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miss-oranje-disco-dancer · 21 days

Text

good guys, bad deeds

pairing: javi p x f!reader

cws/tags: ONLY ONE BED, javi is reader's dad's best friend, minimal physical description (reader has pussy and boobs and wears a tank top and panties), p in v (unprotected bc ... i'm sorry), oral f! receiving, accidentally cumming inside, author does not speak spanish but wishes she did and researched spanish dirty talk but still knows v little, periodic pov switch

summary: reader comes to visit javi in colombia and he only has one bed, so they decide to sleep in it together and shenanigans ensue. it's wrong but it feels so right...

a/n: for the roll a trope challenge! @burntheedges

wc: 3.9k

taglist:

@gothcsz @onlyasimp4-2dbitches @harriedandharassed @withonly-sweetheart

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Half the time Javi smokes inside out of stubbornness – he can still hear the voices of ex-girlfriends back in Texas telling him off for it. He has what he intends to be his last cigarette of the day outside because his apartment has begun to make him stir-crazy. With Escobar "behind bars", there's a brief lull in the DEA office. He's become so used to chaos that he thrives off it now.

A taxi pulls up and a young woman steps out - for better or worse, Javi knows a lot of the women who spend their nights on the streets of Bogota and Medellin. This woman is unfamiliar, though the look in her eyes suggests she knows him. He sifts through strings of drunken memories, but can't place her.

Until he hears her voice. "Uncle Javi!" she says, flying into his arms which are not yet open to catch her. He's a DEA agent, a young woman should not be strong enough to knock the wind out of him but you get pretty damn close.

He'd completely forgotten you were coming – but, even if he'd remembered, he wouldn't have recognized you. God, how long has he been away?

You look older. That's what he tells you later, trying to put it as matter-of-factly as possible, trying to sound neutral and indifferent to the fact that a beautiful woman is standing at his doorstep like a baby in a basket, helpless in a foreign world, brought by cab rather than stork.

Javi carts your luggage up the stairs and little does he know that you're practically salivating over the sight of his broad shoulders, his strong arms that could just pick you up and throw you onto the bed–

"Are you planning to stand there all night?" Javi's voice snaps you out of your daydreams.

"Yeah, yeah, of course. I'm so tired, I'm practically falling asleep standing up."

Jet lag can do a number on anyone, but it doesn't help that the flight attendants were happy to provide you with alcohol. You try to act sober, but Javi's a cop, he's trained to call your bluff.

You stumble through the doorstep and you hear him stifle a laugh. "Are you okay? You look drunk."

"I'm not drunk. I had a few drinks on the plane, but I sobered up at the airport while I was waiting for you to come get me."

You watch guilt wash over him, and you almost take back your statement, but you don't. It's a rare opportunity to see Javi flustered, and even if it's not for the ideal reason (in your dirty mind), you'll take it as consolation for his forgetfulness.

"I'm so sorry. I've been so wrapped up in everything here that I completely forgot you were coming."

You shrug it off, not committing to accepting his apology but not wanting to prolong his suffering either. God forbid a man has to take accountability for his actions.

He follows your gaze which travels across the living room, through the kitchen, as far as your eye can see from the entrance where you stand. "I would've tidied up if I'd known I was having a guest."

"I honestly expected worse."

"You think I'm a slob?"

"No, you're a man – a single man – and the apartment of a bachelor is never a clean one."

"Who says I'm single?"

"Your ring finger."

"Maybe I have a fiancée."

"If you did, I don't think you'd be so defensive."

"I like being single."

"I like being single too."

He moves swiftly away from the relationship status conversation. "Unfortunately, I don't have a guest room, so you'll have to sleep on the couch if that's okay…"

"You're making your guest sleep on the couch?"

"Oh, I assumed you'd be more mature."

"I am mature. That's why I'm asking politely and not throwing a tantrum."

"Fine, mija. I give up. We're both too tired to argue."

"We can take turns, so you can have your bed tomorrow."

Taking turns means Javi shares the bed with you.

He strips himself of his shirt and you struggle to keep your composure. You have a better view of his broad chest and big arms with him shirtless and you can see the trail of hair from his belly button leading down to the waistband of his sweatpants, and god, how you want to find the end of it. A happy trail, they call it, but what it makes you feel is something different than happiness, something impure.

"What?" He catches you staring. "It's hot as fuck in here, and it's my room. I sleep shirtless. Take it or leave it."

Take it. You want him to say it to you in a different context.

"Whatever. You better not try anything funny."

"What is that supposed to mean? Do you really think I'm that type of guy?" He seems genuinely offended that you think of him that way.

And, in truth, you doubt he's like that, which is why your fantasies about him 'trying something funny' are a bit unrealistic, but you let them run wild regardless.

"Chill," you say, "I'm kidding."

The truth is that you'd be perfectly fine with any funny business Javi would be willing to offer you. But it's late and it's your first night as a guest in his apartment, so you decide not to try to provoke him.

You fall asleep soon after you tuck yourself in beside him.

It's been quite some time since Javi has been forced to share a bed with someone. Outside of women who stay over - and women rarely stay after the act is finished — he sleeps alone. You don't snore or drool on him which was a positive as he's been with women who did both of those things. He's known sleep talkers and sleep walkers — Lorraine was the former. It isn't until the middle of the night when he's awoken by your stirring that he realizes how cumbersome it will be to sleep next to you. It's a queen-sized bed, which should fit two, especially when one of those two is a young woman. So, why are you practically on top of him? You've managed to roll over, sprawl out, and curl back up to restart the process. You always end up further on Javi's side, so he continues to inch away until he is forced to be up against you lest he fall off the bed and onto the floor.

He tries to sleep as best he can, and prays for the sun — something he's never done before. Javi is hardly a morning person. But, he wakes up again before his alarm sounds. There is one glaring issue, he finds.

It's not his fault that your ass is up against his crotch and that every movement you make inadvertently teases him. It's so unfair that you make him this hard when he can't jerk off. He can't because you're here. Doubly unfair since you did this to him. It's not your fault that you're pretty — too pretty for your own good, whether Javi ends up giving into the primal needs inside him or you end up with another man. Thinking about that gets him harder - not because he likes to think about you with another man, in fact, he hates it, but jealous fuels the fire inside him. If he let his possessive feelings towards you overcome his rationale, he could fuck you the way you deserve, and he's sure you'd enjoy it. You need it, whether you know it or not.

Or, maybe it's just projection, maybe hope. Pretty women make him weak. God forbid you find out and use it against him. Javi's the type to risk it all - money, career, even his life. Not just for pussy - because it's not about that anyway, it never has been. Pussy is easy to come by - in fact, if he gathers enough saliva in his palm and closes his eyes he can almost replicate the feeling by himself. But being with a woman, all soft skin, strangled moans of his name, nails piercing his skin, needy kisses, teeth, tongue, and heartbeat - he hasn't been able to fully satiate that need ever, and he doesn't remember a time before he was a tenderhearted soul in a soldier's body.

Javi could get himself off, it wouldn't take long, but the shower is in the en-suite so he'd wake you up if he turned on the water. Plus, it'd feel wrong having you in the next room while he did such a thing even if he tried not to think about you while he did it, even if you slept in blissful ignorance, pure and untainted by the knowledge of Javi's teeth digging into his fist to muffle a moan as he shudders through his orgasm.

He wasn't thinking about you until your body was pressed up against his own. He doesn't think of you like that, or at last, he didn't. Not before you came to Bogota, appeared in front of him so grown up that he hadn't recognized you at first. You were a girl the last time you stood in front of him, he remembers having to kneel to hug you when he said goodbye. Time has passed and you're fresh out of college now. A woman, not a girl.

He's somewhere between thinking and dreaming when you spring up in bed with a gasp, and on instinct, his hand flies to the bedside table to search blindly for his gun. Until he realizes it's just you. A harmless girl.

Maybe not completely harmless.

He places his hand to his bare chest as he breathes slowly, trying to calm down.

You look like you're on the verge of tears and it pains him. "I'm so sorry, Uncle Javi."

"Mija, don't worry," he says, rubbing your back to calm you, "You just startled me."

"I just had a bad dream," you tell him.

You used to have those when you were younger, he thinks, now I have them too.

"It was just a dream, you're safe." He lies down and nods for you to lie back down too. "I'll keep you safe," he says quieter.

You move closer, facing him, and he lets you because he knows you need comfort more than anything. Javi resists the urge to hold you, worrying you might feel his hard—on through his sweatpants.

He stares - no, gazes - at you for a moment, unsure of what to say. You meet his eyes with a similar look - inquisitive, though you're more curious than he is. Javi feels dread in the face of what he fears is unfolding. You see an opportunity where he sees a warning. Do not go any further, it says. But he hasn't done anything.

Except for lie down next to you rather than taking the couch, and sleep shirtless rather than sweat through a t-shirt. He's more angry at himself for his reluctance to admit that this is a self-indulgent choice no matter how he flips it. Either he's a bad host or he's a bad man.

The answer becomes clearer when you lean in and he closes his eyes instead of pulling back like he should. He doesn't want to embarrass you, he decides. Better not reject you, at least not like this, he should let you down easy. Which he'll certainly do after kissing you.

It's so unfair, Javi thinks. He'd forgotten what it feels like to kiss someone who wants him. Women want his money, at best, his body. Often, both. But Javi is the type of man who wakes up at sunrise so he can slip out before he has to man up and have an awkward conversation over coffee.

Cupping your cheek gently is certainly wrong but so is kissing you, and he's already doing that. He should kiss you sweetly, make this a little more dignified, salvage what's left.

Your lips are soft and it's not your first kiss unless this is an incredible stroke of beginner's luck. Hungry, yet teasing, forcing him to reveal his own desire when you draw back a bit and he has to be the one to reach for you.

He notices you drifting closer to him and before he can make things much, much worse, he snaps out of it and pulls back entirely.

"Querida, we shouldn't… It's not right," he says because he can't say he doesn't want you.

"Why? What's wrong with it? We're both adults, we're sober, we're single…"

"You're much younger than me, and your father is my friend."

"Age is just a number, and what my dad doesn't know, can't hurt him."

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, playing the whole thing off like he isn't grappling with conflicting feelings inside.

"You said you'd never lie to me, right?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Tell me the truth, then, do you want me too?"

"You can't ask questions like that, mija."

"Why, Uncle Javi?"

"That's why. I cannot sleep with someone who calls me 'Uncle Javi'."

"It's not like we're actually related."

"I know that. This wouldn't even be up for discussion if that were the case."

"So it's up for discussion?"

"No. No, it's not. We're not doing it."

He stands up abruptly, does a terrible job of adjusting himself in his sweatpants, and walks towards the bathroom.

"Where are you going?"

"Taking a shower."

"It's past midnight."

"Can a man not take a shower at night?"

"At least be honest and say you're going to jerk off."

"Jesus Christ," he mutters, putting his head in his hands. Then, he turns to you, "I'm going to jerk off. Happy?"

"Can I come with?"

"No. If I wanted you to be with me, I'd just do it in bed."

You pout, disappointed, and he thinks that's your last resort. He nearly lets his guard down as his hand reaches the bathroom door, reaches safety.

But, in a voice that's so familiar yet so foreign coming from your mouth, you ask, "You usually do it right here?"

He stares at you, his body slumps a bit like he's melting as he watches you play with the straps of your top, like you might take it off.

"Javier," you say, seductively.

"Don't do that to me…" he pouts, pleads. He doesn't want to give in.

"I just think we could have a really good time. I mean, I bought these panties for you, but I guess if you don't want to see them, maybe I can find another DEA agent who wants to…"

"I'm not letting you go and whore yourself out to my coworkers."

"Why not? You don't want me."

"I didn't say that. I said 'it's wrong', and it is."

"I guess I can see how it might be wrong from some angles, but I really like you, and I just want to know that you like me back — I just want to be wanted, to know someone thinks I'm good enough."

It's so unfair. Javi has to assume you're acting, but you're doing a great job because your teary eyes are filled with emotion — maybe it is real, he thinks. And that's what lands him back in bed with you.

"I like you," he whispers, "and you know that. I think a lot of guys like you… they don't deserve you, but trust me when I say you're more than wanted."

"I don't want any of them. I only want you." You look up at him with those pleading eyes that have always worked.

"I'm not a good man." he sighs.

"I want you anyway."

"I'm not a good man because I can't help myself."

You look at him with hope shining through you.

"Before we do anything I need you to know that I love you to death but this is sex, not marriage, not a relationship - I want to make you feel good tonight, but tomorrow we go back to normal, got it?"

"You act like you're taking my virginity. I'm not that innocent little girl anymore. I'm not expecting you to fall in love with me, I just want you to fuck me."

He has the knee-jerk instinct to tell you not to swear. but the scowl of disapproval quickly turns to a smile. You're not that innocent, are you?

You grab his face and whisper, "If I'm going to have casual sex anyway, isn't it better if I do it with you?"

"Oh, so now this is all 'casual sex', and I'm just doing damage control by fucking you?"

"My dad asked you to keep me safe, right? If I'm bed with you, I can't get in bed with any other potentially dangerous men."

"I'm always gonna take care of you." he says, dipping down to kiss your neck.

"Javier." It's a drawn-out plea for something, anything. It's the simultaneous gratitude brought about by the relief that washes over you when he agrees to this but the carnal frustration at the anticipation of him, heightened when you feel his erection pressing against your thigh.

You can tell he's big - though, the tightness of his pants leaves little to the imagination regardless. Nervousness strikes you because he's Javi. He thinks you don't know how much of a womanizer he is. As if you've ever been stupid enough to believe the marks on his neck were just razor burn or that he had no idea where the pair of panties in his glove compartment came from.

You don't dare ask how many women he's slept with, you don't need to know the number to know you have a laundry list of competition. You won't be his best - that much you know - still, you can't be his worst.

All your worries move to the background when you remember that Javier is kissing you, tugging down the straps of your top, kissing your neck, your collarbone, your chest. Your heart swells at his gentle devotion, but your core aches for him as your much dirtier fantasies flit around your mind.

You would never have guessed Javier would be into this type of sweet and slow sex. Most men you've been with want you in a way that feels more perverse, more distant.

Javi lets his hands wander along your skin, he teases you and marvels at your reaction. He doesn't just grip you, he holds you.

You shouldn't be as surprised as you are when he grabs your ankles and pulls you to the edge of the bed before kneeling with his head positioned between your thighs.

"You said you wore these for me?" he asks, fingers toying with the waistband of your underwear.

"Yeah. I remember finding a similar pair in your car once, and so I thought you might like these."

"You'd look good in anything, but you did a good job picking these out. Definitely my taste."

"You can keep them."

His eyes flicker with something, something you've been dying to see. "What are you going to wear?"

"I have more, like, ever color."

"They're all for me or just these ones?"

"All for you." The statement holds greater weight than the thin lace fabric, and surely he knows that.

There is desire in his eyes when he flicks his tongue along your folds for the first time.

Javi decides that if he's going to indulge, he shouldn't indulge half-heartedly. He should not be doing this, but you deserve to feel good. Someone else should do this for you, but no one else is here. It's Javi's responsibility to take care of you. He's just helping you sleep, that's what he tells himself when he gets a taste of you and knows he's so incredibly and utterly fucked. He groans into you, and you return a prettier sound.

He's too old to be this hard, this hungry for a woman. The most unfair part of it all is that Javi doesn't need sex, he doesn't need the touch of a woman. He needs you. Forbidden fruit always tastes the sweetest.

Your voice shakes when you say his name, warning him of your impending orgasm. He massages your hipbones as if to say, "you're going to be okay, just let go". You look embarrassed when you come down from your high so he makes a point of staying between your legs, locking eyes while his tongue gathers every drop you give him, and smiling when he wipes his lips with his thumb.

The predicament lies between his own legs. The question still stands stiff and painfully hard. Should he allow himself the pleasure of fucking up? Of fucking.

You notice his hesitation. "Javier, I want it too, you know?"

"It's still a mistake."

"Everyone makes mistakes… maybe you could just allow yourself to make one - for me."

Making one mistake surely isn't enough to make you a bad person.

"Don't you ever get tired of being the good guy?"

He smirks at you. "Yes. Yes, I do."

Patience is a virtue, and not one you have.

"I'll do it for you," you say, tugging down his sweatpants, watching his cock spring out.

"Puta madre," he says, as you stroke his length, running your finger over the tip, kissing it with the pad of your thumb, "if you keep touching me like that I'm not gonna last."

Javi stifles his curses in English, ultimately ending up settling for Spanish at the rare moments he can find words at all. Clearly he forgets that you speak enough Spanish to understand what he's saying, but you let him think you don't because the things he says are even sexier than what he says in your daydreams.

He drags the head of his cock along your folds, coating himself with your wetness.

"Que cosa tan linda," he says under his breath, marveling at your body, fully naked in front of him.

"Please," you whine, and he nods, silent but committed.

"Mira como me toma," he says as he eases inside you finally.

He keeps the rhythm of his thrusts slow until you beg for him to go faster. Harder, deeper, more, more, more.

"¿Te gusta eso eh?" His voice is thick with lust, he's not even talking to you, not really, just running his mouth unable to help it.

Soon, it's nothing but curses through gritted teeth accompanied by the slick sounds of your arousal.

"Quiero que me hagas tuyo" you finally give up the game when he's about to cum.

It's not the fact that you want to be his that takes him over the edge unexpectedly, it's the way you say his name and he knows you already are. You hold onto him for dear life, locking your legs around his hips and forcing him deeper, your inner walls flutter around him, and he is helpless against the tidal wave of ecstasy that crashes over him.

He's dizzy after you suck the life out of him, but his rational mind returns when he pulls out and watches cum drip out of you.

Javi panics, momentarily considers every horrible possibility and every solution - will he have to fake his own death and leave the country? But your soothing touch as you gently pull him closer, your relaxing voice accompanying it, calms him.

He buys you the morning after pill and feeds it to you along with the best breakfast he can conjure up as an apology.

You thank him, but just before he thinks he's in the clear, you say, "if you really wanted to make it up to me, you could eat your breakfast in bed…"

He's about to say 'no', but you wink, and instead, he says, "Fine. But just this once."

spanish translations:

Que cosa tan linda = what a pretty thing

Mira como me toma = look at how well it takes me

¿Te gusta eso eh? = you like that eh?

Quiero que me hagas tuyo = i want you to make me yours

this post helped me lots!!

#javier peña #javier pena smut #javier peña x reader #javier pena fanfiction #javier peña smut #javier pena x reader #javier pena narcos #javier pena fic #roll a trope challenge

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msbigredmachine · 9 months

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Warm (Jey Uso/OC)

An on-again, off-again couple takes the snowy ride to the next town together.

PAIRING: Jey Uso x OC

Word Count: 6.3k

Warning: The usual smut and everything in between.

A/N: First fic of the year! Enjoy!

Click here if you want to be on the tag list. If I’ve forgotten anyone please let me know so I can add you.

Credit to the owners of the pics and gifs.

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"Hey girl, got a sec?"

Looking up to see Nia standing right in front of her, Malia stood up straighter. The locker room was full of her friends and fellow wrestlers, all done for the evening and packing up to leave the arena. "What's up?"

"I totally forgot that I agreed to carpool with Maxxine after the show," she said as they exited the locker room together. "I'm really sorry, it totally slipped my mind."

"Oh, that sucks," Malia said, a little disappointed as Nia was great company. "It's no big deal. I'll figure something out."

"Are you sure? It's starting to snow out there. Will you be okay on your own?"

"Alone on the road with full control of the heating and my own playlist?" Malia laughed. "I'll be fine."

Nia nodded. "Okay. I feel bad, so I'll ask around and see if anyone needs a ride. That way you can split the bills and stuff," she offered, pausing when she looked over Malia's shoulder. "Oooh, look who's coming our way," she grinned.

Curious, Malia turned around, and her heart skipped a beat as Josh Fatu walked in their direction, his carry-on behind him and his phone in front of him. She plastered an unbothered expression on her face and turned back to Nia, but the Irresistible Force saw right through the facade.

"Girl, you're blushing already!" she cackled. "You and him still fucking?"

"No, I'm not blushing. And no, we're not fucking," Not lately anyway, Malia added to herself, fluffing her Afro as nonchalantly as possible.

"Liar. You two crack me up, you're totally in love with each other but keep acting like you're not. I did warn you about the whole friends-with-benefits thing."

She did. And Malia caught feelings and had been trying to run from those feelings since. But not with much success, given that she and Josh were both part of the Monday Night Raw roster and lived in the same goddamn city which gave him plenty of access to her. The problem was she was falling in love and he wasn't, so she tried to save face by imposing an extended 'break' from each other, under the guise of 'seeing other people'. Being alone with him on a long midnight drive wasn't going to help her cause to break away.

"It's a three-hour trip from here to Cleveland. Think you can hold off for that long if you go together?" Nia asked, a little too gleefully for Malia's taste.

"Stop with the slander. You make it sound like I'm this raging nympho," she rebuffed.

"When it comes to him? Yes! I've witnessed it! You jump each other's bones every chance you get. How you guys aren't official, I'll never understand. He's getting closerrrr," Nia sang, clearly enjoying the way Malia was trying not to squirm. "Let me go talk to him."

Malia started to panic as Nia moved towards him. "Where are you going?" she warned, "Nia, no!"

"Um, you want a ride or not? Hey, Joshyyyy!"

"Savelina!" Malia hissed, falling silent when Josh looked up from his phone, his gaze lingering on her for a long, tense beat before moving to Nia. "Sup ladies," he said, tipping his bearded chin up in greeting. His jaw moved repeatedly, and she saw he was chewing gum when he opened his mouth to speak. Juicy Fruit, she predicted. His favorite.

"I heard you're driving by yourself tonight," Nia said to him.

His eyebrows rose skeptically. "Yeah..."

"You want a passenger? Cuz my girl over here needs someone to ride with, in more ways than one..."

"Lina, shut up," Malia cut in, stepping in front of her and meeting Josh head-on. "Forgive our friend, Becky hit her in the head too many times tonight," she explained, her insides warming when Jey laughed. "I was supposed to carpool with bitch over here but she made other plans and left me stranded. So umm...if you're going alone, would you mind if I tagged along?" Why the fuck did she sound like she was asking him to Prom?

Again, the air around them simmered with an unknown element. When he took longer than usual to respond, her heart sank a little. "It's cool if you don't want to, I can find someone else-"

"Nah, it's all good, uce, you can come along," he spoke up with a smile. "But I'm 'bout to leave right now, so if you ready-"

"I am," Malia answered, a bit too quickly, and flushed with embarrassment when the corner of his mouth curled upward in a bemused smile. It was then she realized that Nia had disappeared, leaving the two standing alone in the empty hallway.

"Uhh...We should get going," Malia spoke up, scratching awkwardly at the nape of her curly Afro.

Josh nodded, pausing as his eyes scanned her up and down again. "This what you wearin'?" he inquired.

She made a quick, albeit thorough twirl to show off her outfit, a short, figure-hugging beige dress accompanied by a black pair of furry knee-high Uggs. "Yeah, why? What's wrong with it?"

"It's a lil' chilly, no? I mean, don't get me wrong, you look real good, it's just-" Catching himself, he trailed off nervously before he could say anything else inappropriate.

"My jacket is right here, I'll be fine. But if I do get too cold, I'm sure you can keep me warm." Her smile was syrupy sweet as she let the innuendo sink in. The awkwardness was melting away, leaving only the sexual synergy they were both accustomed to.

Josh chuckled to himself and stepped closer to her. "A'ight, I see what'chu tryna do," he said in a lower, huskier timbre that made her loins flutter. "Let's get outta here before I do sum'n we'll both like."

She wanted to ask what was stopping him but instead took the hand he held out to her. It was big and protective and the gentle way he rubbed his thumb over hers always made her feel safe. Together they left the building and into the indoor parking lot. He helped her put her things in the trunk of his Ford Expedition rental, and she fought the urge to stare at his ass when he bent over.

As they began their journey, her gaze landed on her on-again, off-again 'boyfriend', his own fixed on the road ahead. Wearing a fitting dual-colored Nike tracksuit, he looked yummy himself. The hand that had held hers was now on the steering wheel, and she found herself wishing it was touching her again but on a more risqué part of her body this time. They were on a 'break' but she envisioned a lot of difficulty keeping things platonic tonight.

"Since when do you listen to Bon Jovi?" She broke the ice several minutes later, talking over the eighties rock ballad that was playing on the radio and was surprised it hadn't been turned off. "You always used to tell me to change that shit," she laughed.

"They not so bad, they got some good workout songs," he defended with a shrug. "How come you didn't take a flight tonight?" he asked.

She gave a shrug of her own. "I don't know. I probably should have. But with the weather and everything, there'd probably be tons of delays at the airport. I would have ended up sitting there all night. How about you?"

"Same. I prefer the open road anyway," he replied. "Drive fast, blast some good music, you know what it is." He shot her a grin, making selections on the GPS. "Everything good? You comfortable?"

Smoothing her dress down her crossed legs, she nodded and tilted her seat back. "Yeah, I'm good," she responded.

"So how was Christmas? Whatchu do? Spend time with your man?" Josh asked.

Malia snorted and flipped her hair. "Ain't no man. He's an insecure bum so he's gone. I stayed with my brother and his family for a few days, played with my nieces, they're so big now."

He wanted to feel bad about the way his heart leapt for joy about her relationship status. "I told you he was a bum from the jump, uce," he mumbled.

"Well, you were right. Congrats," she bit sarcastically.

"I ain't wanna be right though. I just want you to be happy," said Josh, exchanging a glance with her, his stare filled with its familiar warmth that was charged with something else.

Being here is a bad idea.

"What about you? You were with your boys and their mom, I'm guessing," she kept the conversation going.

"More of the boys, less of their mom," he clarified.

"That's it? No woman to warm your bed?"

He snorted and shot her a bombastic side-eye. "If I remember clearly, you sent the last woman I was with packin', with your razor-sharp ass tongue."

Malia burst out laughing. "Ha, that bitch? She's a clout-chasing airhead. One conversation with her and my IQ got fucked up. Stop messin' with those NXT bimbos, Joshua. It's not a good look."

"Why you so pressed though?" He had an idea, but he wanted to hear it straight from the horse's mouth.

"I'm not pressed. You smarter than that. She wasn't good for you."

"And you know this, how?"

Because she ain't me. None of them are. "I just know," was all she said.

"Huh. We seem to 'know' a lot about each other," Josh noted, "So why don't you want us to stay together?" he asked.

And there it is. "You already know the answer," she responded, with a hint of attitude.

"No I don't, so how 'bout you fill me in, huh," he retorted. They had stopped at a red light so he now had all the time to look her in the eye.

Exhaling a heavy sigh, she refused to get suckered in. "Because. Your roster is deep enough as it is," she mumbled.

"What roster?"

Malia huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. "Oh, we gonna play dumb now? I'm not the only woman you're fucking, Joshua."

"The last person I had sex with was you, right before you dumped me for ol' boy," Josh replied, annoyance creeping into his tone.

"Correction. I did not dump you. Dumping implies that we were dating," Malia argued. "I distinctly remember you saying you weren't looking for nothin' serious, so it ain't dumping if there's no relationship to dump."

The silence that followed was deafening, even with the music playing. The temperature in the car plummeted several degrees. Josh simply shook his head. "Damn, that how you feel all this time? Okay then." he tsked, releasing the brakes as the light turned green. "A'ight. Note taken."

The hurt swirling in his voice surprised her. Rattled, she opened her mouth to speak, but wisely decided to close it back. Because there really was nothing to say. This was the consequence of getting involved with someone without setting clear boundaries; the result of repeatedly holding off the simple task of defining a relationship — nothing but uncertainty and heartache. It was the bed she made long ago and now she had to lie in it.

But oddly enough, that seemed to be the appeal of entanglements; the thrill, the warped sense of freedom to do whatever you wanted to each other with no strings. But intimacy always had its attachments, and Malia had been attached to Josh for a long, long time with no idea how to cut the strings without getting hurt.

"The snow seems to be getting worse," she changed the subject and with good reason. They seemed to be driving into a storm. The snowfall was heavier and the nearly empty highway was turning white. "Are you sure we'll make it into Cleveland like this?"

Her question was answered only a few seconds later, by the flashing lights and flares up ahead. A car wreck, and a bad one judging from the amount of fire, rescue, and police crews on the scene. As Josh slowed the car to a crawl, they were greeted by a gruesome tableau.

The many bright, flashing lights cast a grotesque glow on the crumpled remains of an SUV. A black bag, zipped and strapped to a stretcher, was being loaded into the back of an ambulance. Malia's eyes widened with horror. The mangled car was the same type as theirs, and the driver's seat was covered in blood, a lot of it splattered on the white snow. "Oh no...Babe..." she breathed.

Her voice was tiny. Scared. Josh grabbed her hand and squeezed it repeatedly to get her attention. "Ay, don't look. Look at me," he cajoled, waiting for her to do so, running his thumb over hers to quell her panic. "I'll take the next exit. Let's find somewhere to crash until morning." He cringed. "Bad choice of words. Sorry."

"You don't mind stopping?" she asked, feeling a little sick. There was no way she was going any further with what she'd just witnessed.

"Personally, I'd rather be late gettin' where I'm going than never gettin' there at all."

"I agree. I'll check if there's any available hotels nearby," she offered, reaching for her phone in the console.

"You good?" he checked on her again, his fingers flexing around hers.

"I'm okay. It's just...that was horrible," Malia shuddered. "But you calmed me down. You've always been good at that." She smiled gratefully at him.

"Mm-hmm," he mumbled, as he lifted the back of her hand to his lips in a gentle kiss. He then rested his hand on her bare leg, running it up her smooth chocolate skin. Ironically, her dress gave him perfect access to the sensitivity of her inner thigh, and he allowed his fingers to dance over it.

Malia cast her eyes down to watch his hand disappear under her dress. This was what she liked about him so much; his boldness, his sense of adventure. Only he could dare to touch on her while driving on a dark, sleety highway. "Boy, what are you doin'?" she asked as he squeezed her thigh. She tried to play it cool, tried to act like her skin had not been set ablaze by his touch.

"Keepin' you warm," he affirmed nonchalantly, as he slid his palm over her lace panties, his favorite on her, enjoying the feel of her moist warmth against the fabric. He had since learned that he couldn't stay mad at her for long. "I miss you," he whispered, breaching her underwear with one finger.

"I miss you too," she admitted, jerking as the finger slipped inside of her. "Oh, shit," she gasped, tilting her head back against the leather headrest.

"Phew, you wet as fuck," Josh whistled, eyeing up his ex with a Cheshire Cat-like grin. "Ol' boy wasn't fuckin' you like he should?"

Before she could answer, he slid another digit into her wetness, drawing another moan from her. She moved her legs further apart, causing her dress to ride higher up, and grabbed his wrist with both hands. "Fuck, yeah," she sighed, going slack in her seat.

Maybe it wasn't the brightest idea, Josh realized, as the sound of her wanton moans filled the car. As her pussy tightened around his fingers. He wasn't doing much for his own erect state by doing this, but the look on her face convinced him to keep going. He leaned over and kissed her cheek, keeping his eyes on the road. "How's that feel, hmm?" he asked.

The only response she could muster was another breathy moan while strengthening her grip on his wrist. She didn't want to come just yet, but between his fingers twisting deep inside her tightening core and the added heat rushing through her, she knew she wouldn't last long. She wanted this to last forever, just like every time she was with him; she clung desperately to every second, because each one was always better than the last. He just hit different. He always did.

The spell broke when she heard him curse and he abruptly stopped, slipping his fingers out of her. "The fuck?" she whined.

"Sorry, I had to," Josh explained, pointing. The smoky haze of passion and frustration cleared quickly enough for her to realize they had left the expressway and were now pulling into the parking lot of a hotel. Crossing her arms petulantly, she sat up straighter and pouted. "Goddamn tease. You ain't slick," she grumbled.

"Nope. But you are," he emphasized, holding up his fingers covered in her essence and bringing them to his mouth. "Mmm, sweet and spicy, like always."

His dirty snicker had her pussy clenching again. This man was going to be the death of her.

Parking the Expedition in front of the hotel door, they rushed in with their bags to the check-in desk and found the exhausted-looking receptionist behind the counter. It was clear they'd had a massive influx of people and that she was the only one handling everything.

"You're just in luck. We have one room left," the lady replied when Josh asked her if they had any vacancies. "It's probably our smallest room and only has one queen-sized bed, but it's perfect for a lovely couple like yourselves," she smiled warmly.

"We'll take it," Josh responded, handing over his credit card before Malia could reject it. Given the state of the weather outside and that horrendous crash they came across, it was likely the best, safest option.

They got the keycards and made a quick stop at the nearby Chipotle to get some food. Josh paid again, boxing Malia against the counter with his big frame and frowning menacingly at the cashier who had the nerve to flirt with her. Though there technically was no territory to mark, she didn't mind. Besides, it was cold outside and his body heat was inviting and much needed. Afterwards, they returned to the hotel and made it into the small room that was warm, toasty, and quite clean, making them feel a bit better that they wouldn't be stuck in some Bates Motel-type murder house.

"Last time we were stuck in a room together, we spent all afternoon working out how many pinning combinations we could make each other come in," Malia reminisced as she bit into her burrito.

"Yeah. I remember winning," Josh grinned proudly. "You can have the bed, by the way," he gestured to her. "Imma sleep on the couch, give you some space."

"Why?" Malia gave him a stern look. "The bed is big enough for both of us. Plus, your back will be fucked up if you sleep on that lil ass couch."

She wasn't wrong; the couch felt rather firm and it wouldn't be pleasant. Josh was trying to be a gentleman, but he ultimately agreed since driving tomorrow with a backache did not sound ideal.

After finishing their meals, they settled in, and Malia texted the Talent Relations rep to inform them of her and Josh's whereabouts. Unfortunately, the weather forecast on TV was pretty grim as they were expecting upwards of forty inches of snow. Getting to their destination in time tomorrow would be a tough ask.

Josh used the bathroom first to give Malia some privacy. When he re-emerged, she was stripped down to a short white bathrobe that did nothing to hide that body of hers, giving him a little peek of her voluptuous behind as she picked up her toilet bag.

Fuck.

"Babe, do you got a spare shirt I can sleep in?" She stood back upright, her throat drying up at the sight of his towel hanging low on his hips. She watched the rivulets of water drip down his tattooed chest and felt parched.

Josh swallowed. "Sure, I got somethin'." He crossed the room, reached inside his open luggage and pulled out a 'YEET' hoodie. "This okay?"

He gazed into her eyes, and Malia felt her knees quiver, almost like they were threatening to collapse beneath her. "Yeah, thanks," she smiled, taking the hoodie.

"You called me babe again." There was a small, teasing smile on his face.

Malia felt her face burn. "Oh, um...Yeah. Habit. Sorry..." Lost for words, she quickly departed, silently willing her limbs to not give out on her.

Waiting until the door had closed behind her, Josh sank down on the bed and tried to focus on the TV. He could hear her moving around. Brushing her teeth. Undressing. Rubbing his face, he groaned when he heard the shower start. After their argument in the car and what he did afterwards, his emotions were all over the place, and now they had to share this bed. Keeping his hands to himself was going to be a tough ask.

Keep your hands to yourself, Malia repeated to herself over and over as she finished up her skincare routine. It's just one night. Behave yourself. What happened in the car meant nothing.

Yes it did, the voice she fondly named 'Delulu', debated, He misses you, he said so himself. That's why he acted the way he did in the car. That's why he almost bit that cashier's head off in Chipotle.

She had a point. She recalled the full-blown lust in his eyes as he touched her, the eager movement of his fingers inside her as though he couldn't stop himself. Overall, it felt good to know he wasn't quite over her just as she wasn't quite over him.

Don't do it, her other voice, dubbed 'You Right' because it always was, warned. You're just his plaything, always have been. Why do you want to play house with a guy who doesn't love you like you love him? He just misses the pussy. That's it.

Good point.

But I miss the dick too! 'Delulu' pouted.

'You Right' rolled her eyes. Too bad. Take another shower, a cold one this time.

With a heavy sigh, Malia wrapped up her hair and put on her pajamas for the night. The hoodie was big on her, reaching her thighs. She decided against panties, having made up her mind about the voice she was going to listen to.

She returned to the warmth of the bedroom, instantly landing on the ruggedly handsome man stretched out on the left side of the bed. His favorite side. His gaze flickered from the TV to her, his lips twitching into a small smile.

"You make my merch look so sexy, baby," he commented.

"Why thank you Daddy," she replied, then froze, her eyes wide. Shit, did she just say that out loud? Judging from the heated look in his eyes, the answer was yes. The tension in the room could be cut with a knife as they regarded each other.

Sitting up straight in the bed, Josh clapped his hands. "A'ight, enough of this. Come here," he growled.

She thought he would never ask. She hurried to the bed and crawled towards him. He sat up straighter and reached for her, their lips crashing together before he had finished pulling her onto his lap. All the weeks of pent-up urges and desires came pouring out of them both as they kissed like the desperate, needy souls they had become. They only pulled back long enough to take off his t-shirt before they embraced again. His bronzed skin was warm underneath her palms, the touch of his hands seemingly burning through the hoodie onto her own.

Without breaking the kiss, Josh shifted so that they were lying on their sides, helping her tug his sweatpants down his hips. Once they were gone, he pulled her tightly against him as he slid his leg between hers, draping her top leg over his waist. He then pushed his hands under her hoodie, his fingers digging into her waist to grind her against his thigh. Malia smiled at his surprised gasp, his realization that she was wearing his merch and only that. She knew he could feel the moistness of her core, smearing his upper thigh as their kisses got even more heated. She let him pull off the hoodie, and Josh's eyes blazed with need as he gathered her right breast in his hand and devoured it with sucks and licks. Meanwhile her hand wrapped around his dick, stroking for a few moments before easing him inside her.

"Oh, shit," Josh froze, his expression slightly panicked, "I ain't got-"

"Calm down, I still got my IUD. You good." She kissed his lips and reared back a little, letting him push fully inside her, and he ripped his mouth from hers in a low groan and tucked his face in her neck.

"Fuck, Malia..."

She moaned with him, gripping his muscular shoulders as he moved inside her, and groaned again when his hand scraped down her back to squeeze her ass cheek tightly.

"Mmmph..."

"Yeah, I know you like that," he whispered, slapping her ass this time, his breath hot and heavy against her face. "Say my name baby, call out for me."

"Joshua...Daddy..."

"Mm-hmm, I love it. God, you're fuckin' beautiful," he said, his voice rough with need as he tongue-kissed her slowly, matching his grinding thrusts, sending chills running all over her body.

"Ohhh," she gasped, tensing in his arms, bewildered by her desire for him.

"Relax. I gotchu," he promised with another hungry, borderline sloppy kiss. He was nearing the pit of her stomach with his lengthening strokes, but he wanted more. He held up her thick thigh, automatically sliding him even deeper inside her. A big smile lit up his face as her mouth fell open; he knew she could feel all of it, the head of his dick toying with her g-spot, her breathing quickening as her slick moisture made its presence known with every push of his dick into her.

"Hear that?" Josh whispered, "Hear how wet you are?"

Malia dug her nails into his skin, staccato breaths pulling from her lungs as he rammed up into her again and again. "Shit," she whined, "Aw fuck, please don't stop," she begged, tears gathering in her eyes at the thought of him ceasing his actions.

"I ain't stoppin' baby." He couldn't seem to stop kissing her, doing it again as he increased his speed, his dick all up in her wet pussy. The sensations were dizzying, taking her to another dimension. "Uuuunh," she cried out with a shudder, the flutter of her pussy around his cock sending shockwaves of pleasure through her.

"You wanna come, babe? Wanna come for Daddy huh?" He pressed his forehead against hers, his hypnotic eyes holding her gaze as her whimpers for him grew louder. "Come, Malia," he urged with gritted teeth, his heart pounding from the emotions vibrating through him. "Come, baby girl. Nut on Daddy's dick. You look so beautiful when you come."

Malia heard what sounded like waves crashing in her ears. Immediately her body seized up, and her voice was a high-pitched cry as the pleasure ripped through her. Moaning his name repeatedly, her head fell back and she saw stars as the bliss took over.

Man, she missed being touched like this, kissed like this...fucked like this.

Still trembling, she was vaguely aware of him pulling out, letting her leg down and rolling on top of her. Stroking her face, he stared at her with a mix of wonder and tenderness and something else she couldn't quite determine in his eyes.

"What?" she pressed.

Josh licked his lips, looked away for a second and then back at her.

"I love you."

She expected to be shocked, stunned by his declaration. Instead, it felt more like a eureka moment, like she had finally cracked a passcode she had been struggling with for eons, like the world had at last righted itself after an eternity of confusion.

"What took you so long?" she asked, emotion seeping through her tone.

"I don't know," he confessed, and when her brows furrowed, he elaborated. "I just know I can't do this no more. I'm fuckin' tired. I been feelin' this way for too long. You the only one that makes me feel like this."

"Like how?" she breathed. She wanted to hear it, wanted to know if his agony has been anything similar to hers for the past couple of months.

"Like I'm empty inside when I'm not with you. Even when I'm with someone else, I feel like I'm cheating on you," he went on, suddenly feeling free, unburdened. "I can't stop thinking about you, can't function...I don't just want sex, Malia. That's all good but I wanna be your man. For real this time. I want you."

There it was again, that intensity in his eyes that never failed to steal what was left of her breath. If this was a dream, she did not want to wake up. "I love you too. I wanna be with you. Let's not break up ever again. I don't like not being around you," she admitted.

"Same here," he said, covering her mouth with his. This kiss was so passionate, so deep and all-consuming, that she struggled to hang on to her sanity. She groaned against his mouth as he found his way back inside her with a couple of swift, seamless strokes. Her wetness instantly enveloped him again, prompting his hips to roll seemingly on their own accord. Malia wound her arms around him, holding him as close to her as possible. There was no more talk after that, letting their bodies do the talking, writhing together as if they were meant to exist that way.

"Wrap your legs around me, baby," he told her.

Immediately, she wound them around his waist with her ankles locked tight behind his lower back as he rocked into her. She moved with him, matching his tempo in a sweet symphony. There was no space between their flesh; and whatever tiny space remained was closed off with delicious, decadent kisses with lots of tongue. They savored every second in each other, every gasp and moan they elicited from the other. Her wetness compromised the friction between them as his dick slipped in and out of her with ease that still kept her walls snug and taut around him.

"God, you feel so good, baby," she moaned in his ear, weaving her fingers through his soft hair, anchoring him to her as though fearful that he would slip away at any given moment.

"I can feel you dripping all over my dick. You make me wanna pound this good pussy," he mumbled against her neck, his tongue swiping over her heated skin.

"Then pound it," she murmured, spearing him with a hot, hungry look when their eyes met. "Pound my pussy, Daddy, I need it," she practically begged, her voice a pleading whine.

"Bet." Caressing her thighs for a few seconds, he then propped her legs on each of his broad shoulders. Her gaze met the ceiling, clouded over with lust as he hunched over her, working his big dick in her. All she could see within the bluish hue of the small room was his larger, muscular body looming over her, like a glowing, almost nightclub-like dreamscape. His chest tattoos were a beautiful mural that she couldn't stop herself from worshiping, and she leaned up to drag her tongue along his nipple, flicking the hard bud playfully as she caressed his triceps. She was rewarded with harder snaps of his hips, his balls mashing against her ass from how deep he was digging. Every time she tried to look at it, she would grow weak from the sensitivity and fall back against the bed.

"Fuck, Joshua..."

"Mmhmm, I know it feel good. Your tight little pussy is creaming for me," he rasped. Holding her down to the bed, he circled his hips while buried in her for good measure, making her pussy greedily grip the entirety of his girthy length and wringing moans of pleasure from both of them. Dipping her hand down between her thighs, she rubbed on her clit only for her eyes to roll back as an intense fire lit inside her like a firework. Then, clearly intending to destory her, he sat back on his knees and wrapped his arms around her thighs, holding them to his chest as he thrust faster and harder.

"Oh my god," Malia sighed, planting one hand up against the headboard to steady herself. She could feel her breasts bouncing recklessly with each stroke, felt his long fingers grab one and massage it in his hands, then the other, arousing her even more. His dick pulsed inside her as she tightened around him with increasing frequency. She willingly let him take her as he wanted, because she wanted to feel all of him, savor the sight of him breaking down and plunging headfirst into that secret place of pleasure that belonged to them and them alone.

The tricky part was Josh wanted to take her there first. He switched up again by pinning her knees into the pillow on either side of her head, opening her wide. He fucked her like a man possessed, the force of his movements knocking the bed hard and repeatedly against the wall. His hard, pounding thrusts had her pushing her face into the pillow and screaming into it. They hoped the room was soundproof. Either way, he didn't stop, not until the coil inside her body unraveled, and Malia screamed again as she came, hard and hot, her orgasm flushing through her like a tidal wave. It was the sweetest, the realest, the product of the joining of not just their bodies, but something deeper, too.

Josh must have been thinking the same thing, because when he stopped to stare her down again with those beautiful eyes of his, they glittered with warmth and affection. They gazed at each other, the stunned joy of their shared feelings morphing into something richer, something fiercer. He really did love her, she could see it right there on his face. She didn't quite know how she managed to miss it before.

The air between them thickened as they remembered they were still naked and entwined. Reverting back to their primal, passionate state, Josh moved again, thrusting all up in her dripping tightness. Malia gripped his hips to pull him deeper, her fingers digging into the flesh of his ass as he pounded into her with newfound ruthlessness. The mattress squeaked underneath them, mixing with their moans and whimpers and the wet slapping sounds of their bodies. He was close; his strokes became increasingly erratic, his grunts heavier and more vocal, his cock pulsing inside her pussy and his balls tightening.

"Fuuuck, I'm comin' baby, come catch this nut," he pulled out of her and quickly straddled her torso, stroking his dick in her face. Malia opened her mouth wide and poked out her tongue, watching his gorgeous face twist in painful pleasure as he unloaded in her mouth, thick spurts of his salty sweet cum flooding her tongue. Completely turned on, she rubbed herself with one hand and grabbed his dick with the other, stroking him harder to milk him to the last drop. His deep, throaty groan broke her all over again, plummeting her into another incredible orgasm, brought on by the sheer power of his.

Josh's chest heaved as he watched her slap his dick on her open tongue, coated white with his release. He then ordered in a husky voice, "Swallow it."

Malia obeyed heartily, slipping his cum down her throat then gently sucked him off for a couple of seconds, moaning softly from the unique taste of him mixed with her. Josh fought off the urge to nudge his dick deeper into her mouth and pulled away to lie down next to her. The realization of what had just happened must have hit both of them at the same time, because with one glance at each other, they burst out laughing.

"Damn," was all she had the energy to utter, allowing him to pull her against him as their joint laughter rumbled between them. He fucked the shit out of her. She felt like a brand new woman, even now, as he ran his hands all over her body, gifting her with a breathless kiss to her succulent lips. "I guess Lina's plan worked," she giggled, snuggling against him.

"Yeah," Josh agreed, his features suddenly serious as he carefully tucked a loose piece of her hair back underneath her scarf. "I ain't like how you be pushin' me away, Malia," he grumbled, "Don't be scared of us and what we got."

Not for the first time, she wished she'd been brave enough to express her true feelings. "It's not you I'm scared of... I'm scared of us falling apart if we become serious, and I don't wanna live without you," she confessed.

Josh chuckled and pressed his mouth to each of her palms. "You already can't," he smirked.

She rolled her eyes good-naturedly and smacked his arm. "You don't gotta agree."

"It's the truth though. But like I said, I love you and I'm not going anywhere. I mean that," he promised.

Hearing those three words from him again made her feel all giddy inside. "I love you, too," she whispered, smiling softly against his lips when he dropped a tender kiss to hers.

"How long's it been since we last fucked?" he inquired.

Two months and three weeks, but who was counting? "Couple of months," she answered, keeping it cool.

"Shame on us. I think we can make up for it, right?"

Malia raised an eyebrow when he started to crawl down her body, sprinkling butterfly kisses down her belly until his head was between her legs. Her body flushed with need. "You know we need to go to bed, right?" she questioned, her fingers sneaking into his hair despite her half-hearted protest.

"I know. But this pretty pussy is callin' my name." He winked at her and bit gently on her inner thigh, dangerously close to her throbbing treasure, soothing the skin with a wet lick. Her keening moan was all he needed to hear. "Now lay your sexy ass back and let Daddy eat."

And with that, he bent his head and spread his mouth over her, wiping every rational thought she owned with mind blowing pleasure.

THE END

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

So...did you like it?

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vinelark · 4 months

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what r some fics that shaped your psyche? you have so many good recs im currently rereading the to an athlete dying young series

hello! you sent me this ask ages ago and i've been meaning to get to it ever since. (it took me so long to answer that i'm sure you've reread to an athlete dying young by @sonosvegliato many times over by now but hell yeah, what a good one.)

these are a few fics--dc and beyond--that have been in my "in case of emergency" epub folder (aka fics i want to have on hand immediately to reread on bad days, or good days, or even average days) for a few years now. so here is an extremely incomplete list of fics that have shaped my psyche!

for dc specifically--if i tried to list all of them i would just end up repeating my whole fic rec tag, so these are just a few of the ones i read when i was getting into this fandom that stayed with me/made me want to seek out more for these characters:

📸 surveillance series by @smilebackwards

this series located the tim drake center of my brain and lit it up like the vegas strip.

🎒 like a hinge, like a wing by @bonesbuckleup

one of my go-to rereads for pangs; chapter one is a masterclass in tension. also, one of my favorite pre-robin tim pov fics of all time.

💻 nominal by @unpretty

"you don't get it, batman is a comedy" --conversation i've had with multiple people using this fic as my thesis statement.

🌃 the jingle jangle morning by @audreycritter

the moment somebody in my vicinity says "i love dick grayson" i'm on their doorstep with this fic url.

🚉 a meditation on railroading by @eggmacguffin

there's a moment in this fic known among my friends as "baby wipes jason" and it has successfully converted no less than three people to the fandom.

and then for non-dc fic:

🌌 atlas by @megafaunatic (mdzs & tgcf)

did i read this before i had a single clue who the characters were? yes. did i return to it once i did and lose my mind a little? yes. lore etymologyplayground writes that “so so so in love and pining so hard the lines between us are blurring and we haven’t made a move yet but it’s inevitable” flavor with such a deft hand; it is in fact called the lorezone. if any friends-to-lovers pining i write can achieve even 50% of a lorezone i will have done my job.

🪿 If they caught you by @feyburner (tgcf)

i go back to this when i think about setup and payoff, when i think about subtle misdirects, when i think about the monumental task of creating whole compelling new characters in 6k words.

🧪 away childish things by lettered (hp)

one of the best de-aging trope stories i've ever read; i think of this when i want to take a trope to its maximum potential and then go: no wait, there's even more.

(another fav de-aging fic is grow by @cafecliche; shorter plot but no less pangs 🌱)

🏡 in defiance of all geometry by @idiopath-fic-smile (les mis)

a fic that's a perfect reread when i need something cozy and full of character, and a perfect touchstone when i'm pondering something where the world may not hang in the balance but the stakes still matter.

📔 The Absolutely True Story of the Yiling Patriarch: A Manifesto in Many Parts by aubreyli (cql/mdzs)

paragon of metahumor, basically. i think of this when i want to write something that's funny in both text and form.

🍚 and his wanting grows teeth by @yuebings (cql/mdzs)

masterclass in pangy backstory reveal; the way the first scene loops back around to punch you in the gut long after you've forgotten it will forever be seared into my brain.

also, most answers on this list fit the bill!

(apologies again that this answer is so belated; it took me ages to write up partially because i kept stopping to reread these fics every time i tried.)

#also sorry for not having any consistent formatting in my reclists #i tagged authors whose tumblrs i know/are linked to ao3! happy to remove the tag if anyone prefers #fic rec #asks #batfam

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itwasthereaminuteago · 1 year

Text

|| Probably Nothing ||

Frank Castle x female reader

Tags/warnings: pet names, kissing, grinding, intense fingering.

Here's the plot I couldn't write. 🤣 This one goes out to all my Frank girlies who just need a break. ❤️

You've already had a shit day, and coming home to be greeted by the sight of Frank lounging on the couch with his big dirty boots resting on the coffee table is just one fucking annoying thing too far. You grit your teeth as you throw your stuff in a pile on the floor before stalking over to him.

"Hi sweetheart, how was your day?"

"Off!" You snap at him, your face like brewing thunder.

He doesn't move his feet, just looks at you for a second, reading your expression, considering.

"Okay. That good huh?"

You kick at his boot, not in the mood for games. "Get them off the fucking table, Frank."

He lifts his legs down one at a time. You spin on your heel but before your can move Frank leans out slipping his arm around your waist and yanking you off your feet and into his lap.

"Fuck off Frank! I've got shit to do, let me go!" You hiss.

He keeps his arms snug around you as you're facing him, just tight enough that you can't struggle against and away from his ridiculous strength.

"An I'll let ya get right to it in a minute darlin', but there's something I gotta do first."

You huff and hmph as you finally quit wriggling around realising you're getting nowhere, the warmth of his embrace starting to penetrate through the armour of your bad mood.

"What? What is it?" You demand, annoyed that he's just smiling up at you with that big dumb face of his.

He answers your question with a little peck on your cheek, that's it, just a quick chaste kiss and he's back studying you again. You scowl at him, unmoved.

"Frank… c'mon I don't have time for this."

He cocks his head and hmms before kissing you again on the cheek three more times. He's softer with it, taking his time, moving his mouth closer to yours with each kiss. You turn your head to say something but the words are halted, smooshed to a muffled mumble as he captures your lips in his. The kiss is still so soft, his bottom lip brushing your top one, the slightest bit of tongue flicking up, just testing the waters.

You sigh and he starts to reel you in, taking advantage of the prickly guard you've let down, kissing you so very tenderly as he feels your body gradually begin to loosen in his hold. He tugs gently on your lower lip with his teeth before licking over it and you open up slightly for him as his hand comes to caress your lower jaw. His kiss goes a little deeper now, soft sighs escaping you between the teases of his tongue against yours. But now you don't want teasing, you want more. Every so often he'll break off the kiss, his eyes flicking up to meet yours and he'll smile. Then you realise you're smiling back.

"Mm, oh I think we might be gettin' somewhere." He decides before weaving his fingers through your hair and guiding you back to his gorgeous mouth. You shift in his lap, legs spreading either side of his own and he helps you, his free hand skimming over the curves of your body as he's kissing you deep again. Small sounds begin to float in the air between you, soft encouraging ones from him, and contented moans from you. You slide your hands up and down his chest, and he chuckles at the minute rocking movements you're making with your hips.

"Yeah, there we go…" he rumbles against your ear with a grin before he tugs your lobe then caresses that sweet spot below it with his lips.

"Frank…"

His big hands wander all over your body, kneading at the fullness of your ass, sliding up to your waist, and massaging your tits through your pretty summer dress. He manhandles you to turn around, your back against his chest. Confusion crosses your face but he kisses it away and everything's forgotten as he lifts up the hem of your dress and starts rubbing his thick fingers up and down your pussy through the soft cotton of your panties. All the while he keeps kissing the column of your neck, occasionally gently holding your jaw in his fingers to turn your head so he can plunge his tongue into your wanting mouth.

He hums with satisfaction as you grind back on his crotch, keeps on stroking you until you're whining, almost soaking completely through your underwear with how pent up and horny he's got you now.

"Shhhh, s'alright. I got all night to make you feel good ain't I, baby?"

You automatically nod, lax in his arms as he lazily circles your throbbing clit through the fabric.

"Mnh, Frank, please-"

His scruff rubs against your face as he peppers kisses along your jaw and down your neck while he squeezes your breast, pinching and rubbing at your peaked nipple making you squeak in need and frustration.

"I know, I know. You good now, feelin' better?" he asks, as if it's not obvious that your shitty mood has all but dissipated into dust. You shake your head as you lean back against his shoulder, thighs spreading wider in anticipation of him giving you what you need.

"Aw you need more sweets? Yeah…" he pulls the damp crotch of your panties to the side and you're writhing as he runs a thick finger between your glistening pussy lips. He adds another, gathering and spreading your arousal over your core. He taps at the little swollen bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs and gives your pussy a slap causing you to buck your hips up with a yelp.

"Good girl," he drawls as the slick pads of his fingers drum over your clit and you moan.

When he finally stops teasing and slides his middle two fingers inside, you call out his name in a pathetic needy little whine.

"Frankie!"

"Mmhm." He responds as he slowly fucks you with them, massaging the very depths of you as he curls them. He keeps playing with your tits as he plays with your cunt, and you're so fucking turned on and wet you're dripping over his hand as he amps up the pace. You can't shut up, mewls and moans echoing around the apartment along with the sloppy wet noises from Frank thrusting his fingers in and out of you so hard and fast you think you could come from just that.

"Yeah, that's it baby, my dirty fuckin' princess." He growls next to your ear as he feels your inner walls gripping around him. "Attagirl. You let go f'me, just let go pretty girl, let me hear you, lemme hear my pretty girl come."

Your legs are shaking, pushing up off of him, up off the couch but he's got you, he's always got you. Embarrassingly loud squelching sounds only add to the mess you're making as you're leaking all over the crotch of his jeans. He's fucking you so fast and filthy, bringing his other hand down to rub your engorged clit and it feels so fucking good. You're so close to coming, you can feel the giant, impending monster wave of it rising higher and higher until finally, it reaches its peak…

Your orgasm floods through you, your hips jerking hard as Frank keeps on pushing his fingers in and out as you're pulsing around them, gradually slowing down as he follows your body's movements. You gasp and curse some more, your ribcage expanding and contracting like you've just run a marathon.

"Uhhhh, ohgodohgodohfuck- Fraaank! I'm gonna- I'm gonna-!"

When the last aftershocks fade you finally still, and Frank slowly, carefully withdraws, sucking the sodden digits into his mouth and licking them clean.

"Okay. You can go do your stuff now."

You lay limp on him, completely, utterly, and literally fucked out. it takes you a couple of minutes to get your brain back in gear.

"I- I don't remember what I was gonna do…"

Frank just smiles and kisses the side of your face. "Probably nothin' important then."

You hum in agreement, closing your eyes as you continue to catch your breath, your entire body still vibrating with bliss.

"Yeah, probably nothing."

😉

#frank castle smut #frank castle x female reader #frank castle fic

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kitmon · 1 year

Text

Oh Yeah, That's Right | Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: Newly graduated, you and Eddie take a trip to Lover's Lake to celebrate.

Pairing: Eddie Munson (Stranger Things, 2022) x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 9.3k

Tags: smut (18+ only), porn with a lot of plot but I promise it's worth it, drug use (weed), skinny dipping, swimming while intoxicated (don't do this, you will die), sex out in the open, Eddie is kinda a perv but that's just his way of flirting with reader, unprotected sex, Eddie refers to reader as "Pigeon" or "Pidge," it's just a nickname

Author’s Note: I've had this fic in mind since last June and omg I'm so excited to share this! It definitely is a labor of love and something that I wanted to be really good, especially since it is my first smut piece for Eddie (which is wild considering I've loved him for an entire year already) but I am very very proud and I hope that you enjoy it just as much as I do. Also, a big thanks to my bestie @queenimmadolla for beta reading and leaving me the most hilarious notes ever, I love you! And with all that said, enjoy!

The crunch of gravel under your boots is ambient bliss to your ears. Accompanied by the soft ebb and flow of the lake’s tide, the sound of untouched nature; the crickets and the cicadas, the skittering of small paws and the flustered flutter of birds and nocturnal creatures of the night frightened by the stuttering of your breath, taken by the glittering sight of Lover’s Lake at twilight, all glowing with the beams of the moon. Water striders glide across the liquid black mirror, the ripples in the water look like they carry diamonds on the crests of their waves before simmering into smaller crystals that turn fluid and slip between the gaps in the pebbles to return to their home.

Eddie cuts through the silence of your appreciation with the harsh slam of his door, causing your shoulders to tense and your head to turn to look over the hood at him, his lithe frame strutting towards you as the corner of his lips reach for the dips in his cheeks.

His voice is deep and lilting as he speaks to you, “Told you I knew a spot.”

“Lover’s Lake isn’t a ‘spot,’ anyone over 16 and horny knows about Lover’s Lake,” you retort, eyes remaining unimpressed as he sidles up beside you.

“Well, would you look at that?” He teases as he spreads his arms out and studies himself in front of you.

You giggle, pushing your fingers into his chest and sending him back a step as you ignore him, walking towards the edge of the water. Your boots give way under the clacking stones before you shift your weight, crouching down with your arm around your knees as you pick at what the tide brings in; the forgotten shell homes of gastropods, the algae that grounds itself to the heaviest rocks and sways with the movement of the water like blades of grass in the gusts of April. You submerge your hand into the water and wrap your fingers around the flattest stone you can find, the water teasing the hem of your sweater.

As Eddie’s heavy, less than subtle steps approach you from behind, you stand with a bit of effort as your unpracticed joints groan, examining the grey, marbled layers of the rock before leaning back and launching it over the water before it plops once, twice, three times before sinking on its fourth splash. Eddie whistles low and your head turns to watch him, all haughty hip-jut and sass-laced hands over sides.

“Not bad, Pidge.” He leans down and doesn’t even study hard before snatching a rock. “Not bad at all,” he mumbles before tossing it with an imperceptible flick of his wrist. The soft-edged stone sails over the water, jumping in six skips, effortlessly beating out your measly three.

“Show off,” you chastise with an unbothered smile as you stock off to where the grit of the shore is lessened by the flatness of the rocks, sitting gracefully before falling to your back to watch the unperturbed night sky glisten with smatterings of light that twinkle and wink down at you. Eddie falls beside you, grunting as he attempts to make himself comfortable over the uneven terrain. You sigh through your nose and turn to look at him.

“Now what?” You question.

He looks down the length of himself, pursing his lips as he takes a minute to inspect the journey from his chest down to his crotch, before turning to meet your eyes, a playful glint in the dark abyss of his own, “Wasn’t kidding when I said I was horny.”

“Not gonna happen,” you smile, matching his mischief as you place your arms behind your head.

He pouts in faux disappointment before brightening again, “Well, darn, then it’s a good thing I brought this to pass the time.”

He reaches his hand into the denim of his pocket, struggling against the tight fit before brandishing a crumpled joint that had been stuffed away inside. You sit up with him and laugh in your throat as you watch him clumsily try to straighten it back out. The pink muscle of his tongue peeks out past the seam of his lips as he rolls the joint over the meat of his thigh like he’s thinning out pasta. Once it’s decent enough to smoke he brings it to his lips and mumbles out around it, “Would you do me the honor?”

“Why, of course I could, Sir Dumbass-ington,” you tease with a jaunty shake of your head before reaching into your pocket, digging through your miscellaneous trinkets of gum wrappers, a pocket knife, and chapstick, silver flashing with the white light of the moon once you procure the boxy Zippo. There are vulgar engravings along the side, a relic of your father’s time in Vietnam now used to light Edward’s crinkly joint. You flip open the lighter with a satisfying clink, your faces suddenly shrouded in yellow, carving out the hollows and defining the angles of your faces as you lean it towards him. He dips the end of it into the flame, tutting at it while the stark light draws your attention to the soft slant of his nose, the whetted cut of his cheekbones, the hollow of his cupid's bow all puckered out as he sucks at the cigarette. He huffs in a good breath and, with voice strained, he declares, “Fuck, that’s some good shit,” coughing at the end of it as he hits at his chest.

“Well, don’t go hogging it all,” you laugh, reaching for the jay which he passes to you without complaint. Pinched between soft-tipped fingers, eyes closed, you sip at it and let the warmth of oncoming inebriation roam without restraint, the smooth burn of your throat oddly soothing and a relaxant that tames the tense energy within your muscles. You release it, hiccuping a puff of smoke before pushing it out past your lips where it floats up in waves of nihonga-like wisps, curling and uncurling before being swept up by the breeze where it sprints through the needles of pine trees and over the unbothered surface of the lake.

He watches the way the tendrils float past your puckered lips, puffed out in a sensual ‘o’ before they’re consumed by a stupid grin that pushes against the fat of your cheeks and causes your eyes to squint, all too endearing as the last dregs of smoke seep from where they can through the gaps of your teeth. You giggle as you pass it back to him, trying but uncaring of your failure to hide it behind grunts of fake throat clearing. He smiles at you, your incompetent subtlety comical, childish amusement infectious.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, eyeing the joint for a moment before bringing it to his lips for another deep hit.

“It’s just,” you cut yourself off with another stunted giggle, “I could be eating mushroom risotto in a clean, crimson booth, sipping on champagne while my good ol’ Papa raises his glass and nods his head at me and says,” you deepen your voice and make your features stony, squaring your shoulders and puffing your chest, “‘we’re so proud of you, sweetie’ before tipping his glass back to three ‘hip, hip, hoo-rah’s.”

As you finish, you gently take the joint from him, savoring the image of the thick appendages cradling it between deft fingers as you bring it to your mouth and inhale, your shoulders rising with the movement, gathering like a frozen rubber band before slackening as the hashish thaws you free. You simper on the exhale, jolting with a few coughs through your nose as you try to cover your smile with your hand, the other examining the unironed creases in the rolling paper, “Instead, I’m smoking a squished joint in the dark, sitting on warm-ish gravel, with you.”

You bring your legs into you, tying your ankles together with the weight of your palm in your criss-crossed position as he settles the heels of his hands back into the rocks to prop himself up. You move into his space, leaning over him as you tilt your head to reach his level and emphasize your question, “Why is that?”

His lips are barely curled in a tempered smile as he takes his turn with the doobie, rolling his lips in to lick at them before clarifying for you, “‘Cause you love me,” a breath of hemp-tainted air, “duh.”

It’s laced with boyish charm, a sort of supercilious confidence that floats along the shreds of his exhaled fumes, the jab washing over him like dribbles of water gliding down the waxy feathers of a duck’s back, flicking his head and sending the droplets flying like diving hawks back into the water. It’s the kind of breezy personality that only draws you closer, impressed by his ability to pick up on the minute insinuations between each line of dialogue, enough to know that all you could ever want is to be near him.

“Oh yeah.” It's spoken as if you really did need the reminder as you smile that dopey smile, the fuzzy, assuaged feeling of the drug settling into that saturated calm in your chest as you finish with grin-impaired words, “that’s right.”

The roach is all but a barely-there nub anymore, leached at until the brown-grey paper and bud are dispersed in speckles of crumbly ash across the lake-beach. Your muddled mind, though preoccupied with your earlier thought of Eddie’s ringed fingers, registers the minimal amount left and compels you to pick it up between index and thumb. Eddie, just as stoned as you, gives easily, the joint falling into your dainty fingers just the same as you mumble, decisively, “I get the last hit.”

Despite having the joint in your hand, you move forward, one hand bracing you as you lean over his torso. His fingers hover around yours, not protective but seemingly as a product of his dazedness. He watches you, taking in the way your lashes brush the hill of your cheek as you close them, the slow-motion way your plush lips wrap around the paper, your cheeks hollowing as you suck. The embers at the end glow a violent crimson before crumbling to the rocks where they burn out into white ash. You hold the smoke in your mouth, your throat burning with the prolonged presence of the joint’s exhaust as you turn to face Eddie, eyes half lidded and mind running on autopilot. You don’t need to ask, he already understands, parting his lips for you as you close in, tilting your head before releasing the smoke into his mouth. You can feel the heat of his face radiating against your cheeks and lips, the tip of your nose brushing along the side of his own. Your lips are less than a centimeter apart, a hair’s width away from brushing as the smoke curls through the space left between you, catching in Eddie’s mouth.

Once it all leaves you in a hot exhale, you flick the charred butt into the rocks and turn to flop onto your back, the rubble, though dense, cushions you with rounded edges and eroded stone faces, soft to the touch. You relax beside Eddie who does the same, laying back with his arms cushioning his head, having closed his mouth, exhaling the smoke through his nose like Smaug perched above his mountain of treasures.

He hums, satisfied and made to feel all warm inside, the gentle sound of your exhale accompanying him before he asks, “Wanna play a game?”

That makes you smile; he couldn’t just enjoy the silence, it had to be filled with banter or grandiose speeches or ‘games’ but you decide to bite, amused by him always.

“Depends,” you sigh, “what game?”

There’s an impish pause where, through the lapse in conversation, you can hear the smirk playing on his lips.

“Truth or strip?” He turns his head towards you, and you follow, admiring the way his smile seems so uninhibited, roguish with his insinuation. You know it’s in poor taste to tease but you go on anyway.

“Mm,” you pretend to deliberate, pursing your lips from side to side, before giving in. “Okay.”

His eyes light up with perverted hope, or more so astonishment at your agreement, mouth morphing from an awed slacken jaw to a lopsided grin. He moves to speak but you’re quick in intercepting him, “What do I get when I win?”

It’s back to astonishment, turning to lean on his forearm and gaze down at you, his eyebrows shooting up as he releases a disbelieving chuckle, “When you win?”

“Mm-hmm.” Undeterred, you go on, trying on his haughty nature for a change, “What do I get?”

“Well, in the incredibly unlikely occurrence that you do win, I’ll…”

He trails off, huffing a breath up that rouses his bangs, looking towards the sky for an answer strung somewhere in midnight thread, spelling it out for him behind the stars. He must find one there as he turns, benign grin aimed down at you that scrambles your chest with tender feelings that you force yourself to swallow down with a subtle bob of your throat and the added issue of a suddenly dry mouth.

“I’ll buy you that Cure album you’ve been wanting since August, even though the lead singer is a whiny little—”

You press your thumb over his lips, preventing him from finishing.

“I refuse to allow anymore of this Robert Smith slander,” you protest, removing your hand to tuck it back under your head. “You’re just jealous that he’s so attractive without even having to try,” you swoon.

“Careful,” he rolls his eyes at you, teasing, “don’t want any of that lipstick to ruin that pretty face of makeup you’ve got on.” He says this while trailing his index finger over the contour of your jaw, tickling your skin before you squinch up your face and rub your cheek to your shoulder to shoo him away.

“Ya know,” you roll over with a grunt to prop your head up on your hand while you lie on your side, “there’s something sexy about a man confident enough in his masculinity to wear lipstick.”

“Got any on you right now?” He asks, leaning closer, “Wanna test that theory?” He puckers his lips up and makes towards you. You waste no time in intercepting his tirade with your palm, lips connecting with gravel-roughened skin before you push his face away.

Dismissing the way he falls back to the ground dramatically, arms spread, and tongue lolled out as if your push was enough to seriously injure him, you redirect the conversation back to the initial topic.

“Okay, truth or strip,” you remind, mostly speaking to yourself and ruminating on the raunchiness of the idea, puffing a laugh out your nose as you wonder just what may have influenced it. “Seems like someone’s been taking a few too many trips behind the velvet curtain at Family Video but I’ll humor this,” you point a finger at him, raising your brows and lowering your chin as you eye him, “you’re lucky I’m stoned enough to play along.”

You start to hum out your first question before Eddie halts you, “Woah, woah, woah! We didn’t discuss what I’d be getting if I won.”

“Well, the reason we didn’t bring it up is because that’ll never happen,” you say, cheeky grin pushing against your cheeks as you press your finger to his chest where he glances down only to be met with your pointer finger flicking up against his nose.

He wrinkles his nose before bringing his hand up to rub at it, sniffing when his thumb swipes at it, going on to insist with a nasally filter.

“Well, since you’re in a pandering mood, indulge me.”

“Okay, fine, I guess we can play pretend for a second,” you say with a minx-ish smile before flopping on your back again with an ‘oomph’ rattling up from your throat, dissolving into a hum as you play with your lips. You pull the puffy bottom one down with the tip of your finger before releasing it, the fat bouncing back into place before you speak.

“If you win, I’ll buy you a new pair of Reeboks.”

“What’s wrong with my Reeboks?” He asks incredulously, looking down the length of his body towards his scuffed, dirt-stained sneakers, the stitching all but frayed and loose, the soles uneven with wear.

“You’ve needed new shoes since March, God knows what you got up to during spring break that you fucked ‘em up so bad.”

He ignores your suggestion and offers up his own, “That just won’t do, how about, instead...”

He’s tilting his head to look down the length of your body, not lecherously though that wouldn’t be out of the question for Eddie, but almost as an excuse to hide the bashful tinge in his features.

“You let me take you out on a date? A real date. Not movie night but, like, dinner in that crimson booth you wanted with that fucking mushroom rice or whatever.”

“Risotto,” you correct him with an endeared smile.

“Risotto,” he nods.

The words don’t read as pushy, never pushy. Never entitled or expectant, just gleaming with that curious lift in the eyebrows and a hopeful shimmer in his smile. You mirror a similar girlish crinkle in the corner of your eyes, lips pulled at the edges as you speak, kind and gilded with the softest tone.

“Okay.” It’s so merciful that the vowels get swallowed by the click of the consonants.

Coming to an agreement, you sit up, shuffling a bit to sit with your knees brought up and secured with the linking of your hand over your wrist, Eddie following in the silent shift of bodies rattling grey and brown stones.

You sigh a breath through your nose that untenses your shoulders and relieves the pressure in your head a bit, bringing a lazy twitch of your lips as you ask, “Alright, who goes first?”

He flicks at a pebble on the ground, pouting out his bottom lip in thought as it skips in ‘tick, tick, ticks.’

“Rock, paper, scissors?” You nod and offer your fist, settled over the platter of your palm, Eddie doing the same before the barely audible pat of your hand against the other indicates a ‘one, two, three, shoot.’ He settles on rock, your gentle palm hovering in paper. You smile and gently drape it over his curled hand before he says, “Alright, fair and square, go ahead.”

You remove your hand as you tuck both under your bum before continuing in an unsure buzz, “Hmm, okay, the grossest place you’ve ever hooked up.”

He blows out a raspberry that trills his lips. “Easy! the men’s bathroom at The Hideout, second to last stall,” he gives easily, no hesitance, “Gotta try harder than that to win.”

It’s his turn and he squints down at the ground as he thinks before shooting his question, “Alright, most recent porn rental.”

You worry your lip, chewing at the corners and tearing at the chapped skin there. It feels too early to cave and for such an inconsequential question no less, but you know that if Eddie found out about the George Michael lookalike tape hidden between your box spring and your mattress right now, he would never, in a million years, ever let it go, so you figure you can spare a layer in favor of the never-ending humiliation you’d suffer.

You huff as you lean down to begin tugging at the laces of your boots but he tuts, “Shoes don’t count.”

You scoff, “Since when?”

“We’ll be here forever if every unimportant article of clothing counts!” He explains with his arms spread at his side, dramatics on full display.

“You got a hot date sometime soon?” You counter with a lifted brow.

“Look, I’ll take mine off too so it’s fair,” he concedes, pulling at the laces of his ruined shoes. You sigh before continuing to pull your boots off, tossing them aside. You roll your socks off as well, tucking them inside your shoes so they don’t get lost in the dark.

Your toes flex, curling and extending without being encumbered, taking a moment to embrace the feeling under the pads of your feet, savoring the warmth that emanates from the erosion-softened stones. The rocks have been baked by the rays of the midday sun, cooling now that she’s hidden behind the jagged horizon of pine trees. Your fingers tease the hem of your sweater, ticking over the threads before you grip it and pull it over your head. Your modesty remains intact, though, by the white underlayer you wear. You spit your next question out with hardly any hesitation, “Last thing you masturbated to.”

He blanches under the white light of the moon, lips splitting apart. The momentary surprise on his face is colored by the flushing of his features and the attempted diversion of his throat clearing where he points his finger and eyes you with a look that reads ‘well, just you listen here…’ before it fizzles out as he decides against it. He compresses his lips, shaking his head and sighing as he starts to shrug both his vest and his leather jacket off, laying them over the rocks, the water creeping close to one of the splayed sleeves, teasing the faded and worn-out leather. Your lips curl, impressed for having got to him.

It goes on like this for 20 minutes, invasive question after invasive question while garments continue to be strewn across the lakeside— belts undone with clinking clasps, buttons popped, shirts tossed to the side— until you’re both dressed only in your underwear. You’d think you’d both have the idea to be embarrassed being so exposed to the other but the both of you find it no different than when you go to the public pool dressed in bikini and swim shorts, though, to be fair, the fabric is much thinner than the nylon of your stringy swimwear and the way his milky skin glows under the celestial curtain of May is much different than when it burns in June.

It’s Eddie’s turn as soon as he shucks off his black jeans, pale white chest and slender legs displayed with each clumsy wiggle of his feet. After nearly tripping twice over the denim, he grabs the garment and yanks them off from where they’re tangled with his toes, aggressively attempting to chuck them away but, with all his exertion, they flop to the floor with a pitiful ‘plop.’ You snort at his exaggerated display, laughing as he sits back down, leaning over on his elbow like a French muse lazed out on a chaise sofa; sultry, alluring, calling out like a siren with the way he exhibits the entire length of his body unabashedly. His breaths are heavy— that’s what draws your attention back to the present— mixed with his shared laughter as he trains his challenging gaze on you, all suppressed titterings hidden behind loose lips, aiming to get you on the same level as him; one item left.

“Thought you were clever with that last one, hmm? Alright, what sounds do you make when you’re doing it?”

You laugh a choked, disbelieving noise at the audacity of the question, “You think you’re gonna pull a fast one on me, you perv?”

“Answer the question, why don’t you,” he implores, voice unconcerned with your accusation, that obnoxiously cocksure grin backing you into a corner.

You narrow your eyes at him, scrunching your nose in petulant defiance before you falter in a histrionic groan of peevishness, rocking back while your legs are crisscross before leaning back forward to tell him, “I’m not gonna give you the satisfaction.”

What’s supposed to be stern becomes watered down with the way a smile is twisting your attempted snarl and Eddie remains just as calm as before, eyes becoming thin with the joy he gets from seeing you like this, all frisky and playfully mad at him. Oh, and half-naked, that makes him very happy.

You sigh, giving in to his hair-brained ploy as you reach back to undo the hook of your bra, fingers gliding over scratchy lace trimming and the creamy texture of the satin as you release the bond. The underwear falls limp over your chest, no longer supported and, as Eddie watches on, eyes vacantly focusing on the expanse of silken flesh beneath your collarbones as his tongue tempts the chapped skin of his lips, you stop yourself from sliding it the rest of the way over your arms.

“Turn around,” you order, eyes stern.

“What?” He exclaims like someone has just committed a heinous wrong against him. “Come on! It’s just getting good.

“We never said anything about exposing ourselves,” you defend, maintaining your resolve. “Now turn around!” He grumbles but complies, scooting over the gravel until his back is to you and his hands are covering his eyes for good measure. He can hear the way the article flops to the floor as you toss it away, the atmospheric noise of your fidgeting and shifting is euphoric white sound to his ears as he imagines the way your ungainly arms and legs move with your undress. It’s a few more moments of shuffling before silence is restored.

“Okay,” it’s spoken with an underlying quiver, “You can look.”

He turns back to you with some awkward swiveling and finds you with your arms crossed over your chest, your knees brought up for extra coverage as your ankles cross over each other to protect his eyes from your area below. Your face is sheepish, lips twitching in anxious occupation as your eyes focus on your lacquered toenails to keep from finding his own stare.

His face morphs into, what was originally a giddied smile into a sympathetic gaze, features concerned with your sudden timidity. “We don’t have to keep playing, you know?” He tells you, more occupied with your comfort than any boyish fantasy.

“No, no, I’m okay, I swear.” You look up at him wide eyed before shaking your head to convey your fortitude. You straighten your back and take a breath to steady yourself, your once skittish expression softening as you lean closer to him and confide, “I trust you, Eddie.”

He beams at you, touched by your credence in him. “Not to mention, I totally need to smoke you in this game and crush that ego of yours.”

That amorous radiance at the center of his chest is smothered by your taunt and he rolls his eyes as he urges you to continue, “Yeah, yeah, now are you going to ask me a question or are you going to keep being a big sap?”

You giggle with your next query, “Okay, how big are you? Down there?”

He grins at the question and raises his brows, “Didn’t your mother ever tell you that curiosity killed the cat?”

You match his overdone eye roll before pressing him, “Just answer the question.”

He maintains his Cheshire-ish impression as he thinks on it before admitting, “A bit over six inches. Something like that.”

“Mmm,” you hum, a moderate expression relaxing over your features as you shoot him a level headed grin, “‘something like that?’”

“Don’t believe me?” He challenges, eyebrows shooting up in his bluff.

“Oh, I believe you,” you giggle at the tail end of your words before caving to your levity, laughing through your punchline, “believe that you’re full of shit!”

He acts mock-offended, choking on his words as he scoffs and sputters, placing a hand over his bare chest, “I have just about the right mind to lose on purpose and wipe that so-sure smile off your face.”

“Please do, that record will look absolutely lovely with the rest of my collection.”

“Hmm,” he twists his lips as he eyes you with a squinted stare, “unluckily for you, I’m of the least sound mind right now so the game’s still on, sweetheart.” It’s a dare spoken as he invades your space, so close that you can feel the heat of his words over your cheeks, his eyes darting to your lips with the endearment. Your smug exterior hardly falters as you counter, “And I still plan on winning.”

He leans back, licking the enamel of his canine as he lets his eyes rove over your nearly exposed figure before asking, “Your biggest insecurity.”

Your pleased act falls away at the question as you roll your lips in, scrunching up the side of your face in displeasure before you figure that the vulnerability of the answer is less of an expense than being fully exposed in the dead of night with your best friend.

“Maybe how much I need the attention and validation of others.” It looks like admitting that causes you physical pain as your face is contorted into all sorts of wincing motifs.

“It’s embarrassing to have to say that out loud,” you whisper into your knees as you lean forward into them, the joints obstructing your lips as you go on. “Especially to you, ‘cause, like, nothing gets to you.”

“Hey, woah,” he stops you in your tracks at the inaccurate perception of him, “Who said nothing ever gets to me?”

You cock your head at him as you send him a look that asks ‘really?’

“C’mon, Pigeon, you know me better than that,” he encourages as he gently knocks your leg with his fist, rocking you with the impact. “That whole standing on tables and dungeon master shit, it’s just a front.”

You bite your lip at the admission, suddenly feeling inadequate with your assumption.

“I mean, yeah, most of it’s like one ear out the other but when it’s something real, that’s the kinda shit that hits deep.”

“You just seem so,” you struggle for the words, twisting your hands about before you find it, “Unbothered.”

“Yeah, well, I just do that to impress you,” he laughs at the ground, watching as his pointer finger twiddles with one of his discarded rings over the lining of his jacket.

You smile at his sudden demureness, leaning forward as best as you can with your legs folded up against you to capture his cheek in your hand and lift his gaze to you. He’s got that sudden starstruck look in his eyes, where they go all big and glassy and his beautifully full lips part as he stares up at you like you’ve emerged from the sky, twinkling in moondust and star particles.

“If you shed a tear once and a while when around me, I’d be even more impressed.” You rub your thumb over the thin, discolored skin under his eye, purple and green from lack of rest. The corner of his mouth ticks up as he moves to look down again at his set of jewelry, lengthy lashes kissing the very tops of his cheeks as a warm hue spottily decorates his skin. The movement displaces your hand before you bring it back around your legs, happy with your effect on him; capable of shutting up the biggest attention whore this side of the Mississippi.

You disrupt the silence with your next question, “If you knew you were to go to sleep tonight and not wake up in the morning, what’s one thing you’d regret not saying?”

His eyes glow as they flit up to you, taking away from his fiddling before that same reticent smile takes over and you’ve stupefied him once more. He laughs a breathy sound, a bit embarrassed, before he stands up and clears his throat.

“Alright, you know the deal,” his hands are on his hips, still maintaining that underlying sass, “turn around.”

A giant grin overhauls your features, “I won?”

“Yeah, you won.” His stare is soft and enamored as he gazes down at you, looking almost delighted to have lost if it meant he was able to see that precious stretch of your lips over your teeth and the choice twinkle in your eyes. “Now turn around.”

You giggle as you tuck your head into your knees, the sound carrying, though muffled, from where you’re burrowed. You can hear the way he balances from one foot to the other while he extricates himself from his final article of clothing, the rocks under his feet clicking with his distributed weight. You shriek as you feel him shoot his boxers at you, scrambling to toss them off of you while he tells you, “Open your eyes, butthead.”

Your tee-heeing filters off into throaty huffs once you’ve gotten the offending item off before looking back at him and falling into a fit all over again. You roll onto your back once you’ve seen him: both hands cupped over his groin to shield your eyes while he fosters a sheepish look over his face, lips curled in.

You straighten, eyes squinted and smile beaming as you ask him through a mirth-induced rasp, “Can we get a little spin?” You twirl your finger with your request, leaning back on one arm while the other stays wrapped around your chest. He kisses his teeth, huffing through his nose before obliging you, shuffling on his feet to do a full round. That only serves in starting you up again, the sight of his protectively clenched ass sending you into another frenzy of uncontrolled witch-like cackles.

“Oh, this is rich,” you sigh, wiping an imaginary tear of gaiety away before you settle back into relative calmness. “Well, now that you’ve been thoroughly humiliated, what now? I’ve still got a buzz going.”

His dismayed pout is replaced by a mischievous grin as he looks out to the dock, not all that far from where you’ve planted yourselves, looking back to you with an expression that nearly worries you with how wickedly no-good it is. Before you can even make out the first syllable of your interrogation, he’s booking it, sprinting along the shoreline, twisting his ankles with the way he slides over the insecure beach front. He’s whooping and hollering, screaming ‘aye, aye, aye, aye’ as his feet clomp over the landing before he jumps off the dock in a gangly flurry of limbs, hitting the surface in a crashing splash that manipulates the water that reaches out for your form, so near the waterside.

You gasp in your throat, hurrying to your feet and chasing after him, tripping once or twice over the rocks before you’re planting yourself at the edge of the dock. Leaning over on your hands and knees, you call for him in a voice that tries to maintain still, “Eddie?”

You give him a moment to reappear, eyes flicking over the water to catch sign of him. He doesn’t respond and an unrelenting tension tightens within your stomach as you grow worried, continuing to scan the water in attempts of deciphering his figure through the murky darkness of the lake.

“Eddie!”

The water opens in front of you with his reappearance, but you barely have any time to feel relief as he leaps up, the feeling taken over by a looming dread as he grabs you by your biceps and pulls you over the edge. You squeal as you tumble to the water before the sound is swallowed whole once you’ve collided with the surface. It’s dark and near unnavigable and the only way you find the bottom is by flailing your legs, shooting yourself up once your feet are able to catch a boulder. You scramble to the surface, sputtering a choked breath between a brief coughing fit. Through the waterlogged fuzziness of your hearing, you can make out Eddie’s booming laugh. You push your sopping hair out of your eyes to regain your sight, though it’s also distorted by water droplets that cling to your lashes, and lunge at him with angry fists and a peeved growl. He’s too swift for you, though, as he snatches your wrists before they can make impact, but what you can’t do with your body you’ll do with your words.

“You ass! I thought you’d gotten hurt and– and you– urgh!” He’s still snickering at the way your cheeks puff out with your labored breathing and how your dampened hair has turned you into what resembles an unhappily drenched cat, but he tries to damper them at the sight of your flaming temper.

“I’m sorry,” he attempts to apologize through the laughter, but you have none of it as you try to pull yourself from his hold, grunting as you yank your arms away from him, but he just ensnares you as he wraps his arms around your waist to keep you nearby. He tries to reason with you, his voice falling into a softer, more understanding tone once he acknowledges your distress, “Hey, I’m sorry, I didn't mean to scare you.”

He’s still smiling, looking down at your tetchy expression while a hand emerges from the water to brush your hair away from your face, petting you before coming back to hold your cheek in his massive hand. You ease with his touch and quit your huffing, though your eyes are still shadowed by the knitting of your brows, darting all across his face, so near and framed by brown, matted strands, made ebony by the lack of light, that stick in tangled swirls across the planes of his face. His bangs drip, disturbing his eyes as he blinks to keep the water out, the droplets landing over his nose and lips.

It’s then that you register the warmth of his hand between your shoulder blades, the heat of his sturdy chest against the plushness of your breasts, nipples pert and skin pebbled from the chill that ran through you from being dunked under. Even further, below that, where you’re still covered by now sopping cotton, you can feel the thick prod of something neat the junction where your vulva meets your thigh and your heart stutters, breath hitching and, suddenly, all you can do is look at Eddie with the same desperate expression he's giving you. His lips are parted, eyes clouded with lust as you take in the clumped length of his eyelashes that flutter with troubling water, the darkness of his brown irises, consumed by want and arousal, the beautiful slope of his nose as it catches the light of the moon, and the glossy plump pink of his lips that draws you closer. It’s all you can do to lean in at the same time he does and press your lips against his and, fuck, if this isn’t what they talk about in John Hughes movies then you don’t know what is.

It just feels… right. Like the final piece of a puzzle clicking into place or the final cassette needed to complete your favorite artist’s discography sliding against all the others on the shelf, leaving no gaps, slotting so perfectly together. You hum into his mouth, dragging your hands up to wrap around his neck, pulling away, not to exchange any words but to tilt your heads to the other side, deepening the smush of your lips. He can hardly contain his yearning as he does his best to bring himself as close to you as possible, nose digging into the softness of your cheek, teeth clipping the gummy flesh of your lips. His tongue begs your approval as it glides against the seam of your lips and you waste no time in allowing him entry, your muscles meeting in the middle, sliding against each other as you taste the herbal tang of weed on him though you’re unsure if there's any delineation between your taste and his as you suck at his bottom lip.

Eddie detaches from the mess of your kiss, saliva stringing between the two of you before it breaks, falling into the mix of water. He connects to the height of your cheek, placing a romantic kiss there that lasts what feels like forever as you sigh, closing your eyes as you take the wrist of the hand that he uses to hold you like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever been lucky enough to touch. He starts trailing sloppy, open-mouthed kisses down your jaw and neck, nipping at the delicate skin occasionally between his love-pecks, laving his tongue over them when you shiver against him.

“Eddie,” you keen in a needy cry, the syllables soft and aching as he holds you to him tight, never letting you dip below the surface as his fingers dimple your skin with his relentless grip as he grows excited. He separates from where he was lavishing your skin in kisses and soothing licks to mutter, “Fuck, I’ve wanted you for so long.” It sounds lost, like he’s not speaking entirely to you, almost talking to himself, like he can hardly believe he’s got you, right here, wanting him back.

“Eddie.” You draw his attention as you thread your fingers into his dripping head of hair, begging, “I need you, Eddie.”

“Fuck, I got you, Pidge,” he pacifies, connecting your lips again, murmuring into your mouth, “‘M always gonna take care of you.”

You cry against him as his hands drift lower to your thighs where he urges you up, hiking your body higher and dragging you against his chest as he carries you, beginning to find purchase on the algae-slick rocks to bring the two of you to shore. He lays you down over his jacket and vest, supporting your head as he rests you there, protecting your back from the gravel, unconcerned with the safety of the treated hide as your more than damp skin connects with the lining and soaks it through.

He’s clumsy, all adolescent vigor and enthusiasm, swallowing every sound you give him, complimenting every curve of your body with the hollow of his palm, tracing the contours of your figure with the calloused pads of his fingers. You’re no better, dragging him closer by the roots of his mane, scratching along the muscle and bone of his back, breathing wanton noises and arching into the divots of his form. When he leaves your mouth, you breathily whimper, feeling his amused chuckle rumble against the tender skin of your neck as he pays the planes of your body all the attention they could ever hope for.

He licks the protrusion of your clavicle, kisses the notch between the bones before lifting himself with his arms and takes in the luscious sight of you; skin dewy, gathered droplets glowing pearly like the diamond stars above, lips swollen and spit-shined thanks to him, breasts heaving with the exertion of your lungs. His hand lifts to bring it over your stomach, dragging his thumb from your navel up between the line made by your ribs before he takes your breast into his palm and massages it. His eyes are foggy, unable to focus on anything other than the way the fat and tissue bulge through the gaps in his fingers. He’s brought back by the touch of your fingers ghosting over his cheek and brushing back a clump of hair, tucking it behind his ear.

His eyes lift to yours, catching sight of your adoring smile made real by the way he worships you, touching you like you’re art. The corners of his lips lift in a sheepish grin, made embarrassed by the way he's been caught.

“So much for looking away.”

That has you throwing your head back, releasing such a sweet peel of laughter that forces Eddie to lay a kiss between the valley of your breasts, chuckling along with you, before taking you by surprise when he latches his mouth to your nipple. It makes your laughter blend with an approving gasp and a resulting groan, your fingers encouraging him with scratches to his scalp, the sensation making him moan over the skin, providing delicious vibrations that have you releasing gorgeous sounds, encouraging you to roll your still-clothed hips against his thick, hot, hard-on. You’re glad he bestows you with enough mercy as to not have you eat your words because he definitely is something like that.

With a particular flick of your pelvis, the cushy head of his cock catches on your folds through the scratchy material of your underwear and he releases you with a pop, head tipping up as his eyes snap shut and he releases a stuttering breath.

You bring his head down for a kiss, soothing the scrunched nature of his expression before he separates with a huff, burying his head into the crook of your neck while he hugs your body close to him, asking, begging, “I need to be inside you.”

The desperation is enough to have you responding, just as wrecked, “Please, Eddie.”

He untangles himself at your go-ahead, leaning back on his haunches as he takes your legs and admires the way the soaked fabric of your underwear clings to your puffy lips, the white of the material leaving nothing to be imagined. He traces over the hem of the leg opening with his thumb, your coarse hair peeking out and tickling the pad of his finger before he brings it to slide through your folds over the cotton. You jolt and whine as he travels from your seeping hole up to your aching clit, rubbing it in caressing circles before he takes your legs and lifts them, closing them together and placing them over his shoulder so he can drag the garment over the length of your legs. He savors the way it guides his eyes over your perfect skin, all that’s been exposed and what hasn’t before he drags them over your feet, where you kick them off. He chuckles at your fervor before taking the item and tossing it away. He kisses the muscle of your calf, eyes still locked on yours before he takes your legs and spreads them once more. At the sight of your exposed cunt, all glittery and soaked, he releases a low groan, leaning down to lay a kiss just above your thatch of hair.

You arch your lower back to present yourself to him and remind him of what you’ve been begging for, mewling in an insistent, pettish way. He straightens a bit, leaning forward on his left arm as he gathers his ruddy and leaking length into his hand and pumps it once and then twice before rubbing the weeping head through your slick.

“Don’t worry, baby, m’gonna treat you so good,” he assures.

With his promise made, the head of his cock presses into you and you squeak. The sound falls into a satisfied groan, melding with the heavy grunt Eddie releases at the breach. “Shit, you’re so fucking tight," he rushes out, "and damn warm, too, holy shit.”

He leans over you again, elbows supporting his weight, and with his shift, his cock buries deeper within you, making you cry out as he nudges against your sensitive velvet walls, the thick veins catching against your nerves and making your body sing.

Given a moment for both of you to catch your breath, Eddie starts to rock into your wet heat, slow gentle thrusts matching the rhythm of the lake as the incoming waves lick at his knees. They’re yawning and slow, pitching both of your bodies with each snap of his hips against yours. Your arousal coats him and leaks out with each retreat of his hips, your creamy release raveling your mess of hair and squelching with each kiss of your pelvic bones.

Your noises mingle together in high pitched keens and deep, gravelly groans and curses. You hug him tight, bodies mashed together as your arms hug him from under, nails fighting to keep him close to you as they scrape along his skin and leave glowing irritated markings where they pass while your legs lock at the ankles over his ass to keep his hips from venturing too far from your own.

His head hangs low above your chest, watching as he exits and enters in and out of you, listening to the wet slap that disappears with the gentle crash and retreat of the waves. His bangs, still clumped with moisture, tease the skin of your breasts, dragging up and down with each of his thrusts, the chill droplets of water that dangle like crystal beads from the ends causing a rash of goosebumps to spread. His breathing is heavy, panting and gulping thick as he moves with you, fucked out on your pussy and the salt of your skin on his tongue when he kisses your chest. You watch as the muscles of his shoulders sway with him, his pale, near translucent skin, speckled with beads of water that you can't help but lean down and lick, kissing, biting every inch of skin you can reach, falling back once he ruts forward and prods at that spot that has your belly tightening and your cunt clamping over him.

“Shit, Eddie,” you gasp, the sound muffled to your own ears, taken over by the chirp of crickets and cooing owls, the croak of sleeping frogs that burrow in muddied soil and fall to rest, their heartbeats slowing with the chill of the earth. The head of his cock keeps tapping against that patch of nerves that has your body shaking and you plead with him, through the way you tighten your legs around his slender hips, to move faster and to hit harder. He understands your subtle request and delivers you firmer, quickened thrusts that have each one of your nerve endings chiming like a silver bell, feeling surrounded by his adoration of you with each kick of his hips that has you ringing in ‘ah, ah, ah’s.

He falls over you, unable to hold himself up anymore while also craving the complete touch of your skin as he winds his arms around your waist and presses his cheek to yours. His hold on you forces you still against him and intensifies the reach of his cock, his dick ramming into you and making your voice jump with each of his pounding thrusts.

The sound of him leaving and then sliding right back home, the clapping of skin on skin is lost to the night while your ramblings of how good he feels and how much you care for him, every word is captured just as every peck against your skin is memorized in a fizzing prickle against your flesh and every sigh and grunt is cataloged in the back of your mind; this is how he sounds, this is the rate of his breathing, this is how he loves.

The thought overwhelms you in a way that excites your senses, suddenly hyper aware of all of the little details: the smell of his cheap cologne invading your nostrils in an intoxicating burn, the feel of his hair, coated in product, made crunchy with hairspray and tickling your cheeks and your lips, the way he fucks into you in the softest, most adoring way. It’s the way he holds you and the way that he protects you, the way that he breaths your name like they’re the most essential set of syllables he’ll ever utter that makes you feel so good that you think you can cry and it’s the prick of your tear ducts and the sniffle caught in your throat that ensures it.

The way he’s moving inside you, you’re tumbling to that glowing end, breathing growing tighter, and Eddie can feel it. He can feel it in the way your skin is hot to the touch despite the late spring temperature and the way your cunt squeezes and chokes his cock every time he drives it back into you.

“I’m so close,” you whisper into his ear, voice trembling, and he growls, the aggressive noise dissolving into a whimper as he lifts his head to look down at you. His eyes are lidded and the weight of his bottom lip hangs as he readies a strained response that gets caught in his throat.

He notices, then, the streaks along your cheeks, illuminated like liquid silver against your skin and his eyebrows grow taut as he reaches to hold your face and wipe at the water there. “You okay, Pidge?”

His thrusts begin to slow, afraid he may have hurt you, but you refuse to allow that, tightening your legs and securing your arms over his shoulders as you call for him to continue.

“No, no, don’t stop, please.” He returns to his set pace, and you moan for him in a blissed-out haze, turning to kiss his palm over every line, pecking the swirled pads of his fingertips and loving the feel of the grooves against your lips.

“I’m okay, swear, Eddie," you gasp, head tilting back as you get lost in the heavenly sensation of his cockhead snatching against your walls. "Just feels so good.” You look up at him with sultry eyes that implore him to keep fucking into you and the sight of you all puppy-eyed has his abdomen clenching and his breath catching.

“Fuck,” he chokes.

You whine at the wrecked crack and desperation that laces his voice, reaching your hand up to pull his head down and kiss him, muffling your cries into his mouth as his groans echo within yours. His thrusts grow erratic and unmeasured, and you thrill at his increased speed, breath hitching with the way his thumb travels down your body to rub speedy circles into your clit, each flick causing fireworks to erupt behind your eyelids.

You flinch as you cum, the warmth in your stomach releasing in a white-hot wave of pleasure that has you shaking with the force of it, crying Eddie’s name as it springs like a bound coil finally allowed to relax. With the spasming of your pussy he has to pry himself away from you and pull out, fisting his cock in hurried tugs until he spills all over your stomach, painting your soft skin in streaks of his release.

You hum at the feeling of his warm cum coating you, finding it comforting as you draw him closer, cooing at him and holding his face in your hands as he finishes in stuttering waves before he falls over you, careful not to crush you under his weight. You find the smear of his finish between you not unpleasant and neither does he it seems as he negates it and releases a contented sigh with his head buried into the furnace of your neck, wrapping his arms under you to hug you tight.

You smile at his affection, nuzzling your nose into the side of his head, sighing with him before he admits, slightly slurred, “Fuck, you’re so fucking good.”

His profession has you cradling his head closer and squishing your nose deeper into his forest of hair, smiling like an idiot as you only chuckle in return.

You smile, kissing his head, before murmuring into his locks, “Not so bad yourself.”

You can feel his smile against your neck before he kisses it, and you giggle at his tranquil display of satisfaction.

“But don’t think I’ve forgotten; you still owe me Head on the Door,” you remind while sniffing up the leftover snot in your nose and wiping at your eyes with the heels of your palms. He extricates his face out of his little hovel and looks down at you with that troublesome glimmer in his eyes.

“I mean, may be a little hard, I’ll have to take down the whole door, but I’ll give it a try.”

“Eddie!” You chastise as he barks a booming laugh that has his stomach rumbling against your own.

“Aw, c’mon, I thought my overpowering sex appeal would wipe that weirdo from your thoughts completely!” He groans in faux disappointment.

You giggle at his theatrics, “Nope, you better count your days because as soon as Robert Smith accepts me as his second wife, your bags are packed.”

He whines as he lays his head beside yours, cheek pressed to the scratchy denim as he moans, “You’re so mean to me.”

You pet his drying hair over his shoulder before pecking a kiss to his mouth, “It’s only ‘cause I love you.”

He hums a brief laugh, “Oh yeah, that’s right.”

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sixhours · 6 months

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One Day at a Time - Chapter 8 - Beginning

Series Chapter Index | Read on AO3 | Complete

Rating: Explicit, 18+, here be smut Series tags: The Last of Us, The Last of Us (HBO), Joel Miller x f!OFC, Joel & Ellie, mostly follows canon, SMUT, gratuitous smut, dubious consent (drunk sex), unplanned pregnancy, fluff, references to past miscarriages, angst, hurt/comfort, romance, age gap (~21 years), childbirth, fluffy baby stuff, I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

The midwife is the first to notice that Anna’s startle reflex is inconsistent. When she suggests the baby might be deaf, Joel wants to write it off as the woman’s usual dour attitude, but as the weeks pass, it becomes clear that something is different. It’s impossible to make enough noise to wake her, she doesn’t turn her head toward their voices, and she’s inconsolable when they’re out of her limited line of sight. They spend several sleepless nights worrying, making loud noises and watching Anna intently for responses that usually don’t come.

There’s nothing to do about it, though, except wait and see…like her pregnancy all over again. One day at a time.

Anna is most content when she’s tucked into the soft cloth wrap, held tight against someone’s chest, where she can feel the soothing purr of speech against her tiny body. They get adept at going about their daily routines with the baby strapped to them like a marsupial in a makeshift pouch. She especially seems to like Joel’s soft flannel shirts and his deep, rumbly voice–he’s the best at getting her to nap.

Or, as Ellie puts it, boring her to sleep .

Ellie spends more time with them, enamored with her baby sister in a way Joel couldn’t have predicted. He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised, having watched her with Sam all those months ago, but her fierce devotion to this brand-new person in their lives makes him light-headed with pride.

Baby things showed up at their house out of the blue in the days after Anna was born; an antique cradle, bottles, more diapers, and a breast pump contraption that Charlie says makes her feel like a dairy cow. There are enough clothes to outfit a small army and mystery casseroles lining their freezer for weeks.

Tonight he takes one of the casseroles out and sniffs at it warily.

“Not sure about this one, kid,” he says to Anna, strapped to his chest. “Can’t be worse than that tuna surprise thing, though. House smelled for a week.”

The baby makes a soft cooing noise and sticks out her tongue in response.

“Yeah? Well, you didn’t have to eat it,” he mutters, turning on the oven.

“Talking to yourself again?” Charlie murmurs from the couch, snuggled under a throw.

“I’m havin’ a conversation with my daughter,” he says, stroking the baby’s head. “And you’re s’posed to be napping.”

She sits up, bleary-eyed and wan. “Can’t sleep. I miss her.”

“Hear that?” he murmurs. “Mama misses you. Maybe you should wake her up more often. Five times last night wasn’t enough.”

Joel wanders over to the couch and unearths the baby from her wrap to hand her to Charlie, who takes her with a smile and a soft hi sweet girl . Warmth blooms in his chest, followed by sadness; the two often go hand in hand.

Sarah never had this, he thinks, and he mourns what he couldn’t give her; the love of a mother, the delight of a new sibling.

But Anna has it all, in this family cobbled together from spare parts and broken pieces. Like the beginning of a bad joke— a widow, an orphan, and a childless father walk into a bar –where she is the most beautiful punchline he’s ever heard.

Joel comes home to find Ellie on the couch with the baby in her lap and a book on the cushion next to her, frowning in concentration as she flips through the pages. Anna is nine weeks old and more alert than ever, bright eyes taking in everything, and at the moment she’s fascinated by her big sister’s hands, moving in slow, measured gestures in front of her face.

“Where’s Charlie?”

“Your girlfriend is taking a nap,” Ellie says without looking up from her book.

“She’s not–”

He catches himself before he can finish his sentence and Ellie smirks.

“Caught ya.”

Joel sighs. “What’re you doin’?”

She flips to the book cover to show him; An Introduction to American Sign Language .

“Sam taught me some, but I found this at the library. I figured it can’t hurt to start early.”

His throat tightens and he blinks back tears. God, his kids have turned him into a walking fucking water fountain.

“That’s…a great idea, kiddo,” he says, squeezing her shoulder.

“I know,” she says. “Besides, you can use it, too, when your hearing eventually goes.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters. He bends down to boop Anna’s nose. “Your sister is somethin’ else, kid. I’m gonna check on your mo–I mean my–our–”

He growls as Ellie looks up at him expectantly, a wry little smirk on her face.

“I’m gonna check on Charlie,” he sighs. “Call me if you need me.”

He hears a whisper at his back.

“What’s the sign for ‘They are so fucked’?”

Ellie’s laughter and Anna’s quiet coos follow him upstairs.

They still haven’t talked about them . They share a bed, they care for Anna, and…that’s about it. The midwife mentioned something about “resuming sexual activities” and “birth control” and maybe even a vasectomy at their final appointment, and it had taken all Joel had not to laugh in her face. He hasn’t had so much as a hard-on since the kid was born, and Charlie is permanently attached to her when she’s not sleeping or eating.

It might have bothered him if he weren’t so sleep-deprived.

In the bedroom, Charlie is buried under the blankets. He doesn’t mean to wake her, but she startles when the door creaks open.

“Anna?”

“Ellie’s got her, it’s just me,” Joel whispers. “Sorry.”

Charlie sits up, rubbing at her eyes, holding her breasts as if testing their weight. “S’okay. She needs to eat soon.”

He takes a seat on the edge of the bed, smiles at Charlie’s mussed hair. He’s watched her closely over the last few weeks, hyper-alert for signs of depression, for the grief that he knows will never completely subside. A horrible little voice in the back of his mind insists that it’s only a matter of time before she leaves them.

Sarah’s mom made it four months.

But Charlie seems content if exhausted. They’re both exhausted, even with help. With Sarah he’d had the advantage of youth; with Anna, Joel feels every single one of his fifty-eight years…mostly in his back.

“Did you know Ellie’s teachin’ the baby sign language?” he asks.

“Mmm, she mentioned something about that,” Charlie yawns. “She’s smart, your kid. We’re raising geniuses.”

Joel ducks his head to hide a blush of pride. “They’re gonna leave us in their dust someday.”

We. Us.

He reaches out to cup Charlie’s face in one hand, rubbing his thumb along her cheekbone. He could say it was all lust until now, but watching her with Anna makes him feel like a lovesick teenager. Charlie leans into his touch, meets his eyes, and his stomach clenches with a kind of pleasant ache he hasn’t felt in weeks.

Maybe he’s going to need to look into that vasectomy after all.

The moment is rudely interrupted by a wail, followed by Ellie’s voice drifting up the stairs.

“Hey, lovebirds! Your spawn needs a diaper change.”

Joel and Ellie are sprawled on the couch, her tucked into one corner and him on the opposite side, slouched down with Anna on his chest, a movie playing in the background. The baby won’t sleep in the beautiful hand-carved cradle for more than fifteen minutes at a time, preferring instead to slumber on a warm body.

There was a time in Joel’s life when he would have said they were spoiling her, but now, acutely aware of his limited years in a way he’s never been before, he’s decided Anna can fall asleep in his arms until she’s thirty if she wants. There is no such thing as spoiling her as far as he’s concerned.

He’s half asleep, trying to wait out the next hour and a half to let Charlie get some rest, when Ellie’s voice drifts into his consciousness.

“I think I get it now.”

“Get what?” he murmurs, barely able to open his eyes.

“Why you lied to me.”

He’s awake now. His head snaps up to face her. Ellie is curled in a ball with her arms around her knees, watching the baby rise and fall with the rhythm of his breath.

“If it were her…I’d do anything to keep her safe,” she says softly.

Oh.

His first instinct is to lie again, but something about Ellie’s expression and the way she’s watching Anna gives him pause. Between the two of them, they’ve cracked him open. He’s too tired and old to hold secrets.

“I’m sorry I lied to you,” he rasps. “I shouldn’t’ve done that. It was wrong.”

He meets her eyes, waits until he’s sure that she sees him, because she can’t just hear it–she needs to know it with her whole being, to believe it as deeply as he does.

“But I’m not sorry–I’ll never be sorry–for what I did. And I’d do it again in a heartbeat for you…or her.”

Ellie nods, but she frowns, her voice going small and tight.

“What if she was bit?”

The question drops from her lips like a bomb and Joel instinctively tightens his grip around Anna at the thought.

“Wouldn’t you hate me?” she whispers. “For not…for not being able to save her?”

“Never,” he says roughly. “I could never hate you, Ellie.”

“But…what if she could grow up in a better world? A world where you never had to worry about her…or Charlie…or anyone…getting infected,” Ellie asks softly.

He wants to tell her that none of this would have been possible if she weren’t here–their life in Jackson, Charlie, or Anna. He wants to tell her that she is the catalyst for everything he’s done right in his sorry life.

His girl, who wanted to save the world, had saved him instead.

But words are failing so he swallows his tears and puts an arm out. Ellie slides over, curling into his side, and he’s momentarily stunned by her solidity against him. She’s grown in the months since they returned from Salt Lake City. She’s taller, her face thinning out, more like a young woman than a child.

It happens too damn fast, he thinks, looking down at the sleeping infant on his chest.

He whispers the words into Ellie’s hair when his throat finally unlocks, watery and thick.

“She’s growin' up in a better world because you’re in it.”

“She’s finally out,” Charlie whispers, backing away from the cradle and collapsing onto the bed on her stomach with a groan. “I don’t know how one tiny human can eat so much.”

“I’ll take her tonight,” he says. “She can have a bottle.”

“You have patrol in the morning.”

“Can’t sleep for shit anyway,” he shrugs. “Did you eat? Caf’s still open, I can grab you something.”

“Mmm. Maybe later. I need about ten hours of sleep and a big glass of wine,” she mutters into the pillow.

“I can offer you six hours of sleep and a beer.”

“I’ll take it,” she yawns, then brightens. “Oh! I found something at the post today.”

She rolls over, digs in the nightstand drawer, then unearths a small black box and tosses it into his lap.

He blinks down at it, unsure if it’s the suggestion or the fatigue that slows his tongue. His heart quickens.

“Are these…?”

“Condoms,” she grins. Then she’s crawling toward him and straddling his lap, much the way she did the first time, and she glances over at the silent cradle. “We have a couple hours…should we see if they’re any good?”

“God yes please,” he breathes, all tiredness suddenly forgotten as her mouth finds his, open and wanting.

There’s laundry scattered around the floor, empty bottles and water glasses on the nightstand, used burp cloths draped over the furniture, and the faint smell of sour milk lingers in the air.

And all of it ceases to matter because she’s holding his face in her hands and kissing him, really kissing him for the first time in weeks. Not a peck on the cheek or a nuzzled brush of her lips to his forehead when she thinks he’s still sleeping, but an honest-to-god kiss with tongue and teeth and bite.

Soon she’s rolled underneath him and he’s supping long, languid kisses from her lips, eliciting sweet little moans and breathy gasps that have him thrusting his aching cock into her bare stomach, seeking relief in friction. Even with the condom to dull the sensations, this will be over before it’s begun if he doesn’t get a fucking grip, so he pulls reluctantly away to explore the rest of her body.

Breastmilk gathers in little pearls on the peaks of her nipples, sweet and thick on his tongue as he teases and sucks his way down her chest. He traces the silvery lines on her lower stomach with his nose, the places where she’s been permanently marked because of their daughter, because of him . The sight of her gently swollen belly and the velvety softness of the stretched skin only makes him want her more.

She whimpers when he tastes her, moans when he sucks at her swollen clit and laps at her folds until she’s writhing and coming. Then she’s pulling on his hair with an urgency he understands and he’s rolling one of the condoms on and sinking into her delicious heat. She’s so close like this, pinned by his hips and chest, pressed underneath him like a flower.

He can’t pull himself away from her mouth, can’t stop kissing her and tasting her and swallowing her cries. Her arms enfold him, rubbing languid strokes up and down the slope of his back, pressing into his ass, urging him deeper. He reaches for her hand and rests their entwined fingers above her head.

Mine , he thinks with every thrust, heat coiling in his gut, crawling up his spine. Mine, mine, mine.

“Yours,” she sighs, arching into him, answering the words he didn’t realize he’d spoken out loud. He presses his forehead against hers and stills, breathing hard.

“Yeah?”

His voice is ragged with emotion. Her palms come up to cup his face.

“All yours,” she whispers, then she kisses him and kisses him and he prays the condom does its damn job because he’s falling over the edge.

He’s still softening inside her, luxuriating in the feel of her mouth against his, when the baby wails from her cradle.

Charlie groans underneath him. “Already?”

“Well…we got fifteen minutes,” he mumbles, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

“Give yourself credit, it was at least twenty.”

“It’s like a sixth sense,” he mutters, pulling out with a groan. “Surprised Ellie’s not at the damn door, too.”

Charlie snorts a laugh, sitting up and pulling the sheet to her chest.

“I’m comin’, baby girl,” he says. “Hold on, I know…m’right here.”

But Anna can’t hear him, of course. He pokes his head over the cradle and she quiets. “I’ll be right back.”

She protests loudly when he leaves her line of sight again, totally abandoned. He disposes of the condom and washes his hands…now where the hell are his boxers? The din of Anna’s crying in the background has him stumbling over his feet.

Finally, he plucks her up out of the cradle and puts her against his chest.

“Hey, kid, you’re fine,” he rumbles against her.

She growls in response, all attitude, one tiny fist stuffed into her mouth.

“Think she’s hungry,” he murmurs, nuzzling the top of her head. “Want me to get her a bottle so you can sleep?”

“No,” Charlie says, two wet spots blooming on the bedsheet. “You primed the pump. I’m leaking all over myself.”

“Lucky kid,” he grins. “You get the real deal.”

“You just ate, sweet girl,” Charlie sighs as the baby latches. “Where does it all go?”

“Based on the laundry I folded today, I have an idea,” Joel mutters, crawling back into bed. He sits up against the headboard and pulls Charlie into his arms so she’s propped against him. She burrows into his shoulder and closes her eyes as the baby makes greedy little suckling noises. His free arm wraps around them, cupping Anna’s head, feeling the pulse of her heartbeat in his palm.

Maybe it’s the sex that loosens his tongue, or maybe he’s just too tired to worry over the fallout. He takes a deep breath.

“So I know we said…you’d stay until the kid is born…and that was, uh, ten weeks ago.”

“You kicking me out?” Charlie murmurs, playing with the baby’s tiny fingers as she nurses.

“No,” he says quickly. “You can stay as long as you want. I just…don’t want you to feel like you have to…or like we’re expected to be, uh…something we’re–”

“Joel,” she says, soft but firm. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Heat blooms in his chest.

“Yeah?”

She tilts her head up to look at him, silver eyes shining, and answers him with a long, sweet, lingering kiss that reignites the fire in his lower belly.

He’s definitely gonna need that vasectomy.

#fanfic #fic recs #joel miller #the last of us hbo #the last of us #pregnancy #babyfic

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always---wrong · 8 months

Text

Okay, so I wanted to discuss the situation with Alastor, his canonical sexuality, and fans.

I have seen the two sides alot.

So one side ships Al with numerous characters and sees this as casual fun.

And the other thinks this is disrespectful cause he is ace, or Aroace.

(I believe that he is Aroace. His va said so, his character has shown no interest in romance, and Viv may have confirmed it at some point)

Now, I am sex repulsed ace and I'm aro. And I have strong opinions. Alastor is my favorite character in Hazbin Hotel, he is also the FIRST confirmed ace character I've seen. (This doesn't include subtly implied characters) Because Al is the first and I care for him he is very important to me.

My opinion is really mixed because on one side it's; yeah, it is a fandom, and fandoms ship. It's what they do. Its also kind a rude to judge someone for their favorite pairings and stuff, in my opinion.

On the other side though I'm hurt. I am a queer person with basically no rep. And I hadn't realized how upset I was by this until I saw discourse over this character. I had FORGOTTEN that it was possible to have confirmed canonical ace characters. I had gotten so used to that just being a head cannon. And not only just an ace character but also an Aroace character. And not just that but a seemingly non sex favorable ace character. I would even argue he is sex repulsed.

My real problem with all this is:

Yes, I KNOW ace characters can have sex. But do you know who else can? Literally every single allosexual character. I KNOW aros can date. But you know who else can? Everyone else. The appeal of ACTUALLY having characters with the same sexuality as me is that they would be like me. Cause I and other aces like me never, ever get stories like that. So many times in media I would be enjoying a character who had shown NO interest in sex/romance and would suddenly be partnered up with another just for the heck of it. This has happened SO many times it's not even funny. It's incredibly frustrating.

So, the point I'm trying to make is that; YES, there are aces who have sex. HOWEVER, a large number of us do not. And it's like everyone forgets that. Your not writing Alastor having sex with Angel cause your showing the vast spectrum of asexuality. Your most likely writing it cause it's sex between two hot characters. It's simply maddening.

(One thing I wanted to say was, despite the fact that Al is ace i don't think it's bad to find him attractive. He is very pleasing to look at so I understand allos finding him hot. However I'm not sure where I stand with people sexualizing him. I think I'm leaning towards, 'please don't do it'.)

Now, the worst thing though is when I'm looking for content to enjoy. When I found out Al was canonically ace I was so happy and excited. I'm pretty sure this situation wouldn't make me nearly as frustrated if it weren't for the overwhelming amount of sexual content for Al. Some would be fine. I could just scroll past it if this were the case. But it is not. Content for Al is MOSTLY sexual. That's why I don't believe people when they keep saying they aren't invalidating aces because almost every time I go looking for a fic I have to scroll for HOURS just to find few non ship fics.

I can't even use the Asexual Alastor tag because all that does is bring me to a bunch of fics where the author is like 'he's ace trust me,' then proceeds to write smut.

Why can't I even use a tag made for aces without being drowned in smut. It's so frustrating! Like I'm getting to a point where I wish the authors would stop using the tag and openly admit they made him not ace for the story. Like I know your trying to not throw away his canonical sexuality but I mean at this point I think it'd be better if you did. And if someone is going to write sex favorable ace Al then please leave it to the aces. I trust us to at least weave it into his character instead of stating it and acting like it's there when it's not.

So basically: I don't mind if you ship him, just don't say he's ace or Aroace if your neither of those in ship/smut content. I'm sick of trying to find content that isn't sex/romance in Aroace tags!

I don't want to judge people for liking a ship. But I'm really tired.

ON A DIFFERENT NOTE, I would love to see content with Al and Lucifer. Like them hating each other to like frenemies. It would be so funny.

Anyone have any platonic content with Al and the rest of the cast???

#aroace #alastor #hazbin hotel #asexual #aromantic #fandom

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tired-reader-writer · 1 month

Text

Gadget Maker Iruma AU

Enabled by the 17 notes on my post, here is a very bad summary of the plotted stuff I've got for my mairuma AU! It's only like what, half-formed? I hope y'all enjoy this nonetheless.

I was originally gonna post this without putting the bullet points under the cut, HOWEVER as the draft for this post was approaching 7k words (obviously the final product ended up being way more than that) I reconsidered and now it's going under the cut.

I know it only covers up into roughly post Music Festival arc and a very brief touch on the Heartbreaker arc but y'all, I was running out of steam. This thing turned out to be 375 bullet points in total.

375 BULLET POINTS.

LET THAT SINK IN.

Well since I've been super depressed and exhausted the past month or so, and it sapped all of my creativity out, so I'll take whatever form of creation I can get and I'd say this counts.

DISCLAIMER: do note that this AU is in no ways meant to be a fix-it or “better than canon”, it doesn't follow canon's themes of Iruma finding himself and growing in his own skin and whatnot because of his alternate backstory, nay, this is more like me yeeting a bowling ball at a beautiful jenga tower to see how fast it can crash.

Tagging the enablers: @importantdestinydefendor @eclecticcosmonaut @createdbyleftovergods @astra-ash21 @cr4zy-cycl0n3 @lackluster-cloverfield @eshekerexd @swimmingkill @sweetpotatopigeonfood @huggiebub @kurukufute @steveleaf @nightstarblue @drag0nalias0 @hopeless-anarchy

The Main AU Stuff:

Iruma is half-demon. Not saying who his parents are since that's supposed to be a mystery but really there aren't many options, really, so maybe it's obvious lol. At least the demon half. The human is… an OC, basically.

He had wings. Had. They were torn out when he was very young. He doesn't remember.

In fact, he remembers nothing about his life before Babyls. Well, a couple days/weeks before his first day at school, but absolutely nothing before that.

There's this undercurrent of unease every time he wonders about it. It's as though something inside of him is trying to warn him off, “don't dig deeper”.

He only knows that he was apparently hurt badly before. It doesn't hurt, though. He doesn't understand why grandpa, Opera, and Balam-sensei fret so much.

Yeah, Sullivan called Balam in to be Iruma's physician since, y'know, wink wink nudge nudge half-human.

The three adults clearly know more than they're letting Iruma in on, Sullivan most of all, but they're all pretty dodgy when he asks.

Not that he asks all that often at first, there's that mental fog and the sense of “danger: do not approach” in his psyche that ever-so-subtly steers him away from thinking too hard about it.

Not much deviates from canon at first except that Iruma's a little bit more wary/aware than in canon (carryover instincts from a past he'd forgotten) and that his personality grows to be somewhere between regular Iruma and evil cycle Iruma— he might not even have an outright evil cycle arc in this AU, though Iruma still is the driving force behind them getting Royal One.

A bit more on his personality: he's like “hi! I'm your classmate that makes a point to smile even when things are dire! nice to be your friend!” all the while being super aware and hypervigilant about the demons around him

That plot point about him recognizing Kerori as Kuromu but ramped up to everybody around him. Even when amnesiac there's still carryover instincts from his human days.

It's subtle underneath his lovable sweet classmate thing (and the thing is that he is genuinely a kind and sweet kid it's just that he got Issues™) but there's an undercurrent that there's something just Not Right with this kid. Paranoid little rat of a boy who doesn't understand why he himself instinctively looks for escape routes and keeps a pulse on everything

He also doesn't like people standing behind him. Doesn't like having his back vulnerable.

People chalk his weirdness up to him being a sheltered rich kid or whatever but he's. Y'know. Like That™.

It's simultaneously a genuine kindness leading him to reach out to people and this caution/hypervigilance about something he doesn't even know the name of that leads him to frantically keep a pulse on whatever's happening in the school.

(There's a protectiveness around it that he can't place, too. Are my friends okay?)

(Maybe that protectiveness is what drives him to try and obtain Royal One for his fellow Misfits here.)

Anyways, funnily enough, this paranoid rat tendencies is what leads him to have a massive information network in Babyls by accident???

The Royal One incident was what canonically made the Misfits closer with Iruma, but here maybe the order could be somewhat reversed.

Backtracking from that though

The sakura tree. It has some… symbolic and emotional significance that plays into the AU.

I want Balam to be Iruma's familiar in the AU. I just don't know how yet.

Iruma still joins the Magitools Batra.

Though in this AU he has a strong interest in crafting magic tools.

(Yet another carryover from his forgotten past. The instinct yet remains.)

(The human world is not what you think.)

The camaraderie with Kiriwo still exists despite the wariness.

They're both hiding things from each other. Maybe it's because of that that they became drawn to each other. Liar to liar.

Something about the ranking system and how lower ranks are treated by higher ranks and Kiriwo's desire to change that coupled with what Iruma knows due to his information network (he knows when a bullying is going on thank you very much) stirring something inside of Iruma.

Somehow, some way, despite everything, despite the caution, despite— no, because they're hiding things from each other there's just this sort of kinship, this bond.

Kiriwo is the first demon he opens up a teensy bit to.

It is why, even after Kiriwo attempts to blow the school up, Iruma still has positivity towards his senpai.

The taste of a first bond among his peers. Someone who managed to make him want to open up just a little.

Clara and Azz (and Sabro) get there eventually but boy's an oyster at this point and… yeah.

Alarm bells are going off in Iruma's mind because when Kiriwo infodumped his entire backstory on him he very much mentioned an older brother figure who encouraged Kiriwo's tendencies and that would probably make Iruma at the very least suspect that Kiriwo isn't a lone actor who attempted this on his own.

(Don't know what will come of this but. Iruma keeps an ear on the ground. He's paranoid.)

During the whole invisible barrier maze thing, Iruma is incited to act quickly and on his own (mostly— Clara and Azz help like in canon) because there's this deeply ingrained instinct in him that says, “Nobody is coming.”

I don't think I'm doing good enough of a job hinting at his backstory and how it differs from canon but whatever, roll with it 😭

A theme about friendship and cooperation might or might not be starting to pop up by this point.

Ameri has been tweaked.

First of all she's actually masculine in the AU and her insecurities don't stem from her not being feminine enough because I like masculine girls and I think the world needs more of them.

Y'all, I've been too depressed and exhausted to draw but picture her w a modified version of the Student Council uniform but with the coat draped over her shoulders. Supremely cool.

Anyways

Her blushing softie arc has been tweaked to center around fatigue and anxiety rather than making her feminine I guess?

Okay so

Remember how Balam was impressed at Sabro not having had more than one wicked phase, saying smth like “the amount of self-care that must've required”? So naturally demons who aren't taking enough care of themselves must be susceptible to it because stress.

Put a pin on that.

Ameri's bloodline ability is basically a self-hypnosis and Opera commented that it requires a significant measure of mental fortitude.

Also put a pin on that.

What if the user was tired? Was depressed? Was struggling through any mental issue? What would happen to their ability and their strength?

What happens to a demon who's perpetually stressed under pressure?

Another thing to put a pin on: remember Henri's line from chapter 179, “Is your ambition so weak that you're willing to let this opportunity slip away?” What does this line of thought do to his child. To Ameri.

(Don't worry, I do not plan to reduce Henri into a terrible caricature bc I do NOT like dynamics being squashed down into flat echoes of themselves. We'll get to him in a bit.)

Also put a pin on Ameri's internal monologue from the same chapter: “Only then can I stop being a peerless elite… and just be Ameri.”

I suppose canon!Ameri must undergo self-care too it's just not that much shown outside of her manga-reading sessions w Iruma and the girls' gatherings, and those only came in recently, so what was she doing before that, just willing things away?

So in this AU, Ameri is barely hanging on by a thread by the time the AU rolls around, just willing her fatigue away, hypnotizing herself with “I'm fine” and it's such an unsustainable situation that when that terrible mad scientist dude hits her w the girlification gas she has to use romanticist to fight it off but her romanticist ability is already shouldering so much baggage that this was the straw that broke the camel's back and she descends into an evil cycle.

She's so tired she's so fucking tired and she's starting to resent like why was I born w this ability this expectation this responsibility why wasn't I born ordinary I'm tired I'm so tired leave me alone leave me alone I will fucking bite you leave me alone bc pent-up fatigue + anger... yeah. Putting my girl through the grinder

“is your ambition so weak that—” yeah. What if it was weak. What if she was weak. What then. There's expectations and there's love but what happens to that love when the expectations cannot be met. What happens. Ameri's entire world crashing down as soon as she becomes incapable of fulfilling her role of the invincible president, the undefeated heir.

The thing is that in canon girly Ameri says the one the students admire is “the other her”, not her current self, and the sole parental figure in Ameri's life seems to be Henri, Melie is nowhere in sight, either due to death or something else (I do sometimes wonder about the absent parents in mairuma but that's for another time). She thinks students follow and admire her for her strength. Her father probably influenced how she sees ambition and capability. There must be this lingering fear/anxiety that she will lose everything if she cannot provide what they want from her. Isn't that fucked?

Her wicked phase arc would probably involve her lashing out a lot. I'm not useless I'm not weak don't reject me don't come closer I'm tired I'm tired I'm fine don't leave me behind just this scrambled mess as she tries to reassert romanticist's control on herself but she's too tired and frazzled and hurting to actually succeed and... yeah.

It's up to the Student Council and helper Iruma who's probably sniffing around for that mad scientist dude on his own private investigation, it's up to the council primarily to reassure her and ask her to rely more on them and it doesn't make her lesser or anything

(Oh yeah Iruma isn't in the Student Council this time around— the Batra-gets-suspended-if-no-third-year rule is there, Iruma doesn't get summoned for being misunderstood as assaulting a classmate [ew] he just gets summoned for this matter alone and he gets plunked into the Demon King Batra probably because Sabro requested it)

(So he's on the sidelines helping hunt down the culprit— there's a niggling familiarity at the back of his mind, something else is superimposed on an Ameri going through her evil cycle)

(And he probably drags in Balam who as y'all know has a lot of knowledge about evil cycles)

Still, they might not be enough, and what is probably like the actual originating source of that rigid sense of duty should be addressed which is her father

Told you we'd get back to him

I don't think Henri is an abusive monster. Let's get that out of the way.

He clearly wants happiness for her, he cares about his daughter, and there's this protectiveness over her as we've seen in canon.

Here he's just misguided.

Because he's genuinely trying to help her grow stronger. Because he takes it for granted that of course she can do it. His daughter is amazing and he's so proud of her.

But his absolute faith in his daughter doesn't translate well so there's a communication gap and his expectations of her “of course she can do this, of course she's doing this” so…

Ameri's rigid sense of duty and her issues.

It is him who needs to say to her, point blank, explicitly, that he won't think any less of her if she isn't perfect 1000% of the time.

Buer Blushenko also gets involved in this.

As y'all know, Buer doesn't like unnecessary pain and… Ameri kinda is putting herself under a lot of pressure and he along with Balam who is also a kind-hearted individual would be instrumental in saying “you are not lesser for taking breaks”

I feel like outside of her fellow Student Council members, she really needs to hear it from adults because as I said before, Henri seems to be the sole prominent adult figure in her life

So before she hears it from him, I think it's important that other adults tell her this too.

(Buer confronting Henri?)

(Henri gets his act together and reassures his daughter and promises to find a better way moving forward bc he's a caring father he just had this massive blind spot before)

Also found it very interesting how in canon Momonoki's “Get a hold of yourselves!” was directed at the rest of the council, not a de-fanged Ameri

I feel like this is the arc where the cooperation theme really comes into play and establishes itself strongly.

The Student Council must step up.

It's interesting how much they idolize her. Consider this quote, “She's the very symbol of Babyls. With that comes responsibilities and burdens heavier than we can imagine. But she doesn't let any of that show, she's a real wonder. It's an honor to stand so close to someone who shines as brightly as she does.” They admire her for her strength. Great. Now what happens when that strength is stripped away?

We know, of course, from canon, that they will still support her regardless.

But we're gonna take a little bit of a winding road here. They're gonna have to grapple w the fact that even after she recovers, it will be the healthier thing to let her take it easier (bc remember, unlike in canon she's overworking herself to the bone here)

Ameri's arc is about learning to rely on others learning to treat yourself gently that kind of thing and she shouldn't strive to be 10000% self-sufficient 24/7

Her problems don't go away, she's still tired, but the student council could step up to fill more of her burdens for her to give her time to relax. It's a council, not a one-man army (one-demon army?)

It turns from a more unbalanced dynamic into more of a team effort

They gotta break out of their own mindset a bit though.

The Student Council as a whole has been running on a principle of control, control, control—

They eat one singular bean for a meal.

While the “one bean” joke is indeed very funny, Nishi is a good comedy writer, doing all that while starving seems unnecessary and also bad.

You can't pour from an empty jug. You can't boil an empty kettle. A candle lit from both ends will burn out pretty fucking fast.

They're demons, they value strength, their standards are different, and I know the Student Council has to break up fights and protect weaker students, they need this capability, but this just seems like a one-way ticket to burnout and also hella inaccessible. It feels like it's all negative reinforcement.

So they need to examine their current way of doing things.

It's crucial that Iruma not become part of the Student Council in this AU. He has to represent the outsider. The new perspective. Outside aid. It's not just Ameri who needs to learn to accept aid. The entire Council does.

They're upping the ante stepping into her shoes, but they can count on Iruma to track down the culprit.

And Iruma isn't alone because Information Network™ so in a way the entire school is helping Ameri indirectly, even without knowing.

Cooperation!

(Look. Look. I have this whole thing of the cooperation theme and how it ties into demons and humans foiling each other, return to origins, Delkira's ideals, and that fucking sakura tree, but explaining it would take like twenty layers of context and I don't know how to concisely and prettily do that here so. Uh. Pushing it down or even out of this post. If this ends up not making it into the post I hope ppl will be interested in my thoughts on this matter bc I will be making it a separate post and I will be very sad if I'm the only one interested in it.)

Inevitably, Ronove is gonna Ronove.

Trying to reconcile the theme of ambition that was present in the canon arc w my “hey. hey. you're not less worthy for relaxing” theme bc in canon Ronove presented those kinda “slothful/entitled” promises while Ameri pushed for the students to work to seize their ambitions w their own hands and stuff but just copy-pasting that theme in full doesn't seem to mesh w the situation at hand.

The “stop waiting around and do it yourself” theme can be inspiring yes but having that be recited by either a severely depressed and exhausted character who needs a fucking break or someone around her who's trying to help her is. Well. Bad.

Maybe I could graft another thing from canon but spin it for this alternate context. Canon Iruma wants to make a Netherworld that's like Babyls. A kind Netherworld, right?

So. The Student Council's counter promise could be tied into that thing like Babyls being kind to its students, the student council striving/promising to make it kind so that all demons have an equal opportunity to seize their ambitions w a sound body and mind

(The sakura tree ties into this I promise)

(It matters that the one Iruma grew is ever-blooming instead of fleeting petals that are gone far too soon)

The current Babyls is still flawed but it by far seems to be the most compassionate out of the three great schools. What if they make it even kinder.

So anyways, Ameri and the rest of the council might become more “approachable” after this debacle and Ameri has taken her break and stuff like how canon Ameri becomes more approachable after falling in love w Iruma but this time it ain't about love or a dude it's the power of friendship/cooperation and sharing burdens and her being able to be more relaxed/vulnerable.

I have half-formed thoughts about Kerori and Ameri and how one provides relief for others from their pent-up stress while the other is the epitome of pent-up stress and how in canon Ameri derived strength and courage from Kuromu's songs and how I can spin it for this AU buuuut I feel this needs a little more marination time so. Just pinning this down for now.

@amykiriwosdefenselawyer 's posts about RtO are of interest to this AU: [1] [2] [3]

Ameri's arc about the burden of responsibility, the weight of duty, the fatigue that comes with it, the wound-up tenseness, it kinda serves as a mirror to an unknowing Iruma.

Remember those themes, and remember that it involved a psychological spell.

Remember that Iruma's own psyche also has a bit of that suspicious don't-dig-deeper element.

They grow into sort of friendly business partners. They ask for help from each other and all that. They're not romantically involved in the AU (squinting at Ameri. girl are you falling for Kerori) but it's something.

What was Iruma up to in the Demon King Batra?

Well, there's this drive and pull to learn about Demon Kings since Demon Kings are the Netherworld and since he has no past and he must call this place home, he wants to understand it.

He doesn't admit as such to Sabro just yet when the latter asks, he's not ready for that kind of openness lol.

(Also he's drawn towards Delkira in particular. It's only because the current Netherworld is shaped by him, right? Right??? Hahaha…)

(Not sure what I'll do w Ali and the ring, honestly. Half-demon Iruma does have mana, Delkira's… well. I do need to figure out how Delkira's situation affects Ali since we don't really know about the link between the two?)

Iruma doesn't have his evil cycle arc here because. I have Plans regarding him and his evil cycle or lack thereof. His personality is already between the two. Kinda.

But since he was in the Demon King Batra for a while before snatching back the rights to continue the Magitools Batra, he has Questions™ about Delkira that makes his grandpa shifty.

He manages to weasel a story out of Sullivan. That when Delkira was young he disappeared for a while— and would not speak a word of what happened to him during that time when he came back but he clearly was affected by it. Maybe he even claimed he doesn't have memories of what happened to him but he did. He was found smiling as he cried. Sullivan says it was probably the first instance where Delkira resolved to be Demon King.

(Y'all probably guessed at least part of what the deal w Delkira is by now I think)

Royal One Acquisition arc and First Term Final Exams arc probably don't have much in terms of new stuff except maybe slice-of-life group dynamics and Batra shenanigans. Maybe specific tool-making progress and stuff.

(I didn't know where else to put this but Iruma's rampant hypervigilance and friendliness means he drags Purson into being friends, it just happens, and so Purson gets integrated into the Misfits earlier I guess)

(Balam already knows he's half-human since, well, personal physician at Sullivan's behest + familiar)

Balam becomes probably the adult Iruma is closest to— though I wonder if his initial wariness might drive him to avoid Balam because Buzzer. Balam frets a fair bit for Iruma but it's to a more subdued extent than Sullivan and Opera, and just like in canon, Balam becomes someone he can open up to.

Sabro gets increasingly more integrated into the trio dynamic so much that it becomes a quartet. It probably started when Iruma was in the Demon King Batra. The two now share a common interest, and could inspire each other and they could even have petty little competitions for shits and giggles. Azz and Clara frequently stop by to pick Iruma up or whatever, and it can be a cute bickering thing. Sabro could notice that Azz is stagnating and falling into the mistakes Sabro himself fell into before he met Iruma, and it probably boils over in the Walter Park arc just like in canon.

In a way that I find difficult to put into words, Clara feels like, y'know, that safety/warmth of a loving family and being home. It's interesting because Sabro is estranged from his family and lives presumably on his own? I don't know his housing situation. Iruma only just obtained a safe and loving home Sullivan and Opera. His life before that was. Well. Azz I find interesting because his mother does seem pretty loving if overbearing, but he had a very isolated childhood and I'm trying to reconcile the two with each other. Maybe it's like she wasn't that present in the earlier stages of his life, only attempting to bridge the gap later on.

With the kinder Netherworld thing and Babyls and whatnot, I feel like something could be done with Clara in regards to this theme. She literally represents innocence and playfulness after all, but this AU is kinda half-formed and I'm not done cooking w it yet. If any of y'all have ideas for her… do send them my way.

Anyways, where was I

OH, WALTER PARK

The attack stirs something deep inside Iruma. The thing behind his mental aversion/barrier shakes it a little bit loose, not enough to totally break free, but a little.

Overwhelming fear, a sense of duty, a screaming clawing desperation to step in, step up

He steps into a different mode. Disaster management mode. Even shaken and frazzled it feels like he's had experience with this kind of thing.

He can't be talked down. No matter what anyone tries, he can't be talked down.

It turns into a rescue/evacuation management thing similar to canon. Sabro and Azz also go to hold the monster off and have their moment, and Balam still steps in.

It's that way because, well, 2 hot-headed battle-happy boys, and Balam is worried about Iruma going into an evil cycle from stress. In fact, he wonders why it feels like Iruma is at least partially returning to origins. It doesn't seem to be that way, Iruma isn't interested in harming people, but something just feels. Off.

On the end of Opera's group, yeahhh I feel like there's potential for something between Ameri and Kerori. Something something inspiration something something deriving courage something something being a shining star

Due to having spent time with Iruma (who makes magic tools) and Sabro (whose ability is an arsenal of weapons) Clara gets some Ideas™ and probably busts out wack-ass tools for Opera and Ameri, but I also want her to be there for kids at the shelter bc y'know family and safety and whatnot

Maybe she can do both

(It'd be pretty cool if Ameri finds out that Kerori is Kuromu here. Like she moves to protect like she always does because old habits die hard and she has a responsibility but Kerori could give her some peace of mind, “leave the shelter to me, don't you know who I am?” and the two nod to each other and go separate ways or smth I dunno I'm getting way too attached to these two)

Walter Park's progression can turn out maybe a bit different. Maybe it's Team Balam's mission to get to the shelter while avoiding a monster. Maybe the mission turns into a Kalego hunt since Iruma can't just summon him anymore. Maybe the monsters are a bit different to allow for a chase/hide sequence. Either way Iruma's. Uh. Clearly Different™.

Maybe he has to macgyver a magic tool to absorb the monster's blast mana from the debris and maybe Clara comes into clutch by giving him material, maybe the ring and its gluttony aspect is used as the magical “core” of this tool to attract mana towards it

Again, I'm not yet sure what I'm going to do with Ali. I love that guy, he's fucking hilarious, he's an important confidante and advisor for Iruma that I would be greatly saddened to see gone from the story, but I can't figure out what to do with him

Maybe the ring used to belong to Delkira and might contain traces of his mana which can be formed into a projection of a fragment of him when introduced to Iruma's mana or whatever due to some backstory elements or something— yeah sure I'll go with that. For now.

(Maybe when Ali and Iruma are first introduced to each other Ali calls the latter by the wrong name. Like “Masaki, you shrank?!” and yes, the name Masaki isn't there by random it has a purpose)

He barely makes it in time to do all that before the fog in his mind catches up to the thing that got loose going “stop STOP DOING THAT. BACK INTO THE FOG YOU GO.” and the strain knocks him out or something.

Walter Park needs more development. This entire AU needs more development.

In the aftermath, Iruma's three guardians have a talk. It's vague, but we get a name. Seiya.

Sullivan talks vaguely about how this Seiya person was like that too, though less shaken. He remarks on how Iruma resembles his family.

Opera and Balam express worry about how the hypnosis on Iruma might be close to coming undone. Sullivan says it's to be expected from a sibling of someone who bound Sullivan into a contract, and to be expected from someone who's the blood of— It's bound to happen, eventually. They can't stop it. His only hope is that Iruma will be ready for it.

This turns into a discussion of Iruma's school life, how he seems to be settling in and making friends, and also turned into a benevolent mob boss of sorts? Iruma is doing fine, they say, he's not alone anymore, he seems to have a reason to live now, and hey, it's not like the rest of the school term will be chaotic or anything, right? And he has such good friends now, they care about him! He'll have more time to bond securely to them before the spell breaks.

The go and stay with the Valac household and Sabro is also there don't worry about it

The safety and warmth and stuff unravels something that's been wound up tight in Iruma's chest. He opens up to the rest of the quartet about his worries and anxieties and the fact that he has no past (and maybe even the fact that he has no wings)

They grow closer! They grow closer. The oyster is finally opening up.

Maybe he even thanks them for his ambition taking form. He wants to make a kind Netherworld. (Following the letter of Kiriwo's wishes but not the spirit LOL)

Sabro states that he'd have to be Demon King for that, or become someone high-ranked and close to the Demon King. The two agree to be rivals in pursuit of that goal, but no hard feelings if the other wins, they'll just simply become part of the winner's retinue. Azz bickers that Iruma will obviously win, and the four descend into playful scuffles.

I wonder how the other 3 would react. Not so drastically, I would presume, their friend has no memory of his past, okay cool, he's still him. But I do think Azz would have a heart attack at realizing Iruma was left behind at the flying race. Sabro is just impressed. Clara also has never shown her wings in canon and iirc she rode on Azz's back so I think she'd high-five at having something in common with Iruma (and at coming into clutch with his makeshift mana devouring tool debacle with her pocket creation of tools and whatnot). She's so thrilled and also would tease the shit out of the others.

At the Valac house, and after that, actually because that spell on his mind was jostled a bit by the Walter Park attack, Iruma starts having dreams. They rarely ever do correspond to actual memories, it's not an exact 1-to-1 translation, it's like… an amalgamation of the emotions and multiple aspects of his life.

Disaster sirens, “don't go, don't leave me”, “no one is coming”, spaceships, something chasing him, cherry blossoms, moonlit nights, the sound of a bowstring of a Japanese bow as it is released— clear as a summer sky as though it was plucked like a string instrument. The safety of being held by a parent. A crying girl. A tired boy.

“That looks good, height looks good, pressure in the green.”

“Atmosphere toxicity index ■■■, are you sure you wish to proceed?”

“Come here, ■■■■■.”

“Why? Why is there no response—”

“You have to live.”

“Good job, ■■■■■.”

“Otou-san, where are you?”

“■■■■■?”

“Help is coming, okay? Look, look, it's sunri—”

“Breach warning. Breach warning. To the people near annex [■-■■], please evacuate to the inner chambers immediately.”

“■■■■■—”

“Where do you think you're going—”

“■■■■■!”

(The human world is not what demons expect.)

Not going into how they spend the rest of their Final Days holidays, moving onto the next term

(Iruma may or may not have a change in uniform style, I have ideas for his uniform I just need to decide if this alternate design is kept from the start of the school term or he does a switcheroo now. He does start wearing a respirator/mask similar to Balam's because he wants to pay homage to his sensei.)

The Hunting Festival. HOO BOI THE HUNTING FESTIVAL.

Where do I even start.

Canon lineups seem fine, I'm not gonna change those, except figure out where the hell I'm gonna stick Purson

Also smth for Clara outside of Raim. Nothing wrong with Raim, in fact I quite like that Clara gets to embrace femininity and seduction, it's cute, but also I feel like I need to give this girl something more. I'll… figure it out, hopefully.

When Iruma tries forming/holding a bow, there's this nostalgia-sorrow-shame that pops up. He doesn't know where it's coming from, but he figures it's something from his past.

The Harvest Festival more or less progresses similarly? Might change stuff as I think more, but…

[Pinning down Thoth for now since I feel like I wanna do smth different w the storytelling part but I don't know what yet]

Anyways something changes when Orobas slams the Trauma beam on Iruma.

He regains his memories.

He's standing in a wreck of a spaceship of sorts. Blood pools at his feet. And around him, all around him, he sees—

His family

The stuff from the dreams he's been having come back full force. The fear of running out of air. The fear of being crushed by machinery. The fear of his family dying—

So basically, it starts out this way, right? The Trauma ability preys on the victim's fears. I don't think it'd actually be limited by what the victim is consciously afraid of. Subconscious I think plays a big part.

And lo, what's hiding in Iruma's subconscious? The shit he's been through and has been afraid of before he lost his memories.

It doesn't start out with actual memories, no, just visions of his buried fears and trauma

And that? That shakes him enough that the amnesia spell breaks.

And on top of the trauma visions the actual memories return and it just turns into a mess.

So what's his past?

To contextualize that we're gonna do some worldbuilding with the human world because it's. Uh. Different™.

So. It starts with the cosmos. It's chaotic and it has its own messy shit going on.

Enter planet earth.

The planet has a “will”. It's kinda alive but also not.

Any living being on the planet is part of it. It's under the planet's dominion.

The planet's will is there to preserve the planet and anything associated with it.

Humanity started out as part of the planet's dominion. After all, they're animals.

Two things about humans:

They're social animals, meaning, they're wired for cooperation and community

They're creative as fuck

And slowly but surely, humanity starts to gain a collective unconscious will of its own, separate from the planet's

And humanity became more consumerist as time went on, cultures that didn't respect nature taking dominance over everyone else, things turned to progress, progress, progress, one core aspect of humanity squashing and suffocating the other.

Humanity's quest for advancement progress etc pollutes the earth

The earth is mad

Or more like because humanity obtained a separate will and is now actively harming it, the will of the planet perceives it as a threat

And threats to the planet's longevity must be dealt with, the same way a body's immune system must eliminate an invading pathogen

Humanity's collective unconscious will also tries to eliminate any threat to the continued existence of humanity

Thus begins the conflict between the two

A bit of clarification: humanity's will doesn't take cues from individual humans or even human factions, despite originating from humans it's a very inhuman force of protection. Even if someone thinks/knows something is not inherently/actually a threat to them or humanity's continued existence, the Collective Will will descend upon the perceived threat anyways.

Several human factions themselves have been eliminated by this Force.

Something similar for the planet, except I guess it doesn't have a conscious? Or sapience. It's all instincts all the way down.

The planet's defense system would probably take the form of beasts or natural calamities, humanity's defense system… still working on it. Maybe the Collective Unconscious just aligns individual humans and stuff to do the things it wants them to do, I'm not sure about that one yet.

A n y w a y s

Both Wills may or may not “dream up” entirely new worlds.

The planet sings the cosmos' song

Humanity is always looking up at the stars asking, asking, are we alone?

(No but really, the way humanity yearns and wonders and wants for there to be other life forms in the galaxy makes me a little misty-eyed if I think about it too hard so here)

MULTIVERSES BABY. HUMANITY TELLS STORIES AND DREAMS HARD ENOUGH THAT IT ACTUALLY FUCKING MANIFESTS THOSE STORIES

The worlds draw templates from humanity's stories but the worlds can align closer to either the planet or humanity

So what we got here is this sci-fi fantasy thing with forming and dying worlds. The worlds interact, sometimes one takes over the other, takes resources, and though the original planet and humans didn't have access to some materials they sure can take from the “phantasmal” worlds. Ore, magic, all the works.

I'm still swinging back and forth on whether the Netherworld is one such world that was “dreamt up”. I think I'm going with “no it's not” for now.

So, amidst all this, it's not as though there aren't pockets of human factions and families and traditions that didn't maintain cordial, harmonious dynamics with nature.

The Munakata family is one such part.

The Munakata are a family of Shinto priests and archers, though their headcount has dwindled over the generations and now only one little family remains.

So Delkira actually ended up in the human world before. I don't know how yet.

He meete someone named Masaki. Munakata Masaki. Guy was shooting an arrow. Surrounded by cherry blossoms.

So you know this thing, right, the sound a bowstring makes when it is released from a draw. It even has a name but I am kinda afraid of this monstrosity coming up in the fandom tag of an anime whose title is this name, because I kinda yoinked two character names from it, so yeah. Delkira hears it and falls in love with it.

Anyways he remains in the human world for a bit bc for some reason he can't seem to return so Masaki and his “family” (currently one partner named “Akito” though if one looks at them closely… they don't seem exactly human) have to protect young Delkira until they find a way to send him off again.

Maybe they even have a journey. Maybe. This part's still foggy.

But it did impact Delkira a lot. Masaki is someone who is very human, and bonding w him gave Delkira ideas™.

Akito is… kinda something else. They've calmed down, kinda, they used to be like a feral animal, deeply traumatized by smth they refuse to disclose. But they're insanely protective.

Anyways the two's home was in this little peaceful ignored corner of the planet, don't worry about it, they do probably have to go on a cross-planet trip or smth to find a way to send Delkira back.

He is about to be sent back, he asks if they won't come with him, Akito says no, they love their little town, Masaki jokes with “if you become Demon King, maybe”

Delkira goes back, lives his life, becomes Demon King, and somehow ends up on the Munakata's doorstep again— several years after he first left but nowhere near the hundreds of years that passed in the Netherworld.

(I haven't figured out the mechanics shhhhhh)

Again, he can't go back immediately and this time he ends up staying for longer. They had three kids, each a half-sibling to the other. Seiya (Masaki-Akito), Maiya (Akito-Delkira), and Yuuya (Delkira-Masaki).

Don't worry about why they can all have kids with each other, gender is a mere suggestion and I am fucking around.

These kids become relevant, I promise. Their characters only become more fleshed out after their parents are out of the picture but just to get them a little bit established:

Seiya is the eldest son and eldest child, probably born somewhere between Delkira's first time and second rodeo in the human world. Likes archery like Masaki. Looks uhhhh normal at a glance but some hints of abnormality can show sometimes. Even if nobody acknowledges it, he is half-phantasmal.

(Still, nobody talks about what Akito's deal is)

Maiya is the second child and only daughter. Likes dancing. Boisterous, active, impulsive, creative. But falls sick often because her mana is so powerful it's starting to eat her from the inside and Masaki has to calm it for her. Despite liking to be active, she's homebound for most of her early childhood until her body grows strong enough to contain and resist her mana.

Yuuya is the youngest son and child. Starts out as a soft inquisitive and adventurous little kid that will turn skittish later on. Yep, Yuuya is the boy that would become Iruma.

Using the youngest as the benchmark, their ages are: Seiya (8), Maiya (5), Yuuya (0).

So remember how the small town the Munakata family lived in was an ignored corner of the world that didn't attract much in terms of conflict and corruption?

Well that didn't last

Just like in our world (heh) there be some damn powerful corporations and shit and they're unethical as fuck

I haven't figured out the reason but one such faction comes to this part and…

Well.

They saw a half-demon kid playing outside (Yuuya), they kidnapped that child for “scientific purposes”

This is where Yuuya got his wings torn off. He was six.

He gets rescued by Akito, and very hastily has to be hospitalized and then moved to where an artificial nervous system thing can be implanted into his back. Because, well remember the Heartbreaker arc? Marbas was going to torture Jazz with a centipede thing that specifically targets the wing root? “The (centipede's) stinger will enter the target's body, where it penetrates the spine and wing root, tearing the victim's nerves as it goes. You will experience intense pain, nausea and vomiting, and then… you will lose all five of your senses and become paralyzed, unable to move a fingertip.” Scary shit!

Little Yuuya would've been in excruciating pain.

This is when Delkira is faced with true fear and despair— human blood can heal demons, but demon blood cannot reciprocate.

Try as he might, he is not allowed to save his child.

Nor is he allowed to save the rest of his family— his spouses and other children— if anything ever happened to them.

Something inside of him breaks.

Then he should just rid the world of anything that might threaten his family. Anything that has threatened his family.

He goes on to try to wipe whatever organization that was off the census in every way that matters.

Remember how the world has immune systems to defeat any foreign substance?

Maybe whatever had sent him to the human world twice had automatically slapped limiters on him to prevent the universe from trying to wipe him out, maybe it was Masaki who “tamed” his powers via sealing them, either way even with the limiters on he's going wild.

Until all the forces come bearing down on him and corner him— and that's when Masaki is the one to find him.

(Akito had to take all three kids and haul ass because their entire family is a target now by both greedy/paranoid people and the immune systems via association to Delkira. Fun.)

I've got nothing but vague-ass vibes and no concrete information, but… all three of the parents die. Delkira and Masaki first (the power limiter gets taken off and he goes down in a blaze), Akito last.

This leaves Seiya alone to raise his younger siblings.

They live on the run, switching from one place to the other, maybe they even get taken in by some organization, it's still vibes for now.

It's a stressful thing. For Seiya, who's still just a teen, doing his best for his younger siblings, and they've all just lost their home and parents and also Yuuya is in constant pain

Okay, so

Evil cycles are sort of like, returning to one's instincts, being robbed of reason and sapience, that sort of thing, right?

(And RtO is kinda like c-ptsd as in those posts)

Y'know how with humans, trauma responses, that fight-or-flight stuff, it's not tied to logic and whatnot, it's more tied to instincts

It's the animal inside of you trying to shield both body and psyche

Because humans are still animals

Same principle here.

So Maiya is a difficult child to raise, much less by another child, and her hectic and traumatic childhood absolutely affected her negatively

She couldn't make friends, people didn't like her because she was too loud too much too selfish— and she ended up internalizing all that. A stain on a pristine canvas. A demonic wretch.

Seiya actually tries to summon a demon or find a way to the Netherworld in hopes of sending his younger siblings to a world that might accept them more than this world, but his earlier attempts were unsuccessful.

Considering one can get prosecuted for being summoned, I imagine there's some level of choice and agency involved in the whole shebang which is why Seiya was unsuccessful— no demon was choosing to accept his call, but on the other hand Kalego got involuntarily summoned twice (I mean the contract-forming ones, not all the times he got summoned after said contract formed) so. Who knows, really.

(Maybe the barrier between worlds actually prevents involuntary summons and Kalego only canonically got forced into becoming Iruma's familiar because there's no world-dividing border between them and the pull of the summoning circle is much stronger, question mark?)

Those failed summons and a lack of response only reinforced the unwanted-unloved-unworthy feeling in Maiya's mind, and solidified Yuuya/Iruma's “nobody is coming” sentiment.

“well since they don't want to accept my siblings, FINE, I'll fucking do it my fucking self” — Seiya, definitely

Did I mention Seiya would've been 14-15 at this point?

So like. The two siblings with demonic blood. They… definitely have some spicy variety of evil cycles/RtO

At some point Maiya runs away because she's overwhelmed by how she can't find anyone who's like her (aside from her family), feels like she's being a burden on Seiya, halfway almost wishing to die by some accident, and convinced that surely nobody will come looking for her— demons didn't come for her, her parents are dead, Seiya's just so exhausted, she doesn't get along with humans, but it does set her two brothers to try and find her.

Somewhere along the way, name changes happen, and Yuuya's alias “Iruma” was probably born out of a joke but hey if it works it works

This kind of on-the-run sci-fi type premise is where Iruma learnt to deal with machinery, learnt to deal with magic tools, learnt to pilot some sick-ass vehicles, dealt with many many near-death situations, needed this hypervigilance and paranoia, it was to survive all this because while Seiya certainly tried his best, he himself was also very young and also when Maiya was with them, he had to watch her too and she's basically a feral ball of anger that's constantly lashing out.

(Ameri in her evil cycle probably reminded Iruma of Maiya, her exhaustion would've reminded him of Seiya)

Death was a constant companion in that kind of setting. People die and they leave and you leave them and nothing ever lasts.

Cherry blossoms only bloom for a couple of weeks and peak for a couple of days. They're a symbol of rebirth and renewal and stuff yeah but they also represent the fleeting nature of life— how life is short and while it may be beautiful, it is gone far too soon. Cherry blooming windows even in the hometown they had to leave behind became shorter and shorter due to what the world was becoming. Full of death and pollution and pain.

The cherry tree that Iruma created in the Netherworld is ever-blooming, at least in the AU because I don't remember if it's canon (the tree kinda exited the narrative pretty damn fast), and it might represent his desire for a less precarious life for himself and other, a kind world where life doesn't need to be fleeting.

Where was I— oh yeah the backstory. Ehhh I'll skip over a lot because I feel like people won't be that much interested in stuff that doesn't involve canon characters so we immediately jump to the dire point in the backstory where their lives are in even more peril than before— maybe Maiya got involved in some especially dangerous shit and her brothers finally found her and things blew up— and as a desperate measure, Seiya takes up a solution he once gave up on already.

He tries to summon a demon.

Yep, Sullivan is here. I haven't figured out how he got here.

(Maybe smth about the location of summons, maybe something else, I dunno)

(Oh but what if it were something like Iruma or Maiya's blood containing Delkira's mana during the summoning process that caught Sullivan's attention)

Things blow up in a different way, in an interpersonal way, because the kids absolutely do not trust that a demon is finally coming to their aid

Maybe Maiya had even finally found a community in the dangerous underbelly shit she was involved in— and doesn't want to leave that certainty for something she doesn't know, even though a huge part of her pain was formed by the fact that no demon ever came for her and her brothers and that must surely mean they will never be accepted by demons. It feels like an insult, too little too late. Also she's still mad at her brothers for trying to get her out of a path she's chosen in the first place, never mind this fucking stranger.

Iruma doesn't have a sense of home or anything, he's been on the move basically all his life, so he doesn't feel as attached to the human world and all its various phantasmals as Maiya does, but he refuses to leave either one of his siblings behind, one of whom doesn't wanna leave and the other is totally fine with being left behind because he figures Sullivan wouldn't want the child that doesn't have Delkira's blood.

Sullivan is caught in this family drama. Like me when I'm stuck in the car with my mother and sister when they're arguing.

They cannot reach a consensus but they do agree that they gotta find a way to send Sullivan back at least. Again, haven't figured out why he can't just go back willy-nilly a la canon but it is what it is.

On the brink of them finding their way, things go to shit, whatever nonsense was chasing Maiya in the first place manages to corner and separate them, Maiya is the first to die— before the others scramble to reunite and my good god they are not okay about her death. Not even Sullivan despite the girl having been nothing but hostile to him.

One of Delkira's blood, dead in a horrific manner.

(Maybe they even try to take her still-dying body [more durable because demon blood mixed with some other mysterious phantasmal juice] for ✨scientific purposes✨ and Sullivan kills anyone who even attempts.)

(The funerary rites were bare-bones and desolate— but at least she got a funeral. Their three parents… not so much)

Anyhow, they find a way, Sullivan and Iruma get booted into the Netherworld, Seiya stays behind to “shut the gate” from this side, whatever that means and… dies. I don't know how much sense this makes but he gets injured or poisoned with something that puts them all on a deadline and… he doesn't come along because he won't make it anyways or something.

Iruma… is not okay.

He descends into despair and lashes out in agony— everything he cared about, everyone he loved, was dead. He attacks Sullivan, attacks Opera, even tries to end his own existence, to the point where Sullivan has no choice but to put a memory-suppression spell and a Chill Out Please spell on the kid because he was a danger to both himself and everyone else around him.

Balam gets called in as personal physician, yadda yadda, we loop back to the start of this AU with Iruma enrolling into Babyls.

Back to the Harvest Festival.

Boy is… obviously not doing well.

And then he hears it.

The release of a bowstring.

You guys know how there's this ceremony in Japan, where an archer draws a bow, and releases the bowstring— without an arrow— and the sound of the fully drawn bowstring being released is supposed to ward off harm and whatever? Remember that Masaki, one of the three parents, was an archer?

Anyways the kids were blessed with this ceremony when they were born, Seiya and Maiya had already used up that blessing in other near-death situations separate from the ones they died in, Iruma's is only coming in now.

Iruma gets to have a conversation with an echo of Masaki— and Ali maybe regains his memories as Delkira? The latter part is still up in the air but the former absolutely happens.

Masaki's echo guides Iruma into taking up the bow and shooting it to destroy the illusion.

The Harvest Festival proceeds, maybe THIS is when Ali regains Delkira's memories in full, y'know that “so it's you” vision from canon but kinda different, the Legendary Leaf turns into cherry trees in full bloom, and Iruma… cries.

He has a lot to deal with.

Demons around him do notice how exhausted and spent he seems but they chalk it up to him being fatigued after lasting through a rough Harvest Festival.

The Misfits and especially the 3/4ths of the Love Quartet definitely notice something off though. They just can't place what, but are willing to give Iruma some space.

More vagueness. But the mental image of Sullivan saying “It was going to happen. It was always going to happen.” in such a sorrowful, tired voice lives rent-free in my head.

Y'know that time post Harvest Festival Clara and Iruma go visit Azz's house? I still don't know if Sabro is there too (maybe) but. Even after Iruma gets that stellar advice from Amaryllis, he still decides to tell them some part of the story.

That's way generous. He tells them his true name, that he's regained his memories, and “You know, Azz-kun, Clara, Sabnock-kun? The pink fluffy tree I grew in Suzy-sensei's class? Where I'm from, they... they don't bloom all the time. They only bloom in spring— and only for a couple weeks, if that, more like a couple days. They didn't last. They were beautiful but they didn't last. It was kinda like that. My life back then. People came and went. They died and they left and we left and… I won't go into specifics. I'm— that was the kind of place I was from.”

I probably should think more about how they'd react to that but I've been working on this draft for like three days at this point, I don't know if it will turn into four days, my brain is high-key getting fried with all this. So I'm gonna grossly oversimplify the next arc and only briefly talk about the Heartbreaker.

(Plenty of quartet developing stuff between Harvest and Music buuuut as I said my brain is not okay)

So in this AU, Poro became a recluse in the aftermath of Delkira's disappearance.

Okay before we move on w this post, I've seen Poro being referred to by he, she, and they, all three pronouns, from different translations and such, and for the sake of shenanigans I will be cycling through them all because hey, Poro shares the same pronouns as me and that's fun! Please don't try to tell me Poro is one thing or another because I will ignore you.

So anyway Sullivan tried to invite Poro to judge for Music Festivals in Babyls before, but Poro never accepted the invitations because he couldn't muster it in him to create or enjoy anything anymore.

Cue Royal One opening

Cue Poro getting her yearly invitation

They go this time. Of course they do.

He finds out that Iruma is actually Delkira's child.

I do not have a concrete grasp on how she'd react but I'm guessing Not Well At All

Definitely wouldn't like the fact that Delkira's dead, for one, and the fact that Delkira left to go and have a child elsewhere? In the human world at that?

No matter how you slice Poro's feelings towards Delkira, be it platonic or romantic (I lean towards the latter but also sometimes the former, you do you) that is NOT a fun thing to find out

She still joins the Six Fingers but there's a lingering sense of wrongness from how they talk about Delkira and the world Delkira created, how Baal built a castle over the river Poro's friend loved, how they want to tear down everything he worked for

Poro didn't care about the world because everything lost meaning to them due to their grief but… what if he started to care about the world again? What if there was a period between them appearing publicly again and then being recruited? What if Poro came to get attached to the world Delkira fought to build? What then?

What about this child? All that remains of Delkira?

Lots of conflicted feelings, trying to tell themselves things will be fine when Delkira is back, they will bring him back, but also. Something's just not right.

Aka, Poro's getting put into a blender and blitzed to hell and back.

In the Heartbreaker arc, Iruma's team gets decked to hell and back with various gadgets. It's fun.

Sabro and Iruma face off against Atori together. Iruma may or may not have baited Sabro into biting him after Atori beats the shit out of Sabro already in his evil cycle.

Power up, baby

Balam still arrives. It's a whole mess.

One possible outcome of this is Poro suddenly switching sides.

Okay I don't got anything anymore for now I'm dead.

Miscellaneous stuff:

Iruma's AU uniform design: still blue, sailor flaps like girl uniforms, has a false waistcoat kinda thing? Looks like two layers but it's just one layer? The center-front of the garment is shorter than the side and back parts. I don't know how long the blazer gets, too long and it'd look way too much like Azz's but Ameri also rocks a long coat so. Maybe Iruma can have that too. Mask like Balam's. The feather earring Bachiko gives him. Ponytail but the bang on his left side of the face is tucked into the ponytail to showcase the earring. Ring, of course. Oh! I know! The uniform kinda looks like the college uniforms from Ancient Magus Bride season 2! I don't even remember whether I said or not he sometimes shows up in a skirt and nobody bats an eye but it's a thing.

Azz and Sabro have some sort of feather accessory. I think Sabro would rock a wild-looking feather mantle. Maybe Azz's feather accessory can look neater? It's an homage to Balam. I was so sad he didn't get to give his mark to his students in canon so here.

At least one of their feather accessories is green for both Balam and Clara.

Clara, my girl, definitely needs some spicing up. I'll put a pin on that, I'm tired.

I guess Kalego is still the homeroom teacher, I see no reason to change it, even if the familiar shenanigans that got him saddled with this class are absent from the AU, I'm sure there'll be some other wack-ass nonsense that makes the other teachers and Sullivan rope him into becoming the Misfits' homeroom teacher anyways.

This AU was partially inspired by those fics where the teachers find out he doesn't have wings. I like them, but I felt there was a gap between his actual source of trauma vs what the teachers think he went through that made it somewhat difficult for me to get invested, but that's just a me thing.

Also the Iruma-is-Delkira's-son thing, I'd be sad if this were actually canon, I don't think it's canon and I don't want this to be canon. I think it would take away from his growth and journey— like that reveal of Aria from The Villainess Turns The Hourglass turning out to have royal lineage after all. This is just me having fun with “but what if he WAS Delkira's son though 👀”

Also thought Iruma who lives up to his whole Magitools association would be fun.

I definitely want to get into Netherworld politics in the future, especially the Trickster Plan, Poro's defection being accompanied by a reveal of Iruma's lineage, the other two schools and the grandsons, all that jazz, all that mess, but I don't got the energy to think about those right now, if any of y'all could throw me your thoughts and stuff that'd be great because developing an AU alone is boring and disheartening 😭

Probably ended up removing Ameri's manga collection by accident. Whoopsies. But I did her in a way that resonated with me personally.

Tying the cherry tree to a bazillion things like a nexus where lines converge. A fortunate encounter that changed you (Delkira meeting Masaki for the first time), memories of happiness and belonging (the Munakata family), grief and loss and the fleeting nature of life (all the deaths, humans don't live that long compared to demons too), hope, rebirth, renewal (hope of the Netherworld being changed? it did seem significantly more cruel before Delkira and he did change a lot even if it's not canonically specified how, just that he was “responsible for drastic reforms”), a symbol of coexisting w nature, a fragment of Iruma's past but also a representation of the future (the ever-blooming tree as opposed to the fleeting blossoms)

The kanji for Munakata is comprised of 宗 (muna) meaning “religion, sect, denomination, main point, origin, essence”, and 像 (kata) meaning “image, statue, picture, figure, portrait”.

雅毅 Masaki's kanji is comprised of 雅 (masa) meaning “elegance, refinement, grace” and 毅 (ki) meaning “perseverance, fortitude, determination”.

I don't got kanji for Akito but they're just Mordred from this original story idea I had a while back, a continuation after that I suppose. Yippe! (https://www.tumblr.com/tired-reader-writer/748637984044285952/bestie-i-didnt-know-you-had-arthurian-inspired?source=share)

Seiya's kanji is comprised of 靖 (sei) meaning “peaceful, calm, tranquil” and 矢 (ya) meaning “arrow, dart”.

Maiya's kanji is comprised of 舞 (mai) meaning “dance, flit, circle, wheel, revolve” and 矢 (ya) meaning “arrow, dart”.

Yuuya's kanji is comprised of 友 (yuu) meaning “friend, companion” and 矢 (ya) meaning “arrow, dart”.

I was originally going to make Iruma's birth name be “Kiriya” and figure out the kanji situation later, but I realized the names Seiya, Maiya, and Iruma, all had five English letters each and I thought it was fun so I sought to find a name that had the right number of English letters. I won't talk about the other candidates here as this post is getting ridiculously long already, but I'm glad I chose “Yuuya” with the help of my friend.

Also it's been day 5 since I started working on this thing by this point by the way.

I do think child abuse exists in the Netherworld, I know it's a trope that has demon parents treasure their kids more and abuse/neglect is an unfathomable thing to them because life is difficult in the Netherworld and such but… I don't believe that's the case. You need only look at Kiriwo's backstory to see abuse clear in it. The teachers at Babyls do seem to value and treasure their students though, maybe that's where the perception was coming from.

(Seriously, how did anyone lose the Dorodoro brothers in the first place though…)

The human world stuff was… hm. Not relevant to the main body of the AU, per se, it's just me going ham on the concepts because I got carried away. Oops?

Iruma's bow here looks like a really gnarly modern compound bow. Maybe with some glowy lines and stuff for that sci-fi flair. Bachiko said upon seeing it: “Boy, what is that contraption?” “It's a bow, sensei.” “No it ain't.”

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ckret2 · 1 year

Text

The most unpleasant breakfast.

I feel like this picture is a perfect summary of the fic so far.

Chapter 5 of The Pines Capture Human Bill Cipher But Can't Tell Anybody Because They Don't Know Whether Killing Him Will Restart Weirdmageddon (title TBD). Masterpost here. Updated 8/7/2024 for TBOB compatibility!

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The group asking for a seat at the truck stop diner was an odd sight: three adult men; two children; and then one disheveled barefoot lunatic in a cartoon pony toga, handcuffs, a chain restricting one arm, and the dirt-smeared remains of a butterfly marker mask. But truckers and odd sights were the only things you saw at 3 a.m. in a Roadkill County truck stop that was old enough to still have functioning pay phones, and the handcuffed guest wasn't blinking SOS in Morse code, so the weary party was escorted to the round corner booth without question. They sandwiched Bill between Soos and Stan and silently awaited their menus.

"Hey, I'm Dani, I'll be taking care of you tonight." A waitress passed out menus to the group, hesitated uncertainly with a couple of paper kids' menus in front of Dipper and Mabel, and handed them over when Mabel made grabby hands for the accompanying four-pack of crayons. "Can I start you off with some coffee, or...?" Dani's gaze fell on Bill and her face lit up. "Oh, hey! Toga Lady! Hi!"

Bill gave her a puzzled smile and raised brows. "Hello?"

"Oh, yeah dude!" Soos laughed. "Wendy got a picture of you the last time you came by. You're totally a local meme now."

"Okay, I've gotta know." The waitress gestured at Bill's ensemble with her pen. "What's your story?"

"Well—" Bill opened his mouth, and froze; and the whole table went still as they simultaneously had the same realization.

If anybody revealed Bill's identity, in Gravity Falls, the epicenter of Weirdmageddon, they'd have a mob on their hands. At worst the town would rip Bill to shreds, and at best they'd throw him in a cell so they could schedule his shredding for a pleasant Saturday afternoon when more people could watch.

Bill couldn't risk the possibility that he'd die for good, and the humans couldn't risk the possibility that he'd be re-released as a triangle.

None of them could reveal anything.

And all of them knew it.

"Party," Bill said. Warming to the cover story, he went on: "This is my party uniform. A little anachronistic, but what can I say? There's nothing I like better than being the center of attention at a wild party!" He cast a sideways glance toward the Stan twins. "Until the fun police break it up."

Ford grumbled, "Partying wasn't the problem. You were going to burn down the town."

"You get so worked up over a little bonfire, sheesh." Bill rolled his eyes, leaned toward the waitress, and said, "These geek types, I tell you. Some people wouldn't recognize a good time if it appeared to them in a divine vision."

"Maybe if I ever had a divine vision..."

Bill shot Ford a dirty look. They quickly broke off their mutual glare, conscious of Dani curiously watching, and Bill breezily explained, "He had a bad trip and still blames me for it."

Dani laughed. "You're crazy! What's your real name, Toga Lady?"

Bill hesitated. "Guess!"

"What?"

"Guess! It's a game. You guess mine, I'll guess yours."

She looked down at her name tag. "I already told you my name's Dani."

"But did you tell me it's Danielle Miranda?"

Her eyebrows shot up.

Bill beamed. "I'll give you three guesses! While you're thinking about that, could we get a round of coffee, and... do you serve anything more toxic than mildly spoiled apple juice? No? Just coffee."

"And a chocolate shake," Mabel threw in.

Bill's eyes lit up. "Make that two."

Stan snapped, "I am not paying for you to get a chocolate shake." Bill sighed.

Once the waitress was gone, Bill said, "Trauma still disrupts humans' long-term memories, right? Have the locals forgotten my name yet?"

"Yeah, no, everyone remembers," Soos said. "I know two different Williams that got their names legally changed."

Bill groaned. "Great. Terrific! Fine. I don't even care. My last pseudonym was getting stale anyway, it's about time I find a new one. Do I look like a Silas?"

The others stared at him. Stan said, "What?"

"A Silas, do I look like my name could be Silas."

"Sure, that sounds stupid enough for you."

Bill shot Stan a dirty look. "Fine, you try. I've spent the last couple of days getting killed, tortured, drugged, beaten, and starved—"

"Whoa, wait," Soos said, "you've been what?"

—so all I'm coming up with is 'Not-Bill' and 'the letter A.' Somebody else think of something."

Stan let out a loud sigh. "Who cares? Bob."

"No."

"Will."

"No, and you sound stupid."

"Hey—!"

Ignoring Stan's irritation, Bill looked around the table. "Anyone else?"

The others at the table considered the question. Soos said, "Ferdinand. I think Ferdinand is way cool."

"Coming out of you, that's not the high recommendation you think it is, Questiony."

Soos winced. "Ouch."

"C'mon, give me something that sounds a little bit like me."

Dipper said, "Troy Angle?" Mabel laughed.

Bill didn't. "Troy again."

Ford ventured, "Xanthe?"

"Ha. Sure, just call me 'yellow hair,' why not. I like the direction you're thinking—"

Stan—whose barely-suppressed rage at this whole situation had been steadily building back up since Bill called him stupid—snapped, "Why are we looking for a name he'll like? Why does he get any say in this! I say we call him whatever he can pronounce through a mouthful of broken teeth! Because when I'm through with this sonovab—"

Bill blocked his view of Stan's threatening fist by holding up his menu. "But Stanley's got a point, I need a simple name. How many Americans know how to spell Ξανθή?"

"Get this stupid thing out of my—"

Mabel, who'd been mulling over the whole "yellow hair" idea, stood and slammed her hands on the table, interrupting the brewing argument. "GOLDILOCKS!"

Bill erupted into a peal of laughter that made the rest of the table flinch. His handcuffs clattered as he smacked his hands on the table and he leaned toward Mabel. "Yes yes YES! Perfect! Ha!" It was like a light switch had flipped on in Bill, re-energizing him, and suddenly he was brighter than he'd been since before his capture. "Funniest coincidence, I—well, forget it, you wouldn't get it." Eyes crinkling in genuine amusement, Bill said, "But I like you, kid. You're the one with the fun ideas!"

Mabel blinked in surprise, any pleasure at the unexpected compliment dampened by the knowledge that being liked by Bill was never a good thing. "Oh. Yep," she said flatly. "Fun's my thing."

Miffed, Dipper said, "Hey, I made a pun."

"I don't like puns."

Ford said, "If you'd please stop trying to win over my grand-niece with flattery..." but fell silent as Dani came back with drinks.

She passed coffee around, set a chocolate shake down for Mabel, set a second one down for Bill—"On the house"—and winked. "Is it Rumpelstiltskin?"

Bill cracked up again. "No, but give me three hours and a particle accelerator and I could teach you to spin straw into gold!"

"Worth a shot! Okay, is everyone ready to order?"

There was an awkward pause. Soos finally said, "Oh man, we all got to talking and completely forgot to look at the menu. Can you give us like five minutes?"

"Sure. Just wave when you're ready."

The group steeled themselves to the task of picking a meal, which felt far too mundane for such a bizarre night. Dipper frowned at the paper kids' menu he'd been handed. "Hey, Soos. Can I look at your menu when you're done...?"

Wordlessly, Bill stole Dipper's menu and crayon box and slid over his adult menu.

"...Thanks."

Bill had already dumped out the crayons and started drawing triangles on the menu. "Don't mention it!"

By the time Dani returned, Bill had covered a quarter of the menu in tiny doodles of his own triangular face, reluctantly scratched them out after Soos pointed out he could get arrested for those, and covered half the rest in countless eyes. Soos ordered a burger, Stan ordered bacon and eggs, Ford ordered an omelet, Dipper ordered an omelet too not because Ford did but because it sounded good and maybe he wanted to try one okay that's all, Mabel ordered rainbow sprinkle chocolate pancakes, and Bill ordered a banana octopus pancake and a side of bacon "as floppy as you can make it" over Stan's objections to letting Bill get a side item.

"And raw bacon. Got it." Dani closed her notebook, gave Bill a considering look, and said, "Is it Blondie?"

"Ha! No! But you've been a good sport so I'll give you a hint! It's something in between your first two guesses."

"Huh..." Dani considered that a moment; then noticed Bill trying to pick up his shake with handcuffs on. "Do you... need help with those? I think the attached gas station's got bolt cutters."

Firmly, Ford said, "We've got bolt cutters at home." Bill gave Dani an apologetic shrug.

As soon as Dani was gone again, Ford leaned forward. "All right, Bill. If you're going to be in our house for who-knows-how-long, we need to establish some ground rules."

"Boy, do we ever," Bill said, with the confidence of somebody who assumed he'd have an equal say in deciding what the rules were.

Ford went on without acknowledging Bill. "For now, we can lock you back in the cellar—"

"Cellar's right under the gift shop," Stan pointed out. "I was thinking a storage closet. Just stuff him in there and pile a bunch of furniture in front of the door."

"You know, Stanley, I think that would be safer," Ford said, like he was trying to pretend he liked the idea based on safety rather than based on how satisfying it would be to make Bill as uncomfortable as possible. "Although I'm sure Bill knows he'll just be putting himself in danger if he makes enough noise to catch anyone's attention—so there's rule number one, no sounds. And once I've done some repairs, we can move him to the bunker..."

"No, I don't think so," Bill said. "I don't like that at all."

Coolly, Ford said, "Well, Bill, you're our prisoner, so we can do what we want, you don't get a say in it, and you don't have to like it. In fact, the more you dislike it, the more I think I do like it."

Stan laughed, elbowing Ford. "Took the words right out of my mouth."

Bill said, "But that's just the thing—I do get a say in it! I'm as worried as anyone else about what might happen if this body is killed. But there are fates worse than death. Like boredom, for instance! You know what I'm talking about, right?" He gave Mabel an appealing look.

She doggedly avoided making eye contact, slurping her shake.

Bill shrugged and returned his attention to Ford. "You know and I know you'll only keep me alive until you think of a way to kill me that I can't come back from—and that gives me an advantage. It means I've got nothing to lose. If I'm not living a life that's at least barely tolerable, then your only way to stop me from choosing death on my terms instead of your terms is by sticking me in an artificial coma." His smile stretched wider. "And are you really, really sure I don't know a way to kill myself in my sleep?"

Ford and Stan's scowls deepened the longer Bill spoke. Stan muttered to Ford, "It's not too late to take our chances killing him the old-fashioned way."

Ford shook his head. "What do you consider intolerable conditions."

"Being locked in a little cell with nowhere to stretch my legs, no entertainment, and no company. Abandon me in your bunker? I'll bash my skull in."

Bill declared this with such vehemence that it momentarily gave Ford pause; but he asked, "And if we lock you in the cellar?"

"Then I scream for help until someone calls the cops, and we all get to learn what they find more convincing: 'You've gotta believe me, this lady is secretly Bill Cipher in disguise,' or 'Help me, officer, these lunatics think I'm some kind of demon pyramid!'" Bill rolled his eyes. "I'm not asking for much. Just a little entertainment. Only enough to make this place more appealing than dying! A few rooms I can move freely in, the occasional conversation, a window or two I can look out of..."

"In other words," Ford said, "if we don't want you to do anything drastic, we need to give you a slight chance to escape."

"See, this is why you're the smart one!" Bill graced Ford with a brilliant smile. "And in return, you've bought yourselves time to look for a guaranteed way to finish me off. It'll be like a game: can you figure out how to get rid of me before I find a way out?"

"I stopped playing games with you a long time ago, Cipher."

Bill leaned across the table toward Ford, ignoring that he was at risk of shoving his elbow into Stan's chest and that the kids had started leaning over the table too as if they were prepared to lunge at Bill. "We never stopped playing. You just stopped having fun."

Their negotiations were interrupted by Dani's return. She distributed their meals, then said, "Okay, I've got two guesses. They're dumb, though."

"I'll allow it!"

"Rapunzel or Goldilocks."

"Hey, guess number four! Smart girl! Give her a nice tip, Stanley."

Stan grumbled, "Stop trying to spend my money."

Dani laughed. "You're joking!"

"No, really! Goldilocks!"

"No, no way. You're totally lying."

Studying her face to gauge how much of her skepticism was sincere, Bill amended himself, "Okay, okay, you're right—first name Goldie, last name Locke. Funny though, right?"

"I didn't think I'd get it. Goldilocks the Toga Lady. Ha! You guys enjoy your meals."

Once she was out of hearing range, Bill muttered, "Tabitha, I should have gone with Tabitha. That's a way more believable human name than Goldilocks. I could pull off a Tabitha."

Ford cleared his throat to catch Bill's attention. "All right, Bill, here's your situation. You're trapped within a small geographical radius and surrounded by enemies. You have no money, no identification, and no connections. The last time we saw you, you were pleading for rescue through a book—"

"'Pleading' is so pejorative! I was offering mutually beneficial deals, but you were too busy taping judgmental selfies in my book to—"

"—SO, wherever you came here from, you clearly can't go back there. And if you still have any powers at all, they're obviously dampened or we'd be dead by now. Your options are limited even if you do escape—so before you try, think how much less latitude we'll give you once we catch you."

"Sounds like somebody's about to agree to my terms."

Ford glanced at Stan, to see if he wanted to voice any objections; then Soos, as the current owner of the shack; then the kids, with a silent apology for what this would mean for their summer; and when no one protested, Ford said, "You'll stay in the main shack. You can go anywhere that isn't closed behind a door—that means the kitchen, the living room, the R&D room, and the attic. You don't get to enter any room behind a door without supervision. You don't get access to tools, poisons, or anything you could potentially use as a weapon. No phone, no computer, no borrowing anybody's cellular phones. I suppose there's no harm in letting you use the TV." He glanced around at the family. "Does that all sound agreeable?"

Nobody was thrilled with it, but nobody protested.

Bill said, "Question."

"What."

"How will disputes over what to watch on TV be resolved."

"Everybody in the house gets priority over you."

"You're being petty. We can't even vote on TV selections?"

"Fine, let's vote. Who's in favor of being petty and never letting Bill choose what to watch?"

Everyone but Bill raised a hand.

Bill laughed. "Okay, I walked into that! But I want books."

"Fine. You can have books."

"And writing materials."

"Under supervision only."

"Sheesh, paranoid. Okay. And a radio."

Ford considered that.

"Come on, you don't think I could get into trouble with a radio."

"You can use the record player."

"Nobody uses records anymore. I want a CD player."

"Fine. You can borrow a CD player."

"Fine." Satisfied, Bill picked up the maple syrup bottle and poured way too much on his pancakes.

Mabel cast a quick, envious glance at Bill's banana octopus. It had chocolate chip eyes and was way cuter than she'd expected.

Bill caught her glance, gave her sugary pile of sprinkles and chocolate an equally covetous look, and said, "Want to go half and half?"

She shoved her plate over. "Like you wouldn't believe!"

Dipper hissed, "Mabel," and Mabel flinched, guiltily glancing toward Ford to see if the Head Bill Cipher Expert had any objections to the pancake swap. Ford grimaced, but said nothing. Mabel had already agreed, Ford couldn't think of anything Bill could have done to an untampered-with plate of pancakes, and if Ford objected on principle he'd just end up making himself look like the bad guy—which he had a sneaking suspicion Bill would immediately pounce on.

Meanwhile, Bill certainly hadn't waited to see if Ford approved. He mercilessly sawed his mushy cephalopod in half, the swap was made before anyone could protest Mabel sharing her bounty of sugar with the worst person in the universe, and Bill gleefully added more maple syrup to his new source of sweet sensory overload. He scooped up a forkful of pancakes, stuck it in his eye, then jerked his head back at the pain and stared in confusion. He tried the other eye before he remembered his mouth.

Mabel played with the banana peel tentacles on her half-octopus. At Dipper's grimace, she said, "It's fine, he'll be fine! Octopuses grow back if you cut them in half."

Soos had worked through his burger like popcorn at a movie while he watched Ford and Bill's hostage negotiations. Now that the important decisions had been made and Soos was down to fries, he said, "So, how do we keep Bill out of all the other rooms? Am I gonna have to put locks on every door tomorrow? Because if we just say 'don't go there,' Bill will be like, 'okay,' and then do it anyway, you know?"

"Yeah, Stanford, how are you gonna keep me out of your rooms?" Bill was twirling a piece of bacon around his fork like spaghetti. "I hear I'm pretty sneaky." He stuck the fork in his eye again, flinched, and gave it a disappointed look.

"Well—" Ford glanced around to ensure no one was nearby, leaned closer to Bill, and lowered his voice. "I've actually got a clever idea about that."

Instantly intrigued, Bill leaned in closer. "Oh, do you?"

Like he was inviting Bill in to hear a secret, Ford reached past Stan to put a hand on Bill's shoulder—and said, "Amnesia Limina—"

"You—!" Bill tried to jerk out of Ford's grip, but was blocked by a wall of Soos. Soos caught on and grabbed Bill's wrists before he could shove Ford's hand away.

"—Stupidi Digiti—"

"I hate you."

"—Occultus Locus."

A bright red light flashed between Ford's fingers. Bill's eye twitched. He jerked out of Soos's grip and shrugged off Ford's hand. "When did you learn how to play dirty?"

Dipper had watched with such fascination that he hadn't even noticed a chunk of omelet fall off his fork into his lap. "Whoa, what was that?"

"A curse," Ford said. "Cast it on a door, and no one who interacts with it will know how to open it. Cast it on a person, however—and they'll forget how to open any door or window. We don't have to worry about locking Bill in if he doesn't know how to use a doorknob, do we?"

Bill asked, "What's a doorknob?"

Stan cracked up. Ford grinned at Dipper and gestured at Bill. See?

"Seriously, what's a doorknob? I know every word in the English language, I'd know if 'doorknob' was a word. Is it a wart? A kind of fungus?" Bill sighed irritably. "Where did you come up with that! I thought you forgot that curse years ago."

"I haven't forgotten anything you taught me," Ford said, clearly offended at the suggestion.

"No? Then why'd you waste all that time installing a retinal scanner on your lab door?" As it dawned on Bill that he no longer understood what retinal scanners had to do with the function of doors, he muttered to himself, "Why did he install a retinal scanner."

"I'm not a fool, I knew if I'd cursed the door you would have removed the curse as soon as you possessed me."

Bill laughed. "You idiot! Don't you know the curse can't be lifted by anyone but the person who placed it?"

"It. Can't?" Ford sat there, experiencing the unfamiliar sensation of being the student called on in class who'd read the wrong pages instead of the assignment, even though in his heart he was sure Bill must not have taught him that part of the spell. "What if that person dies?"

"Responsibility for the curse passes to the next of kin! Lucky for you, or this fork would already be in your throat—although I haven't completely ruled that out. Maybe one of your family will be more reasonable about the situation than you."

The rest of the table loudly assured Bill that they would not be more reasonable. Ford gestured toward them. "I don't think so. None of us are foolish enough to fall for your tricks anymore. You aren't going anywhere until we say so."

Bill ignored the rest of the table, gaze fixed on Ford. "Don't be so sure, Stanford Pines. You aren't the first cocky mortal to hold me and you won't be the last! I'll get out of here, and when I do—oh-ho-ho, I'll make you regret every single timeyou ever thought of crossing me."

Ford raised a brow. "I 'won't be the last'?" Stan laughed again, elbowing Ford. Bill cringed, face heating up.

The kids grinned. "Wow, Bill," Dipper said. "Pretty big of you to admit what a loser you are."

Bill rounded furiously on Dipper. "I'll show you a loser—" He lunged across the table toward him.

"Hey!"

"Get over here, you—"

"Everything good so far?" Dani asked.

The table froze. Bill had a fist curled in Dipper's vest, Soos had an arm around Bill's chest, Stan had his hands around Bill's throat, Ford was pointing a knife at Bill's face, and Mabel was prepared to bite Bill's wrist.

Bill slowly let go of Dipper. He gave Dani a thumbs up. "Everything tastes fantastic!"

"Great!" Dani moved on.

The guys slowly let go of Bill and sat back. Mabel gently bit Bill's arm to ensure he knew she meant business.

He didn't even acknowledge her. He'd fixed his glower on Ford again; and when Ford met his look, Bill pursed his lips and spat a thick, milkshaky wad of phlegm onto Ford's omelet.

Stan rounded on Bill so fast he kneed the table. "You little—!"

Ford put a hand on Stan's shoulder to stop him from making a scene. Calmly, he cut around the chunk of soiled omelet, scooped it up, and dropped it in Bill's milkshake.

A crooked smile broke through Bill's scowl. "You know—" he hooked a finger around his milkshake glass and tugged it closer, "this is the most fun I've had in a very long time." He squeezed one eye shut and made direct, defiant eye contact with Ford as he drank the shake.

Mabel and Dipper exchanged a look and cringed in disgust.

####

When they left, in lieu of the extra tip Bill had wanted Stan to give the waitress, he turned over his paper menu and drew a map to an eighty-year-old buried cache of stolen jewelry just a fifteen minute walk from the diner.

He'd finished his milkshake, egg and all.

####

(if you enjoyed, I'd love a comment! Thanks!)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #gravity falls #gravity falls fanart #gravity falls fic #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

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cyanide-latte · 2 months

Text

So after Book 6 left me completely and utterly devastated and a crying wreck in my bedroom, I've finally started Book 7 of Twisted Wonderland and I figured I'd just do a basic drop of my thoughts so far. I'm keeping them under a "read more" cut and I'll also tag this post as having spoilers (even though it's not really the more recent spoilers) just to be safe and considerate.

Beyond that though, my thoughts aren't going to have a filter so please take this with a grain of salt. (I'll mention at the end where I've stopped for now in the plot, so please don't spoil past that point for me if you reply to or reblog this post. I really really don't want spoilers.)

Got it? Good. Here we go.

- Exasperation and loathing, thy form is Michael Mouse, I viciously beseech thee to get out of my house

- we need more of the freshmen just interacting with one another in general

- Rook wanting to take an internship in archeology make so much sense for him. "I'm not a patient person but this will challenge that" BRO, SAME.

- Idia just interning at Google basically

- Lilia like "btw I need to drop out of school, gonna throw a party later before I leave, kthnxbai"

- all of the characters doing impersonations in this book is a DELIGHT

- "I declare the mopefest official over!" Spoken like a man who bottles his stronger emotions up out of fear of having to face them, Ace

- Fucking love the meta commentary

- Idia "I'm not going to some farewell party for a junior I barely know because I need to actually mourn losing contact with an internet friend who ghosted me and I'm despairing the possibility I could ever possibly make a friend again" Shroud is too fucking real, he's relatable honestly

Malleus: here's my lil sob story abt the time I threw a tantrum so bad I almost froze an entire castle of people to death. Lilia made it all better but gave me a stern talking-to I've never forgotten.

Me: why do I feel like you learned nothing.

Also Malleus not long after: because I took your words to heart Lilia I've been looking for a solution to this problem, and Silver and the Ramshackle prefect with their random venting to me gave me the perfect idea, so I'm going to trap THE ENTIRE ISLAND in stasis sleep so NOBODY CAN EVER LEAVE ME AGAIN a good hoard knows to stay put for the dragon who owns it haha you'll all be fine, dw about it, I've got everything under control

Me: so you learned nothing.

- Malleus has no rights, he needs to be sent to the Time-Out Corner

- I also love that that Malmal fight loads up with an infinity symbol because it's like oh lol yeah, infinite-turn battle but then you see Malleus's fucking 300K HP bar and I was instantly like "hmmmm I think you're lying" and then his regen heals for like 60K damage each turn and he casts fire damage immunity on himself and I was like "mmhmm I knew you were lying to me"

- I demanded Mickey get the fuck out of my house so of course naturally the game decides to be cheeky and put me the fuck in his instead

- no but why the fuck is he here. I'm so fucking annoyed

- WE DON'T NEED MICKEY.

- I get it, I get why he's here but he really doesn't need to be. Disney you CAN in fact make a fucking video game without shoehorning the damn mouse into it. The Hidden Mickeys in various backgrounds were fine, we didn't need more than that.

- for the record, I've been pissed off about this since it started happening books ago, but I remain aggravated by Mickey just being shoved into this.

- I love that Silver shows up to bail MC and Grim's collective ass out of danger and then meanwhile you've got Ortho like "I've seen dial-up faster than this shit, what the FUCK bro, I expected better of you, logging this in my database as an Epic Fail."

- but also ORTHO MY CHILD. BE FREE. YOU GOT THIS.

- The Shroud parents are EXACTLY how I imagined. They're everything I wanted from their characters and more. They even SOUND like I hoped they would. Beautiful. 10/10. My intuition about their entire family remains, as ever, on-point.

- I do love everything I've gotten with Silver to this point. I was very baseline neutral on his character until now, but the more I'm seeing of him, the more I appreciate what I am getting.

- Sebek is autistic. I will die on this hill. Even if he represents autistic traits the internet DOESN'T like to woobify for the most part, that boy is autistic. He's autistic as fuck. This book is so far just further proving it.

- I mentioned earlier that Malleus has no rights but I'm saying it again because it's fucking rude as shit he's got epic choral BGM in Sebek's dream. Also creeping on people's dreams and threatening to forcibly make them sleep forever when they defy you because you feel entitled to ownership of your victims? Wow. Hey by the way Malleus, you got a phone call, we got a guy from Ohio on the other line, says his name's Freddy, you're one set of full-body burn scars away from him sueing your scaly ass. Yeah, just thought you'd wanna know.

- Listen I really want to appreciate and like the Malleus I hear everyone among my friends and mutuals say they see him as but no. No. Is he well-written? Well, I'm still early into this, so I'm withholding judgment on that point though I AM hopeful that I'll eventually appreciate how he's written. But do I like him? No. I didn't give a single flying fuck about him to begin with and I still don't. Throw onto it he's being a bitch right now, and that's not helping. If you genuinely like Malleus as a person, that's your prerogative, that's whatever. I'm not entirely sure what you see in him to like as a person but again, your prerogative. If you like him as a character because of how he's written for the role he is in, in the overall story, power to you, I REALLY hope I'll eventually agree with you. But as of right now, just so you're aware if you've read this far, I still don't give a single flying fuck about Malleus and I'm slowly starting to teeter into the direction of actually disliking him as a person.

- Silver: QUICK, TAKE MY HAND!!! Sebek: ew.

- Currently I've stopped on the chapter where Silver has dream-hopped from Sebek's dream with Sebek, Yuu and Grim in tow, into the dream of a mysterious bat-masked figure with a familiar voice who couldn't POSSIBLY be Lilia, not at ALL. So please don't talk to me about anything past that yet. I'll reblog this post with an update when I get further.

#twst book 7 spoilers #twst book 7 #TWST #Twisted Wonderland #random thoughts #messy thoughts #Cyanide speaks

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so-mordor-itis · 1 year

Text

The harsh sting of the first aid spray hit your back, causing a hiss to pass through your lips. You gritted your teeth, trying your best not to spout off many curse words. Though, you were sure Leon would've found them amusing.

He must've noticed despite your best efforts, because from behind you, his voice said, "Sorry, should've warned it would sting a little."

You groaned, the stinging sensation staying in place. The gnarly wound on your back screamed at you. "I should've expected it, being slashed by a hatchet wouldn't just tickle."

"You got that right," Leon replied, "It's why I didn't like the idea of splitting up."

"I'm not a child, Leon."

"Still. Who knows what any of these people are capable of? Kidnapping the president's daughter shows that anything is possible."

You bit your tongue. A comment about Raccoon City almost slipped, but thankfully, you stopped it. You didn't want to start a discussion about what happened then, or else bad memories would start making there way into your mind, distracting you from what was really important.

"Thank you, though." You said, "I know you only had two of those." You nodded your head towards the first aid spray that was in his hand. Those ran out too quickly.

Leon shook his head. "I've dealt with worse situations. Besides, didn't want you to bleed out." His gaze went from the bottle to you, his eyes suddenly going serious.

"What?" You blinked. The sudden eye contact made your stomach coil. He was still handsome, even after all these years.

He gently lifted your face up with his free hand, your face heated up slightly at the intimate touch. "This cut from your little skirmish too?"

"Oh," you had completely forgotten about it. "Yeah, bastard took a swing at my face. I managed to dodge in time."

"Probably should spray this too, just in case-" He positioned the can in front of your face.

"Hey, I can do that," you snatched the spray from him, glaring at him playfully. "Who are you, my mom?"

Your question wasn't meant to be malicious, which he recognized. He lifted his hands up in slight surrender. "Okay, fine."

As you lightly sprayed yourself with the first aid, you couldn't help the way your cheeks continued to burn.

A slight drabble from a new fic I'm gonna ne writing, I hope you guys enjoy!

Tags:

@izuniias , @love-toxin

#resident evil #resident evil imagines #resident evil 4 #re4 #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy imagines #my writing

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maximillien · 2 years

Text

Dates with our three men.

Because I've seen @elychee 's tags a lot and honestly I'm thirsty too.

Here are my headcannons:

Cale Henituse:

- I'd really see him as an introverted date kinda guy

- like maybe cuddling and reading together (reading TOGETHER, like sharing a book, ugh imagine having a signal for him so he can turn the page, like tapping his arm, whilst you're both snuggled up in some big comfy throw)

- otherwise it would be at a festival or a comfy restaurant.

- he'd definitely have some type of magic on him to alter his appearance (and on you too if you've done stuff like him in public and are known for it)

- in either dates there'll be eating so snacks or food are a must

- he's rich asf so if you're at the festival or restaurant, he's paying (except if you have dirty money (*somehow steals a golden plate from alberu to pay for bae's meal*)

- a listener. Loves listening to you talk. He might look disinterested to others, but you can tell he is indeed listening.

- if you're out for a date and he sees you staring at something will offer to get it for u

- if you're at home you'll both fall asleep on each other, book long forgotten, as the kids surround you and whisper between themselves before snuggling in with you both.

Choi Han

- omg I love him

- come here boy

- anywho I definitely DEFINITELY hc a festival date.

- especially if it's similar to a Korean night market, for nostalgia, he's going.

- If there are plushies to win and you want one, you'd best bet you're getting them

- very good at physical games (cmon he's a swordsman)

- will win anything you want at the stands. People are staring and trying to hide their stands, whilst his clueless ass is walking around asking where you want to go next.

- has eyes only for you, my god. He's either getting nostalgic staring at the stands or he's staring at you (he's doing the latter like 90% of the time)

- hold his hand and he'll blush but he won't pull away, he'll just become tomato Han

- again, like a Cale a listener, except he'll perk up whenever you go quiet since you think he isn't listening, and ask for you to continue, or he'll squeeze your hand (and give you this excited puppy look. He has eyes only for you)

- very soft

- eating skewers together whilst walking around and enjoying the festival

- if there's fireworks after you bet your ass he's gonna try and find a nice place to see them from

- (very cheesy) kiss him whilst the fireworks go off

- you'll upgrade from tomato Han to tomato soup Han (since he'll have melted on the floor)

-overall an outdoor soft festival date

Alberu Crossman

- here he is

- ugh sexyman. Get over here. Get in my bed.

- honestly he's very busy so dates are few and far between

- but it'd probably be a calm picnic somewhere quiet, where people don't usually go

- you'd say that the both of you should cook together

- he's so up for it. He's waited his whole life to flaunt his cooking skil-

- an attempt at cooking was made. Some hc him to be good at cooking, but honestly I don't think he would totally get it.

- he's not as bad as Choi Han at cooking, but he's not on Cale's level.

- so yeah, you're mainly making the sandwhiches, but he is participating, wether it be trying to get stuff for you or making filling (per your instructions)

- (ugh imagine making cookies and he wipes some flour or batter on your nose and smiles so brightly whilst chuckling- no. I need to stop. I need to stop)

- putting all your stuff in a basket and setting off (please, him in a loose poet's shirt, you know THAT 'pathetic artist' shirt)

- I think you guys would talk about everything and anything (you're both bashing Cale bc of his chaos and the resulting workload.)

- it's a really relaxing and peaceful date

- if you'll allow him, he'll put his head on your lap (xtra bonus: you play with his hair and he guns appreciatively, completely relaxing into your lap) and he'll gently appreciate the wind and you.

- I think it'd be pretty quiet, but if you're talkative go for it, he'll actively participate in Convo or he'll silently listen to you.

- if you stop taking he'll open one eye and nudge your thigh with his hand to continue

- husband material.

- very domestic and soft

- let's hope Cale doesn't overthrow another kingdom whilst y'all are out

a/n: Ely, this is for u I saw your tags and honestly your mutual thirst for Alberu is completely relatable

#trash of the count's family #tcf x reader #cale henituse x reader #choi han x reader #alberu crossman x reader #cale henituse #choi han #alberu crossman

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auphelia · 7 months

Text

Restock day in Dottore's lab

A/N: Listen, I'm sorry but this idea has been rattling around in my mind for so long now and I'm afraid I will not know peace before it's been evicted in the form of writing. It was planned out as a chapter of the long fic I've started working on, but it'll be a long time before that catches up to where I want this. My english is bad and my writing skills are even worse so yeah, proceed at your own risk… Big mention to @/boundinparchment and @/surveyycorps whose amazing Dottore works have most certainly influenced my subconscious and this by extension. Warnings/tags: Alludes to mental breakdown, no comfort, very brief gore, fem!oc x dottore, reader x dottore but reader will get personality and backstory, isn't really an x anything since assistant oc doesn't show up until very last bit (and doesn't do much) but it's part of a long fic I've started writing which will be oc x dottore. Minors do not interact

It was by no means an imposing door. Made from worn fir planks it had an almost domestic feeling to it. The more he looked at it, the more out of place something felt. Although it was currently impossible to determine whether that 'something' was him or the door. It was ridiculous how much a simple piece of wood could annoy anyone, but compared to the otherwise sterile and metallic surroundings this stuck out like a sore thumb. His brow furrowed as he caught his mind slipping, it had been doing so more often as of late, and the mere thought of such ineffectiveness was enough to make his fingers twitch at his sides. This would be a quick in and out, simply grab what he needed urgently and get back to work.

He could still recall the conversations he'd had with Pantalone when the lower levels of the Palace had been refurbished to house his primary base of operations. The banker had been stingy, insisting that he would not pay a single mora for something so frivolous as the storage rooms being remodeled to fit the appearance of the laboratories. At the time, Dottore had written it off as some ridiculous principle and complied. After all, he'd been more than content to forego aesthetics and instead funnel his attention into making his workspace functionally perfect. But right now, accompanied by already frayed nerves and the dull thudding in his head, it felt like a blatant attempt at establishing control.

So that's what Pantalone had been trying to do all along, limit and influence him? Just as narrow-minded and afraid of change as the rest of those miserable fools Dottore had dealt with during his long life. Years of bitter resentment flared to life, cradling his body in it's warm embrace as bile rose in his throat. No doubt a scheming leech like the damned banker wouldn't be above weaponizing something as trivial as interior design to subtly nudge him. A willingness to make small sacrifices was the first step towards being manipulated. What else had he agreed to over the years? His thoughts were jumbled and disorganized, a consequence of Omega's little stunt no doubt, and just sorting through all the memories made him queasy. He felt his pulse pounding behind his eyes, the capillaries no doubt on the verge of bursting. His mind barely registered it as his body took two unsteady steps forward, a calloused hand instinctively reaching for the wall to steady his weight. The cool stone against his skin didn't serve to quell the embers of his anger even half as much as he'd hoped.

There were the constant squabbles for funding. Was he being spied on? The compromises on subject sourcing. One of his notebooks were missing. It had been too long since he'd had something sweet. He needed to get rid of the contamination in lab four. When had he last checked on Haeresys? Having to settle for parts and-

A faint laugh escaped his lips, the sound lost between the cracks in the walls. He'd done it again, forgotten his intentions and drifted into a string of preposterous thoughts. Being away from his work wasn't doing his mind any favors. A hand made its way towards the gleaming earring, the movement subconscious as he sought to disconnect from the network. For a moment placebo kicked in as he deposited the jewelry into his back pocket and all fell quiet around him. But ever the fast mind, it soon occurred that the voices, his voices dammit, weren't something that could simply be turned off anymore. They all- No, he just needed some time to assimilate and he would endure as he always had. With a renewed sense of determination, and a small shake of his head to clear his mind, he pushed open the door. Forcing himself not to wince as it creaked on its hinges, his jaw tensed. Another thing he'd need to get fixed. Not bothering to close the door behind him he stepped inside, hands clasped behind his back as he let his gaze scan across the shelves and stacks of equipment. Dust lingered atop the surfaces, a testament to how long it had been since he'd last had to restock he mused. The younger segments, not quite mature enough where he'd trust them, trust himself, to be in charge of any real research took care of such menial work as restocking the labs. Following the incident the laboratory had been stocked for a while, with material turnover naturally slowing down to match the available workforce.

He pushed down the intrusive thoughts reminding him that he'd been cutting corners and compromising on various things the past couple of days, actively avoiding having to leave his experiments to pick up new pipettes, tubes, plates, glassware, spare mechanic parts… He'd need some of the chemicals as well, unwieldy containers that took more time moving than what it was worth. He wanted to curse at himself, he should've written a note of what he needed. A glance over his shoulder and across the corridor was all it took to remind him how close his laboratory was, it would be easy to do a quick check. The thought had barely formed before a scowl settled on his face, going back and forth was hardly a necessity, he should know what he needed to bring over.

As his focus returned to the dimly lit room, a feeling of unease seeped into his bones. Nothing was placed as he remembered it. Granted, it had most likely been more than a century since this body had last been in here. The shelves were lined from floor to ceiling with various necessities, and he had to stop himself from swearing as he realized none of the boxes were labelled with anything save for some seemingly random assortment of letters and numbers. No doubt they had meaning, but the symbols refused to part with their secrets as his eyes roamed over them. He'd recognize his own handwriting anywhere, this version a little more legible than average. One of the youngsters had made the system then, that would only make figuring it harder. His hand ran through his hair, a small voice briefly reminding him how long it had been since he'd last washed it properly. Every box had a letter and between one to three numbers, the digits appearing random in their placement along the shelves. So they didn't indicate position in the room, meaning it must pertain to the content of the box. In that case, they were likely numbered so the things most often used had the lowest numbers, a simple yet relatively clever system. Perhaps the letters were some sort of category indicator, it could be based on the type of work it was required for? It wasn't a system without fault of course, the value having needed to be assigned based on subjective opinion. The youngest segments had likely never looked through any documents that could indicate how much or how often everything was ordered.

His headache was pushed back at the satisfaction of having cracked the code, now he'd just find the box with the lowest value and use that as a reference to grasp what things had been ranked as 'important'. A small smile tugged at the corner of his chapped lips as he perused the shelves, crimson eyes systematically skimming across the stocks. The heels of his boots clicked against the flooring with every step he took into the maze of shelves and loose containers lining the floor. Incredible how much had been shoved into the modest room. An accident in here could set his research months back, the thought in and of himself bringing some odd semblance of comfort which should by no means be there. A small hum of approval left him as his eyes found what they'd been looking for, bringing his scattered thoughts back to the present. Reaching out with gloved hands he grabbed a box, the container surprisingly light in his hold. Labelled as 'G-3' he'd expected it to contain something like glassware, but the feeling of it in his hands suggested it must then be largely empty. He set it down on the ground, kneeling to get a better look as he impatiently pried it open.

"Cotton?" The word had left his lips before he could stop it, the sound grating his ears. He could already hear the mocking laughter in his head, wanting nothing more than to rip whatever nerve cells were responsible for it out. Too distracted to put the crate back, he simply stood up and gave it a small push with the tip of his shoe, having already forgotten it as his mind ran rampant. If cotton was labeled so high, surely it couldn't be based on importance. What did he even use cotton for? Could it have been of use to one of the others in case a subject was bleeding? His stomach churned involuntarily, shoving aside memories of mangled bodies, picked apart for nothing in particular. It had been a disgusting endeavor, spearheaded by his worst perspective. But why should they have bothered with first aid when most of those subjects weren't even reused? An utter waste of materials.

He grasped another box, desperate to find what he needed and get out. The air weighed heavily on him as he kept pulling out crates and containers, all of them landing unceremoniously on the floor. Within just five minutes his movements had become erratic, almost desperate in the need to find something, anything he could use right now. This was his creation, fostered by his mind and realized by his hands. Another perspective, but ultimately him. The Doctor. A Fatui Harbinger. There was nothing he couldn't solve if given the tools and time, and he most certainly would not let something as inconsequential as… Glass crashed to the ground, the sound rattling his bones and pulling him back to the present as hundreds of delicate glass pipettes shattered. The fragments spilling from the crate he'd so carelessly tossed on the ground. He'd needed those. The realization made his movements falter, the jumbled voices in his head screaming for him to continue, stop, cry, anything and everything really. His finger tapped against his thigh in a quick rhythm, counting the taps in the back of his mind. A shaky hand reached up to unclasp the mask as he found himself desperate for anything to cool his burning skin. This was too much.

At least he didn't see any shattered or broken chemical containers meaning this was still only a disgraceful inconvenience, not a health hazard. Laughter erupted from his throat, the sound foreign and intrusive as he felt it worm its way inside his skull. His knees hit the hard stone before his mind could catch up. His head lowered, eyes widening as he saw a few unfamiliar droplets wetting the ground in front of him. The laughter died down to a faint chuckle as his throat constricted, only serving to make the sound of his gloved finger tapping more prominent in the ravaged room. His entire body stiffened as something not of his making reached his ears, the breathing pattern recognizable enough by now that it made him want to sink into the cracks beneath him. Instead, scarred hands moved by themselves to clip the mask back on before he straightened his back. "How. Long?" the words were by no means rude, a faint voice in the back of his mind praising him for not lashing out. If nothing else, he could cling to that small display of control to remind himself that all was well. "Long enough," she sounded like she'd wanted to say more but refrained, at least it seemed his technician was learning to control that damnable tongue of hers. The relief at her lack of further questioning had barely manifested when her next words washed over him like a bucket of cold water. "But pray tell, Doctor, how am I supposed to prepare the new solutes and buffers when you've seemingly decided to break all the clean glassware?" His fists tightened at the accusatory tone in her voice, making him feel like a scolded child. Making no effort to tread lightly, he got to his feet, hard heels slamming into the ground hard enough that the thought of looking for additional cracks in the ground briefly flashed through his mind. Within seconds he'd crossed the distance, no thoughts spared for the mess of items that cracked and broke beneath his feet. Towering over the young woman, he bit into the inside of his cheek to keep himself from doing anything rash. She had proven too useful for his research, especially with the segments gone. He only had to endure until they were rebuilt. He leaned forward, hands clasped behind his back as he brought the beak of his mask uncomfortably close. A thin smile stretched across his lips as he saw her resolve crumble just enough for her to take half a step back. "As resourceful as you are, surely you can think something up, hm?" His voice was laden with derision as he straightened back up, fingers itching to dig into her skin hard enough to draw blood. Once more he found himself grateful for the mask that covered half his face, letting him close his eyes unnoticed for a brief moment of respite before striding past her. He had half a mind to grasp the door handle and slam the door behind him as he stepped into the hallway. "Ah, one moment Doctor. There's no system to it really, Xi simply had it memorized. I made an overview of sorts for my own convenience, it's on the back of the door," he swore there was a smug sort of satisfaction to her words as she continued, "in case you need it in the future." His hands had tightened into fists while she spoke. Of course it had been nothing but wishful thinking that such a foolish child would've created anything as worthwhile as a storage system. Despite his wounded pride, curiosity plucked at the edges of his thoughts and spurred him on. He'd already sunk low enough for a subordinate to see him in such a disgraceful state, satisfying the question on his mind would hardly make matters worse. "The codes. What is their purpose?" The words came out more clipped than he'd have liked, but just the act of forming a coherent sentence proved troublesome. He wanted to roll his eyes as he heard her sigh softly, it was a bad habit on her part, six even breaths followed by a sigh. Another miserable tool to fix.

Her words were drowned out by the ringing in his ears, vision blurred at the edges as he marched across the hallway and into his laboratory. The lock clicked into place as he shut the door behind him before ripping the mask off and tossing it aside, gloves following soon after. Fingers swiftly tangled in his locks, massaging at his scalp in an attempt to ease the tension. If he was lucky, his technician would get the message. Even if she had a key this was no time to intrude. His body slumped onto the nearest chair, his forehead almost immediately making contact with the table. Raspy chuckles mixed with quiet sobs as his nails scraped off the bloody scabs that had recently made themselves at home on his skin. His thoughts raged, mute voices mocking him for not having predicted this outcome. 'The codes? Oh, they're for Pantalone's convenience. It's how he prefers the materials we order to appear in the expense reports. Something about product codes.'

#dottore x oc #dottore x reader #lab technician reader #il dottore #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #il dottore x reader #dottore x female reader #auph writes #memento mori #magspy look away lmao

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