolling through your phone.

"Have you eaten?" His lack of curses made you look up with a skeptical expression but you answered with a shrug, planning to eat once you got home.

"Not yet."

"Just because you're a shitty model, you gotta fucking eat as you don't need to—" Bakugou bit back with the stereotype, similar to that of either scolding or concern - you were uncertain.

"I do eat, I promise."

"Prove it then dumbass."

"Wha-how?" He smirked as he handed you a bowl of curry mid question, the one he'd been carefully concocting as you made idle chatter with him for the past 30 minutes. Almost like he'd planned it. Surely not.

"You didn't have to give me any, but thank you Bakugou. I’ll help clean up.”

"Tch, I made too much and I'm not wasting good food." Katsuki's tone held somewhat defensive aggression but he joined you at the table regardless, listing off ingredients and exchanging food preferences with you.

———

Over the various visits to the lovely Bakugou household, especially if your work with Mitsuki was scheduled when Katsuki was home, you’d usually have a meal prepared for you.

Admittedly you’d grown accustomed to the environment and to him, discussing hero work and exams with Katsuki over food and then helping wash up afterwards.

You’d grown more confident around him having had time to understand his personality, although the second you’d blew soapy bubbles at him you immediately regretted your decision.

You were met with a glowering crimson, floaty suds lingering on his nose, the scar on his cheek, and the front tips of his hair. Then there was the snarl and cocky smirk.

“You wanna go (L/n)? DIE!” It was accompanied by a spark of explosion angled toward the water - in such a trajectory that bubbles coated you like a snowball to the face causing you to huff in frustration to blow a couple off.

Bakugou howled manically at his retaliation, covering his mouth and pointing at you whilst you wiped the suds from your eyes.

“Ugh, take this murder god!” You flicked the remnants left on your hand at him which did nothing in all honesty. Instead a towel was thrown over your face courtesy of the blonde, which you irritably utilised. A string of curses was muttered beneath the material before you’d pulled it off, having believed you got rid of all the substance.

“Dumbass, can’t even beat bubbles.” Bakugou snorted, his gaze not having left you the entire time. “C’mere.”

You hadn’t the chance to refute, stunned by the fingers sliding across your jaw when he’d stepped forward and tilted your head with a hint of roughness that was inexplicably him. His other hand took the towel from your own and began carefully wiping your eyebrow and lower lip with a degree of scrutiny. Then he checked you for further discrepancies with more attention that you felt was required, and in order to hide your imminent flustering you delicately ran your finger across his scar to remove the last bubble there.

“You had something…”

An act that left him meeting your eyes with his own disarming ones, it felt intimate in a way like sparks were flickering alight despite no longer being connected by touch.

Just then Mitsuki burst into the main area, tape measure wrapped around her wrist and a determined gleam in her eye.

“Have you two finished dinner yet?” That’s when she took in the sight before her, you two in close proximity when directing your attention toward her but making no intention to distance yourselves. “…Because take your time, I don’t need (L/n) yet.”

Then she disappeared again, leaving you both alone in the disturbed silence. You took a step back from him wearing a polite smile and gestured toward his mother’s workspace.

“I should probably get back.”

“Hm, thanks for the help shitty model.”

Upon entering, you didn’t expect to be scolded for returning earlier than Mitsuki expected.

“What are you doing?! Get back out there, I didn’t mean to ruin— crap, I mean I’ve never seen Katsuki act— ugh it’s hopeless.”

“I’m here to work, and as amazing as your sons’ cooking is, I don’t want to take advantage of your hospitality.” You bowed as accompaniment, but the woman only sighed in defeat.

“Right, of course you’re only focused on the work. Just like Katsuki, how perfectly fitting…”

“Huh?”

“I said let’s finish this fitting!” She clapped her hands with a renewed determination, fabric at the ready.

———

A photoshoot showcasing the reinvented designs was your reason for a quick visit today, arriving at the Bakugou household to meet with the woman herself so you could travel there together.

Naturally, you weren’t expecting her analytic gaze to scan over your outfit with more criticality than usual, which is when you’d heard her contemplate aloud.

"I need to make some adjustments..."

"What?! The photoshoot is in 2 hours and this is all I have!" You gestured to the outfit she'd deemed perfect only yesterday, believing you'd only be heading straight to the shoot and home, you didn't see the need for a spare set of clothes.

Mitsuki shook her head, throwing a discarded hoodie in your direction before shooing you into the bathroom. Upon returning, tugging the hoodie down to cover as much as possible despite the size differences, you handed over your clothes and awaited her return at the kitchen counter with a tea warming your hands.

"Oi old hag, have you seen - what the fuck do you think you're doing in my hoodie (Y/n)?!" Immediately, the sheer ferocity in the familiar tone had you internally screaming and spinning 180 to face him.

"Katsuki! It's not - Mitsuki took my outfit for adjustments and gave me this, I didn't know it was yours!" You corrected yourself knowing he didn't tolerate excuses and skipped straight to the point, though it didn't nullify the death glare he sported.

"Whatever, you don't look like shit in it so just tell me how long she's gonna take because I need it." You missed the flush on his features after he properly looked at you, scanning over your legs which were overly exposed thanks to his item before turning away with a frustrated sigh.

"Yo Bakubro, what's taking so long - ohhh wow." Immediately the interruption had snapped Katsukis attention so fast you expected him to have whiplash.

The guy in question stood rather awestruck, hand running through his spiked crimson hair with an equally bright blush to match as his gaze landed on you.

"Not a fucking word shitty hair!" Bakugou practically threatened, skidding between the two of you with his hand moving to your side to keep you behind him.

"Dude, the others are waiting outside so we're good. I'm Kirishima Eijiro, a friend of Bakugou." Apparently a regular visitor to the house, he offered his hand whilst you sidestepped past Katsuki to meet him.

"Pleasure, I'm (L/n) (Y/n) and I'm here for an assignment with Mitsuki."

"Ah you're the not-so-annoying one he keeps talking about."

"You talk ab—" You never got to ask when Mitsuki hailed your attention.

"Done!"

The next moments happened in a blur, clothes were thrusted into your chest then an echo of voices called for 'Kacchan' who seemed panicked by their entry and shoved you into the bathroom telling you to 'hurry the fuck up'. Quickly you changed, tossing him the hoodie the second you'd cracked open the door, then came the slam from where he'd left with Kirishima after ushering the others out. All you could do was slump against the bathroom door with a sigh of exhausted relief.

———

The final session working with Bakugou Mitsuki, you’d expected it but that didn’t mean you were glad about it. You enjoyed the experience more than most jobs and you could probably chalk part of that down to Katsuki, not that you’d breathe a word of it.

Mitsuki seemed slightly despondent however, always flicking to the front door with a sense of hopefulness but soon morphing to disappointment when it didn’t open.

“What’s wrong Mitsuki-san?“

"Sorry (Y/n), Katsuki was pretty adamant about seeing you before you left so your last task wasn't really necessary but that brat must be too busy." She’d explained with a haphazard shrug, you weren’t even mad that she’d kept longer for no apparent reason due to your surprise that her son had personally wanted to what? Say goodbye? Or rather good riddance.

"Oh - no that's fine, thanks Mitsuki it was really great working with you the past month, and I hope we can do it again sometime. Please send my regards to him."

The sheer amount of wind caught you off guard as you walked through the near deserted neighbourhood toward the station after your final farewells, a faint sound of blasting echoing with a familiar figure abruptly skidding into your path. He still donned his hero gear so you assumed he shot over the moment he was released from his internship, the man now standing proud with his arms folded expectantly.

"What that's it? You're done?"

"Yeah, I have to get back to my internship too. Why?"

You couldn't fathom why Katsuki seemed so disturbed by this, his expression wasn't as aggressive and there was a distinct flash of disappointment in his eyes that he was quick to morph to ferocity.

"I don't have to cook extra anymore."

"I thought that was accidental?" You quipped back, knowing you were already on thin ice.

"Just didn't want you feeling guilty dumbass."

"My hero..."

"Shut up shitty model! You're your own hero, and I'll beat your ass in the ranking once we graduate." He’d growled, leaning closer to you and desperately trying to keep his voice down.

"Such a sweet talker Katsuki, too bad it'll never happen~"

"LIKE HELL YOU'LL—argh?!" The playful punch to his chest quietened him, your confidence and gratitude shining through as you held your fist in place whilst speaking.

"I'm glad I got to know you, I can't wait to work with you in the future."

"You're at the top of my list too - so long as you don't get in my fucking way." A gloved hand took your fist and intertwined his hand with yours like in an arm wrestle, giving it a challenging squeeze.

"Please, you'll be in my way."

The two of nodded in agreement, touch slipping from each other with the last brush of your fingertips feeling like a spark.

Then you were gone, and the fire burned brighter than ever.

———

This was the U.A. dormitories, the sign read 'Class 3A' so you knew you were in the right place but that didn't calm your jittering nerves at all. Yes you'd kept in contact and it was guaranteed that he was going to scold you for showing up unannounced but it remained unknown whether it'd be a serious one or a usual temper flare.

Amping up your false confidence, you walked in albeit hesitantly and your unfamiliar presence was immediately noticed.

"Good evening, oh and welcome - um can I help you find someone?"

"That'd be great, I—" The kindness radiating off of the green haired hero was relieving, but a sudden burst of sparks slid before you rather eagerly which stifled your reply.

"I can do it, anything you need I'm your guy! Kaminari Denki by the way beautiful."

"Kaminari! Don't leave me behind like that - ohmygod you were right, it's the hot model from the magazines. They're so attractive and a hero, what I wouldn't do—"

"Mineta! Stop being - AAHHHH it's (L/n) (Y/n)!" The pinkette squealed wholeheartedly once chastising her classmate.

A clutter originated from the kitchen the moment your name was mentioned, the others hardly concerned with the noise but rather far more interested in you.

"Sorry to show up uninvited like this, but thank you all for welcoming me." Gratefully you bowed to the group, many fussing prior to a harsh interruption causing them to part.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Heeyyy Katsuki..." Your tone seemed more awkward, he noticed the way you went to step toward him but second guessed your situation and took a step backwards instead.

“They know each other?”

“No way, they couldn’t be acquainted.”

Even with the muttering of his classmates, you gave a charming smirk and Bakugou heaved a defeated sigh but made an unexpected proposition anyway.

"I'm starting dinner for these shitty extras, so you should stay (Y/n)."

"Don't I need permission?"

"You think we're gonna argue with Bakugou? He never wants people over - let alone asks them to stay! None of us are missing this." An ecstatic blonde eagerly answered with thumbs up.

"Shut it Pikachu!" Katsuki stalked off in the direction of the kitchen gesturing for you to follow once Mina had taken your jacket. You thanked the pretty pinkette, following his lead when you heard the class collectively panic for you.

"This was the scent on Bakugous' hoodie remember? The one we couldn't pinpoint." Mina whispered to Kaminari, the two concocting rather scandalous explanations but ultimately decided their explosive friend wouldn't have the charm to date a model.

"Noooo, not in there whilst he's cooking. He'll kill you." Sero gingerly tapped your shoulder to halt your journey and you only smiled at him oh so innocently - clearly you did not know the wrath of Katsuki Bakugou.

"I'll be fine, I'll help prepare dinner as a thanks for having me here." The response only earned silent prayers, Mineta literally on his knees praying whilst Izuku released a barely audible squeak.

Inconspicuously, the class subtlety watched as you strolled in, purely intrigued by your unbreakable will to die - yet their discoveries were earth shattering.

"Hey, can I help?" A touch to his shoulder.

"Tch, my cooking not good enough for you anymore shitty model?" An elbow to your side.

"Your food is the best I've ever tasted which is why I want to learn from the best dumbass." The playful teasing which seemed commonplace for the two of you whilst you chopped vegetables.

"I missed you, fucking disaster."

"Well I am rather delightful, it's no wonder~"

"I take it back, you're still annoying as hell." This time his usual uncaring demeanour returned, cold words in tow and it only softened your resolve.

Leaving the vegetables on the chopping board, you carefully leaned into his side with a nudge as a form of embrace rather than hug him.

"I sort of missed you too Katsuki, but sorry for intruding." It was quiet, but genuine, and he couldn't help but reciprocate with his cocky attitude melting away replaced with a content smirk.

"S'fine, glad you did." Katsuki pulled away slightly to face you properly and allowed himself to enjoy the moment, finding himself looking at you like he’d done when covered in soap. Only this time, there were no imperfections to find.

Maybe this time…

At this point, the redhead returned from his evening jog to find the majority of his class crouched down and discreetly peering into the kitchen area with Jirou using her earphone jack to relay the conversation. Kirishima knew Bakugou had decided to make dinner tonight and no one would be brave enough to step foot in there, so the whole ordeal was honestly baffling - that is until he casually walked up to the counter without a care for his furiously protesting classmates attempting to drag him down to their level.

"No way, (L/n)-chan is here?! How've you been, long time no see!" He cheerily called, nodding to Katsuki and yourself who instantly parted from each other and received agonising cries from his peers who were hoping for a token of affection.

"Damn it shitty hair!" Katsuki cussed, sporting a glare appropriate for the self entitled ‘murder god’ whilst you hopped over to the shark-tooth hero equipped with an excited greeting.

"Hi Kirishima! Great to see you again."

“Huh? Was I interrupting something?”

Yourself and Bakugou exchanged a neutral glance, ready to answer ‘No’ but didn’t get the opportunity when a booming unanimous reply of irritation came from the entirety of 3A.

“YES!!”

<——————————<<<<

[ Masterlist ]

[angelyuji]

OKAY SO this one has been cooking in my noggin for a while. you’re dating ford and he lets bill possess him but bill fucking hates you and wants to destroy everything about the relationship so he makes ford do some noncon to you if ykwim 👀💦

RICYTP_O)(+*_&)*Y&T THIS IS SO HNNGGG

tw // noncon, somno, implied billford, bill cipher sucks, ford pines fluff at the beginning thoo

bill most defintely did not get the appeal about you. ford is sooo obsessed with you and he loves egging his bad behavior on, but at the same time, he didn't get why ford likes you so much.

you giggle, sitting on ford's lap, watching him journal his findings. "why write that in invisible ink? it seems pretty important."

he kisses your shoulder, "to keep important information out of the wrong hands." you hum in understanding. the two of you sit in silence, letting your hearts beat together.

"i don't get it." you had just left and bill had decided that it was the right time to question ford.

ford continued working as bill sat on his shoulder, "get what."

"them! your little," he waves his hands. "toy? plaything?"

"partner." ford interjects, annoyed. "they're my partner. i don't take kindly to anyone calling (y/n) names."

bill raises his hands in mock surrender, "fine. fine. i just don't see what you see, sixer." he shrugs.

"(y/n) is.... someone who understands me. they're patient, kind, open, and loyal to a fault." he laughs a little to himself and bill frowns, feeling a surge of jealousy. ford's voice was full of love, every word he speaks of you felt honest and true.

"whatever you say, fordsy. a warm hole is a warm hole" bill shrugs and disappears before ford can retort.

ford is gonna spend all night thinking of ways to convince bill about you and urethra🤓! he's got it!!

"would you like to meet them?" ford moves his queen, looking up to see bill's eye wide in surprise.

"you sure you want to introduce me to your "partner", my muse?" bill mocks, but ford only smiles, continuing the chess match. silence fills the room, but bill's interest in you won, "how would we do this?"

they'll decide to let bill posses ford and meet you, not tell you about bill of course. ford didn't want you to freak out and leave him and bill was happy to play along with ford's lies.

repetitive knocks wake you up from your sleep. you look over to your alarm clock, blearily reading 1:22 AM. "what the hell." you mumble, rubbing your eyes. the knocks don't stop and you're forced out of bed. you look through the peephole and see a very familiar face.

"gooooood morning, cutie!" his voice was loud, echoing through the empty street. you shush him and pull him inside.

"stanford, it's 2 in the morning. what're you doing here." you fight a yawn, trying to sound stern.

"baby, come on, is it a crime to want to see my angel?" he takes a seat at your dining table, looking around your home like it's brand new.

you raise an eyebrow at the new nicknames, "are you okay? you're acting... weird." ford grins, abnormally.

"i think you're just tired." he waves off your concern, "let me stay over, baby. we'll have some fun." his grin stretches across his face, unnaturally. he stalks towards you and you slowly back away.

"ford, i think you should go." your voice wavers as you point to the door.

"noooo, i don't think so." his arm snaps out, grabbing you by the throat. you choke, digging your nails into his hand, "this is the thing sixer was impressed by? you?!?" he laughs, loud and manic. "a weak, useless, human." he spits, anger coursing through bill's mind.

hes soooo sillyyy. you're gonna end up passing out from the lack of airrr and then his original goal was to kill you, but... i mean a warm hole is a warm hole.

you could feel yourself getting stretched, legs held above and pressed against your chest. you hear a familar voice grunting above you. "h-hurts..." you moan, eyes slowly opening. ford's wide smile comes into view.

"sixer was right, you're realll open." he grinds against you. you feel tears stream down your face. he grins, bending over and dragging his tongue up your face. he licked up your tears, giggling. "you'll never forget this face ever again."

afterwards, you're laying there unconscious and bill's like.... damn.... you're kinda fun :))) he gets ford now

[mimimarvelingmarvel]

time bound part eight

pairing: worst wolverine!logan howlett x f!mutant!reader

Part Eight - Masterlist

summary: Y/n’s life takes a dramatic turn when the Time Variance Authority intervenes, pulling her from a critical moment in her timeline. The TVA sends her to the void where she eventually meets with Deadpool and a very familiar face. With Deadpool's universe in the balance, alongside his reluctant would-be pal, Wolverine, and the enigmatic time-bending mutant known as the Veil, the trio must complete the mission and save Deadpool’s world from an existential threat.

overall warnings: 18+, Fem!Reader, AFAB Reader, Use of Y/N, Her X-Men name is Veil, She/her pronouns, Swearing, Angst, Heavy Violence, Character Death, Deadpool (he’s his own warning), Hurt, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, TVA

word count: 2k

I don’t know how long I’m out for, but when I wake up, the first thing I notice is the warmth of a bed beneath me, soft and comforting. It takes a moment for the fog in my mind to clear, but then I feel it—a heavy limb draped across my back, pinning me down. My heart skips a beat, panic rising before I realize who it is. I shuffle slightly, turning my head just enough to see Wade sprawled out beside me, his leg thrown over the middle of my back like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His torso is nearly falling off the edge of the bed, his mask slightly askew, revealing a rare moment of peace on his scarred face.

I grumble, annoyed but not entirely surprised, and carefully shimmy out from under him. He doesn’t stir, still lost in whatever dream world he’s managed to escape to. I glance around, taking in the environment, and relief floods through me. It’s familiar, comforting. I breathe a sigh of relief. They found us.

I sit up properly, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. My muscles protest, sore from whatever happened before I blacked out. As I survey the room, I catch sight of Logan standing in the corner, a glass in hand, drinking from what I immediately recognize as Remy’s liquor collection. I shake my head slightly. Remy’s not going to be happy about that.

Logan turns to me, his eyes locking with mine. We don’t say anything for what feels like an eternity, just staring at each other, unspoken words hanging in the air. There’s a tension between us, a thousand things we should probably talk about but never will.

The silence is abruptly shattered when Wade shoots up, nearly falling off the bed in the process. He looks around, his usual manic energy snapping back into place.

“Where are we?” he asks, his voice groggy but laced with that familiar sarcasm.

I gesture to him and then to the room around us. “We’re in my bed. And this is the Borderlands.”

Just as the words leave my mouth, I hear footsteps approaching. My senses go on high alert, and I instinctively tense, but it’s just Elektra. She steps into view, her eyes sweeping the room, assessing the situation. I give her a small wave, and she responds with a short nod, her gaze lingering on Wade and Logan with clear suspicion. Then Eric walks in, followed by Remy and Johnny. The sight of them makes my heart swell with relief, and I quickly cross the room to hug Johnny. His arms wrap around me, and I can feel the tension in his muscles start to ease.

“I don’t know how the fuck you did that, but you saved my life,” Johnny mumbles into my hair. His voice is soft, almost vulnerable, and I can’t help but smile.

Wade immediately jumps in. “Okay, look at you all. You must be the others. Terrific. So just to refresh, you are Wonder...”

“Elektra,” she corrects him, her voice sharp and clipped.

“Elektra, yes. Who could forget?” Wade continues, undeterred. He shifts his attention to Eric, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “And you, I was not expecting to see you here, but you were, you know, retired.”

“Retarded?” Eric responds dryly.

“Retired. I’m already in The Void. I’m not trying to get canceled again.”

“I don’t like you,” Eric says bluntly.

“You never did.” Wade shrugs, then turns his attention to Remy. “And who’s this succulent reminder of my own inadequacies? Look at you. You look like the superhero version of Hawkeye.”

Remy smirks, his Cajun accent thick as he introduces himself. “The name’s Remy LeBeau. De Diable Blanc. But you can call me The Gambit.”

Wade, ever the smartass, retorts, “It’s been a while since I’ve seen Sling Blade, hit me again.”

“They call me The Gambit,” Remy repeats, his tone laced with a challenge.

“Do they? Are you sure you didn’t just really, really want them to, but it never quite worked out?”

“You know, we never had a Wolverine up in here. But I can tell you now, it’s just a common courtesy to ask before you drink up all of my liquor.” Remy says to Logan who gruffly responds, “It's a good thing I don’t give a fuck.” Remy’s eyes flash purple as he whispers something under his breath. With a flick of his wrist, a playing card flies across the room, charged with kinetic energy. It shatters the glass in Logan’s hand, sending shards flying.

Logan glares at Remy, then his eyes flicker to Johnny, “How the fuck are you here?” he asks.

“Ask Y/n, she did it,” Johnny replies, glancing at me with a hint of pride.

Logan’s expression shifts, a flicker of something almost like hurt crossing his face, but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared. Wade claps his hands together, drawing everyone’s attention back to him.

“Well, now that’s settled, look, we came a long way to find you four,” Wade says, his tone suddenly serious.

“There’s five of us,” Elektra corrects him again, her patience clearly wearing thin.

“There’s five? Wait, is it Magneto? Dear sweet God in heaven, let it be Magneto...”

“Dead,” Johnny interrupts, his voice flat.

“Fuck! Now the author gets lazy? It’s like Pinocchio jammed his face in my ass and started lying like crazy.”

Remy mutters something in French, and I try my best to understand, catching a bit about Wade being a nasty devil. Wade just grins, clearly enjoying the chaos he’s stirring up.

“Not a single word,” Wade quips, “What do you do exactly?”

“I charge the playing cards. Make them go boom,” Remy replies coolly.

“Your powers are close to magic. That’s good. We’re not totally fucked at all. So who brought us here?”

As if on cue, Laura walks in, her expression as fierce as ever. “That would be me. Don’t make me regret it,” she says, her voice icy.

Wade’s eyes widen in recognition. “Holy shit, Logan, that’s her, that’s X-23. She’s the one I told you about.” He says to Logan who looks at Laura, then looks away. “How did you all get stuck in The Void?”

“There was a knock at the door. TVA sent me here,” Eric replies, his voice grim.

“Me too,” Elektra adds.

Remy shrugs. “Maybe I was born here, so it’s hard to know for sure.”

“The TVA decided our universe was dying, and I never even got a chance to fight for it,” Eric says, bitterness seeping into his words.

“People like us don’t go quietly. TVA knows that, so they took us out,” Elektra adds, her tone fierce.

“The answer is yes, I’m in,” Wade declares, his voice filled with determination.

“In what?” Eric asks, confused.

“A team. Me, you, you and me, all of us together. Let’s get the fuck out of this place.”

“Don’t listen to him, he’s a fucking liar,” Logan snaps, his voice filled with anger.

“It was an educated wish! Look, we’ve been inside Cassandra’s lair. The only way out of The Void is through her. She can get us home. She told us. Look, there’s strength in numbers, all right? Us, plus you guys, we can put Cassandra over our knee and force her to let us out of The Void. I know what it means to feel self-doubt.”

“I don’t feel that at all,” Elektra retorts.

“I’m good,” Eric agrees.

“Gnawing at your gut like a coke duct tape worm.”

“It’s like you’re in the middle of my soul,” Wade says, his voice almost reverent.

I look at him, confused as to how these two seem to be matching each other’s energy so to speak. 

“You guys may not have been able to save your universes, but you can avenge them. Maybe you couldn’t save your worlds, but Jesus Christ, you could save mine.”

“I don’t give a shit about your world, but if these four made it out alive, maybe together, we could get back in and take her down,” Elektra says, her voice laced with resolve.

“Where I come from, we call that suicide, cher,” Remy mutters, his voice somber.

“If we can block her psychic powers, we can get a leg up. I know it. Now, I know Magneto’s dead, but I venture to guess that his helmet is lying around here somewhere.”

“Cassandra melted the helmet,” Eric says, his voice devoid of emotion.

“Fuck!” Wade curses, his frustration palpable.

“Then she killed him,” Eric adds.

“She don’t play,” Elektra says, her voice cold.

“She knows that helmet was the only way to protect anyone from her powers. The only other helmet that strong is Juggernaut’s, but he works for Cassandra.”

“Juggernaut’s helmet, that’s it,” Wade says, his voice filled with hope.

“And we don’t be knowing that it ain’t coming out his head,” Remy warns, his tone cautious.

The tension in the room was palpable, the air thick with the weight of decisions that could change everything. 

Wade, pacing back and forth with his usual frenetic energy, stops and looks at Remy, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I’m so sorry, beautiful, how could this be gentle?” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Who is your dialect coach? The minions? I feel like we’re missing critical exposition here.”

Elektra, her patience wearing thin, snaps, “I’m sick of this shit. I’m sick of hiding. Let’s face it, our world’s forgot about us.”

“Or never learned about us,” Remy adds, his voice tinged with bitterness.

“The heroes we were,” Elektra continues, her tone growing more impassioned.

“The lives we saved,” Blade chimes in, his deep voice resonating with an almost mournful tone.

“Or wanted to save,” Remy finishes, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the ground, lost in thought.

Elektra’s gaze hardens as she looks around at the group, her voice resolute. “Maybe these three are our chance, to be remembered the way we deserve.”

“Yes,” Wade agrees, his voice jumping an octave.

“An ending,” Elektra says, her voice filled with a mix of finality and hope.

“A legacy,” Blade adds.

Wade, unable to resist injecting some levity into the heavy moment, clapped his hands together. “Yes, yes, let this man cook. This is what I’m talking about. Big slow motion, fight sad music, everybody working together. Who knows if you live or die, that sort of thing. Who’s ready?”

Blade straightens, his expression fierce. “I was born ready.”

Wade turns to Remy, a playful smirk on his lips. “Yes, Gambit?”

Remy shrugs, a wry grin spreading across his face. “I ain’t know my daddy, but I’m sure I shot-out-of-his-dick ready.”

Wade pauses, blinking in disbelief before shaking his head. “Jesus Christ, that is graphic. Pumpkin?” His gaze then drifts over to me, and I can feel his eyes on me, almost as if he is trying to read my thoughts.

I take a deep breath, my heart pounding in my chest. “I’ll do it,” I say, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside. I glance at Logan, searching his face for any sign of what he might be thinking. “I might regret it,” I admit, the weight of my words hanging in the air. “But I have nothing to lose.”

Wade’s expression softens, a rare moment of sincerity in his chaotic persona. “Oh, sweet cheeks, you won’t regret it. The author has some crazy plans for you.” He then tunrs his attention to Laura, his voice taking on a challenging tone. “X-23, what’s it gonna be?”

“The name’s Laura,” she says, her voice cold and determined. “Let’s fucking go.”

Wade grins, his excitement bubbling over. “Let’s fucking go.”

Elektra’s eyes blaze with a fire that has been long extinguished. “We’re doing this,” she declares, her voice unwavering.

Logan, ever the cynic, mutters darkly, “You’re all fucking dead.”

Wade, not missing a beat, shoots back, “My god, read the room.”

Logan huffs and storms out the room, I watch him leave, hesitating before following. I hear Wade whispering from behind me to no one in particular. “It’s happening, they’re finally going to communicate. Thank you, sweet author. I’m sure the readers were tired of the dialogue recaps.” His voice fades away as I follow after Logan.

Next Part

A/N: Guys, this chapter is a lotttt of just going through the meetings of the other characters, the good shit is coming soon. Sometimes when I’m writing for scenes that are in movies I find myself getting really repetitive with it, so next chapter I’m taking more creative liberty.

taglist: @oscarissac2099 @somiaw @100percentlazybonez @obsessedwthdilfs @sun7lowxr @corvid007

[qveerthe0ry]

Naked in Manhattan

Summary: Marcus has never slept with a man, Dieter's willing to remedy that - written for @romanarose Pride Event Week 3: Sex/kissing Word Count: 7,730 Pairing: (college aged) Marcus Pike x Dieter Bravo Rating: 18+ mdni Warnings: coming out, discussions of sexuality, brief mentions of homophobia, oral sex(m), (lots of) hickeys, frottage, cum eating, armpit stuff Betas: OBVIOUSLY @for-a-longlongtime and @perotovar the loves of my life 💖A/N: I highly suggest listening to Naked in Manhattan by Chappell Roan before/while reading this. Totally got the vibes of this entire fic by listening to it on a walk one day

Dieter’s learned a lot in his five and a half years of college. Not really much about statistics or geology, but about people. He’s been around long enough to know that the sad little guy on his front porch steps, avoiding the party, and chain smoking cigarettes is having a rough go of it. 

“Hey buddy,” Dieter says, quietly, as not to startle the slumped figure. 

Marcus looks up at him through misty eyes and a cloud of stale Winston smoke.

“Hey.”

He’s not crying, but he’s definitely crying for help.

“You okay?” 

Dieter takes a seat on the step below him.

“Yeah, fine. Just needed air.”

Marcus gestures with the cigarette in his hand, then huffs out a laugh at the irony. 

“You’ve been getting drunk a lot lately.”

Maybe Dieter shouldn’t pry. It’s not unusual for his rented house to be filled with students coming and going at all hours of the day, between classes on weekdays or all day on the weekends. The cheap beer just shows up, as does the weed, and he doesn’t usually question it. 

But he’s closer to Marcus. So he notices more. He usually only sees him here on weekends. During the week he’s commonly found in the library or the student union, books sprawled out in front of him. He’s driven, pre-law, and has a better head on his shoulders than most people he hangs with. 

But Marcus has been at his place every night this week, either stumbling home in the wee hours of the morning or sleeping late on his couch or floor. It concerns Dieter in a way that surprises him. 

Usually it’s none of his business. 

“I haven’t had a sip,” Marcus tells him. 

And his voice doesn’t have that sharp, defensive tone Dieter was expecting. It’s more defeated than anything. 

“Yeah but what about last night?” 

Marcus shrugs. 

“And the night before? And every other night this week?”

“Just having fun,” Marcus mumbles through another drag of his cigarette. 

Dieterlooks around at his empty porch.

“Are you?” 

Then Marcus laughs. It bubbles up out of him in an almost terrifying way, and damn near immediately turns into sobs hidden behind his hands. 

“Fuck, dude, are you tripping?”

Marcus shakes his head. Dieter didn’t think so. He’s strictly an alcohol guy, won’t even touch weed. Something about the FBI and polygraph tests. Dieter finds it charming if not a bit manic. 

He keeps crying though, so hard he has to flick his cigarette out onto the dimly lit street so he can rub at his eyes. 

Dieter’s not sure what to do. Normally he’d offer someone drugs, but that won’t work. 

His hand hovers over Marcus’ shaking back for a few moments before he rests a heavy palm between his shoulder blades. 

He can feel the way Marcus’ breath shudders out of him, and tells him to start taking slow breaths. When it works, Dieter’s kind of amazed at how great he is at damage control. 

“That’s it man, just breathe.” 

Marcus nods, finally removes his hands from his face. He’s always been pretty in a very preppy way, with his perfect hair and teeth and his little dimples. He looks even prettier now, as much as Dieter kicks himself for that thought. His face is red and wet and his brown eyes are wider than they’ve ever been before. 

A few deep breaths in through his nose and out his mouth later, Marcus is sufficiently calm enough to speak. 

“I’m sorry.”

Dieter waves him off. 

“Don’t be. Looks like it felt good, I might have a cry later too.”

Marcus lets out a wet chuckle and shuts his eyes as one last salty little droplet brushes past his long eyelashes. 

“Everything okay at home? You’re not failing a class, are you?”

“No, no, nothing like that. It’s stupid.” 

“Girl problems?” 

Marcus laughs again, and Dieter startles a little, afraid he’s going to start back up sobbing at any moment. 

He doesn’t though. He’s quiet and avoiding Dieter’s gaze as he frantically gets another cigarette from his pack and lights it up. 

Dieter thinks he’s hit the nail on the head until Marcus takes a long drag of his cigarette and exhales. 

“I’m fucking gay.” 

Dieter opens his mouth in shock, or understanding, or maybe to try and say something, but Marcus continues. 

“This whole time I’ve been gay. I don’t even— I’ve had so many girlfriends. I think they’re just nice. I’ve never— I fucking hated sleeping with them. I thought it was because it was awkward, and we’re all inexperienced? It sucked, Dieter. And I thought all guys were curious about other guys, you know? They all talk about their dicks with each other, since middle school. I just thought— and then there’s this guy… in my intro to psych class. And he’s so nice and handsome and I just always want to hang out with him. And I didn’t know why. But I want to kiss him. And I never felt that way about any of my girlfriends. And now I realize I’ve just— I’ve just been gay this whole time.”

He’s out of breath when he quits talking, but he sucks down more of his cigarette anyway. Dieter isn’t quite sure what to say to him. Usually when someone comes out to him, it’s in a less… frantic manner, more proud than anything. But this poor freshman has been on a gay crisis bender all week and is more than a little traumatized by all of it, and it’s just different with Marcus. 

“That’s um… Sounds like you’ve been going through a rough time with it.” 

Marcus sniffles and nods. 

“Been through all five or whatever stages of grief already. It’s been a long week.” 

“Are you… Upset? That you’re gay?” 

Marcus’ head lolls back to thump against the porch railing. 

“No… I’m more upset that I didn't figure it out until now.” 

“You’re still plenty young, Marcus. You’re what— nineteen?”

“Eighteen. Skipped a grade.”

Jesus. Dieter feels even worse now about thinking he’s pretty when he cries. 

“See? You’re a spring chicken, dude. You figured it out plenty quick.” 

“When did you know?” 

Dieter chews on his lip, considers lying just for Marcus’ sake, but decides against it. 

“I pretty much always knew, honestly. But I mean— I was weird anyway, you know? Never really fit in or felt I had to play a certain part or be a certain way. It just made sense. Also, my dad always said I was as queer as a three dollar bill so… that helped.” 

Dieter steals the cigarette between Marcus’ fingers to take a drag himself. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Nothing to be sorry for, man,” Dieter tells him. 

Marcus stares at where Dieter’s lips wrap around his cigarette for a bit too long, and Dieter hands it back, if only to try and stop whatever it is that’s bound to happen next. 

But Marcus takes another drag himself, and his tongue peeks out to wet his bottom lip, and Dieter has never been called strong-willed. 

“What’s it like?” 

“What?”

“To be with a guy? What’s it like?” 

Dieter shrugs. 

“Depends on the guy.” 

Marcus sighs. 

“Are you uh— how do you like… it?” 

“Are you asking if I’m a top or a bottom?” 

Marcus’s face flushes a cute color in the yellow of the porch lights. 

“Both,” Dieter shrugs, “but I haven’t really done that with a lot of guys. Kind of a hassle, you know?” 

Marcus nods, but then his brow quirks up in question. 

“What do you mean? What do you— what do you do, then?” 

Dieter chuckles. 

“All kinds of things, babe.” 

He watches Marcus’ breath catch, the little stutter of his chest. 

“Would you show me?” 

Dieter rolls his eyes to distract them both from the fact that he really, really wants to. 

“C’mon, man. You don’t wanna fool around with me. I’m a loser. Go find a pretty finance boy to shack up with.” 

Maybe he’s less weak-willed than he thought. 

Marcus’ shoulders slump again, and christ, though, is he supposed to just let him leave like a kicked puppy? 

“There’s no intro to psych guy.”

It’s quiet, mumbled around his cigarette, and his eyes won’t leave his feet. 

“What?” 

“It’s you, okay? You’re my— gay awakening, or whatever. Why do you think I’ve been here all week?”

Dieter’s heart is hammering against his chest at that admission. This was not how he figured his Friday night would go.

“Free beer?” 

His joke doesn’t land. Marcus rolls his eyes. 

“It’s not like… I’m not like in love with you or anything. I just… always wanna see you. And you’re— well, you know. You’re hot. And you’re really nice to everyone. And I get this… I feel so weird when I’m around you, like, nauseous. Fuck, I’m sorry.” 

Marcus flicks yet another cigarette to the curb and makes to get up, but before Dieter can think better of it, he grips him on the shoulder to keep him seated. 

“That’s… actually really sweet, Marcus.” 

He scoffs, hides his face in his hands, and it’s so cute Dieter can’t help but smile. 

“Really— Usually people just want to fuck me, or use me for drugs.” 

Marcus groans a little, mortified, and his hands run back to mess up his pristinely styled hair. 

“Buddy, I’m serious. You’re a little charmer.”

Marcus looks up from his lap at that, scratching that neatly buzzed hair on the back of his neck, and his eyes are a little less embarrassed and a little more twinkly.

“You’re just saying that.”

Dieter shakes his head grinning. 

“No, it’s cute. Being genuine is never a bad thing.”

And the thing is, Dieter’s not lying. It’s possibly the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to him. But he’s toeing a very very fine line here, with himself. Because Marcus is so pretty, and so smart, and he’s soft and kind and he’s real but he’s young. 

And Dieter’s just a Super Super Senior, a total burnout, on his way to holding the world record for The Longest College Career. He’s 23 and he’s still undecided and he probably won’t even get  a college degree after all is said and done. 

But Marcus is looking at him with those big brown eyes, watching, calculating. 

“I just— I feel like you wouldn’t judge me. If I did the wrong thing. You know?”

“I wouldn’t. Anyone who would isn’t worth your time.”

Marcus huffs. Maybe Dieter can still save this. 

“Would you… tell me? What you’d do? What I should do?”

And just like that, Dieter is hopping right over that line with both feet. 

“Kiss me.”

Marcus’ eyes grow even bigger.

“Like, right now? Here?” 

“If you want to. That’s what I’d want you to do, to kiss me right here, like you couldn’t help yourself.”

And Dieter will be damned if he doesn’t do just that, surging forward to grab the sides of his face and press their lips together. 

His lips are so soft, and his face is smooth, and he’s eager, a bit too much, but it only adds to that coincidental charm. Dieter’s left to catch up, as Marcus swipes his tongue along the seam of his mouth and groans. 

Dieter pulls away. Marcus’ mouth gapes open, and his shoulders heave with his fast breaths. 

“You’re so… scruffy.”

Dieter chuckles, wipes Marcus’ spit from his lips and straightens out his mustache. 

“Not good?”

“No, god no, it’s really good.”

And then Marcus smashes their lips together again as a pathetic little sound escapes his throat. Dieter opens his mouth this time, lets Marcus slide his tongue around, a little violent, and this is all a bit too much for some front porch steps, isn’t it?

“Hey,” Dieter says softly, pulling away. 

Marcus’ brows draw up in confusion. 

“Sorry. I’m not a good kisser, am I?”

Dieter sighs, grabs one of Marcus’ hands on his face to link their fingers together. 

“It’s not that,” he says. 

He turns his face to kiss the center of Marcus’ palm and smiles when his breath hitches. 

“You really wanna do this with me?” 

Marcus is nodding before Dieter even finishes speaking. 

“Only if you really want it, too.”

Dieter squeezes his hand. 

“I do, really.”

Marcus smiles the sweetest little smile, and they both stand up, and Dieter doesn’t let his hand go. 

There’s music on in the house, and it smells like weed, and a few people are playing Nintendo in the living room. They don’t pay any mind as Dieter pulls Marcus up to the second floor, down the hall, and into his dimly lit bedroom. 

At least he’s kept it semi-tidy, he thinks, as Marcus looks around while he shuts and locks the door. His bed isn’t made. He’s sure Marcus makes his bed every morning before class. He hopes he doesn’t mind. 

He seems like he’s too nervous to mind, a jittery little thing standing next to his bed. He’s fiddling with the hem of his shirt, staring holes into the stained carpet, when Dieter moves to stand in front of him. 

“Are you nervous?” 

“No. Maybe. I don’t know.”

Dieter grabs both of his hands, and Marcus finally meets his gaze. 

“It’s okay to be nervous. As long as it’s good nervous.” 

He smiles and nods, but the worry in his brow is still there. 

“We won’t do anything you don’t wanna do, okay?”

That seems to soothe him more. 

“Can we kiss again?”

Dieter chuckles. 

“Of course we can.”

Marcus tips over into him, landing at the side of his mouth but quickly correcting course. He licks, but Dieter keeps his mouth shut, goading him to calm down. And he does, slotting his lips around Dieter's bottom one, and everything else slips into place with a soft, satisfied noise from his own chest. 

He lets go of Marcus’ sweaty hands to grab his hips instead, lithe and a little bony. He twitches at the touch, sighs, and presses his lips harder into Dieter’s. His hands search around frantically, jostling them both, until he finds the hem of Dieter’s sweatshirt and gets his hands underneath. 

“Slow,” Dieter mumbles. 

“Hm?”

“Not a race, Marcus. Take your time. Enjoy it.” 

Marcus nods, but gapes at him, like he’s not quite sure what to do next. 

“You wanna get comfy? Take your shoes off, sit down?”

Marcus nods again, but with a little direction, takes his shoes off and sits on the bed, criss-cross applesauce like the cutest fucking thing Dieter’s ever seen. 

“I want this to be— I want you to have a good time, feel good. So tell me if you don’t feel good… or if there’s anything you wanna try. Communication is like, super sexy, right?”

Dieter sheds his shoes and his hoodie as he speaks, thinks he catches Marcus’ eyes staring at the spot between his signature pajama pants and his shirt where it rides up. 

“Yeah… like, dirty talk?”

Dieter huffs out a laugh as he sits facing Marcus, crossing his legs, mirroring him to make him as comfortable as possible.

“Could be dirty talk, yeah. But just normal talk, too. It can be hot to talk about things like… how do you like to be touched? Where?” 

Marcus clears his throat and scratches the back of his head with a puzzled look on his face. 

“My— my dick?”

Dieter wants to laugh, but he can’t blame the guy. It sounds like the only experience he’s had so far is rushed fucks with high school sweethearts. 

“Okay, yeah, that’s a good start. So, for me, I like being kissed. Everywhere. I like feeling lips on my jaw and my neck and especially my nipples. You can bite, too.”

Marcus’ eyebrows raise, his plush lips forming a circular shape that Dieter tries and fails not to focus on. 

“Oh, yeah, okay. I— I like that too. I like when it’s… sloppy.”

Dieter hums, smiles, and nods.

“Anything else you like?” 

He watches Marcus bite his bottom lip and trace shapes on the bedsheets between them. 

“I don’t really know.” 

“That’s okay. Maybe we can figure it out together, yeah?”

His long eyelashes flutter as he blinks real slow, and he smiles. 

“Yeah. Thank you.” 

Dieter does chuckle then. 

“You don’t need to thank me. I’m gonna have a lot of fun with you.”

Christ, Dieter thinks, if his face gets any more red he might burst into flames. 

He kisses him, to save him from a fiery death. It’s a little awkward, with both of their legs crossed in front of them, but it’s easier to take their time like this. 

Marcus keeps it slow, so Dieter can finally lead. He licks into his mouth to feel his hard palate, and the way he whimpers and shivers in response is so delicious that Dieter can’t help but to do it again and again. 

He feels long fingers grip his thighs, soft at first, but squeezing harder when Marcus returns the favor and scrapes his tastebuds along Dieter’s sharp canines. 

There’s twin sighs when Marcus pulls away, only a little, eyes still shut. 

“You’re really fucking good at this,” he mumbles. 

Dieter hums and pecks his lips again, soft and wet. 

“Could kiss you all night.”

It’s true, even though there’s also a million other things he wants to do with Marcus. He tries to push those wants down by kissing him again, getting that plump bottom lip between his teeth and nibbling on it. The noise Marcus makes has his cock filling steadily with blood, and he knows it’s very obvious in his pajama pants, and he hopes Marcus doesn’t freak out.

Like he’s reading Dieter’s mind, Marcus’ hands slide so fucking slowly up his thighs. The movements are jerky, and he hesitates when just the tip of his finger brushes his cock. His inhale is audible, but his curious touch proceeds, just the lightest ghosting across his shaft. 

But then he’s pulling away, and Dieter feels on edge, bracing himself for the worst. 

“Can I touch it?”

Dieter exhales his relief.

“You can… Are you open to suggestions, though?”

Marcus nods, his slick mouth hanging open. 

“You could get on top of me, let me feel how much you like this, too. Drag it out, make me really want it.” 

He smirks as Marcus curses, closing his eyes and pressing his palm to the front of his jeans. But he nods, and uncrosses his legs, so Dieter does the same. 

And then, he’s got a lapful of Marcus, and he’s staring up into his glassy, beautiful eyes. 

“Like this?”

His hips shift, and his pert little ass grinds against Dieter’s cock while his own presses against his belly. 

“Just like that. Is this still okay?” 

Marcus doesn’t answer him, just devours his lips again as he rocks his hips and supplies them both with heady friction. His little whimpers are muffled, and his teeth are sinking into Dieter’s lip a little too hard, but in a way that makes his cock throb and pulse against the tight ass against it. 

Dieter’s hands find those lithe hips again, this time under his shirt. His skin is scalding to the touch and so fucking smooth. He digs his thumbs into his hip bones, drags little circles into them that make his hips jolt and stutter. 

Fuck. He likes this a lot. Maybe too much. He pulls himself away to reel it in a bit, maybe to check and make sure this is still alright—

“I’m so fucking hard,” Marcus breathes, “I’ve never felt like this.” 

And as he speaks, he’s ripping his t-shirt over his head and flinging it elsewhere. 

He’s gorgeous. A little scrawny but smooth, everywhere, just miles of tan skin that’s paler here where it gets no sun. Dieter wants to bite, and kiss, and suckle on every fucking inch of it. 

For now, Dieter uses all of his brain power to mumble a distracted ‘me too,’ as his hands moved upward to splay across all that hairless skin. 

Marcus’ stomach tenses and relaxes under his hands, and his chest heaves as Dieter cradles his ribs and brushes his thumbs over his nipples. 

“Does this feel good?” 

He circles them, flicks them a little bit, and wants to curl up and live in that little gasp Marcus makes. 

“Yes.” 

His head is leaning back between his shoulders, all raised and on-edge. That’s not what Dieter wants. He wants him relaxed, wants him all gooey and loose. 

Slowly, gently, Dieter tips him over, a hand on the back of his head until it lands on the pillows. The look in his eyes gets a little squirrely, and his breath picks up, and his nails scrabble at Dieter’s bicep. 

“Is this still okay?” 

Marcus nods quickly, but he’s slower with the verbal response. 

“I think so… just nervous.” 

“Still good nervous?” 

As if to prove it, he cants his hips up into Dieter and he’s rock hard against his thigh. 

“Still good nervous.”

Dieter’s own prick throbs and twitches as he hums. He lowers himself even more over Marcus, finds his racing pulse point and plants a hot, wet kiss there. 

“Can I kiss you here?” he whispers. 

His chin brushes Dieter’s cheek when he nods, and Marcus relocates his hands to reach up the back of his shirt. His palms are sweaty and hot as Dieter trails a wet line of kisses down to his prominent collar bone. 

His skin is so salty, and the heat from his body is making his cheap cologne smell even stronger, and Dieter feels high even though he hasn’t smoked in hours. 

“How about here, Marcus?”

He looks up at the younger man as he hovers his mouth above one tiny, pebbled nipple. He watches as his adam’s apple bobs in his throat, and smiles and impish grin when Marcus nods again. 

The groan he receives when he closes his mouth around it has him pressing his hips to the mattress for relief. One of Marcus’ hands finds Dieter’s hair and grips.

“Ah fuck.”

Just like that, the fingers loosen and leave his head and Dieter actually whines at the loss. 

“Sorry!”

“No, no, that was a good fuck. Love getting my hair pulled.”

Dieter glances back up at Marcus and watches as his wheels turn. 

“Oh… really?”

He chuckles as he places a sloppy kiss on his sternum, delighted at the way the muscles twitch under his lips. 

“Mmmhmm.”

Marcus sighs as Dieter finds his other nipple.  

“My ex-girlfriend hated it.” 

Dieter nips at the hard bud in his mouth and smirks when Marcus’ hips jolt up. 

“I like a little pain with my pleasure,” he explains. 

“I— can you bite me again?”

Dieter curses and obliges immediately, sinking his teeth into the meat of his pec this time. 

“God, I like that.”

He even earns another tug at his hair, and Dieter knows there’s gotta be a damp spot on the front of his pajamas. 

“That’s so good, Marcus. Keep telling me what you like.” 

Marcus squirms under him as he alternates a string of kisses and licks and bites down his torso. His nails scratch Dieter’s scalp in between tugging on his hair, and this is the most fun Dieter’s had in the bedroom in a long while. 

Marcus has a tiny bit of hair below his belly button, and it’s so fucking cute and whispy when Dieter runs his tongue along the path. But before Dieter can get the fly of his jeans unfastened, Marcus holds a hand over his. 

“Can I try on you now?” 

Dieter’s gaze flickers up to his face, and he looks so sweet, pleading with his big puppy eyes. 

“Yeah, yes, of course you can.”

Marcus smiles, and it’s sure, like he’s finally settled into this, and it makes Dieter’s apprehension fall away. 

It also makes him that much more horny, hard as ever when he lies down with his head on the pillows. He reaches down to readjust and watches Marcus clock the movement with a heady look.

“This is good for you, too?” 

His voice is breathy when he asks, when his hand slips under Dieter’s t-shirt. 

“Marcus, I’m loving this. I feel like a sexy experiment. Poke and prod me, babe.” 

And through all of this newness and anxiety and apprehension, Marcus laughs. It’s music to Dieter’s ears, watching his eyes light up as he chuckles. 

“Take this off then,” he instructs through his laughter. 

“Yes sir,” Dieter purrs, “bossing me around also does it for me. You’re a natural already.” 

“Y-yeah? I don’t— I’ve never been like that.”

Dieter fumbles to back track at the way Marcus’ confidence falls away. 

“It’s okay, that’s an advanced lesson. My bad. Just— Just do what you want with me. Explore. I’m all yours.” 

He talks as he sheds his shirt, and when the damned thing finally pulls free, he feels a little scrutinized under Marcus’s wide eyes. And he kinda really likes it. 

He settles back against the mattress, one arm above his head while the other reaches out to encourage Marcus to come closer. He does, only a little timid as his gaze rakes over every inch of his body. 

He settles between Dieter’s spread legs, one hand dipping the mattress next to him while the other lands hesitantly on his flank. His warm, sweaty palm feels the skin there, draws upward toward his chest, but takes a completely unconventional detour to his armpit. 

Dieter’s cock throbs. This is so fucking weird and so fucking hot. 

Marcus’ jaw drops slack as his fingers card through all of his armpit hair, and it tickles a little bit, but mostly it just makes Dieter’s arousal grow heavy in his groin, burning. 

Before Dieter can really assess what’s going on, or encourage him, or tell him how fucking hard he’s making him, Marcus leans down to capture his lips in his own. 

Dieter groans and scrabbles to grip his waist, arching his hips for any relief and finding it against the front of Marcus’ jeans, a hard line wrapped in denim that twitches against his own. He moans, low and long, as he twirls the thick hair between his finger and thumb. 

And then his hand is gone, and Dieter’s quite disappointed, but he can’t just say that, can he? He weighs the pros and cons of telling Marcus not to stop as the other man trails his lips down the patchy stubble on his jaw, and bites the sensitive skin on his neck. 

Maybe he should tell him. That’s a good lesson, right? How to take feedback, good or bad. But ‘hey keep stroking my armpit hair’ is a bit startling, isn’t it? 

He’s so distracted by the inner turmoil that he doesn’t realize the path Marcus’ has taken until hot breath ghosts that bit of fat between his tit and armpit and then he sniffs, and groans, and licks up all the hair while he presses his cock down into Dieter’s own and Jesus Fuck—

He quickly finds purchase in Marcus’ hair and curses, grinds his hips back up into him with what he hopes is encouraging words. But forgive him if his brain is a little bit completely scrambled. 

Marcus bites just under his patch of armpit hair, burying his nose in it once more, and these primal sounds he makes are vibrating through Dieter’s chest. All he can do at this point is lie back and take it and succumb to the fact that this is definitely altering his brain chemistry for the rest of his life. 

It all stops rather abruptly, though, and two hot hands grab Dieter’s hips hard, pushes them down into the mattress as Marcus arches away from him. 

“I might— I might come.”

Dieter blinks his bleary eyes open to look at the panicked man, who’s squeezing his eyes shut and biting his lip. 

“It’s okay if you do. You can have me all night.” 

“Fuck— Shut up, Jesus Christ.”

Dieter huffs, scratches at his wet armpit, and patiently waits for Marcus to settle down. He could probably come that way too, to be honest, with that pretty boy’s tongue lapping at his underarm and their cocks grinding together. 

Marcus’ eyelashes flutter open, and Dieter smiles at him softly, careful not to move or touch. He looks like a hair trigger, sweaty and panting already, with a really fucking hot damp patch soaking through the crotch of his jeans. 

“Sorry. I think I’m good— wait, sorry, was that weird?”

Dieter allows himself to place one of his hands on Marcus’ own, where it’s still gripping tight to his hip bone. 

“It was weird in the hottest way possible.” 

Marcus shakes his head at himself and closes his eyes again. 

“I’m dead serious. I didn’t know how sensitive I was there. You’re teaching me things. That’s super hot.”

Marcus sighs. 

“It’s just… I like the hair. And your deodorant smells nice.”

He pries his eyes open, like he expects Dieter to be disgusted, but his confession only makes his cock jump very prominently in his pajamas. 

“Doesn’t taste very good, though.” 

And now Dieter is laughing, and tugging Marcus back down, mumbling ‘prove it’ and shoving his tongue into his offensively chemical-flavored mouth. 

It’s okay though, he just licks and licks until the taste has dissipated and Marcus is letting go of the death grip on his sides. His mouth follows a much more predictable route, this time, and Dieter watches his every move as those pretty lips wrap around his nipples, one and then the other, until he’s biting and Dieter is whimpering and asking for more. 

“You can leave marks. I like ‘em.” 

Marcus curses against his sternum and obeys, so fucking obedient, suckling Dieter’s skin and rolling it between his teeth. Looking up at him, his eyes look so determined, all dark and heavy, especially when he pulls away to admire the bruise he’s left. 

“More. Want to see you all over me in the morning.” 

“Fuck, Dieter. How’d you get so good at— at talking like that?” 

Dieter chuckles, then hisses when Marcus sucks the skin on his belly into the sharp edges of his teeth. He’s looking up with an expectant quirk of his brow.

“I just say what’s on my mind,” he answers.

Marcus hums, and Dieter places his hand on his jaw to feel it working, a third mark blooming bright red on his hip. 

“What’s on your mind?” He asks. 

A fourth mark, this one deeper than the rest, right above the waistband of his pants, as Marcus thinks. 

“I want your cock in my mouth.”

Said cock jerks wildly, disrupting the tent in his pajamas, and Marcus has the audacity to smirk. Dieter lets his thumb trace that wet, swollen bottom lip and doesn’t miss the little whine that Marcus tries to hide. 

“Will you teach me?” 

It’s now that Dieter realizes he’s created an absolute monster, with Marcus looking up at him all wide-eyed, batting those long eyelashes. He knows what he’s doing, and it just makes it all so much worse. Or better. Both, really. 

He clears his throat to try to gather his bearings before he speaks. 

“Yeah, I’ll teach you. Pull it out for me.” 

Dieter watches as his breath hitches, and he eyes the tent in Dieter’s pants with an array of emotions washing over his features. There’s hesitation for sure, as he toys with his waistband. But he’s licking his lips, and taking a big deep breath as he tugs them down Dieter’s thighs. 

And then he’s staring at his cock, swaying in the breeze, and Dieter thinks this would be much less intense if penises weren’t so offensive and in your face. 

“Pretty,” Marcus mumbles, and it makes him giggle. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah, it’s— I like it.” 

“Thank you. That’s very sweet.” 

Marcus rolls his eyes but smiles. 

“I can touch it?”

“Yeah, of course. Anything you want. Go at your own pace.”

Maybe it’s cliche, but as soon as Marcus’ hand wraps around his cock, Dieter is done for. Fuck, it feels so good, the way his movements are gentle and calculated, the way he’s being so attentive for his first time, exploratory. His free hand cradles Dieter’s sac, his thumb tracing the seam, and it’s alarming how close this is getting him. It’s so intimate, and genuine, and it’s so hot that he gets to be here for Marcus’ first time. 

Marcus squeezes him tight and strokes, once, from base to tip. He thumbs at his frenulum, slippery with pre come, then lifts that to his lips. It’s like slow motion when he watches him poke his tongue out to taste, and he closes his eyes and hums. 

“Better than the deodorant, for sure.” 

And Dieter’s cock bobs as he laughs. 

“That’s a relief.” 

“I’ve never tasted my own before,” Marcus says. 

“No?” 

“Mm-mm. Seemed… gay.” 

And he laughs at himself, but his face inches closer, and in an instant his tongue is flicking out to lap up more of it, straight from the source. 

Dieter gasps at the contact, so sudden. His taste buds are rough against his slit, in a good way, and he has to cradle Marcus’ neck to reel himself in. 

“That’s so good,” he whispers, “keep doing that.” 

And he does, little kitten licks to the sensitive head of his cock, looking up at him from under those long eyelashes. Dieter groans and closes his eyes because if Marcus keeps looking at him like that, he will come before he can have any fun with him. 

Then, in an instant, he’s completely enveloped by warmth and wetness, too fast, and he opens his eyes at the same time Marcus gags and coughs and pulls off of him. 

“Jesus, Marcus, take it slow.” 

He coughs more, with brow all furrowed and frustrated, and Dieter smooths his hair off of his forehead. 

“Are you alright?” 

Marcus clears his throat as he nods. 

“Yeah, sorry, I can’t— I thought that would be easier.”

Dieter huffs, sits up a bit and leans on his elbow so he can see him better. His eyes are watery and not in a sexy way this time. He pets Marcus’ hair a bit, hoping to soothe him, but the redness doesn’t fade from his cheeks. 

“You don’t have to take it all, that’s no fun, choking like that,” he says, “are you sure you’re okay? We can stop.” 

“No! No— I don’t wanna stop. I’m just embarrassed.”

God, he’s so fucking sweet. 

“Don’t be embarrassed. We’ve all been there. I threw up on the first dick I sucked.” 

“Gross, dude.”

“I’m just saying, it could be way worse. Nothing to even be embarrassed about.” 

Marcus sighs and hides his face in the crease of Dieter’s hip. 

“Seriously, I’m still so hard I could shatter diamonds. You’re so fucking hot, it doesn’t matter if you choke a little.” 

He feels Marcus’ teeth on the skin of his hip before he sees his jaw moving. He bites and sucks and it’s another beautiful piece of him he’ll get to take from this experience. 

“That’s it. It’s all about the recovery. Fuck, Marcus, your mouth feels so good on me. Everywhere.” 

Dieter lifts his hips up to encourage him to bite more, mark him up all over. He follows eagerly, until there’s little love bites scattered across the thin skin over his hip bone and his cock is weeping for attention. 

Marcus looks up at him, finally, as he hovers just above his prick.

“Can I try again?”

Dieter hums and cards his fingers through his thick brown hair. 

“Play until you win, babe.” 

He’s much more careful, this time. He takes the head into his mouth and sucks, lets his tongue lather and swirl around it as his hand keeps his dick in place. He’s gorgeous, with his cheeks hollowed out and his eyes shut in concentration. 

“Yeah, just like that, fucking perfect.”

Marcus whimpers around his cock, and drool is starting to leak from the corners of his mouth and drip down Dieter’s shaft. 

“Move your hand a bit, jerk me off while you suck on it.”

He follows the direction so well, letting his hand draw up to meet his lips, then back down, over and over, and Dieter can feel his gut growing hot and tight. His tongue is working him relentlessly, and he’s never really had a partner use theirs so much, but the frantic swirling and flicking has his head spinning. 

“You’re amazing,” Dieter breathes, “making me feel so good.”

At the encouragement, Marcus braves another inch of his cock. He starts to bob his head up and down, following his lips with his fist, and the breaths through his nose get heavier. Dieter babbles a bit, just encouraging words as Marcus works him dutifully, trying with all his might not to thrust up into his hot, sloppy mouth. 

But then Marcus looks up at him with his pretty brown eyes and groans around the cock in his mouth and it’s too much. 

“Fuck— fuck, Marcus, let me go.” 

Marcus does, as quickly as he can, panting when his mouth is finally free. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Dieter huffs. 

“Nothing, you’re perfect, gorgeous, beautiful. I just don’t wanna come yet.” 

“Oh.”

The little cock drunk smile he gets is too cute, and Dieter tugs lightly on his hair to get him to crawl back up for a kiss. He tastes like pre-cum, and his nails bite into the heated skin of Marcus’ back for purchase. 

“How are you feeling? Still gay?” 

Marcus laughs against his lips. 

“The gayest I’ve ever been.” 

Dieter collapses back on the pillows to look up at him. 

“Really though, are you still into this?” 

Marcus nods, presses his hips into Dieter’s thigh to swipe away any last remaining doubt. 

“Alright, next and final lesson. Get those tight little jeans off.”

He’s so quick to obey, and Dieter tries not to gawk at how much bigger that wet spot has grown just below his fly. He shakes himself out of it and gets his pajama pants completely off his legs. 

Marcus is so fucking hot, jesus, Dieter feels like he’s pushing his luck having him here in his bed. So lean and long, and his cock is uncut and curves a bit to the left, and he’s still so hard. 

“Get beside me, face me.”

And Marcus looks right at home like this, laid out in his bed, with his bicep bulging from propping his head up on his hand. 

“What’s the lesson?” 

Dieter smirks at the eagerness. 

“I’m gonna jerk us off together.”

Marcus raises his brow. 

“Like, at the same time?”

Dieter hums his affirmative, reaches a tentative hand out to cup Marcus’ pert little asscheek, and chuckles when he twitches. 

“Don’t worry, we’ll save that for another time. If you want.” 

“Shit, yeah, okay.”

And isn’t that gonna be fun? The thought makes Dieter’s cock throb and jerk and he shuffles to close the distance so their pricks line up together. 

“Is this okay? Like this?” 

He looks up from their cocks to watch Marcus’ jaw go slack. 

“Oh god, ‘m not gonna last at all.”

Even as he says it, he’s wrapping his own hand around both of them and squeezing, groaning at the feeling and bucking his hips so they slide together. 

“I don’t want you to last, I want you to feel good.” 

Dieter lets his hand join the fun, covering what Marcus can’t, and his cock jumps in their combined hold when Marcus whines.

“I do, I— fuck, I really do.” 

“Kiss me?”

He’s cut off by Marcus’ lips, all swollen and hot against his own. Marcus moans as soon as their tongues meet, and he starts shaking like a leaf. His hand squeezes harder around their pricks, works them faster, and Dieter can feel each and every twitch of his dripping cock. 

He’s so frantic with it. His breathing whistles fast through his nose, panting into his mouth, and every other exhale is a desperate little noise. It only takes a few dozen strokes for Marcus to fall apart.

“Gonna come— I’m coming, Dieter—”

He gasps as it washes over him. Dieter feels his hot, sticky cum splash over his own hand and his cock and his stomach. Marcus hides his face in the crook of Dieter’s neck and bites as it courses through him. It sends a hot white spark down his spine, and what little filter he’d maintained throughout the night completely short-circuits.

“Shit, that’s it. So fucking good, coming all over me— Fuck, Marcus, you’re hot when you come. You feel so fucking good.”

Marcus whimpers through his aftershocks as Dieter fills his ears with whatever filth he can muster. When it’s too much, and Marcus has to slide his spent cock from their joined hands, he doesn’t let go of Dieter. He helps, with the slick aid of his cum, and Dieter topples over the edge with a growl and Marcus sucks another mark into his overheated skin. 

It’s blinding, it’s his favorite orgasm he’s ever had for sure. Marcus gasps when the first streak of his spend shoots all over his smooth stomach. 

“Fuck yes,” he sighs, exerted but intrigued as Dieter fucks their fists. 

His cum mixes with the stains Marcus already left on his blanket, slowing to a trickle just as Marcus’ grasp loosens. Even when he’s empty, Dieter can still feel the orgasm buzzing through his body as he tries to regain his breath. 

Marcus finally looks up from the scene of the crime and Dieter wants to take a picture of the fucked-out look on his face, his messy hair, his spit-slick lips and flushed face. But he can’t, so he kisses him instead, closing his eyes so maybe he can burn that image into his memory for eternity. 

It’s lazy, so much slower and softer than the way Marcus kissed when he was all keyed up. 

Shit.

Dieter’s in for it. He’s always had an addictive personality, and having Marcus in his bed has been stronger than any fucking drug he’s tried before. 

He whimpers when Marcus pulls away, chasing his lips just for a moment before he reels himself back in. 

He looks down at the mess he’s going to promptly ignore, thinks about how far away the bathroom closet is with all the towels. But then one slender finger is swiping through the cum puddle between them, and lifting to his face, and Dieter devours. 

Marcus chuckles at the desperate noise Dieter makes as he swirls his tongue around to lick up every last drop. 

“How do we taste together?” 

Goddamn, Marcus is much more suave after an orgasm. 

“Like we were made for each other.” 

Christ, he needs to get himself together. His brain is just so fucking fuzzy and light.

Marcus doesn’t run for the hills, though. He giggles, and dips that same finger into their mess again. He brings it up to his own lips this time, sucking it inside his mouth and pulling it out clean. 

There’s a slight grimace as he rolls it around in his mouth. 

“Not as sweet as you were earlier.” 

And Dieter laughs, brushes his two cleanest knuckles against the skin of Marcus’ hip. 

“It’s an acquired taste.” 

Marcus nods, and looks down between them, and some of that lightness in his features fizzles out. 

“Hang on— here, use these.”

Dieter hands him his discarded pajama pants, and they use one leg each to tidy up their hands and stomachs and cocks. Then Dieter balls them up to swipe at his sticky blanket as best as he can. And it’s all so quiet, as their breathing has evened out, and fuck, what if Marcus has some crazy post-nut clarity after this… heavy situation? 

He’s staring at the bedroom door when Dieter looks up to face him. 

“Should I uh… go… now?” 

Dieter sighs and finally gets his freshly wiped hand on Marcus’ skin, colder now where all the sweat has cooled. 

“Personally, I would like it if you stayed. Cuddling after sex is… well, I like it a lot. Some people don’t… it’s okay if you don’t. Whatever you’re comfortable with. This was probably a lot for y—”

Marcus cuts off his rambling— thank god— by burrowing his face in Dieter’s chest and tangling their naked legs together. They both release two huge twin sighs, and Dieter’s instantly soothed by the weight against him, and the lithe fingers stroking his back. 

Dieter can’t help it, he tucks his chin and plants a kiss to the crown of Marcus’ head. He drowns in the scent of sweat and cheap shampoo and feels so grounded for the first time in a very long time. 

Marcus hums, and Dieter pulls him in tighter, swipes his palm over the curve of his tiny asscheek. 

He clears his throat. 

“I don’t have any plans tomorrow…” 

Marcus lifts his head, and he looks so sleepy but so satisfied. 

“So we can stay up all night? You can— could you show me more things?” 

Dieter chuckles and kisses his lips to hide how relieved he feels. 

“Was gonna see if you wanted to catch a movie or something. But I think I like your idea better.” 

“Oh— a movie sounds good! I mean, it would be chill.” 

Dieter huffs. 

“Split the difference, we’ll watch a movie here while I eat your cute little ass?” 

Dieter actually feels his limp cock twitch against his thigh, and tries to hold back a self-satisfied smirk. 

“Yep. Yeah, let’s do that instead.” 

Dieter kisses him, this time just because he can. 

“Get some sleep first, okay? I’ll be right here.” 

The look of comfort on Marcus’ face makes his chest burn and ache. His droopy eyelids close as he smiles, and his head drops to Dieter’s splayed out arm. 

He just watches, for a little while. Lets himself count the deep, even breaths Marcus takes and feels them on the skin of his bicep. 

His arm is gonna go numb in about two minutes tops, and he’ll cherish every pinprick until he drifts off.

[alicerosejensen]

Warning: Yandere!Older Leon; young reader (20-25 years old); kidnapping, pet names, not Stockholm Syndrome, but the reader no longer resists Leon; mentions of sex; mentions of pregnancy, apathy.

Synopsis: If you knew who Leon Kennedy was, you would have avoided him, but it's too late.

A/N: I'm bad at writing summaries and coming up with titles for this shit. Just a yandere Leon and his pregnant reader hidden from the whole world.

It was raining incessantly for the second day, rolling down the glass of the second-floor window in large drops when you were lying on a straightened bed and staring unblinkingly at the weather raging outside in one of the wide warm hoodies. Even a favorite TV show or a good movie with delicious food could not brighten up the gloom of a gray day, because didn't want to get up and go down at all, especially since has already returned home.

Leon probably didn't bother to find out the weather forecast for the next few days, because he left the house on one motorcycle, which should have already been parked in the garage. You listened with bated breath to the heavy footsteps of his shoes as he climbed to the second floor after opening all these numerous locks on the front door. At some point, you even felt that small wave of fear that sometimes overwhelmed you when he was around.

You have been in his hands for more than a year, during which he suppressed all resistance but was never able to get what he wanted - your love. He probably should have turned to a specialist and fixed his head since he really didn’t understand why you didn’t love him and didn’t want to make contact, on the other hand, such an influence made you obey Leon and even enjoy sex with him after which you felt guilty. Ultimately, given the fact that Leon did not consider it necessary to protect himself, this resulted in undesirable consequences. For you, not for him.

When the bedroom door opened, you held your breath as he walked over to the other side of the bed and sat down, reaching out to you. Water from his wet hair dripped onto your face but he didn't seem to care as he leaned towards you placing one hand on your bump.

You didn’t even flinch or turn to him when his lips touched your neck.

"How are my pretty girl and our baby feeling?" the whisper sent a chill inside.

It wasn't worth the risk of testing his patience. You already tried and realized that it would be worse only for you but not for him.

Leon put his hand under your sweatshirt, pressing lightly on you, forcing you to turn to face him so that you were faced with the blue of his eyes, which looked at you with manic admiration.

“I...we’re fine,” you replied, watching him take off his wet leather jacket, throwing it somewhere towards the window and wrapping his arms around your pregnant belly.

The belly that you hated so much and preferred to wear oversized clothes so as not to notice it in the mirror until the last moment.

“My baby…” with trembling reverence, Leon put his head on your stomach, lifting up your hoodie, kissing the warm skin "my baby… Dad missed you two so much. You know, I brought gifts," he grinned, looking at you.

This sight made you sick, causing another surge of hostility towards him and your unwanted pregnancy.

"I want to see how your belly grows...how my baby grows inside you."

“Leon, I don’t think...” you didn’t finish as he interrupted you.

"Do not think!" He said authoritatively, sitting back on the edge of the bed with the intention of paying attention to you. “Will I think for the two of us or would it be more correct to say for the three of us?” that grin of his again

He probably didn't like that sweatshirt you were wearing, so he asked you to wait while he came down to get your gift. Leon quickly left the bedroom and you were able to breathe a little sigh of relief after straightening your clothes, although the happiness was short-lived and just a couple of minutes later Leon returned with a small white box wrapped in red ribbon, which he handed to you, sitting next to you.

"What is this?" you asked, looking at the light-weight box, afraid to open it, as if there was a bomb in there.

"Open it"

Your hands slowly reached for the ribbon, pulling it towards you. A thin strip of fabric fell into your lap, and you opened the lid of the box, putting it next to you on the bed, looking at a set of lace pajamas with an almost indifferent look, consisting of short light gray shorts that looked more like panties, and a pale pink T-shirt with a cute bow under the bodice. It matched the size, but would definitely emphasize your rounded belly.

"I'm sure this will suit you. It's like you're carrying my gift under your heart." He said, noticing the indifference on your face. “Don’t you like it, angel?”

You liked it before. You think that if he were a normal guy and not a psycho with a mania to control your life every breath, then you would be a gift, but in reality, no. However, it was better to lie.

“It's beautiful, I’m just tired. I don’t feel very well,” his hands immediately reached out to you and pressed you to him, stroking your head and kissing your temple.

"Oh, well, I'm already here for you." you snorted quietly, only thinking about how peaceful it was without him. “I want you to wear this today. In the meantime, let’s go, I want to show you something.”

You put the pajamas back in the box and had no desire to go with him, but Leon took your hand and hugged your waist, gently pushing you towards the door. He probably bought something for the baby too, but it was probably some small thing like a toy or a rattle, but in spite of that, he opened the door of an unfinished children’s room for you that still needed to be painted. He had already ordered a changing table and a baby chest of drawers, which arrived about three weeks ago and now stood alone in an empty room. Leon led you to the changing table and you saw two pairs of baby undershirts.

"couldn't help but buy for our baby" His hands continued to caress your belly, irritating you even more "Especially since I took a few unpaid days off and we can order other things."

“It’s too early for such purchases”

“We will be ready in advance,” another kiss fell on the back of the head, “especially since time will fly by quickly, before we have time to look back, our child will already be in our arms.”

This is what you are so afraid of. Leon doesn't even notice the fear of pregnancy and completely ignores your reluctance to become the mother of his child. Your eyes began to tear up looking at the children’s things that you wanted to tear and throw with all the pent-up rage in his face! You wanted to break all this furniture, because everything that happened to you was not your desire. And you didn’t want and don’t want this child.

Does he really think that you like being locked up in his house and carrying his child?! What has the government done to his brain that Leon thinks he has the right to control your life?

"What is it, angel?" Leon asked seeing tears in your eyes. His lips continued to kiss your head down to your neck. You couldn't even resist while he held you to his chest.

“I...don’t want to,” your voice cracked from the bitter lump in your throat.

Leon sighed irritably, making you a little scared, but nevertheless, tears flowed down your cheeks. His hands squeezed your waist almost to the point of pain as he turned you around to face him. A spark of incipient anger flashed in his pale blue eyes, but he pulled himself together, but for a short moment he looked away, trying not to break down. After all, he was already sure that he had suppressed all your resistance and convinced you that only he could take care of you in this cruel world. An oppressive atmosphere reigned in the nursery. Leon's silence was frightening, making you regret what you said. Under the gaze, wanted to shrink and cry somewhere in the corner of the room and finally wake up from all this nightmare.

"It's just hormones" Leon's dissatisfied tone did not let you be deceived. "A little excitement, that's all. Do you believe me, but I'm worried too? This is normal, because this is our first child."

You wanted to howl after those words. The thought that you would have to give birth to hated children from your abductor and stay locked up for days without permission to go out at least into the courtyard of the house did not inspire you with happiness. Leon controlled every aspect of your life and, of course, will control the lives of his children, who will definitely not be happy.

"You don't have to say that. When the baby is born, everything will get better, it will be a little hard for us at first, but you know, I'm thinking of putting a crib in our bedroom. So we don't have to run to another room when the baby wakes up." his gaze softened for a moment and he took your face in his hands, carefully wiping tears from his cheeks with his thumb "Just nerves okay? I know that we will be so happy as soon as this lump of happiness finally appears on our hands. I've wanted a family all my life and now I won't miss this opportunity."

"It was your dream, not mine." the words spoken had a touch of light courage, although they were uttered with apprehension and even despair.

"It will also be your dream" Leon kissed you on the forehead, pressing to his chest "We will be so happy. I promise"

"Do you really think I'm happy here? Do you really think it's okay to keep me under surveillance here like I'm a criminal? Do you really think I'll be happy to be the mother of a child I never wanted?!"

Leon grabbed you by the face harder, forcing you to hold your breath and your heart beat faster from fear. Of course, he never beat, but sometimes his punishments were worse than physical violence, but inside there was a glimmer of hope that he would be afraid to cause any harm because of your pregnancy.

"I'm doing this for your safety. Believe me, one day completely changed my life and I'm not going to lose the people I care about anymore. The world outside is very dangerous and you just can't survive without someone to take care of you, but that someone is me."

"If the world is as dangerous as you say, then why the hell do you decide to have children?"

A logical damn question! And Leon was clearly confused by it. But selfish desires sometimes overshadow the human mind.

"I'm trying to end this crap. Once I thought it was really wrong, but eventually I thought it over…what's wrong with coming from hell to a house where your real family is waiting for you? Cute kids from my beloved wife who would meet me at the door and whom I would hug. I didn't have a family," he said sadly, "I lost my parents too early, when I was still a child myself, and I always wanted my father to be proud of my achievements at school or teach something new. I hardly remember my mother's affection, but I can give it to our children!"

"This is not the answer to the question" You said without pausing like a statue in front of him clenched in strong male hands

"well…" Leon grinned loosening his grip, "in any period of humanity there have always been their own dangers: diseases, wars, famine, pandemics and so on. But if everyone thinks as I thought before, then humanity will definitely die out. My fear should not interfere with my happiness. The main thing is that I can take care of everything and keep my family safe."

His conviction of his own rightness was indestructible. Leon perceived your abduction and forcible detention as forced care for a loved one who could get hurt with an ordinary fork if he relaxed his vigilance a little. In the end, he grabbed your hand and dragged you down to the first floor, squeezing your fingers tightly, as if he was afraid that you might dissolve at any second. But, unfortunately, all past escape attempts were doomed to failure in advance. Perhaps if you play the obedient girl for a long time, pretending that they really love him and accept this abnormal care, then one day you will have a chance to sneak away, but how long will it take? A year? Two? By that time, the baby will already be born, and for some reason you were sure that his hypercontrol would only increase several times.

Suddenly a funny thought came to mind.

Leon once mentioned that he was a policeman. Apparently, he took the phrase "to serve and protect" too literally.

"What now? Will you punish me?" you asked feeling completely desperate because you were not sure that your acting could last so long that he would believe in this lie. Even if you run away, how long will it take him to find you? You can only escape from Kennedy to the next world.

Leon sat you down at the table intending to take care of your lunch, besides, it was certainly important to him that you eat properly and properly. He seems to have read all the books that said what pregnant women can and cannot eat. By the way, he ignored your question for a long time until you called out to him again.

"You are an obedient girl and don't do anything that could harm our child. I'm sure it's just hormones and nerves. When you give birth, you will feel the joy of motherhood"

As if not so!

You wanted to flush his love and care down the toilet because… you did not experience any Stockholm syndrome and if at the beginning of your acquaintance with Leon you experienced exceptionally bright feelings, perhaps even falling in love, now there was nothing but rejection. Although they don't want to admit to themselves that…sometimes his shoulder and gentle strokes were the most beautiful that you could only get in a lifetime.

In the end, you spent the evening on the couch watching some show curled up in a ball while Leon was sitting somewhere behind typing something on a laptop. He checked on you a couple of times and couldn't resist kissing you on the forehead, as if he thought that in front of him was a cute plush toy that needed to be cuddled. You didn't know what to do and whether you would ever be free again…maybe if one day he gets killed in the line of duty…

You stole a look at him when Leon was brushing his teeth in the bathroom and you were already lying in bed in that new lace pajamas. The thought was seductive and to some extent intoxicating, because perhaps it was his accidental death that could one day free you from this imprisonment.

Even when he lay down next to you, especially intently examining your bulging belly, which was noticeable in such clothes.

Leon pulls up his shirt and leaves a wet kiss near the navel while you scroll through this thought in your head.

Perhaps one day the higher powers will have mercy on you, and everything will end… But now, it seems, there was nothing else to do but just accept your inevitable fate and find himself back in the warm embrace from which gradually does not want to get out.

[princessbrunette]

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆

thinking about unhinged but kinda jittery s1 rafe.

being in a relationship with him means getting fucked regularly, i mean that boy is like a machine — constantly getting riled up enough on adrenaline or coke or whatever it is and needing an outlet, being you. there’s times where he’s just got his stupid shorts pulled down below his ass, his polo tucked beneath his chin and both hands on your hips just jackhammering into you like you’re a little sex toy.

you ate something funny, a little while into the relationship— and one morning whilst rafe is sat at the kitchen counter chewing on a bagel you quickly depart to throw your guts up into the toilet. it was just a stomach bug, and you knew it — but rafes chewing slows as he hears the sound of you heaving in the bathroom, leaving his bagel behind as his eyes widen a fraction, slowly padding through the hall to find you.

he stands in the doorway, staring at you hunched over the bowl. he simply gawks dumbly for a while.

“ar…are you sick? wh—” he cuts himself off with a sigh, cheeks a little red and eyes wide.

“i guess.” your voice comes out echoed into the previously pristine toilet bowl.

“i—i mean no one else is sick i’m— i’m just thinking…” he starts to pace a little, fingers loosely gesturing to his temple. “i always pull out on time. you know i always do i’m— very careful—” he starts to ramble and you stiffen. oh jesus.

“rafe…”

“d-do you think it could be— like are you pregnant, maybe?” he stops pacing, facing you. his own words digest, and he closes his eyes, running two hands through his hair. “shit.” he clenches his fists angrily.

“no, rafe… i can’t be.” you try softly, head still hanging as you pick yourself up, wiping your mouth. the panic has settled in now and the blonde man sits on the lid of the toilet, rocking back and forth obsessively pushing his hair back.

“nah, nah— s’not… it’s not entirely impossible you know sometimes i just can’t control how soon i… shit, dads gonna fucking kill me. like actually kill me, you know that right?”

“rafe!” you raise your voice a little, before coughing. “m’not pregnant. got my period yesterday. just… calm down, okay? m’sick and my heads killing me.” you whine, watching the words settle in and his whole body relaxes. he leans back against the tile, breathing out a manic laugh as he sighs.

“yeah, yeah okay. good. i mean— one day, but i couldn’t— you know i couldn’t do all that right now, right babe?” he reassures, patting you on the back from his seated position.

“whats goin’ on in here? aw, honey. are you sick?” wards voice sounds, his head popping around the open door and peering inside the bathroom at the scene. his eyes instantly find rafes, boring into them — supposedly with the same idea.

“shes not pregnant.” rafe waves him off, standing up to fix his hair in the mirror above the sink. ward nods slowly, glancing between the two of them— the type of glance that says rafe is going to receive a talking-to about being safe later on regardless.

“…alright. rafe, go make her some tea, would you?”

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆