#happy placebo day

[placebofever]

We're running out of alibis...

HAPPY PLACEBO DAY 🖤

[beatle-capaldi]

Placebo + text post memes (15/?)

thank you to my friend @transjackfairy for his help with this set!!!

BONUS MEME FOR PLACEBO DAY:

(from this series of clips)

[access-point]

does anyone else think about Vernal every single moment of their fucking life or are you guys normal

[curse-of-rose]

.

[softgrungeprophet]

obviously there is no usefulness in dwelling on "coulda shoulda woulda" etc but that doesn't mean i'm not always a little curious what would have happened if i got diagnosed as a kid, cause having undiagnosed, untreated, unknown adhd inherently defined the course of my (esp college) education (academic probation, transferred to a specific university due to alternative grading schemes etc)

my grades were so funny from middle school on. i was "smart" right? good at reading, writing. didn't apply myself. alternated between failing and doing great in math classes depending on if I'd already taken it. failed my first college math class (c... calculus? i forget), did GREAT in and enjoyed stats. high school English (including AP) mostly Bs and Cs even while the teachers praised my writing, because i just like... didn't.... do my homework (or did it late or didn't finish it) (except creative writing)

always had very high grades in japanese even when i missed an entire week in 10th grade due to family stuff. average grade in japanese for me was actually like. 105% 😂😂 like i got a scholarship to an expensive university because of it (not enough tho, didn't go, probably would have transferred out anyway) cause it was my INTEREST arguably so doing my homework was appealing to me for that class. my grades did drop a little in college japanese but that was more on account of i think the slight increase in difficulty + the pressure of everything else about being in college (a setup that did not work for me; turns out i do way better with multidisciplinary 12 credit courses instead of 5 different classes at once)

didn't get a real job until 2019 (did some workstudy, and brief bookkeeping after college but that was literally like a few hours a week total whereas paging was at least 12 hrs a week instead of like...3)

(of course i lost that job because of the agonies (no we still don't know the actual cause but 🤷))

anyway very curious if i would have stayed at western if i had been like... even aware of what my issue was, let alone medicated

[sweetsweetjellybean]

Your crush on Eddie was better off a secret and a kiss that should never have happened leads you into a storm.

I wasn't happy with my first version of chapter 4. So I polished it up and added a little more dialog. Feel free to wait for the next chapter but if you'd like to read it, either as a refresher or for the very first time, please let me know what you think. XOXO-Jelly

Masterlist Listen to Fake Plastic Trees Here

What to expect: Second Chance Romance set in 2012 Chicago.  Eddie and Steve are in their 30s. Fem!Reader is given a pet name from each of the guys. No other name mentioned. No use of Y/N. No physical description. Reader does have a bit of personality, as I find it nearly impossible to keep her blank for such a long fic. You may find yourself at times making choices that you wouldn't normally make, but I hope you can put that aside and enjoy the ride. Sensitive Content. 18+ Mentions of DV. Smut Guaranteed happy ending. This is my love letter to Eddie Munson.

WC: 11646 beta'd by @superblysubpar

A sharp chill nips at your cheeks as gusts of autumn wind blow through the amber-leafed trees surrounding Hawkins High's parking lot. You pick at the splintered wood of the picnic table beneath you, etched with initials and scribbles. The anguished croon of Placebo plays through your headphones, drowning out the sounds of the start of another school day. Shifting the pile of books on your lap, you steal a glance at where Eddie stands with his back to you a few yards away.

Lately, it’s like your best friend has purchased real estate in your brain. Daydreams resulting in hearts doodled in the margins of your notebooks a little too close to where you printed his name. His dark curls spill over the collar of his worn denim vest, shadowing the frayed edges of the Dio patch he had sown on last week. He's deep in conversation with Dan Shelter, a senior in the same class that Eddie would have been in if he hadn’t missed so much time after his mother passed. They both turn and look at you at the same time.

Eddie’s eyes narrow as his brows pull tighter into a frown. You push one of your headphones back, and the noise of everyday chatter and car engines bursts into your reality. 

"You know your girlfriend is deeply weird, Munson," the spiky-haired jock says, shoving his hands into the pockets of his letterman jacket, not even trying to hide his distaste.

Girlfriend. You’ve both tried to stamp out that rumor—yet no matter who else you go out with, those sparks never last and pale in comparison to the steady flame you feel around Eddie. Would it really be so bad if it were true? The answer scares you more than you expect. 

"She’s not my girl," Eddie retorts with a swift shake of his head, his voice edged with that familiar bite of annoyance. His foot scuffs against the asphalt, the white Reebok stark against the black jeans clinging to his narrow hips. An impatient sigh pulls the fabric of his Hellfire Club t-shirt tighter across his chest, outlining his lean frame. "You in or out?" His fingers snap near Dan's face, the sunlight catching on his silver rings, "I've got other places to be, and you're not my only customer."

"Sure, whatever," Dan grumbles, extending a hand with a few crumpled bills.

Eddie accepts the cash with an easy smirk, teasing the dime bag between thumb and forefinger, letting it sway like a pendulum. Dan’s hand hovers while he glances around for prying eyes, but Eddie lets the bag drop to the ground before he can take it. 

"Oops," Eddie’s voice drips with feigned innocence before he pivots on his heel and walks away without a backward glance.

Dan’s face ignites with anger as he stoops for the bag, muttering a curse.

"Always a pleasure," Eddie calls over his shoulder, flashing a dismissive two-fingered salute. A gaggle of pink-cheeked girls from the sophomore class crosses his path, eyes trailing over him like he's their favorite song come to life.  

"Ladies." He extends an arm, waving them on, his voice as smooth as a melody. They flutter past with giggles and heated glances. Despite their whispers of 'freak' in the corridors, they all vie for a chance to climb into the back of his van when no one is looking – to be the subject of the rumors they'd later deny.

He never hides his interest when he likes a girl — everybody knows when Eddie Munson is into someone. But he’s never looked at you that way, never given you that smile meant for those he desires. And that’s something that has never bothered you. Now, it stirs something else — a green thorny vine wrapping around your insides. He’s just Eddie – your friend. The same old Eddie, you reaffirm, even as your heart whispers lies of a different tune.

Without missing a beat, he saunters over, the rhythmic clink of his chain wallet punctuating each step. He leaps onto the picnic table, landing beside you with a thud, sending vibrations through the timeworn wood. His eyes linger on the girl's retreating forms.

"You need to be careful, Eddie," you warn, tipping your chin toward where Dan is stalking off in a dark cloud of annoyance.

"Careful is my middle name, doll." He smiles a big, sly grin, dimples deepening, causing a flutter in your chest, an unexplained sensation that's become strangely frequent these days.

He nods at your leg, eyes dropping to your thigh. "What’s this?" His dark lashes make half-moon shadows on his cheek as his thumb brushes over the square field of bright white crosses covering the denim patch on your jeans.  A trail of tingles follows, unbidden and unwelcome. You disguise the shiver as a chill from the wind, even as you crave more of his touch.

"It’s called sashiko," you explain, hyper-aware of the warmth of his skin as the ghost of his touch lingers. "The art of visible mending." 

"Looks cool." His gaze meets yours, a little too intense and a little too long. Your fingers clutch your notebooks tighter, a shield against whatever this feeling is.

"Are you coming over after school?" Your voice is steadier than you feel.

"I’ll drop you off, but I’ve got to go back to the trailer after," Eddie replies, his eyes still holding yours in a silent conversation you can't quite interpret. "I’ve got stuff to do." Something in his tone suggests layers you're not ready to peel back. "Not your kind of stuff."

The house where Eddie grew up doesn't look the same anymore. Someone else has moved in – keeping the lawn perfect and fixing up all the broken things, erasing any traces of tragedy. The neighborhood has moved on, absolving themselves like they hadn’t just turned their back and let it happen. As if it wasn't their problem. Eddie's staying on the other side of town now with his Uncle Wayne in a tiny one-bedroom trailer. Wayne's heart is in the right place, even if he drinks too much, just like Eddie's dad did. But he's not bad, just... lost when it comes to dealing with an angry teen, and with him working nights, Eddie's on his own to figure out how to deal with it all. 

"I can keep you company?” You try to keep the offer casual despite the hump in your pulse.

He shakes his head, a shadow crossing his features. "Nah, I’ve got to stop at Rick's, then a run." There's a hardness in his eyes that wasn't there before.

You frown and look away, hiding your disappointment. "I don’t see what the big deal is," you argue, keeping your voice low, "We smoke together all the time."

"The big deal," he says, reaching out to lift your chin and forcing you to look at him. "Is that this is business, and I don’t want you involved. Alright?" His voice is firm, letting you know he won’t budge. "I’ll pick you up later," he promises. "Movie night. Just us."

The shrill ring of the bell is your cue to retreat, to put distance between you and these feelings threatening to upend everything. You nod at him, shoving your books into your bag. His gaze holds you for a heavy beat before breaking away. There's a shift in the air, a prelude to something you can't name, like the static before a storm. Eddie's last glance sears itself into your thoughts when you part ways at the door. 

As you make your way to class, those feelings nag at you like a forgotten lyric. You hug your arms, trying to squeeze out the persistent ache that spreads through your limbs. It's a tangible pain, this longing, like a hand squeezing around your heart, making it hard to breathe.

But you push it all down, guarding it like a secret. To lock it away in the confines of your ribcage, where it can't taint the one thing you value most. The friendship you've built is too important, too rare to risk on a silly crush that might only live in your head and fade with time. It’s a gamble you won’t take. You can't lose him. You won’t watch that light in his eyes dim for you, awkward silences replacing the laughter. Without him, you’d be alone.

Cold gray days give way to dark, inky nights. The stars and moon are veiled behind thick cotton clouds, stealing the light earlier as fall edges closer to winter. Winds gust, sending wet leaves sticking to the glass of your office windows as the bare fingers of the boxwoods planted around the brownstone scratch against the house in protest.

Lowering the lid of your laptop, the light in the room dims as the brightness is trapped between the two halves. Your arms stretch over your head, loosening the tension in your neck as you push away from your desk, drifting towards the sounds of life from the living room. Steve’s long legs are stretched out on the chaise end of the couch, a Bulls game on the TV, but his attention is stuck on the laptop resting on his thighs. 

“My eyes are going to fall out my head if I stare at that screen for any longer,” you declare, rounding the corner of the couch.

“Well, then, come stare at this screen instead.” He nods at the TV, extending his arm to make space for you to crawl onto the couch next to him and fit yourself into his side. 

“You’re so warm.” You nuzzle into his chest, and his lips touch the top of your head. “Don’t let me fall asleep.”

“I’ll wake you up when it’s time for bed. I still have a few hours of work left,” he sighs, his finger sliding down the trackpad as he scrolls through a document that never seems to end. 

“Is that for the launch?” Your eyes squint at the brightness of the screen. 

He groans at the ping of another incoming email while toggling between the many windows he has open. “Yeah, we're in the final stretch. The event team is trying to finalize the details. Maroon 5 and Fallout Boy are locked in to perform, but we’re still waiting to hear back from a few other acts and about a million other details that need ironing out.”

“It’s going to be a great night, baby. Everyone will be so impressed,” you assure, the arm you have draped across his stomach tightening, trying to impress your words into him. “Everything is going to go smoothly, you’ll see.”

He scoffs, doubt clouding his voice. “I wish I had your confidence. The server's capacity is still a question mark, and we're racing to fix streaming delays. Fuck!” The heels of his hands press into his eyes. “All I need is this thing to fail at the last minute, especially with Richard and my dad watching.” He imitates his father's stern tone, “Typical. He’s always been a fuck up. Chokes right before the buzzer.” Letting his hands drop, his eyes turn to you. “I should have listened to you and not invited my parents. I actually never thought they would agree to come. Now I’m running around trying to get things ready for them too.”

“Hey,” you take one of his hands between yours, “That’s not going to happen, Steve. If the servers have issues or if there's a lag, it's just a hiccup. You've got a team to handle that. You've put in the work, and you're brilliant at what you do. Your parents will see that. Everyone will.” 

He manages a smile, but it’s just a placation.

“What can I do to help?” You ask, “I’ll make sure we have some Pellegrino stocked and that cheese your parents like.”

There's a pause as he weighs his next words. “I’ve already called the housekeeper and told them to put fresh sheets in the guest room in case they decide to stay here, but I still need to make a reservation at the Four Seasons as a backup.”

Your jaw tightens, but you curb your annoyance at how John Harrington has everyone trained to cater to his high-maintenance whims, but this is for Steve’s peace of mind. “I’ll call first thing tomorrow. Consider it done. Anything else?”

He hesitates, a little apologetic. "My suit... the dry cleaner closes early tomorrow. I hate to ask, but I might not make it in time–"

“No problem. I’ll make time.”

His lips lift at the corners, and this time, his smile reaches his eyes. “I love you.” He leans forward, slotting his lip softly between yours. “I’ll put the ticket in your bag. Thanks for helping out, Ace.”

“I just have Eddie's interview tomorrow afternoon. I should have plenty of time." Standing, you tug at his hand. "Now, can we go to bed? Everything will look better after a good night's sleep.”

His mouth sets in a determined line as he shuts down his laptop, yielding to your pull as he rises. His hand finds a place on the small of your back, grounding you both as you climb the stairs together. 

Hitching the strap of your messenger bag higher on your shoulder, you kick at a loose stone on the sidewalk in front of the brick building. Car horns blare in the distance as traffic rolls by in the busy neighborhood.  The sun casts a glint off the steel CursedSound sign, its metal already weathering with a faint tinge of color. The heavy door is yanked open, its clank and whine making you jump. 

"Hi," Eddie greets you with a soft tone from the other side of the threshold.

"Hi," you return, shyness adding a tremble to your voice that shouldn’t be there. His fingers grip the edge of the door, and light flashes off the Rolex peeking out from under the cuff of the plaid flannel he wears over a fitted v-neck and jeans, the fabric snug against his defined shoulders. It’s still a novelty to see how his slim build has filled in over the years. Part of you still expects the boy you knew instead of this man in front of you. He looks you over in the same way, like he’s trying to decide if you’re really there. Maybe it’s the differences he sees in you, too, or does he still see the lonely girl he once knew? You shift your gaze down the street, your toes curling inside your Converse as warmth climbs up your neck. "Are you going to let me in?"

"I don't know." He pretends to ponder, a smile forming, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Where's your hard hat?"

Tilting your head to the side, you purse your lips until he breaks into a chuckle. He swings the door open wider, welcoming you in. You pass him with a shake of your head and continue down the hall. 

The lobby is in chaos.

"Sorry for the mess. The maid took the week off," he quips, watching you take in the space. 

The brown paper has been removed from the windows, allowing bright light to stream through the streaked and dirty glass. All the furniture has been pushed toward the center of the room, and ladders and paint cans litter the floor space. A large mural wrapping around the windows and front entrance has been outlined but not completed. In the same graffiti style as the one upstairs, this one displays more cityscapes with waves of the lake breaking at the forefront. Winged skulls and guitars blend with colorful swirls of clouds rising toward the ceiling. 

"It’s perfect," you tell him as your eyes follow the sweeping, colorful lines around the room. “Really beautiful.”

"Was that a compliment?" He asks, coming up behind you, his breath a warm whisper against your ear. "I thought it was a dump."

"Well, what can I say?” You spin around. “It’s growing on me." Your fingers move to your lips, concealing your smile as his deepens with your praise. 

"You look really good." His low voice bounces off the empty walls, "I mean…your, uh, outfit is nice." He waves his hand toward you before wiping it on the front of his jeans. 

Your brows raise as you glance down at the jeans and plain Lolla tee you put on this morning. None of the trendy outfits you usually wear for interviews seemed to fit right today. 

"Wow, that was smooth," he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I don’t know why I’m so nervous."

The fluttering in your stomach matches his energy.  “Maybe it’s because I’m going to get you to spill all your secrets and print them so the whole world can sit in judgment."

 A choked sound comes from his throat as his eyes widen into saucers.

Unable to keep a straight face, you giggle. "Relax, Eddie. I already told you I’m not writing some hit piece. You’ve got nothing to worry about. Besides," you shrug, "It’s only me." 

A sharp breath escapes as his shoulders lower. "Yeah, you’re right." He says, taking a step forward, his gaze locking with yours. "After all these years, it's still you.

"Eddie." His name comes out on a breathless sigh as you look away.  The shield of anger between you is heavy and battered, and you aren’t sure how much longer you can hold it up. He takes another step forward, and you clear your throat. "Why don’t you show me what else you’ve done?"

He rakes a hand through his curls, "Of course." His lips tighten into a flat line as he gestures toward the stairs. "After you." 

You lead the way to the second floor, where the smell of fresh paint permeates the air. A ladder leans against a half-painted wall, and orange extension cords crisscross the carpet in the hall, winding into the studios like work has been suddenly halted.

"Where is everyone?" You look around the abandoned space before stepping inside Studio A. It's come a long way since your last visit. The deck that holds the mixing board is ready, and the wiring is underway.

"I didn’t know how long you’d be here, so I told them to take the rest of the day off." His eyes follow the movements of your hand, brushing over knobs and sliders of the soundboard that's still sheathed in a protective layer of plastic. 

"You didn’t have to do that," you say, walking back out into the hall. 

"I didn’t think we needed the audience," he shrugs, walking along with you to the next room.

"I hope you don’t fall behind schedule." The walls of the small Studio B are covered with walnut slats to create an acoustic barrier while still keeping the room open, while the mixing room kept the original exposed brick.

"I’ve got time."

"Even so," you move to the window. The sun glints off the mirrored surface of the tall building across the street. "I’m sure you're eager to open. Put out that first album with the CursedSound logo in the liner notes."

"Of course I am." He comes to stand beside you, taking in the bustle of the city at midday. "It’s gonna be good to have nothin’ between me and the music. Let the artists be as creative as they want. Their management can deal with the corporate A&R people and leave me out of it."

"You never did like playing by the rules," you smile, catching his eyes in the reflection of the glass.

He turns his head, studying your profile. "Why should I?" he continues, his tone more determined, "The rules sure as hell never helped me. I'm gonna take my chances as I find them, even if I have to play a little dirty. I deserve happiness the same as the next guy."

"Of course you do." The world has done nothing but take from him. 

"What about you?" He asks as you return to the hall. "The rules seemed to be treating you well."

You raise your shoulders with a warm smile gracing your lips, one you have no intention of concealing. "I love my job. I like the city, and…I have Steve."

"You ending up with Steve Harrington," his voice curls around the name, a sneer you can almost see, "I gotta admit, I didn't see that one coming."

Stopping, you pivot to face him, crossing your arms over your chest. "He's a good guy, Eddie."

He sighs in a short, almost defeated breath. "I know he is, doll."

The unmarked door at the end of the hall provides a convenient distraction. "Where does this go?" You wonder with your hand closing over the knob.

"My apartment."

"You're living here?" You let it go like it burned you, swallowing the lump that has made a sudden appearance in your throat. 

"Sure. Can't beat the commute." He reaches around you, turning the doorknob to reveal another flight of stairs. "Do you want to go up?"

Flashes of that day are more vivid than they should be for memories two years old. The closet carpet is soft under your fingers as wet tears rain down on the glossy pages. Steve's voice gets closer as he calls out your name. A tightness grips your chest as you attempt to step back, momentarily forgetting that Eddie's right behind you. He supports you with a steadying hand on your hip as he faces you, seeking your reaction.

"No, that's okay. I think we're fine down here. I  wouldn't want to disturb anyone," you say, attempting to sound confident as you wipe your palms along the sides of your jeans.

Eddie scratches the side of his head as his brow wrinkles. "Who do you think it up there?" 

A hot breath passes your lips as you turn away, walking back down the hall toward Studio C. "I don’t know," you call over your shoulder, too chicken to face him. "Skyler Simmons. Rock royalty. Media darling. According to the magazines, your long-time girlfriend. The one you own a house with. Ring any bells? Isn’t she here with you?"

"My what? Skyler Simmons?" The deep belly laugh that follows has you spinning on your heels to face him.

"Wait. You’re serious?" His dimples make an appearance as his smile deepens. "Me and Skyler?" He can barely get her name out without chuckling. 

"The one you’re photographed with constantly."

His brows shoot up. "Keeping tabs on me?"

"Oh, don’t flatter yourself," you huff. "It came up in my research. Do you have a relationship with her or not?"

"I know her," he offers, shaking his head, "She’s a friend. We go to the same group." 

"What group? The one for annoying assholes." 

He pauses, his arms crossing over his chest. "The one for people with addiction in their families. That okay with you?" His voice escalates. The simmering anger in his eyes mirrors the intensity of his tone. "Skyler is gay. Her girlfriend's usually hanging around, too. Does that mean I’m fucking her too? Jesus."

Frigid water clashes with your hot blood as the fight drains away. Glancing at your feet, your voice diminishes to barely more than a whisper. "Why hasn't she come out in the media?"

"Maybe because it’s none of anybody's fucking business." His piercing gaze bores into you as the sharp words land like heavy stones in the sour pit in your stomach. "Hold on," he waves a hand in front of you, "Why do you even care?"

"I don’t," your voice falters as the dishonest answer leaves you without hesitation. Your eyes trace the patterns on the floor. "It just makes for a better story, is all." 

His hands run through his hair, fingers tugging on the ends as his tone softens. "Doll," he pauses, taking a deliberate step closer. His warm fingers cup your jaw, forcing your eyes to meet his. Those amber swirls, always seeing beyond your surface. "No one else is in my apartment, and no one else is gonna be."

His touch sends a searing heat spreading through your skin as the weight of your engagement ring pulls on your finger. "You’re a grown man, Eddie. Do whatever you want." Stepping back, his hand falls from your face as you turn and enter the studio.

"Fucking stubborn," the low murmur carries under his breath as he follows you inside.

"It looks like this one’s almost finished." You spin around the room, taking in the progress, before letting your bag slide down your shoulder and sinking onto the couch. 

Gray triangles of acoustic foam now adorn the live room walls in contrasting patterns, and layers of soft carpeting line the floor. The mixing room's mural stands completed, and the furniture has all been placed. 

His eyes move around the room, the pride evident on his face. "Just some wiring and the vocal booth, and I’ll be ready to start setting the levels."

"This one’s your favorite, I can tell," you shift, tucking a leg under you as he joins you on the couch. 

"Shhh," he hushes you, raising a finger to his lips. "The others will get jealous."

Rolling your eyes, you pull your phone from your bag, open the recording app, and set it between you both.

"How does this work?" Eddie's eyes are fixed on your phone while he rubs the back of his neck.

"Well, typically," your hand slips back into your bag to retrieve the neatly stapled pages of your notes, "I ask a question, and you provide the answer." You set the pages in your lap, drawing in a steadying breath. He’s sitting in front of you with a key to a locked door  – one that might be best left closed and forgotten, but it’s time to hear him out. 

"Eddie Munson interview, part one."

"Mr. Munson." You slip into your most professional tone. "Thank you for granting us an interview during this busy time. All of us at Stax are very excited to welcome CursedSound to Chicago."

He leans forward, his voice dropping slightly in timber as a much smoother, older Eddie begins to answer, "Thank you. I always have time for my favorite magazine." He winks.

Your lips press into a line as you tilt your head to the side, taking a quick glance at your packet. "In April 2003, Fever to Tell was released by a relatively new band and a completely unknown sound engineer. It went on to sell over a million copies, putting The Yeah Yeah Yeahs and the name Eddie Munson on industry minds. Fever to Tell is still, to date, one of my favorite albums. Were you aware of the significant impact this record would have when you were working on it?"

"At the time, we were really just hopeful, you know? We believed in the music we were creating. Karen and Nick, and Brian flew out from New York with their last dime, and we just got to work. Karen had this kind of raw, untamed energy, and I wanted to capture that, to add an edge to the album. It was this post-punk dance-floor-friendly racket that injected a much-needed dose of authenticity into a musical era that was getting stagnant."

"It's not an exaggeration to say that record helped shape the direction of indie and alternative rock for years to come. But what I want to ask is you before all that. What was the road like moving from Hawkins to having your dreams come true in LA? Was this the path you first set out on, or were there curves in the road?"

"I think 'curves' is a generous term for the absolute shit choices I was making for myself back then," he chuckles. "As you know, I left Hawkins about a year after I graduated. That town had already decided I would never be anything more than a freak– a loser with no future. If I had stayed, that's exactly what would have happened. I was trying to outrun my past without a clue what I wanted for my future. I had my own band back then, and sometimes, we’d open for slightly bigger bands that rolled through town. One of them was about to tour and invited me to go as their one and only roadie, and it felt like a free ticket out."

"Bananafish," you interject, swallowing and glancing down at your notes.

"Yeah, Bananafish. God, they sucked. Did you know they started as a Spin Doctors tribute band?"

"No," you laugh, "And that wasn’t a red flag for you?"

"It should have been. I wasn’t with them for long anyway. I think I lasted for three weeks before they cut me loose for getting in a fight with the drummer." He pauses, shaking his head. "I never knew when to shut my mouth. At that point, they had hooked up with another band called Everly. Slightly better, but not by much. I managed to hold it together for a few months. I was high or drunk most of the time, the only reason they kept me around was because they liked the way I babied their instruments."

"I remember,” you nod. “You’d spend half an hour polishing that Warlock every day after school." 

"Got to treat a lady right if you want her to sing for you," he says with a sly rise and fall of his brows, draping an arm over the back of the couch, shrinking the space between you.

"I was surprised that you left it behind." 

Eddie's expression turns more solemn. "There were a lot of things I wished I could’ve taken with me. But back then, I couldn’t even take care of myself."

"I don’t believe that," you swallow, the words sticking in your throat, "You could have tried."

"If I had tried, they would’ve ended up broken, and I’d‘ve lost them anyway." His fingers brush your shoulder, and you flinch. The leather creaks as you sit back against the arm of the couch, just out of reach. 

"Back to Everly. Why did you part ways?" 

"Oh, well, I fucked it up, of course. They had landed a spot at Bonnaroo, and I got so fucked up the night before I missed sound check. When I managed to pick myself up off the floor of the van, they handed me my duffel and a twenty and told me to pound sand." His eyes drift away, fixating on a point across the room. "I had barely been outside of Indiana, and there I was, stuck on some farm in Manchester, Tennessee, with no ride, no money, and no one to call. I was angry at the world and never felt more alone. People always talk about hitting rock bottom, I thought that was it, but now that I look back, it was more of a crossroads. If I had followed that darker path, there would have been no coming back. I was wandering around backstage where they park buses, hungover, maybe still half in the bag, and that’s when I met Max."

"Max Navarro?" You shuffle through the pages of your notes.

"Yeah. You know him?" Eddie’s eyes brighten as his gaze drops to the pages in your lap.

Your head turns from side to side. "You referred to him as a mentor in the Stones interview, but I couldn’t find much on him besides his name being listed as an audio engineer for several tours."

"That’s Max." Eddie breaks into a smile. "He’d tell you he likes flying under the radar. He was hanging out in front of the bus playing guitar with a couple of guys when I walked over like a cocky shit, picked one up, and started playing. He gave me something to smoke, and it wasn’t weed. All I know is that I woke up face-down in the dirt the next morning. I don’t know if he liked me or just felt bad for me, but he dragged me on the bus and had me start assisting him with the sound for Faith No More."

"Faith No More? Are you kidding me?" Your hands fall to your lap, slapping against your thighs, jostling the cushion enough for your phone to slide toward the back of the couch. "You had their poster in your room. If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you had a charmed life."

"Well, even the sun shines on a dog's ass some days," he laughs.

"So Max is who taught you about engineering?" 

"Max is who taught me about everything." His voice holds a reverence when he says his name.  "He kept an eye on me. Showed me how to work the boards.  He said he could see shadows following me around, so when we got to LA, he took me out to the desert, fed me some tea, and exercised my demons."

"Did it work?" Max wasn't the only one to see shadows looming. Consequences of decisions made by others. Expectations of a community that turned its back. They clung to him like an impenetrable fog. 

"I’m not sure. I felt lighter after, but it could have been the gallon of water I sweat out," he chuckles.  "After that, he cashed in a favor and got me an internship with a small studio in Laurel Canyon. I parked cars at night and lived in a room the size of a closet at Max’s house. I worked my ass off. I went to therapy–" 

"How very L.A. of you," you chime in.

"Don’t knock it until you try it." He looks at you from under raised brows. "It’s, uh, good to talk about things. Be open, you know?" 

"No thanks. I tried that once," you tell him pointedly, the tightness in your chest returning, "It didn’t work out for me."

Your arrow hit the target. Regret flashes in his eyes. "Doll–" 

"You decided to stay in L.A. and work at a studio instead of going back out on the road?"

"I like studio sessions. Makes me feel like I’m working towards something. I like completing an album and putting it out in the world. Some people thrive being out on tour, like Max. Not me," he scratches at his chin. "Too many ghosts on those old roads." 

Like the ones back in Hawkins that jolt you awake in the dead of night, murmuring past shames of a lovesick and foolish girl. Robin had seen it, and so had the entire town, but you aren’t her any longer. She lies resting beneath the frigid earth, her memory an unmarked grave. You've moved forward, and you’ll never go back, the city drowns out the remains of her cries.

"So you stayed and built your life there," you conclude, flipping through the pages of your notes, ticking off the points from your outline.

Eddie leans back, a contemplative look on his face. "I guess you could say that. I got my own place, made some great friends. Sundays are for Max's family and Chile relleno. The weather is always beautiful. But I really stayed for the music,” he shrugs. “Have you been? I could take you some time. Show you around. Max would love to meet you, the girl I won’t shut up about. I think you’d like it there."

The girl he hasn’t bothered to call in a decade. "To Los Angeles?" Your gaze rises from your notes to meet his nodding response. "I've been a few times. With Steve. Mostly for work."

"Oh yeah. Makes sense." His jaw tightens, and he averts his gaze. "Well, I guess the rest is history. Is that enough for your story?"

"Yeah." You reach for your phone, tapping the red square to stop the recording. "It will be a great opening piece for the series." You pick up your messenger, hauling its weight into your lap, tucking your notes inside. The afternoon is ending on a flat note. A stone sits on your tongue, holding back questions that you lack the courage to ask, but maybe it’s better this way.

Eddie sits up suddenly, snapping his fingers. "Speaking of history, I want to show you something." He stands up, looking towards the door and back at you, "Um.. wait here, okay? I’ll just be a minute." 

"Okay-"

He holds up flat palms. "Don’t go anywhere." His eyes close as he winces, " I mean, you can wander around if you want. Just don’t leave."

"Eddie-" 

"I’ll be back." He holds up one finger as he exits the room. 

With a sigh, you push up from your thighs, rising to your feet, walking through to the live room where a drum kit stands at the ready. The snare looks a little worn, and the symbols have lost their shine. Your nails tap the high hat, and you smile at the shimmering sound.

"What am I doing?" You whisper, spinning the gold band on your finger.

The sound of the floor creaking echoes through the hall.  Eddie enters the room with the large box he's carrying obscuring his upper half.  His name written in Wayne's shaky handwriting, peeking out from underneath his fingers.

"What's all this?" You ask as he sets down the box with a heave in the center of the room and sinks to his knees, hovering over the taped flaps.

"I have no idea," he grins mischievously. "Wayne gave it to me when I stopped by last week and told him I would see you. But you know him, he never throws stuff out. It could be anything." His hand smoothes over the top as he raises a brow. "Wanna find out?"

Your hands slide over your jean-covered thighs before your feet carry you forward. "Mrs. Click better not be in there." 

His head tips back with laughter. "I make no promises," he jokes while you take a seat on the floor on the side of the box.  

His mouth quirks up, watching you get comfortable. With a fluid motion, he leans and grabs a box cutter beside the soundboard. His shirt lifts slightly, offering a glimpse of hair trailing down his belly and the sculpted muscle beside his hips. His tongue lightly grazes his upper lip as he expertly flicks the knife open, his jeans snug on the contours of his strong thighs. Exhaling slowly, you avert your eyes, scanning the room instead as you wait for him to slice the tape. 

"Score!" He pulls out the ragged-edged sheet that was folded and tucked into the top of the box. "Corroded Coffin," he reads aloud the words scrawled across it with something resembling shoe polish.

"Oh no," you laugh, your head turning side to side as you rock in your seat. 

"Hey. This is rare band memorabilia. It’s probably worth money," he defends, holding it up proudly. 

"Yeah, to the guy you have to pay to haul it away," you giggle.

"Alright, Alright," he folds it up, the smile never leaving his face as he reaches into the box. "These are yours." He pulls out a stack of comic books and hands them to you.

"Still in good shape." You thumb through the copies of Tank Girl and Witchblade.

"My campaigns." He pulls out a pile of notebooks and sets them aside before reaching back in. "Some CDs." He comes out with a hand wrapped around a stack of jewel cases, the one on top catching your eye. 

"Hey, that’s my Cranberries Cd!" Your fingers dig into the carpet as you tip forward, yanking it from his hand. "I looked for this everywhere. I knew you took it, you thief."

"I don’t know how that got there," he scratches his head, "You must have left in the van."

"Nice try, Munson." your eyes narrow, "I checked there." You lean over the box, poking a finger into his chest, "I knew you had a crush on Dolores."

"You got me. It was the accent," he admits with a grin full of dimples, his hand closing around your finger. 

"I’m keeping it." You drop back into your seat and pick up the case to examine the disc.

"Holy shit."

You raise your head to meet his wide chocolate eyes, a look of sheer delight written across his face. "Close your eyes," he instructs, pulling back the flaps of the box, hiding whatever he's found.

"Mrs. Click?" You set the CD on top of the comics.

"Better," he says excitedly, waving a hand toward your face. “Come on. Close your eyes."

"Fine." You leave one eye open, folding your hands in your lap.

"No peeking." He wags a finger.

Your lips purse as you close your other lid, waiting for the big reveal. Plastic clanks against something heavy, followed by the rustle of cardboard.

"Okay. Open."

"Daisy!" Your hands fly to your mouth before you reach out with wiggling fingers.

He winces as he hands over the two-foot garden gnome. "How can you call something so ugly a pretty name like that?"

Taking the heavy lawn ornament in both hands, you gaze down at her droopy hat and too-large ears, which stick straight out beside her bulging eyes and porcine nose. Her rubbery lips are pulled back in a smile, showing off her buck teeth and flowery dress that barely conceals her body. 

"She's beautiful." You cradle her in your arms. "Besides, you're the one who stole her."

"You’re the one who dared me to," he scoffs. 

Your cheeks already ache with an unrestrained smile as the memories from that night surface. "I didn’t think you were going to wake up the whole neighborhood crashing into the bushes in Mr. Lawson’s yard." 

"I was drunk," he defends, his face turning red.

"You tripped over your feet and ripped your pants," you gasp for air, trying to get the words out with your laughter, "You had on those Garfield boxers with the hearts."

"Of course, you remember that." His laughter joins yours, easy and familiar. "You're the one that woke up the neighbors, making the van backfire."

"It was the first time I drove, and I didn’t have a license." You clutch Daisy tightly to your chest as you try to catch your breath. "Mr. Larson came out in his bathrobe, screaming about shooting you in the ass."

Eddie shakes his head as you laugh at his expense. "He almost caught us when you stalled out. All for that hideous thing."

"Shh," you cover her ears with your hands. "You can’t get rid of her."

"Never," he agrees, reaching out for her. "I’ll find her place of honor around here somewhere."

"Put her on your nightstand," you suggest, handing her over. 

"Ugh," he says, setting her aside, "I’ll have nightmares."

You burst into laughter once more, and his eyes ignite. He smiles like he’s savoring every sound, like your happiness is a hard-earned treasure he's been longing for. 

The shards of the past press against the scar tissue encasing your heart as if struggling to free themselves and reassemble in the present. Your hand finds its way to your chest, pressing gently on the tender center, trying to quell the ache and remain in this moment—with him.

"What else? What else?" You clap your hands, bouncing in your spot. 

"Okay, okay," he gives in, happy to indulge you. "Um, a pack of crayons, a monopoly piece." He places them aside. "Thanks, Wayne. Could have done without that. Looks like some clothes. Oh, this is yours." He tosses a ball of red fabric at you, and you catch it with both hands before he continues to search through the box.

"Is this what I think it is?" His voice brims with excitement as he pulls a rectangular tin from the box. He shakes it, and a sharp sound follows. "Yes." His tongue sticks out from the corner of his mouth as he pries off the lid. 

His voice fades into the background as your focus turns to what you're holding. The fabric of your Musicland vest unfurls as you hold it out in front of you, the gold name tag still pinned to the front catching the light. A heavy sensation settles in your stomach, tightening and cramping as a sick, painful feeling creeps in and spreads — nausea churns as each inhale becomes battle. 

There’s a scrape of metal as the lid pops off. "Polaroids," Eddie declares, his attention lost to the thrill of his find as he flips through the stack of photographs.

Your heart races as the room seems to shrink. "Stop it," you whisper, your voice quivering, your trembling hands twisting the vest as if folding it small enough can make the pain disappear.

"They’re pretty faded, though," he goes on, unaware. 

"I said, that's enough!" The balled-up vest flies from your hands, landing back in the box. Adrenaline surges through your veins as you push yourself up on unsteady legs. "I need to leave."

Eddie's laughter dies in his throat as he looks up, the joy in his eyes replaced by confusion. "Wait a minute." He gets to his feet and follows you. The small pile you made topples over, forgotten as you pick up your bag from the couch. "What just happened?" He moves in front of you, blocking your path. "I thought we were having fun."

"Fun?" The word is a shard of ice. Without hesitation, you sling your bag over your shoulder and maneuver past him towards the door.

“Just hold on a minute.” He blocks your path again, hands up, eyes searching yours for answers. “Tell me what's going on.”

"What do you want?" The words slice the air, eyes locked, a bare blade of anger.

"I wanted to-" His eyes flick toward the abandoned box in the center of the room.

"No." Your head shakes, "Why are you here? Now?  After all this time? What do you want from me?"

"I just wanted to see you." His arms cross over his chest as his voice turns softer. "I missed my friend."

"Your friend," sarcasm drips from your words as you quirk a brow, "So you show up here with a box of crap and a ‘hey doll’,” your voice lowers to mock him, "And I’m supposed to what? Forget about everything that happened and hand you a clean slate. Drop everything in my life to follow you around like a puppy because you feel like paying me some attention?"

"That’s not…I’m not asking for that." His hand runs through his curls, frustration building in his tone. 

"I'm not going to sit here with you wandering down memory lane and watch you pretend like you cared." Your eyes sting, but tears won't fall. You've shed your last one for him long ago. "Like any of it mattered."

"No one's pretending here, doll." He steps closer, his hands falling to his side, fingers rubbing at the seam of his jeans. "Of course, it mattered—all of it."

Your bag falls from your shoulder with a resounding thud, its weight matching your resolve as you push your hand against his chest. "I don't believe that for a second. If it mattered, you never could have done what you did."

"Done what?"

"Left me!" Your hand lands flat across your heart. "Without a goodbye, just some shitty mixtape full of songs that I can't listen to without my heart breaking over and over."

"You're right, okay." His voice rises to match your volume, his fingers closing around your biceps. "I was a fucking coward, and I ran. I couldn't see that look on your face again, the one you had when I told you I was leaving. I should’ve said goodbye, but I knew you'd try to convince me to stay, and that was never going to happen. I'm sorry I hurt you, but I can't be sorry I left."

"Hurt me?" You push his hands away, taking a step back to control the cracking in your voice. "You didn't just hurt me, Eddie. You destroyed me."

He swallows, looking away. "You were better off."

Fresh anger surges, along with the strong desire to escape – to leave this dead and buried, maybe for another decade until the hurt isn’t so strong. 

"See, that right there is why I'll never believe you," you snap, pointing an accusatory finger his way as you step around him, your hand closing around the doorknob. But at the last moment,  you turn, wanting him to hear it. At least once.

"I didn't quit Musicland. I got fired. I was a mess after you left. I cried for days, but I clung to this pathetic hope that you’d call to explain everything. To say it wasn't the end for us. You wouldn’t just throw me away, right? Not after everything we had been through together. I wouldn't leave my room, not even to eat. I was so afraid that the second I left, the phone would ring."

There's regret in his eyes as he steps forward, getting closer until he can touch you again, one hand gently gliding up your arm.

"But that call never came, did it, Eddie? Not one. And every day that passed, I died a little. But then I wasn't sad anymore. All those tears, they turned to hate," you say coldly, locking your gaze with his. "I hated you. I hated every song that came on the radio, reminding me of you. I hated Hawkins and everyone in it. But most of all, I hated myself for trusting you. For believing that you ever cared about me. That I wasn’t alone. That's what you did to me, Eddie.”

“You made me hate myself."

"I’m so sorry, doll," his words barely crest the silence as his gentle hand cradles your jaw. “There’s so much I want to explain to you.”

His touch is hot, but inside you, a coldness lingers–inside your stone. "You kissed me. And then you left me the next day. You knew how I felt." 

"I know. I know. I’m sorry." He steps closer, trying to pull your rigid form into his arms, lips brushing your temple. "You don’t even know how much. I’ll spend the rest of my life apologizing. Trying to make it up to you. But you’re wrong. It all mattered. I did care. That kiss..it’s the reason…" He pulls back and looks into your eyes, "You knew me, you always did, but there were things I couldn’t tell you. Things I couldn’t admit even to myself. I was scared and angry all the time."

Your head shakes as you swallow hard. "You're not even real!" You shout in his face, your fingers clutching the doorknob behind you. Spinning, you tug hard, but his hand slams against the door above your head, keeping it shut. 

"Stop, doll," he pleads. “Let me explain,” but the push-pull intensifies. You're no match for his strength. "Stop it!" he yells. His hand pushes on your shoulder, turning you to face him. Anger flashes in his eyes, and his cheeks flush.

"I made you up.”

“No.”

“The boy I knew could never have done that. He could never have hurt me like that." Your shoulder jerks, breaking his hold as you attempt to turn away again.

His fingers wrap around the side of your neck, keeping you in place. "That boy could never have given you what you wanted. He wouldn’t have had the first clue how to handle you."

"Is that why you’re back?" You ask, still defiant even as his thumb presses into your throat, tipping your head to meet his gaze. "Dragging this all up again, ruining my life? Because you do?" 

"Damn right, I do." 

His words are a gravelly assertion, barely escaping before his mouth descends toward yours. For a heartbeat, the world pauses until your mouths finally meet — urgent and fierce. You part your lips eagerly, tongues finding their way together in a hungry and unapologetic dance. The firm pressure of his mouth moving in sync with yours is a spark, igniting a fire that seems to spread with each touch. The scent of clove and cedar leaves you lightheaded as the flames lick through your body. The scruff on his cheek is a rasp against your skin, a roughness contrasting with the smoothness of his kiss. He tastes like cinnamon and a hint of coffee. This kiss is filled with years of longing, swelling and crashing like an orchestra's finale.

Minutes slip away, yet your greedy mouths remain desperate. The room falls into a hushed stillness, save for the sharp intakes of breath and the sensuous wet slide of lips. The kisses seem endless, broken only by fleeting gasps for air, compelling you to pull each other closer, savoring every taste. Your fingers tangle in the soft waves at the nape of his neck, evoking a low, guttural groan that mingles with your shared breaths when you tug. His hands trace the curves of your body, touching every inch as they follow a path beyond your hips and ass, seizing the back of your thighs. With a firm grasp, he lifts you, pressing you against the unyielding door. You gasp as he positions you just how he wants — aligning himself hot and hard against your center. 

"Fuck," he growls against your lips as his hips roll, igniting fireworks through your body. Your eyes flutter shut, and a kaleidoscope of colors burst in the darkness.

He nips at the plush of your bottom lip, teeth grazing in a tender claim, a muted buzz begins in your bag—a sharp, insistent sting—that yanks you from the haze back into the real world. His eyes remain closed when you pull away. He leans closer, chasing your mouth, but the moment is already shattered. 

Your stomach plummets as the harsh reality sets in. His kiss now tastes like the ash of betrayal. The distressed whimper escaping your throat finally has him looking at you, shock written clearly across his features. Slowly, he releases you, your body sliding against his until your feet meet the floor. He takes a step back, hesitating, swallowing, "Doll —"

"No." You shake your head, your hands covering your mouth. The gold band on your fourth finger is a cool scorch against your swollen lips. "I have to go." You spring into motion, rushing to gather your bag.

"Stay, and we can talk about this," he implores, moving one hand to his hip while the other rakes through his hair. 

"Please don’t," you plead. "Don’t ask me for anything else." You swing the strap over your shoulder. "I just ch—" But the word stays stuck in your throat, as your eyes swim with tears.

His face falls, "It's not your fault, okay? I kissed you."

"Eddie—"

"You didn't do anything wrong. It was me," he insists, frustration in his voice as you scrub your face with your hands. "I don't want you driving when you're upset."

"I'm sorry," you say with an aching heart, pushing past him and closing the door behind you.

The sidewalk blurs under your feet as you race to your car. Fat raindrops splatter against the concrete like a spray of gunfire, each one a cold, wet slap against your skin. The sky chooses this moment to crack open, unleashing a torrent that feels personal. Your car comes into view, a bright orange ticket flapping under the wiper. Perfect. Just perfect.

With hands slick from the rain, you fumble with your keys before throwing yourself into the driver’s seat. Snatching the ticket from under the wiper as you go and crumpling it into your fist, stuffing it into the glovebox to be dealt with later. The downpour drums on the roof, enclosing you in a watery cocoon as you search through your bag for your phone. A missed call from Steve and a text reminding you about the dry cleaning. You spill the contents of your messenger onto the passenger seat, pens and lip gloss tumbling into the footwell. "Shit!" The word is a half-sob as you clutch the receipt marked with today's hours in unforgiving black ink.

Glancing at the clock on your dash, it hits you with the subtlety of a wrecking ball– six minutes until closing. It might as well be in another time zone, given the snarled rush hour traffic and the river that the streets have become.  Your car roars to life, and you pull out onto the roadway, tires hissing on wet asphalt, windshield wipers barely keeping up with the deluge. Your skin still sings with Eddie’s touch, but it's the burgeoning storm of words—cheater, adulterer, betrayer—mixed with the soft hazel of Steve’s disappointed eyes that tattoo themselves across your conscience. This is the unforgivable sin, and you can't undo it, but you'll be damned if you don't at least try.

You're double-parked now, hazards blinking a frantic rhythm. The 'CLOSED' sign on the dry cleaner's door mocks you as you rattle the unrelenting metal handle. "Please, please, please," you whisper, pounding on the uncaring glass, your unheard pleas bouncing off the empty shadows within. A car horn cuts through the rain —"What the fuck, lady?" The other driver yells, uncaring of your predicament.

"I'm moving, I'm moving!" The words are a rain-soaked shout as you slosh back to your car, drenched and defeated.

Another angry horn sounds off as you pull into traffic, carelessly cutting off a Yellow Cab in your haste. Rainwater drips from your hair, soaking your shirt. Even with the heater set to blast, it does little against the chill that has settled deep in your bones. Down the road, a bright blue sign glows like a beacon, and you jerk the steering wheel, the car fishtailing as you skid into the lot. 

The pharmacy's fluorescent lights are too bright and too sterile as you grab a small bottle of mouthwash off the shelf in the travel section and wait in line to pay, the store's generic electronic music grating against your already frayed nerves. Outside, you stand on the corner, swishing and spitting the minty liquid onto the sidewalk, repeating the process, trying to cleanse more than just your mouth. A passerby wrinkles their nose at you from under their umbrella. "This is Chicago! You've seen worse!" You snap, arms thrown up in exasperation while the rain and your regrets mingle on the cold pavement.

With pruney fingers, you pull the cardigan you had left at Stax off the back of your office chair. Shrugging it on, the material dampens from your wet t-shirt but offers a little warmth. Your phone buzzes as you settle at your desk — five missed calls from Eddie and four texts. The roar of the heavy rain and being buried deep in your bag had muffled its sound, not that you would have picked up. 

Eddie: Answer the phone, doll!

Eddie: Look, I need to know that you’re okay.

Eddie: I swear to Christ if you don’t pick up.

Eddie: Okay, have it your way. I’m driving to your place.

What? No! Your thumb presses the call button, and it rings twice before it connects. There’s no hello, just the slight hum of an engine and the rain pelting glass. 

“I’m okay,” you breathe into your phone, “I didn’t go home. I’m at my office.”

Your heart drums in your ears with each second of silence. Your eyes flutter shut, relief flooding you when he finally responds. An exhale loosens the tension in your chest.  His voice resonates in a dark rumble through the phone, "We need to talk."

“I….I know,” your voice wavers as you wipe your nose on the back of your hand. “I just need a minute here, Ed. Can you give me some time?” 

The rhythmic blink of the turn signal punctuates his heavy sigh. “Yeah. Alright. But doll,” he pauses as the sound of water splashing against his vehicle mingles with the whoosh of passing traffic, “You’re not running away from this. And trust me, the irony of that statement isn’t lost on me. Think about what I said, okay? I meant it all.”

With a tight throat, you whisper, "I have to go," and disconnect the call. 

Placing your phone on the desk, you dab the raindrops off your face with a tissue. The quiet of the office wraps around you, its half-dark corners and the soft glow from the monitors creates a place for you to breathe and be still. The raging storm and the ticking wall clock echoing in the solitude do little to distract you from thoughts you’re not ready to face. With a deep breath, you lift the lid of your laptop, seeking refuge in the normalcy of work as you coax the screen back to life.

The song erupts from the speaker on the edge of your desk, a jolt of sound shattering the silence like an accusation. You grab it with fumbling fingers, scrambling to press the off button. Covering your face with your hands, you let out a sound that is equal parts sob and hysterical laughter, wondering how you ended up in this situation. With your elbows pressed against the wooden top, you bury your face in your hands.

“What are you doing here, kid?” The gruff voice cuts through your misery.

"Jesus Christ, Hopper," you gasp, clutching at your chest, "You scared the hell out of me."

"Guess we're even since Mr. Brightside nearly sent me into cardiac arrest." Hopper towers over you, standing beside your desk with his hands buried in his pockets. 

“You listen to The Killers?” You ask, surprised while he drags a chair from the next desk, its wheels screeching faintly against the concrete floor.

“You kids really think Jim Croce is the only thing on my playlist?” A chuckle escapes him as he eases into the chair beside you, “Now, tell me what’s wrong.”

You muster a puzzled look, shaking your head in feigned denial.

“Don’t bullshit me, kid. I don’t have much time. I’m meeting Joyce for dinner at that Italian place on Taylor Street. Have I told you about it? I’ve been dreaming about the breadsticks. Enzo puts some spice on ‘em, I don’t know what it is, but it’s good. You dip it in olive oil,” he groans, “Forget about it. Those things knock your socks off, and I’m wavering on the main course between—”

“I need you to take me off the studio opening,” you interrupt, folding your arms across your chest.

“We’ve been over this. Unless you have some good reason–”

“Eddie kissed me,” the confession slips out, eyes widening in shock at your admission, hands flying to cover your mouth.

His brows rocket upwards, then draw together, his gaze sharpening, voice dipping into a low, protective timbre, “What do you mean he kissed you?” 

“No,” you clarify, squeezing your eyes shut and pressing an elbow against the desk, massaging your temple to soothe the forming headache. “I kissed him. We kissed. It was mutual.”

Hopper reclines, the chair creaking under his weight, his gaze level and unreadable. “I’m disappointed in you, kid. I never thought I’d be having a conversation like this with you.”

“I know. I know. Steve…” you trail off, eyes drifting to the photo of Steve on your desk. 

Hopper leans in, his hand cutting through the air. “I don’t give a fuck about Harrington,” each word gains in volume, “This is about you and everything you’ve worked for. It’s 2012. That kind of nonsense ends careers. Do you know what can happen if he complains?”

Your eyes roll. “He’s not going to complain, Hop.”

“You don’t know that,” he counters, his head shaking off your naivety. “These things like this have a way of coming out. That was an amateur move. Where is your professionalism? What were you thinking?”

“I’m sorry,” you mutter, lowering your eyes. “We have more of a history than I let on.”

“Well, stop the presses. I couldn’t have figured that one out.” His voice lowers in resignment, “Maybe this is my fault–”

“No–” 

Your protest is swift, but he plows right over you, “I’ve babied you. Maybe it’s because you’re my favorite or because you were just a kid when you started. I let you get away with too much over the years because you’re a damn good writer. But that stops now, I’m going to treat you like all the rest of the idiots in this place.” His hand waves around the room before pointing right at you. “You’re going back to that studio, and you’re going to keep your dick in your pants and get those interviews done. If you want to play kissy face, you do it on your own time. You got me?”

Your mouth drops open, disbelief palpable. “You're still going to make me finish?”

“Damm, right I am,” Hopper affirms, not missing a beat. "If I hand your work off, it raises questions. Big, messy questions. What do I tell downtown when they ask why the piece was reassigned? Unless you’re ready to come clean to Harrington?” 

Your lip goes between your teeth as your head shakes.

“I thought so.” Hopper leans back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. "This could be both our necks," he mutters, concern filling his voice.

Your head shakes, but your determination is clear. "It won't."

“It better not. I don’t want to hear another word about it until that last story is on my desk. Are we clear?”

Your jaw clenches, the reality of the situation hitting hard. "Crystal."

Hopper's gaze remains fixed on you, ensuring his point has been made. "Good," he says, his voice softening, "Now go on, get out of here. Deal with whatever mess you've got going on. Just make sure it's sorted by Monday."

Your key slides into the lock and you turn it slowly, the tumblers falling into place with a series of soft clicks. You pause, leaning your forehead against the chill of the metal door, grappling with a rising queasiness that sours your stomach. 

A wave of home's warmth engulfs you, mingled with the earthy aroma of herbs and roasting potatoes. The vibrant strains of Queen accompany Steve's honeyed tones floating down the hall from the kitchen.

"Welcome home, ace. I was beginning to wonder where you were," his voice, laced with a touch of concern, greets you, “Busy day? Did you write me a Pulitzer?”

Your messenger bag slides from your shoulder, giving into gravity with a loud smack against the hardwood.

His voice grows nearer, warmer as he moves down the hall, the floor lightly creaking with each footfall. “I swung by the Athenian Room, grabbed us Chicken Kalamata, and I have a bottle of Chardonnay breathing.”

Your favorite. Your heart sinks further, receding behind your ribcage, unworthy of his care or devotion.

He stops short when he rounds the corner into the foyer, taking you in, his eyes reflecting your disheveled state. 

"I didn’t get the dry cleaning," you admit, struggling to keep your voice steady. "I was... too late."

For a heartbeat, he's silent, but his eyes remain tender. “Hey, that's alright, ace. I'll just skip the gym in the morning and swing by the cleaners before work. Are you okay?”

Traces of the day find a path down your cheeks as you sniffle and draw the cardigan tighter around yourself. "I got caught in the storm." 

“Did you forget your coat?” He draws closer as you give a small nod. His hands slide up your biceps, continuing on to wrap around you. “You're frozen.” He uses his thumb to lift your chin. “How about a hot shower, yeah? I'll keep dinner warm. You'll feel better after you eat.” His mouth begins to near yours, but you turn your face away. 

"I think I'm coming down with something," you manage, your lies teetering atop your mounting guilt. "My throat is sore."

Concern etches his features, his brows knitting together as he adjusts, pressing his lips to your forehead. “You don't feel hot.”

Pulling away, you bury your face into his shoulder. "I think I'll just shower and go to bed." 

“If that's what you want,” he presses a kiss to the crown of your head, though his tone is threaded with disappointment. “Go on up. I'll bring you some water and a couple of Tylenol.”

“Thanks, Steve,” you step away with a weight in your chest. “I'm really sorry.” 

“Don't worry about it.” He waves off your apology, his smile faint but sincere. His arms fold over his chest as he turns back toward the kitchen. 

As you climb the stairs, the music snaps off, replaced with the distant roar of a sports game, the announcers' voices carrying up the stairwell. 

The embrace of the hot shower strips away the cold clinging to your skin, but it cannot wash away the regret. Sliding down the tiles, you draw your knees close while your tears fall, mixing with the stream of water spiraling towards the drain. 

Your life is a song made up of the choices you've made, each one a different note that sounded so sure at the time, but now the harmony seems slightly off-key. The steam rises around you like a specter. It's the quiet between the chords. And you're there, just listening, trying to figure out if there's a note you'd change or if every single one was necessary. As you nestle into bed, sleep tugging like an insistent tide amidst the drift into dreams, one truth resonates clear– the music plays on.

Song 5 coming this week! Follow @tornupdates for notifications

Thanks for indulging me with this new version. I wanted to get it right. This next chapter is going to be Steve's launch party and will explore the fallout from that kiss. I love each and every one of you and I hope Torn!Eddie makes an appearance in your sweetest of dreams. -Jelly

[meowzfordayz]

hic-cup

Author’s Note: sending get-well-soon vibes to anyone currently experiencing the hiccups. 😔😂

hic-cup

Hashira x Reader, Kamaboko x Reader

Word Count: ~1,100

CW: dark humor

Emergency Request Fulfilled: Recently work has been very hectic, and I've been a little anxious about personal things...I really would like something cute! If possible, could you either do the Hashira, KNY squad, or the upper moons (you can pick! You write all of them super well!) With a reader who has bad, but very cute, hiccups?

~faqs~

When you have the hiccups…

… Zenitsu thinks you’re dying. Well. Not really, but the way you gasp for air and clutch your chest has him worried and running to get you water nonetheless. If you lie down on the floor, then he will lie down with you and press his ear to your heart, listening for irregularities.

… Inosuke’s overwhelmed by the urge to poke and squish and smoosh and squeeze you. “Stop that!” he growls, arms crossed irritatedly. “Stop wh-*hiccup*-what?” you huff. “THAT!” he shouts, pointing an accusing finger at you, “You sound so, so, so-” “So what?” “SO CUTE.” Eyes widening, your cheeks warm, nose scrunching, “Ino-*hiccup*suke, I-” “It’s like you want me to pop you,” he grumbles. “Pop me?????” “Stop being adorable so I can stop wanting to kill you.”

… Gyomei simply smiles every time you hiccup. Do not ask him to smack them out of you… a broken rib (or three) is much worse than the hiccups. “Pleeease? They won’t go awaaay!” “My love, you really shouldn’t ask me to harm you.” “Harm me?!” you scoff, “Don’t you have control or something?” Affronted, he nods slowly, “I suppose I have control…” “SO HIT ME.” Sighing, he lightly pats your back, whiiich doesn’t help, but it’s the thought that counts!

… Obanai pretends to be annoyed, but is lowkey disappointed when they eventually go away. “Shut up,” he scowls, glaring as you do your best to swallow another hiccup. “Can’t,” you mutter, flicking his shoulder, “They won’t g-*hiccup*-go away.” “Then I’ll make them,” he mutters darkly. “Oh really?” you raise an eyebrow, amused now, “And how exactly will you make them go away?” His mouth opens, closes, and opens again, exhaling loudly in defeat. “Admit it, they’re kinda cute,” you grin, nudging his side, “I’m kinda cute.” He doesn’t respond, opting instead to quickly peck your cheek, blushing profusely even as his glare deepens.

… Tanjirou has a plethora of ideas to ~help you. From having you chug a glass of cold water, finding a paper bag for you to breathe into, slicing a lemon for you to bite into, attempting to jump scare you, and making you hold your breath until you nearly pass out, he’s ultimately sorely defeated by your hiccups’ persistence. Hiccups 1: Tanjirou 0. When they finally disappear, you promptly credit his expertise and efforts, regardless of how delayed their effectiveness was.

… Mitsuri giggles until she also ends up with the hiccups. You’re just so darn beautiful, and your hiccups sound so darn happy! Like yawning near each other, if one of you hiccups, then the other is bound to follow.

… Shinobu offers you a sympathetic, “Oh dear,” paired with a fond smile, and continues about her day. If they’re persistent, then she’ll utilize the placebo effect in an attempt to help aka she’ll give you “medicine” (it’s sugar water, but sometimes it helps). Occasionally, she’ll ~threaten you, “If you hiccup again, then no kisses!” to a lesser degree of success, but it’s mostly endearing to watch you try so hard and fail so miserably (if this actually bothers you, then she only does it once, but it’s really just an inside joke).

… Kyojuro tries to get himself to hiccup too, but the man is Hiccup Proof™. “What’s your secret?!” you whine playfully, pouting as another hiccup jolts your body, “I swear you inhale all your meals, but never experience the hiccups!” “I keep nothing from you,” he frowns slightly, pressing a reassuring kiss to your cheek, “If I could provide better help, then I certainly would!” “Kyo, it was a rhetorical question.” “Rhetorical or not, if I knew a secret, then I would tell you!” “Sooo remind me to never tell you any secrets,” you chuckle, eyebrow raising pointedly. “My love, your secrets are safe with me!” he exclaims earnestly. “Just not anyone else’s?” you drawl teasingly. He pauses to consider your remark, and then shrugs nonchalantly, “Precisely.”

… Sanemi taxes you, and it increases exponentially. “Pay up,” he smirks, palm held upright toward you, “I heard that.” “Y’know, hiccuping isn’t a crime,” you mutter. “And you didn’t have to play along,” he grins smugly, “But you did.” “Well I felt badly about distracting you,” you retort, frowning as a thought occurs to you, “Although, now you’ve changed tasks completely!” “Have I?” he questions lightly, eyes widening innocently. “Yeah, all you’re focusing on is my hiccups and extorting me for spare change!” “If you stop hiccuping, then I could return to my earlier task.” “I can’t just st-*hiccup*-stop!” you whine, still dropping more coins into his hand, “You’re the worst.” “I love you,” he deadpans, winking as he pockets your money, “Maybe I’ll buy you something nice with my extra income.”

… Muichiro says, “Bless you,” after every single one. “But Muichiro, I didn’t snee-*hiccup*-sneeze!” “Bless you.” “Why are you-” “When you sneeze, for a moment, your soul leaves your body, and the blessing is to prevent it from being stolen, yes?” … “Yes?” “When you hiccup, are you not running the same risk?” … “No?” Unperturbed, he shrugs, smiling faintly, “Well, I appreciate you and your hiccups, so I suppose blessing you is my way of expressing my appreciation.”

… Giyuu’s constantly startled, even when you’re occupying the same space. *hiccup* Ah! his eyes widen, a subtle yet observable reaction to your sudden noisiness. *hiccup* Ah! he blinks, another subtle yet observable reaction. *hiccup* “Are you faking it?” he finally mutters, cheeks faintly flushed as he fixes a gentle stare on you. “Faking w-*hiccup*-what?!” “Your hiccups.” “Why would I fake having the hiccups???” “Never mind.” “Am I bothering you?” “Not quite,” he murmurs, reaching across the couch to squeeze your hand, “I hope they go away soon.” Smiling fondly, you raise his hand to your lips, kissing his knuckles, “Me t-*hiccup*-too!” No way is he admitting they ~frighten him.

… Tengen claps excitedly, enthusiastically celebrating your ~unique sound. “How flashy, my dear!” he exclaims with a grin. “Flashy?” you blink, unimpressed. “Hiccups are so rare and so fun!” he explains, “What an interesting phenomenon!” “You have a thing for hiccups,” you deadpan, eyes rolling. “Not at all! I’m just trying to support you through this unfortunate event.” Scoffing, you poke at his chest, “Sooo are my hiccups flashy or unfortunate?” “Both!”

[numberonenat]

i asked chat gpt to make a playlist based on my candy love characters...

here's part 2 and 3: others / dateables ul + chani

here's what it gave me:

castiel:

"make me wanna die" by the pretty reckless

"ignorance" by paramore

"welcome to the black parade" by my chemical romance

"bring me to life" by evanescence

"sugar, we're goin down" by fall out boy

"i write sins not tragedies" by panic! at the disco

"sk8er boi" by avril lavigne

"boulevard of broken dreams" by green day

"dirty little secret" by the all-american rejects

"i hate everything about you" by three days grace

"numb" by linkin park

"so cold" by breaking benjamin

"gasoline" by halsey

"the kill (bury me)" by 30 seconds to mars

"i miss you" by blink-182

nathaniel:

"fix you" by coldplay

"fireflies" by owl city

"hey, soul sister" by train

"how to save a life" by the fray

"i'm yours" by jason mraz

"all of me" by john legend

"love song" by sara bareilles

"banana pancakes" by jack johnson

"you're beautiful" by james blunt

"the way i am" by ingrid michaelson

"thinking out loud" by ed sheeran

"bubbly" by colbie caillat

"say something" by a great big world

"make you feel my love" by adele

"count on me" by bruno mars

lysandre:

"supermassive black hole" by muse

"personal jesus" by depeche mode

"sweater weather" by the neighbourhood

"mr. brightside" by the killers

"do i wanna know?" by arctic monkeys

"intro" by the xx

"shake it out" by florence + the machine

"summertime sadness" by lana del rey

"creep" by radiohead

"running up that hill" by placebo

"closer" by nine inch nails

"only happy when it rains" by garbage

"1979" by the smashing pumpkins

"sour times" by portishead

"teardrop" by massive attack

kentin:

"good vibrations" by the beach boys

"walking on sunshine" by katrina and the waves

"don't stop believin'" by journey

"good time" by owl city

"here comes the sun" by the beatles

"happy" by pharrell williams

"sun street" by katrina and the waves

"shut up and dance" by walk the moon

"i'm a believer" by the monkees

"africa" by toto

"i'm gonna be (500 miles)" by the proclaimers

"dancing queen" by abba

"mr. blue sky" by elo

"all star" by smash mouth

"on top of the world" by imagine dragons

armin:

"video killed the radio star" by the buggles

"don't stop me now" by queen

"bohemian rhapsody" by queen

"take on me" by a-ha

"livin' on a prayer" by bon jovi

"sweet child o' mine" by guns n' roses

"every breath you take" by the police

"another one bites the dust" by queen

"don't you (forget about me)" by simple minds

"eye of the tiger" by survivor

"we will rock you" by queen

"don't stop believin'" by journey

"sweet caroline" by neil diamond

"boys of summer" by don henley

"hotel california" by eagles

i actually like this a lot lol

this is always so fun to make even if they don't make sense so yeah qskjvfhdjw

i'll make a part 2!!!

[tas01]

I wanted to share some things I've manifested. There's more I've done. So there will be part 2 in my future posts.

Manifesting men into my life.

Finding random love letters on my car. Just from walking by men or being in a store.

My affirmations

All men are instantly attracted to me.

That guy right there likes me and wants to date me.

That guy wants my number, he's going to give me his number.

That guy thinks I'm so beautiful.

All men want to date me

I'm so beautiful and the prettiest.

Manifest my desired phone. (Samsung Ultra 22)

I ended up trading my old phone in for my desired phone. And out of nowhere, there was a sale going on that day. I ended up paying nothing for it. And my phone company upgraded my phone plan at no charge.

My affirmations

Yep, it's mine.

I can afford it.

I love my new phone.

I have my new phone

It's the prettiest phone I've ever owned.

Another thing I did is I kept looking at the website and pretended I was shopping for it. And I put it in my cart and pretended I purchased it.

Desired Body

I lost 15 lbs in less than a week. With no change in diet or my exercise routine.

I did drink more water as a placebo effect. (Diet loss tool) I believed it worked because I already have this as my dominant thought. My thought of drinking tons of water will help me show quicker results.

I kept looking into my mirror by saying these

Affirmations

Omg I am so freaking skinny.

I am losing so much weight.

I can't believe how amazing I look.

I look so happy and healthy.

My SP

I've been feeling super closer and building a stronger and closer relationship with my Sp.

Affirmations

My sp loves being my best friend.

I love being my sp best friend.

My sp loves sharing everything with me.

I love sharing everything with my sp.

My sp loves talking to me everyday.

I love talking to my sp everyday.

My sp thinks about me all the time.

I think about my sp all the time.

My sp is comfortable around me

My sp says I am the only woman he wants to be with for the rest of his life.

My desired job

They hired me with no experience or a degree in this field. I'm a patient at this place and they said they were looking for someone to fill in and if I was interested. I said YES! PLEASE!

Affirmations

I don't remember affirming. But I just knew that I would be working there and feeling how amazing it would be to work here. I guess I was living in the end. As if I was already working there. 🥰

Manifested today a free coffee from Starbucks. I Affirmed today hm I wonder if I can manifest a free coffee. The lady said to me as I was purchasing a bag of coffee and I was also going to pay for a coffee to stay here so I can blog this post. She said you know I can just use your coffee out of this bag so you won't need to pay for the vente 👏😁 There are no big or small manifestations. There's no time limit. Everything you want is yours. 💋

Life is easy, life is simple. As soon as I say something I want, I instantly can have it.

[munsoninthedark86]

Kinktober 2022 Day 21: Intoxication(Spellbound)

warnings: smoking weed, cunnilingus, some dirty talk, some swearing, reader is 18 pairings: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader word count: 1.2k

“Inhale, sweetheart. Just like I taught you,” Eddie coaxes as you smoke the joint. You do as he taught you.

You were hanging out with him after school, just chilling on his bed in his trailer. You told Eddie you’ve never been high, and he said he would help fix that. You had no clue he has a major crush on you and he plans on confessing to you while you’re both high.

“That’s it.” He praises you, which makes you grin.

“I’ve got a good teacher,” you say while giggling. The weed seems to be affecting you already or maybe it’s just a placebo effect. 

Eddie smirks, “Maybe I can teach you some other things.”

This makes your heart skip a beat. What does that mean anyway? Is he supposed to say things like that? You’ve been friends with him for a long time, but you wondered if maybe he meant he was going to teach you some sexual things. When Eddie notices the panic on your face, he quickly scrambles for a little white lie to smooth things over.

“Heh, I meant with D&D.”

This makes you laugh softly, and it’s the sweetest thing in the world to Eddie. He’s spent countless nights right on this bed, just thinking about you hanging out with him just like this. He’s so fucking happy you finally came to join him. And now you were getting high with him, and who knows what else could happen.

“Is that so?” You tease, and you lean a little closer to him as he puts out the joint.

“Yeah, I know you want to get better at it. I could maybe even teach you how to be a dungeon master,”

You swoon, “Really? I don’t know if I could be as good as you.”

Eddie smiles at you, just so in awe of how cute you are. He’s seconds from just kissing you and making your head whirl. He knows the worst thing that could happen is that you reject him, but he’s waited way too long to chicken out now. So he cups your cheek, and you blush profusely. It’s such an intimate gesture, and you aren’t really sure how to react. Especially with the weed making you feel a little more bubbly.

“Eddie,” you breathe. “What are you doing?”

He sighs, “Just trust me.”

He presses his lips to yours, and you feel like fireworks are going off inside of you. It’s amazing in every way, and even better than what you imagined. You often thought about how it might feel to kiss Eddie, but you were much too chicken to do it. Eddie was on cloud nine, relishing in the feel of your cushiony lips. When he pulls away, it’s only for a few moments to admire your sweet face. Then he begins kissing you more, this time with much more intimacy.

His large hands soothe down to your ass, and he pulls you onto his lips. The two of you begin making out, and Eddie is rock hard once you start grinding up against him. He guides your hip to thrust back and forth as the two of you kiss. His tongue slides into your mouth, and you let out a sweet moan when it rubs against yours. Your mind is so foggy with lust, you can barely make sense of anything else going on.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” Eddie croons.

You’re blushing now, “Really?”

“Yeah, baby. I’ve thought you were beautiful since the day I laid eyes on you.”

He’s quick to push you back against his old mattress, and you hear one of your favorite songs playing from the stereo. Your heart swells with affection, because you know Eddie doesn’t necessarily love this band, but he bought the tape just for you. It makes you feel like such a princess. Eddie spoils you a lot, but you never really knew why until now.

“How about this, sweetheart? I’m going to lick your little pussy,”

“Eddie! W-wait! What?”

Eddie snickers, “You’re so cute. I wanna make you feel good,”

You won’t deny that the weed has made your panties even more soaked than they would be when you’re around Eddie. So you shyly agree to him going down on you. Eddie’s hands are shaking as he begins undressing you. Your cute little cotton panties make his cock so hard, and it throbs when he feels just how wet you are for him and you’ve only been making out. Your panties are clinging to your pussy lips.

Then, he pulls them down and you’re left with nothing on. You’re fully exposed to him, and he has such a raging hardon for you right now. He grunts as he adjusts his cock in his pants and settles on his stomach between your legs.

“Such a pretty pussy,” he praises, and he lets his fingers spread your folds.

“S-shut up,” you whine. This is all too much for you, but you don’t want it to stop.

Eddie leans in and chuckles softly as you begin squirming under his hot breath. Your little pussy just smells so good, and he knows it’s going to taste just as good. One lick of his tongue, and he’s hooked. He begins lapping at your wet slick like it’s the last thing he’ll ever taste. Without even thinking about it, Eddie begins rutting against the bed for some relief. Those sweet moans you let out for him drive him insane. He’s never going to be able to get the taste of your pussy off of his tongue now.

“So sweet.” he says between licks. “So fucking good,”

You buck up against his face, “Please, Eddie.”

He loves how you beg for him. He wonders if it’s because of the weed that you’re so wet or because of just being with him. Eddie hopes you have feelings for him just like he does for you. Even if you don’t, he figures he could settle for just being able to have this moment with you.

Your fingers tangle in his messy hair, and you tug slightly to pull him even closer. You’re dying to have more of him, and you know he won’t disappoint. You feel the tip of his index finger circling your hole, and it clenches around nothing in anticipation. You beg him to do more, and he chuckles darkly.

“Oh, such a sweet girl.”

You whine, “Don’t tease me, baby,”

He sucks on your clit just as his finger slips into you. It doesn’t take long for him to find that spongy spot deep inside of you. You shudder when you feel the coil in your stomach begin to tighten even more than previously thought. It’s so overwhelming, but you are enjoying every single second of it. You’re desperately trying to warn Eddie that you’re about to cum, but all that comes out are pitiful moans.

Your juices gush all over his mouth and his hand as you cum hard. His name falls from your lips so desperately and wantonly. Eddie grunts as he feels his balls tighten, and he’s falling off the edge right with you. Warmth pools in his boxers as shots of hot cum spurt from his cock. The two of you are riding your highs, desperately grinding. You have to gently push him away when the pleasure just becomes too much.

“Where did you learn how to do that?” You ask once you’ve caught your breath.

Eddie laughs, “Ah, ah, ah. A dungeon master doesn’t reveal all his tricks all at once.”

[astralis-ortus]

.𖥔˚ masterlist

game for two ⋆ husband!bc × gn!reader | 0.8k | fluff — guess who just got his old yearbook in the mail?

love, am i home? ⋆ bestfriend!bc × gn!reader | 0.6k | angst — how can you tell it's not simply an infatuation?

sunday, sunday, sunday ⋆ husband!bc × fem!reader | 1.1k | fluff — now, and every sundays to ever come. i want to spend them all with you.

ways to say 'i love you' ⋆ a bang chan headcanon | 0.6k | fluff — an awkward phrase for him, so he resorts to showing his affection instead.

streetlights and warm nights ⋆ a bang chan headcanon | 0.5k | fluff — date nights are always fun with chan.

weighted blankets and projector ⋆ a bang chan headcanon | 0.6k | fluff — as long as you're happy, then chan is happy too.

aisle 4 ⋆ ex!bc × gn!reader | 0.5k | angst — i could give you my all and it still wouldn’t be enough.

it feels impossible (it's not impossible) ⋆ bestfriend!bc × gn!reader | 2k | romcom, fluff — 'cause you are the one i was meant to find.

everything will be okay ⋆ a bang chan headcanon | 0.4k | hurt/comfort — everyone deserves a chan in their lifes.

safe with me ⋆ boyfriend!bc × gn!reader | 0.7k | fluff — there’s a reason you shouldn’t (or should?) trust minho.

against the world ⋆ boyfriend!bc × fem!reader | 2k | angst, fluff — for as long as i love you.

placebo effect ⋆ boyfriend!bc × fem!reader | 1.2k | fluff — maybe the actual remedy is his smile.

this lifetime ⋆ a bang chan headcanon | 0.3k | fluff — in every dream and any reality, as long as you're by my side.

just 5 minutes ⋆ husband!bc × gn!reader | 0.4k | fluff — spend every morning with you.

tiny bed ⋆ husband!bc × gn!reader | 0.3k | fluff — spacious home sounds nice, but you're nicer.

beyond forever and eternity ⋆ husband!bc × fem!reader | 0.8k | fluff — love cannot survive on luck alone.

agent(s) of chaos ⋆ boyfriend!bc × gn!reader | 1.1k | fluff — there's a reason why you love game nights with your boyfriend's second family.

you're always enough ⋆ boyfriend!bc × fem!reader | 2.3k | angst, fluff — losing you was not an option.

care for you ⋆ boyfriend!bc × gn!reader | 1.1k | fluff — to keep you safe is my priority.

thunders of rage ⋆ boyfriend!bc × gn!reader | 1.1k | fluff, comfort — even through the worst days, you're still my priority.

a little sweet fix ⋆ boyfriend!bc × gn!reader | 0.9k | comfort — sometimes what you thought was right might not be the best way.

you are my sunshine ⋆ a bang chan headcanon | 0.6k | slice of life, fluff — you'll never know, dear, how much i love you.

every version of you ⋆ a bang chan headcanon | 0.4k | slice of life, fluff — time could heal everything; as long as you're willing to work for it.

©️ astralisortus, 2024. | likes and reblogs are highly appreciated♡

[macsimagines]

what would draken, shinichiro and kisaki do if they found out darling was trying to babytrap them

I love this prompt but I'll only be doing Shinichiro and Kisaki because I just did a Draken babytrap thing.

TW: YANDERE BEHAVIOR, MINORS DNI, NSFW, BABYTRAPPING, DUBCON

Yandere!Shinichiro Sano

It's a dream come true when he catches you punching holes in condoms. He wants to make a baby with you so bad, but held back because he didn't want to rush things.

He was planning on wifeing you up first, but this is fine too. He probably was going to end up proposing to you in another month, but if this was just the 'natural' progression of things he wouldn't complain.

Probably doesn't confront you about what he saw you doing. He'd hate to embarrass you after all. He just figures he'll let it be a 'happy accident' and then you two can get married as soon as possible.

But he does start to take a bit more initiative through out the whole process, after all he wants to be a daddy just as bad as you want to make him one.

Starts asking to maybe skip the condoms altogether. "Hey, baby, one time should be fine right? I promise I'll pull out~" Does. Not. In fact it feels like he stuffs himself inside you harder when he cums, like he wants to plant it deepdeepdeep in you.

"Sorry about that baby, you just felt too good. I'll do better next time. Here, lemme try again."

Is pretty obvious about what he's doing, continues to fuck you and is whimpering the whole time begging; "Pleasemakemeadaddy, pleasemakemeadaddy, please-"

It works. Eventually you give him the good news and BOOM, guess who's gonna be a daddy?

Yandere!Kisaki Tetta (Bad timeline cause I said so)

You're his cute little assistant. You file his paperwork, pick up laundry and bring him his coffee like the dutiful little worker bee you are.

And because you're such a good girl, you spread your legs for him whenever he asks with no complaints or questions. You're such a sweet thing for him.

Honestly, he feels blessed to have found you after murdering his first love. You were never supposed to be a replacement just a way of release. But eventually you won him over. It didn't matter how hard he worked you or your pussy you always came back the next day ready to repeat the process.

But you're such a stupid little girl, you thought he wouldn't find out how you've been trying to get pregnant? Dumby. He knew the second you had started looking into fertility treatments, He knew when you stopped taking birth control, he knew because he had planned it all.

You work for him, and he provides your healthcare coverage, the birth control he had demanded you start taking were placebos, and the fertility doctor was chosen by him to give you the best possible care.

The future mother of his children only deserved the best and you were sooo devoted to him, he might as well as reward you with what you've craving right.

"Take it all, baby girl. Don't spill one fucking drop."

[theresistanceneverquits]

List of small Garmadon details/moments in canon that I feel define his character, in approximate timeline order:

Garmadon attempted to be the voice of reason and didn’t want to disobey their father (“Never Trust a Human”)

When Wu’s sword was lost over the wall, Garmadon acted as the responsible older sibling to retrieve it (“Rise of the Snakes”)

His father and brother both speak of a “darkness” in Garmadon while he’s a teen, but this refers mostly to mood swings and impulsivity, and Garmadon felt as if there was nothing truly wrong with him (The Curse of the Cat-Eye Jewel)

“I know what it is to feel rejected by my father.” (The Curse of the Cat-Eye Jewel)

He is enthusiastic about traveling the world moreso than finding a “cure” (The Maze of the Sphinx)

Wu is uncertain whether Garmadon really is different, or if it is merely a placebo effect: “We can’t seem to agree on anything lately. Then again, Garmadon and I have never agreed on much!” (The Maze of the Sphinx)

“We make a great team!” “Yeah!” Garmadon agreed, but a flash of doubt clouded his brain. Does he really mean it? Wu hadn’t looked at me the same ever since that dumb snake bit me. And as for being a team…he’s always trying to tell me what to do. How is that teamwork?” (The Maze of the Sphinx)

Garmadon looks into a magic mirror and sees his future form, as well as “two figures in silhouette next to the terrifying figure, with their backs turned to him. One looked like a kid[…] Is my father right? Is there really evil inside me?[…] A feeling of utter loneliness and despair swept over him.” (The Maze of the Sphinx)

Had intrusive thoughts to abandon Wu in the maze, but went back for him after realizing those thoughts would lead to that horrible future (The Maze of the Sphinx)

“Somehow, he felt in his bones that he could not escape his destiny.” He gives up a wish to cure himself by saving their new ally, but keeps up the facade that he thinks he’s fine even though he now has doubts. “Besides, I keep telling you, I don’t need saving.” (The Maze of the Sphinx)

“I did the right thing, he told himself. That’s all that matters.” (The Maze of the Sphinx)

“Maybe I do need that tea. I just hope… I hope that when we find it, it’s not too late.” (The Maze of the Sphinx)

“I know he thanked me, but did he say anything about how good it was of me to save him? I mean, he and Father are convinced I’m turning evil. Would an evil guy bravely save his brother from plummeting into a deep abyss? Why doesn’t anybody give me credit for the non-evil stuff that I do?” (The Chroma’s Clutches)

Wu’s thoughts: “On that day in the monastery, years ago, when I lost my katana, I was too afraid to retrieve it. But Garmadon jumped over the wall to get it for me, and got bitten by the snake that may have infected him with evil, as Father expects. I often wonder what would have happened if I had been the one to get bitten that day…” (The Chroma’s Clutches)

Only Garmadon hears the hopeless voice of the Chroma in his head: “There is no hope[…] All is lost. There is no point in continuing your journey, because nothing will change[…] Nothing will change. You are who you are, Garmadon. Deep in his bones, Garmadon knew the Chroma was right. When he wasn’t pretending everything was fine, he could feel the evil inside him, like a poisonous ball in the pit of his stomach. No tea was going to cure him. He knew it. Wu had hope, but why? What was the point of—” (The Chroma’s Clutches)

Garmadon didn’t want to sign the letter Wu had written for Misako, only doing so when his eyes turned red and the Venom took over (“Spellbound”)

He left his training with Chen to help lead the Elemental Masters against the Serpentine War (“Spellbound”)

Garmadon resisted giving into the Venom for centuries before he caved and attempted to steal the Golden Weapons (“Battle Between Brothers”)

“I never wanted [Lloyd] to [be like me]” (“The Royal Blacksmiths”)

Garmadon, once corrupted, is happy to overtake the world, but all those thoughts leave his mind as soon as Lloyd is at risk (“The Royal Blacksmiths,” “The Green Ninja”)

Lloyd: “I’m gonna do everything in my power to stop you.” Garmadon: “I wouldn’t have it any other way[…] You're a good boy. Soon, you'll be a great man. Although we're now on opposite sides, I'm still very proud of you.” (“All of Nothing”)

“Lloyd doesn't want to fight—uh, I mean, so Lloyd doesn't want to fight? [Laughs]” (“The Last Hope”)

Became a pacifist and a teacher (“The Art of the Silent Fist”)

Takes responsibility for his harmful actions (“The Greatest Fear of All,” “The Corridor of Elders”)

“I yearned to make the world in my image. I never realized I already had, in you.” (“The Corridor of Elders”)

Oni Garmadon does not recognize his predecessor’s human form, and has zero memory of those times, but he remembers being married to Misako (“The Fall”/“Big Trouble, Little Ninjago”)

“People ask me: ‘Do you think Lord Garmadon is disappointed in Lloyd, like would he have wanted to see a chip off the old block?’ Well, I think Lloyd could very well have gone that route. We may never really know the exact nature of the disappointment that shaped Garmadon’s path. But I think that no matter what, even—even—in his most deranged state, Lord Garmadon still has abiding affection for his son. And you know that he would trade it all away if he had to safeguard Lloyd. So I think that there’s always going to be the embers of deep affection for his son, no matter what.” (Mark Oliver, “NINJAGO ZANE INTERVIEWS GARMADON part 2/3”)

Garmadon misremembers the incident of when he was bitten. Out of guilt and the weight of his fate being seemingly meaningless, he wishes that Wu had warned him of crossing the wall and he had simply acted defiantly. Regardless, he feels he was “destined for evil” (Garmadon #4)

The Overlord orchestrated the Great Devourer biting Garmadon so he could be the perfect puppet for the Overlord (“Dragon Form”)

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

Could I request Where Thor and reader are trying for a baby and nothing works except for one day they get lucky but then he goes on to Asgard before reader has a chance to tell him and he looses trials of time in Asgard so when he comes back he thinks reader cheated so angst but then it’s just fluffy and cute.

Sorry if this is long! just really love how you write thor! Especially chubby Thor!

Rain Rain Go Away

Thor x plus size reader

Trying and failing over and over can take its toll on anyone’s mind but a sudden success after so long can make them fracture.

Warnings: struggles to conceive, self-hatred, presumed infidelity, arguments, infertility, angst, pregnancy, endgame compliant (old man Steve), birth/labour, happy/hopeful ending

WC: 5k

Minors DNI

There is a point when trying for a baby where it doesn’t become fun anymore. It becomes scheduled, scientific. There are calendars and pills, alarms and appointments. It was clinical and heartbreaking.

Since the beginning of your time with the Avenger, you both knew you wanted kids, a whole load of them. But you stayed on birth control, knowing that getting pregnant too soon could destroy your budding relationship.

And as your first wedding anniversary came around, your gift to your godly husband was a cut on your inner arm where your implant had been. You spent a week in bed together, determined to fall pregnant on the first try. 

But it was now over a year later and all you had to show for it was several broken headboards and a dozen negative pregnancy tests. It weighed heavily on you both but you more so.

Thor was a god of not only thunder but fertility. He was meant to have children, an army of them, so it had to be you that was holding him back. He constantly reassured you that these things took time and that patience was essential, yet you could tell he was thinking the same thing too.

Sighing, you dropped the ovulation test in the bin. You were supposed to be at the peak of your cycle today but the single blue line on the plastic told you otherwise. You could hear your husband working out in the home gym below you. He was working out more often nowadays, trying to get out all of his frustration in a somewhat practical way.

You washed your hands slowly, delaying your exit from the bathroom. It was getting harder to face your husband each day, to see that disappointment in those blue eyes as we woke up. Occasionally, he would reach for your soft stomach as if he would be able to cup it like you were pregnant but catch himself before he could touch you.

It ripped your heart apart every time. 

Taking a deep breath, you braced yourself and left the small bathroom. The kitchen, thankfully, was empty so you were able to quietly slip to the fridge and pull out one of the nasty premade smoothies that Laura suggested.

You downed half of it and cringed at the taste. At this point you wouldn’t be surprised if it was a placebo. It was raining today, how fitting. “My love?” For being a man closer to 7’ than the average human, he certainly moved quietly. 

“Jesus Christ!” You jumped, almost dropping the bottle of vile green liquid. “Don’t scare me like that.” But he just chuckled, brushing off your words. His solid arms wrapped firmly around your wide waist and tugged you into him so he could rest his chin on the top of your head.

“I am sorry my queen, I thought you heard me come in.” You melted into his hold like you always did. Thor had magical hugs, even in the most dire of circumstances where you couldn’t see the light at the end, he brought his own. He guided you back in the beat of his heart and the warmth of his chest. These embraces were becoming all too frequent now, a constant routine before bed or after you got up. 

“Is ok.” You slurred, letting the heat of him lull you into a fuzzy headspace. A huge hand came up and cupped the back of your head so your nose pressed into his collarbone. The other slid down to your lower back, his thumb rubbing soft circles into your warm skin.

“How are you feeling today? What do you need from me?” Even in the midst of the worst fights you’ve had, Thor always made sure that you were ok, both physically and mentally. 

Reaching up, you wrapped your arms around his neck to bring him down for a soft peck to his lips. “Just you my love, I just need you.” With no effort, you were hauled up and thrown over his shoulder.

“Then you shall have me!” And he ran to your shared bedroom as you laughed.

——————

The sun was trying to break from the horizon when he awoke. The message had been short ‘come quickly, we need help’. And as much as he hated it, he had to leave you. You were still fast asleep, dreaming peacefully within the cotton sheets.

He laid a quick kiss to your temple and tucked a note onto the bedside table. Thor gazed down at you sadly, his fingers skimming your lower stomach before he forced himself to pull away, knowing that if he stayed any longer, he would not leave.

By the time you awoke, far more tired than you usually were, the sun was at its highest point in the sky and Thor was gone. 

You hauled yourself from bed, only briefly glancing at the note he had left as you sluggishly moved to the bathroom. ‘I have to be getting sick’ you thought, that was the only explanation for how utterly exhausted you felt.

A hot shower woke you up a bit but not much. As you dried yourself off, you froze. Your breasts felt firm, and very sensitive. No, it can’t be. 

With shaking hands, you opened up your phone’s calendar and nearly dropped the device in shock. Your period was almost two months late. No, don’t get your hopes up, you told yourself. Take a test, then go from there.

Admittedly, it was the messiest test you ever took considering how your entire body trembled with nerves. Deja vu washed over you as you washed your hands, the test face down on the counter beside you. Hope and despair curled in your gut, twisting around each other like snakes. Your heart wanted hope to win but your brain knew that like so many times before despair would devour the other.

Your timer was set, three minutes.

2 minutes 45 seconds It was going to be negative, just like the many times before. You were probably coming down with a flu and your cycle was off because you’re so stressed about getting pregnant.

2 minutes 24 seconds But what if it was positive? No no, it isn’t.

2 minutes Dear god it’s positive.

1 minute 30 seconds You can’t be pregnant now, Thor literally just zapped off to Asgard for god knows how long.

1 minute 4 seconds It has to be negative, why is this time any different than the other 12 times?

56 seconds But what if?

39 seconds Could it have actually worked this time?

12 seconds Why can’t time move any faster!

6 seconds Please please just let it be positive

3 seconds It’s negative, you just know it

1 second Take a deep breath, it’ll do you no good if you pass out before you can read the test

Your ears were ringing so loud you didn’t hear the alarm go off but you flipped the test anyway. Your heart stopped.

Pregnant. And Thor was gone.

——————

The months seemed to crawl on but go by quickly at the same time. You documented everything you could, from ultrasound pictures to the size of your belly each week. The commemorative photo album Sam and Bucky had given you was already filled to the brim along with a shoe box you had found in the back of your closet.

Every morning you awoke, expecting to find your husband beside you, his blue eyes wide with surprise as he watched your growing belly, maybe even crying as your little one gave a powerful kick to his palm. But every morning, without fail, you woke up alone. 

You could only hope that he was somewhere safe, that he would come home to you in one piece, hopefully in time for the birth which was fast approaching. 

“Come on, time to get up.” You muttered to your stomach, laying a hand over the top and getting a soft punch from your little thunder as you had taken to calling them. With a great heave, you lifted yourself from the bed. 

Your stance was wide in order to accommodate the heft of your stomach. They rolled underneath your palm, obviously unhappy with the sudden movement. “Yeah I know but I can’t stay in bed all day.” Slowly, you made your way out of the bedroom, your gate becoming more of a waddle the longer you were on your feet.

Stupidly, the kitchen was a floor below your bedroom and you stubbornly remained in the master suite for the comfort of Thor’s fading scent. A tinkling of bells broke your concentration.

That was the door chime. Your head whipped to the front door, expecting Bucky to be walking through for his weekly checkup but instead, it was your very tired looking husband. His broad shoulders were slouched, his back hunched over like he hadn’t slept in weeks.

The usually bright silver of his armour was dull, his red cape slashed and coated with what you hoped was mud but was probably blood. His eyes were fixed on the ground as he toed off his boots, still mindful of your rule about dirty shoes on your nice floors. “Thor?” Your voice came out as more of a gasp.

A smile came over his face and he looked up at you, blue eyes meeting yours before they dropped to your very pregnant belly. His face dropped. “Whose is it?” He snarled, tone full of anger and hatred and a hint of disgust. 

“W-what are you talking about? This is our baby.” Your arms cradled your bump protectively, and for the first time in your life, you were scared of your husband.

Thor’s shoulders rolled back like he was getting ready for a fight. “No. That thing in your belly cannot be my child. So tell me whose it is.” Your sadness and fear suddenly burned away to a white hot rage.

“How dare you.” You hissed venomously. “Get the fuck out of my house and don’t come back until you come to your fucking senses.” His frown deepened but he made no move to leave, in fact he planted his feet.

“Whose is it?” 

“Leave.” Your hand slipped to the hidden compartment on the wall, fully intending to hit the panic button on the side of it. The threat of you trying to call for help, that you were truly terrified of the man who was supposed to be protecting you, seemed to break him from his trance.

“Fine but I walk out that door and you never see me again.” 

“Go please.” Tears lined your vision as the heartbreak began to set in. “Go.” Your voice was a mere whisper now, weak and soft. But he listened. With an almost dramatic spin, he left your home, slamming the door behind him.

As soon as the house was quiet again, you crumpled, just barely catching yourself on the stairs before spiraling into a fit of sobs.

——————

The battle had been long and fatal. So many had died on the fields before him. He felt like his skin was constantly coated in dried blood, the iron smell invading his senses during every waking moment. But more than that, Thor felt an overwhelming sense of guilt.

He had left you behind in the most trying time of your relationship, a time when you needed all of his support and love. He knew you were struggling more than you let on, consumed by such a hatred for your body. He watched you slowly fall into yourself, your mind falling into a dark place that he couldn’t always bring you back from.

He had been gone for almost a year by his count, trapped on a distant planet surrounded by those who wished to kill him. He dreamt of you every night. Maybe the distance could reignite that passion you had at the beginning.

When Brunhilde told him that the war was over and that he could go home, Thor wasted no time. He abandoned his comrades immediately using Stormbreaker to bring him home.

Relief washed over him like a wave when he stepped back over the familiar threshold. His heart pounded with excitement as he removed his shoes but then he saw you and he shattered. There was no doubt you were pregnant.

He could sense it in his bones. But it could not have been his child in your womb, it had been too long since he had been gone. 

Rage infected his mind like a plague, destroying his rational mind which screamed at him that you would never betray him like that. His veins came to light with lightning as if he was about to go back into battle. 

He watched fear grow in the eyes he adored so much but he could not stop the words from escaping his mouth. 

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw you with some man, tangled together in the heat of passion. Insecurity had been building like a wave within the god since the first negative test. He knew you were fertile, fuck he could smell it from across the house. But month after month, he failed.

Maybe a god was never supposed to have children with a human but he couldn’t give up, not when he loved you so much. You were the only person he could ever see having kids with so it broke him to come home and see you so perfectly, beautifully pregnant by another man.

So he ran, as far as he could. 

It didn’t surprise him that he found himself on Captain America’s doorstep. They had been kindred souls in their prime, two men with intertwined destinies. The door opened before he could knock. “Come on in, I’ll put on a pot of coffee.” Steve was much smaller but Thor supposed that came with aging. 

The house was quant, much like yours but the furniture and decorations were dated. Steve led him further into the domicile, directing him towards the kitchen. Thor mindlessly took a seat at the small breakfast nook, forcing his large body into one of the small stools.

Steve was quiet at first, simply going through the motions of making a pot of coffee for them both, letting him stew in his thoughts. Maybe he deserved it, after all so much of your relationship had been spent apart. He had left you alone for months at a time, it was only natural that you would find comfort in someone else.

“So, what happened?” He asked in a way like he already knew the answer. 

“Y/N’s pregnant.” He stated factually.

Steve nodded, taking a sip of his own coffee. “I heard, congratulations by the way.” Thor scowled at the younger man as his grip tightened on the mug, threatening to shatter the porcelain.

“How can you say that to me, that child isn’t mine.” Steve’s blue eyes narrowed harshly, both accentuating the wrinkles on his face and making him look decades younger. The silence spoke louder than any of his words ever could.

The anger, disappointment and genuine sadness in his eyes made the god look away. “I was gone for a year and when I returned, she was with child! What else was I meant to think, that somehow she became impregnated magically?” Steve’s grading eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Thor, you’ve only been gone six, maybe seven months.” The room became icy all of a sudden. 

“What.”

“That baby is yours and you just abandoned the mother of your child.” The wooden legs of his chair screamed against the laminate flooring as Thor suddenly stood. 

“No, no. I was gone for a year.” He insisted but his voice wavered, his confidence fading and the reality of what he had just done finally settling in. Steve’s gaze flicked to the wall behind Thor, his aged eyes focusing on something hanging there. Thor spun and his blood turned to ice.

It was the end of March. He had left at the beginning of September, the wind still carrying the warmth of summer but with the bitter bite of winter. Leaves still clung to the trees, their edges only barely fraying with oranges and reds. “It’s not possible.” He whispered as if trying to convince himself rather than the other man.

“We have lost time before, why is it so impossible to believe that it has happened again.” Steve said with a soft tone. Thor shook his head.

“What have I done?” Steve’s withered came to rest on his broad shoulder in a comforting touch.

“Hopefully nothing that can’t be undone.”

——————

The house was silent and dark, the warmth seemingly sucked out. A cool breeze blew through an open window in the dining room. “My love?” Like he had done hundreds of times before, Thor placed one foot in front of the other, avoiding the perpetually creaky floorboards.

Silence answered him. 

Fear gripped his heart tightly, a fist slowly closing around it, making his chest ache. “Y/N.” He was more firm now, needing to hear your voice even if it was just to scream at him and curse his name. He began to climb the stairs, his hand curling around the bannister, his knuckles turning pale with the force.

His foot slipped on something wet. Looking down, he expected the dark stain of blood on the hardwood but the liquid was clear, mucus-like. It smelt of birth.

——————

Sobs wracked your body almost painfully as you quickly fell into hysterics. Your hand clutched at the wall, barely holding on. You held our belly with your other hand, your little thunder spinning wildly beneath your palm. “It’s ok, it’s ok.” You chanted, admittedly more to yourself than your child.

Your vision started to swim as you struggled to fill your already compressed lungs through your gasping breaths. But you weren’t calming down, in fact, your stomach had begun to cramp and lightning shot up your back. 

“Oh fuck.” A sudden gush of liquid from between your legs solidified your theory. “This is the best time to go into labour.” You snarled. On shaky legs, you rose back to your feet, overly mindful of still being on the stairs. Quickly, you pressed the small panic button which would send an alert to both Bucky and Sam.

��Now you just stay in there for a while, you hear?” But you knew it was useless to try and convince them so slowly, carefully, you waddled down the rest of the stairs, admittedly taking a few minutes to catch your breath on each step.

Your chest ached painfully at the thought you had to do this alone, without your husband. But the look of absolute disgust on his face turned your heart to stone. With added determination, you reached your target, Thor’s armchair. 

The plush fabric was soft enough to cradle your incredibly sore body and let you sit up in a somewhat comfortable position that alleviated some pain. You could not allow your mind to wander, not now. Another cramp rolled through your stomach.

First, you get this parasite out of you and then you hunt down a god. 

By the time the two ex-Avengers burst through your front door, guns blazing, your contractions were barely minutes apart. “It’s time.” You gasped between bouts of pain. Sam acted first.

He helped you stand, supporting your weight in his arms as he guided you towards the open front door. When the pair of you reached the front steps, Bucky had taken off in a panic, ripping through the house to find your hospital bag and the carseat for the baby.

“Come on mama, only a few more steps and then you can rest.” He kept his voice calm as he guided you but another spark of pain made you scream.

“Shut the fuck up you star spangled bitch. Which one of us is having a 10 pound watermelon shot out of their cooter.” He looked at you with wide eyes, truly shocked by your vulgarity. “God Sam I’m so sorry. I- Jesus Fucking Christ!” You hunched over as another contraction slammed into you like a truck.

Your hand tightened around his to the point where he winced from the pain, but like the smart man he was, he kept his mouth shut. “Got the bag, let’s go!” The soldier sprinted past you in order to shove everything into Sam’s truck before he quickly wrapped a metal arm around your plump waist and hauled you forward.

“Bucky put me down! I can walk!”

“Not fast enough.” He said, anxiety obviously lacing his tone. You attempted to squirm from his hold but you quickly exhausted yourself and let him carry you to the car.

The rest of the trip was a blur of pain and shouting, but not only from you. Sam and Bucky also contributed to the insane amount of noise in the car. You were put in a private room in the back of the hospital considering that Captain America was your delivery partner, and given all of the best amenities but none of it helped when your little thunder decided to make their entrance.

After 13 hours of being in labour, Astrid Natalia Thorsdottir was born. 

“Jesus, why does she look so weird?” You glared at Bucky who had an incredibly puzzled look on his face as he watched your daughter settle to sleep in your arms. Sam smacked him upside the head for you.

“She was just pushed out of a very small hole, you’d look even worse if you went through the same thing.” And just like that, Sam was in your bad books again. 

“Will you two stop it? She’s absolutely perfect.” You smiled down at your little girl, gently stroking her chubby cheek with your finger. Her faint eyebrows scrunched but she remained asleep, completely milk drunk. Already, you could see her father in her face, the shape of her jaw, the startling blue of her eyes. 

God, it hurt so much. He abandoned you and yet he still haunted you in the form of something you craved so deeply. You could not stop the tears from gathering, slowly filling up behind your eyes. You couldn’t cry, please don’t cry. You begged yourself but it was of no use.

Arms wrapped tightly around Astrid, you grieved the relationship you had lost. How could he so easily believe that you would stray, break those vows you held so dear?  Your chest shook with silent sobs, jostling Astrid but she did not wake. A comforting hand touched your shoulder as Sam spoke up.

“What happened?” His voice was level if not a little soft, trying to comfort the blow of the question, or more likely, the answer. You shook your head, unable to tell them.

But Bucky, being the observant man he was, quickly came to his own conclusion. “Does it have anything to do with the fact that Thor’s shoes were by the front door but he wasn’t there and you never asked us to call him?” The hitch in your breath was the answer he was looking for. “What did he do?”

The room fell silent for a moment while both men stared at you intently. “He said Astrid wasn’t his.”

“Right, Sam, we’re going to kill a god today.” You sighed and grabbed Bucky’s wrist before he could even take one step forward. As much as you would love for them to defend you, it would probably result in not only a massive rift between the very few heroes left and leave the two of them in their own hospital beds.

“Please, not now. This is not the time nor place for any of that. I just have to pick myself up and move on, that’s it.”

“But-“ Bucky started but you cut him off with a glare.

“No, we deal with it later and like adults. Today is about her.” You gestured to your baby and his eyes softened.

“Fine but if he upsets you again, I’m not holding back. I will track him down and destroy that blond idiot.” 

“There is no need to track anyone down, I am already here.” Thor looked thoroughly embarrassed and heartbroken as he stood in the doorway. You could see that he was deliberately making himself smaller, like he always did when you were mad at him or he did something wrong, In this case, it was both. 

Bucky’s eyes met yours with a silent question, you shook your head. Stepping forward Sam blocked the god’s view of you and Astrid with his body. “I think you should leave.” Your chest warmed with how determined your friends were to protect you both but the part of you that loved your husband no matter what, screamed out to him.

Your voice was soft but all of them heard you. “It’s ok. Will you give us a minute? We need to talk.” Thor curled in on himself even more as a deep blush spread across his cheeks. Good, you wanted him to be ashamed of what he had done. 

Astrid shifted in your arms, a small cry escaping her lips so your attention was pulled away from the god and the soldiers, allowing the former to set such hateful glares on the man, he felt genuinely terrified. The pair of grey and brown eyes were alight with a fire he had never seen before, well more like he had never been on the receiving end.

But he would endure thousands of beatings and harsh glares if it meant he could be right back next to you again. He pleaded silently that they would let him pass.

Sam conceded first with a kiss to your temple and a cold look at Thor, he left. Bucky followed a few seconds after, shoulder checking the god with his metal arm as he passed. Thor barely moved but he got the message. 

“What’s her name?” Astrid was fully awake now, one of her arms waving about as she had partially escaped the wrap she was in. The smile that came over your face as you looked at her made Thor’s heart skip a beat.

Her small hand wrapped around your index finger when you placed it in front of her, her grip surprisingly tight for a baby only a few hours old. “Astrid.” You replied before you laid a small kiss to her soft forehead. 

Thor beamed internally. Maybe he still had a chance. “I’m sorry.” He said after a moment but you did not meet his gaze.

“You’ll have to do better than that. I cannot believe that you would think I cheated on you!” You hissed caused Thor to flinch.

“W-well I believed that I had been gone for a year-“ He tried to explain but you cut him off.

“And your first thought wasn’t ‘oh maybe I counted wrong’ but that I broke our vows? Do you know what that makes me think?” He shook his head, fear creeping through his veins. “It makes me think that you were so quick to jump on that thought because you cheated first.” 

“No! No! Never! Please believe me! I could never! I love you more than anything!” He sank to his knees, begging you to believe him. 

“Then why didn’t you believe me?”

“I don’t know.” Your heart dropped but you quickly steeled your face and tucked Astrid to your breast, shielding her from his view.

“Thor. If you can’t trust me enough to believe that I wouldn’t cheat on you then I don’t think this marriage can continue.” 

“No please!” He cried, his hands gripping at the bedspread in a desperate move. “I cannot be without you. I need you and Astrid please.”

The tears had returned in a tidal wave, streaming down your full cheeks and wetting the neck of your hospital gown. “Then why?”

His head dropped to the mattress as if he were in prayer. “Because I was scared. Scared that I could never give you children and that some other human man could. That you would leave me because of that. I couldn’t live with myself if I kept you from having the thing you have always desired.” His voice was muffled against the thick fabric but you heard him all the same.

“It is the one thing I am meant to do and I failed you.” His own tears were falling now, but he was too cowardly to let you see them, so he kept his head down. A squeak from your daughter forced you to look down on her.

She was gazing up at you with those big blue eyes you knew so well, the eyes you had fallen in love with from the first moment you saw them. You could already see her growing up before you. Her life was in your hands, how she was raised, who she was raised by, and all you could think was that she deserves to have her father around.

“I can’t forgive you, not now. It ripped me apart when you said all those things. I was waiting for you for months, so eager to have you back in my arms to begin this new chapter together but you destroyed that hope.” Thor’s fingers curled into the scratchy sheets as he prepared himself for your rejection and your anger, but it never came. “And yet, I can’t make myself walk away. I need you more than anyone I have ever needed before and I know that I couldn’t live with myself if Astrid and I stayed away.”

With that, Thor’s body sagged like a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. His body trembled with relieved sobs. “But we need time and I think some counseling. We’ll be ok, I promise.” You cooed, prying your hand from Astrid’s grip to run it through his short hair. Thor nodded in agreement, not yet able to speak.

And that’s how Bucky found you hours later, Thor kneeling at your beside, your hand on his head and Astrid in your arms as you all slept, getting some much needed rest.

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[eldritch-spouse]

Pinnie - or, if you're truly fine with it, Mommy cause you radiate that energy tbf - does Zizz like getting spanked?? Cause one thing that sounds really fantastic is tying a big monster boy up, head down ass up and spanking him until he's begging me to fuck him stupid X)

[I thought it'd be a little obvious I enjoy that title. FUCK YES THOUGH, I love the sound of that for Zizz. Fem reader.]

TW: Spanking (reader has to use a flogger this man is huge).

Being the wife of an Icon of Hell isn't always as bleak as you thought it'd be.

Sure, you didn't come into this willingly, and the first months you spent with Zizz certainly can't be called a walk in the park by any stretch of the imagination, but you count your lucky stars that it wasn't worse. That your initial expectations weren't met.

That he doesn't hurt you. That the demonlord actually made, and continues to make, efforts to turn this into an acceptable arrangement for you. You're not excusing any of his actions, but you've allowed yourself to feel glad for the way things have turned out, with a more or less loving dynamic established. You're not sure you'll ever match his frankly intimidating intensity, but... You're fond of Zizz.

And he's been happy with that so far, which means you've been steadily introduced to a lot of Zizz's duties as King of Sloth. It's actually quite surprising, the amount of work he gets done during the brief episodes wherein he's fully awake. Zizz is a bright demon, in spite of initial appearances. He's organized Sloth in a way where his trusted servants can pick up work perfectly when he inevitably falls onto a dead sleep at his desk. He's got alarms set up for very specific hours and manages to schedule things in a way where, almost magically, Sloth still functions. It's impressive.

He says having you around has been very helpful as well, since you apparently prove to be a very effective source of motivation for the demonlord to remain awake and complete tasks, so he can spend more time with you. You recall the way he purrs whenever you bring him a cup of coffee. Not that it does anything to him physically, you're sure it must be nothing more than a placebo effect paired with joy that you bother to do such for him in the first place.

Nonetheless, one of the facets of Zizz's professional life you've been involved in occasionally are the so-fabled "Icon meetings". It's... Well, they're shitshows more often than not, you kind of understand why Zizz dozes off early on. Usually, there's bickering going on, and it hardly ever involves the Sloth lord himself, so being awake is a waste of time as far as he's concerned. Clever thinking. Though it does make you feel slightly unsafe that he's willingly going unconscious while you're surrounded by other huge demons, who sometimes give you strange looks.

You're sure the gigantic snake woman is going to eat you one of these days, Livius is constantly glaring at you two, Cero has a disgusted look on his face whenever you meet his eyes and Rinx glances over everytime some gold trinket in your outfit jingles. You won't even get started on the Wrath lord's dreadful volume. Vesper is apparently one of the friendlier ones, it seems. He still gives you and Zizz lecherous glances, having blatantly propositioned the demonlord to let him sleep with you two at several points. While it scandalized you at first, you soon realized it was just in his nature to behave that way. Still, when he's not actively trying to get you horny, he's not bad company, and you've had quite a few pleasant conversations so far.

One such is what planted an idea in your mind.

If you recall correctly, it was at a meeting a couple of days ago, nothing too eventful was taking place, the Pride lord and the Greed lord were arguing heatedly about the state of cross-ring resource importation and some manner of "unreasonable inflation", it didn't matter. Vesper was sitting next to Zizz, who was predictably in a dead sleep in spite of the commotion. He had you trapped in his arms, which were crossed over his chest. You had been about ready to take a nap yourself when someone tapped your shoulder.

" Don't snooze just yet, darling, I'm terribly bored. " It was the Lust King, of course, flicking his lashes and pouting.

" Mmn, whaddya want? "

Vesper snickers. " Oh, humor me just this once? "

" 'M not going to have sex with you. " A muscle memory response by then.

" Yes, a shame. " He paused. " But, I actually want to know about your sex life with Zizz. "

You had popped an eye open there, not exactly amused.

" See, I spoke with Zizz when he was still single, and I know for a fact he's into a number of things... " Those sharpened teeth took on a perverted, pleased grin. " Have you two been exploring that? "

Had you? It was odd, aside from somnophilia and lazy sex, maybe a couple of slightly risky escapades, things hadn't really gotten spiced up. But then, you had only recently began getting sexually comfortable with Zizz, maybe he didn't want to jeopardize everything by introducing something hard into the bedroom. Vesper took that silence as an answer by itself, tutting softly.

" W- Why do you care?! " Why wouldn't he care? He's a huge whore, it's what he does.

" I just hate seeing potential go to waste, dear. " The Icon then murmured. " I can give you some hints, hm? "

The suggestion had given you pause. Indulging in Zizz's kinks... In your captor turned oddly-lovable demon's kinks. What had your life come to... But then, it'd be a lie to say you disliked the idea. The morality of it is frivolous, you're here now. There's no way out, you thought maybe you should lean into what amount of happiness you could reap from this situation. And maybe, just maybe, getting Zizz hot and bothered made you happy.

" U- Uhm. Okay... "

Vesper perked up, head tendril curling. " Perfect! I'll send you a little something something. You're a smart girl, you'll get the idea. " And he winked, letting the conversation die there.

A day later, one of the head imp servants approached you specifically with a delivery from Lust. A mysterious black box with a stupidly fancy bow on top. You opened it in your shared bedroom, coming face to face with a long silicone... Flogger? Paddle? One end featuring a pretty pastel pink heart shape while the other had feathers of the same hue. It clicked then. Spanking. Zizz was into spanking. How innocuous, you expected something a little more menacing. Included in the box was also a pair of handcuffs. The symbols on its sleek padded purple design made it obvious that it was enchanted with something. Though it was the size of the item that gave you pause. It was far too big for a human. For you. These cuffs were made for demons the size of Zizz.

Meaning you will not be the one getting spanked. The Icon of Sloth is.

That alone had taken you by surprise, though a knowing smirk quickly crawled up your cheeks while you pondered. It made sense. Zizz is a lazy demon, for sure. Sex with him usually has you doing most of the work, though he has proved to be an efficient pleaser when challenged before. Point being, Zizz's lack of energy makes him come off as submissive... It was no wonder that he'd enjoy taking the role of a spankee.

You liked that idea. A whole lot actually. A plan began formulating in your mind...

Which leads you to today!

Tonight actually.

You can't sleep. How could you?! You're going to spank your big goof of a boyfriend. King, actually. You're going to spank a King. Oh ho ho, if this isn't some power trip.

The room is dark, aptly dark for someone as light-sensitive as your partner, only some dim LED lights scattered around. You're once more trapped between a mountain of plushies and the demon's annoyingly tight grip as he lays on his side, chin plopped on top of your head. Zizz has recently taken to sleeping without his veil, perhaps because he trusts you not to peel the curtains open in the morning and blind him. Eitherway, that leaves the big lad in nothing but plain black underwear, overly hot body glued to yours. It's unpleasant to always wake up vaguely sweaty, but you've resigned yourself to it by now, it's part of this new life.

Alright. Step one is wiggling out of your prison.

Kicking and shoving stuffed animals aside sounds easy, and it really is, unless you're drowning in them, in which case you might as well be doing jack shit. Because everytime you push a shape out of the way, another fluffy thing will take its place, like quicksand. Eventually, with enough effort, you manage to create some vacant space in the bed. Good. Now comes the hard part.

Getting Zizz to let go of you.

You've been practicing. After all, he's done this since day one, and many were the times where you woke up in the middle of the night on emergency mode with a full bladder. Calling his name is fruitless, the demon will grunt or mumble at most, maybe whine. Taps and straight up slaps to his bare skin won't do anything either, he just shakes like jelly and snores. You've learned, through experience, that gentle attention is usually what gets Zizz to move.

Squirming to at least face the huge demon, you look up and frame his dark face. Soft, so weirdly soft. This part of him is as odd as it gets. He's like... A matchstick, featuring this charred-black head bleeding darkness into his neck. You'd figure such a part of him would be rough, but it's almost like a cloud. Grabbing those smooth cheeks, you place gentle kisses all over his face and exposed teeth, making sure to nuzzle your nose on him. Zizz faintly starts purring and readjusts his neck to be closer to you, but his arms remain firmly locked around your torso and waist, not even twitching. Tsk.

With a huff, you resort to more insistent tricks, tickling at his neck and trying to do the same to the parts of his tummy you can reach. That gets him to groan something nonsensical out, limbs jerking and tail swatting at the sheets. Yet still not enough. Fine then. Far from deterred, not only do you hasten the pace of your digits, you blow air onto his face periodically.

Finally, that appears to bother Zizz enough to slacken his hold, one arm raising to rub his features.

Knowing a golden opportunity when you see one, it's a matter wiggling insistently and tapping at his loose arm to finally, finally- Break free! Victory. Aha!

The demonlord very clearly notices the lack of heat and pressure on him, growing distressed ad grumbling amidst a deep slumber. It's almost cute, the way his tail thrashes in indignation.

That's step one. Step 2 is breaking out the nice stuff, conveniently hidden inside the closet you share with your King. It's not like he looks at it anyway, his servants basically do everything for him. And you. But it's okay to be a little pampered, right? The contents of the box are removed and tossed onto the bed after you clear it of excess pillows and plushies.

Step 3, the most difficult of them all. Rolling this fucker onto his stomach.

But how?

Hm...

Impact. You need to throw yourself. Though it could backfire and make him fall on you. Here goes nothing! With some momentum, you roll onto the bed and slam against a hard grayish body, mostly not achieving much beyond stunting yourself. But hey, you did wake him up slightly.

" Mmmr, whas' dat? "

Zizz rumbles out, a deep, slurred sleepy tone that always makes you shiver. " Hey... Roll onto your stomach? " Worth a try.

He sighs, and after a couple of seconds, basically flops onto his front like dead weight. Hah! You're not sure how awake the demonlord is right now, but it won't stop you.

" Zizz? " You try after getting back up, receiving no response from the static monster. Yep, he's out again. Truly remarkable.

No time to waste! Grabbing the cuffs, and securing the key somewhere of course, you drag his hands together, looping the toy around one of the top columns of this ridiculously large bed. The cuffs glow a slightly pink hue once locked. He didn't twitch a muscle through this... Sometimes you worry for Zizz's safety.

There! Now, onto the good part.

Having the large demon rolled over, you giggle to yourself in pure satisfaction and eye his plain boxers. It's funny, you have more than confirmed he doesn't use underwear with his typical garbs, but he puts it on to sleep. How odd. Climbing behind the large monster, you take a moment to appreciate his behind. Zizz is huge, and what's more, he's also on the curvier side, you're sure he's the softest demon out there. By virtue of the former, he also has a pretty fat ass, if you do say so yourself.

A cute, round, perfect ass.

Lips curled up, you drag bare palms up the Icon's legs, making sure to cup the fat of his heavy thighs before resting them on those fine globes. For someone who likes to call you "pillow" so much, you sure as Hell just found a perfect headrest right here. Your attention is caught by a periodically swaying tail, that pretty thin thing with a tip very similar to his horns. It looks like a half-moon. Your arm extends, grabbing the length of it much like a cat after a thread of yarn. It bats aimlessly in your grasp, until you peel it out of that special band in his boxers.

You're no angel, you're purposely giving yourself a titillating show when you grasp the hem of his underwear, dragging the fabric down slowly and biting your lip the moment it rests on his thighs. Perfect ass indeed. You could just bite him.

Instead, you pick up the long flogger Vesper generously gifted to you, choosing the feathered end to start your torture. Sitting cross-legged between the massive demon's legs, you start feathering at his limbs.

" Ziiizz... "

Nothing, predictably. The ministrations move higher, zigzagging playfully, resting over the crux between those thighs. " Zizzy. " No response.

Your notions become insistent, tickling at the expanse of skin between pucker and slit, occasionally rising to tease the root of his tail before dipping back down. Laughter rings out when the demonlord does move, shifting his ass and twitching his legs. The most you get out of him is another caveman grunt.

Tut tut.

Alright. No more playing around then.

Readjusting the toy, you quickly swat it against the meat of his left cheek.

Finally, the Sloth King jolts, making a much more sober sound. You can hear the rustling of those fancy cuffs against the bed post while Zizz gradually processes the situation.

" Mmn did... Did you just hit me? " He slurs, bright white eyes staring back at you from the relative darkness.

" Me? " You start innocently. " With these little hands? " As if to emphasize the point, you splay said feelers against his rump, groping to your heart's content, drumming on his rump a bit. He shudders when you lean in to plant a kiss on the spot you just swatted. " You wouldn't even feel it, right? "

Before the demon can answer, you grasp the cute flogger again and swipe it across his right cheek. Zizz instantly shudders, muscles tensing. Hm, Vesper wasn't kidding, this does work. Good.

" M-Marshmallow? What is that? " His tone is breathy, that doesn't sound like a complaint to you.

" Don't worry about it too much. " And just because you like seeing his buffer jiggle, you lash it again, a little lower, a more tender spot if your research is correct.

Zizz chuffs something incomprehensible. The sleepiness apparently leaving him steadily at this turn of events. " Am... 'M I being punished? " He murmurs, legs spreading ever so slightly.

You take the time to think about it while you remove his underwear fully. Are you punishing your King? You could, by all means, you're still essentially a captive, even if you've decided to make the most out of it. Why not spin this in a different direction?

" I don't know Zizz, do you want to be punished? " The question hangs thick in the air while you play with the rubber tip of the toy, waiting.

His brain might not be fully back online, because the demonlord makes a confused sort of "Hhrn?" noise. The next swat has some heft behind it, actually making him arch!

" Words. "

" No... " He finally squeezes out.

You laugh. Yeah right, like he hasn't been pushing his ass up this entire time. You're willing to bet his slit is already wet. " Then what do you want? "

Zizz makes a drawn-out purr, trying to look back at you from his awkward position while his tail dances. " Mm, I want you to suck me off- "

CRACK

" Selfish! Mutt! " Each word punctuated with much harder swats. " Unbelievable... " Zizz pants now, actually pants. " Get on your knees. "

When he takes too long to obey, he's rewarded with yet another lash smack dab on the same side. " We don't have all day! "

" Owww f-fuck- " Doing as told, a clear string of viscous precum connects his slit to the silken sheets beneath him, making you just about steam alive. " You're so mean. "

Rolling your eyes yet smiling wide, you point the feathered side to his dripping entrance and tease it thoroughly, laughing when Zizz squirms in frustration, never getting decent stimulation no matter which way he leans. It only succeeds in making him wetter. " And you're hopeless, my lord. " Switching ends, you allow him direct contact with the pink silicone heart, something the horny monster greedily accepts, rocking against it like an animal, trying to hump the thing.

It's a lecherous show, a sight that just about has you salivating, your pussy seeming to jolt awake as you consider getting beneath the cuffed demon and letting him rut at you. No, not so fast, not this time. The more he huffs and rolls his hips, the less mental fortitude you retain, so you cut the scene short by harshly and suddenly slapping the tip against his slit. A bit cruel, admittedly.

Zizz jerks forward, a loud pained whimper followed by horny little gasps as he buries his whining face in pillows and instinctively bucks against nothing, tingles of pain and pleasure working their way through his body. In a matter of seconds, that gorgeous purple cock is slipping out to play, more than teased and ready. You lick your lips, considering doing just what he wanted for a sliver of a second.

Instead, you snicker and brush his length with the same fluffy feathers. Zizz actually tugs at the cuffs this time, head rising. " Please! "

" Already? " Your brows rise, but it's not much of a surprise at all. It's not hard to make the demonlord beg, he gives in easily, because it takes less effort. You suspect a part of him enjoys feeling powerless anyway. " Tsk, come on, at least try. "

Zizz groans. " Mmh please please please please- "

Figures. Slut.

Your response is to crack that flogger several times across both sides of his ass, hard enough that it does start leaving heart-shaped imprints. And... Aw, it's adorable! You just have to see more of those pretty deep blue hearts on his ass. So pretty...

In a lustful stupor, enamored by those lovely hearts, you keep lashing the thing on several spots, ignoring the way the demonlord howls and trembles, even going for his thighs. He's a big boy, and strong at that. He can deal with a bit of thigh flogging. By the time you've calmed down, breathing heavily, his lower half is peppered in cute little hearts, sore, some spots starting to bruise in even prettier colors. But most importantly, Zizz is sobbing.

You hadn't even heard him.

Whimpering and moaning softly like some sort of overwhelmed animal. You wonder if maybe you've gone too far until you see his cock throbbing repeatedly. Then again, if he really wanted to stop this, he could have by now, you don't believe the cuffs would be an issue given what you've seen Zizz do before.

" Do you think you can come just from this? I think you can. " You half-mock.

The King of Sloth makes a pathetic little noise betraying some great exasperation. " No! No no nn- Please- Please, I'll take anything jus' make me come please- " You wonder what it says about yourself that his sobbing voice makes you heat up like a furnace, shuddering.

The next thing that connects to Zizz's ass is neither the paddle nor the feathers, but your small human hands. He twitches regardless, more than sensitive enough to wince from something as simple as a gust of wind. " Alright, but only because you took it all like a champ. "

Gentle lips peck and smooch around the places you thoroughly abused, a spare hand snaking to his front so you can grab his weeping girth and treat him to generous strokes, not enough to let him orgasm yet. No, you want to take your sweet time, swiping your tongue from the bottom of his slit, all the way up and over his hole. The other moans out, audibly splintering something in the bed post so he can press harder against your flat tongue.

Your chuckle vibrates against his skin, and as fun as eating him out could be, your goal is that appendage thrashing and thumping around. A brilliantly devious idea has you catching the thing with your teeth, nipping at it at the same time your pumps increase in pressure.

Zizz somehow manages to melt more into the sheets, trembling like a leaf. " Hhrn- Don't stop don't stop donn- Ah! " And you don't. Offering the massive monster one last, thunderous clap to his ass the very moment he starts coming.

It's a spectacular show. He comes hard, whining out like a needy harlot, grinding deep into your hand, shooting thick ropes all across it and the bed. Enough in quantity to make you titer. Cooing and swooning, you make sure to milk everything out of Zizz, hearing him huff out in complete euphoria. You only stop when his trembling becomes pained hissing, quickly moving to remove those cuffs while he sags onto the mattress like an emptying balloon. Atop a small pool of his own seed, ew... It's funny, he didn't even pull that hard at the cuffs. Sure, the bed post is visibly damaged, but he behaved fairly well, all things considered!

This was a great test run.

It's not too long before you hop into bed, on top of Zizz's spent body and blowing raspberries on his back. The Icon chuckles tiredly.

" You should see your ass right now. " You smirk.

" You ruined it. " He laments, sighing.

Laughing, you give him a soft kiss and massage his sore wrists. " You did very well, my King. Maybe you should tell me more about your tastes in the future, hm? "

Zizz snorts after a couple of puzzled seconds. " It was Vesper, wasn't it? "

" We're gonna thank him tomorrow. "

Although Zizz makes a disgruntled noise, you catch the very same tail you bit on wagging.

[the-90s-music-colosseum]

happy birthday to without you i'm nothing by placebo which came out on this day in 1998

Happy birthday to this amazing and timeless album!

"A thrilling record, then, made by freaks, for freaks. Just don't expect to leave with your soul intact." - NME