#he never tries to sell them and keeps on buying them time for as long as he can because he Knows they'll find a way to win

[starryeyedjanai]

Steve and Eddie meet through their local buy-nothing-sell-nothing group when Steve’s getting ready to move in with Robin and he realizes he can't keep everything he owns while trying to merge households with her.

The first time they meet, Steve hadn't even been meaning to actually meet the person picking up the free toaster oven he’s giving away.

He’s setting his toaster oven outside his house on the porch when Eddie hops out of his van to pick it up and it would be rude to duck back inside without saying anything since he obviously sees him coming up, so they make small talk for a minute and Steve has to keep his eyeballs in check because they keep wanting to rake all the way down this guy’s body.

He’s covered in tattoos and so extremely Steve's type, but he knows better than to hit on someone who lives in his neighborhood and is not here for that reason.

He laments to Robin about it the next day, about the hot guy who’s probably using Steve's toaster oven as they speak, who he’ll probably never see again.

Robin rolls her eyes fondly at him and tells him that maybe if he puts more stuff up for grabs on the facebook group, he might see him again, but Steve suspects she just wants him to get rid of more of his stuff so it doesn't overcrowd their new apartment.

The set of items he puts up in the group next is an old blender and a butcher block that has three of the knives missing—seriously where did those knives go? He has yet to find them.

He tries to pretend he isn't secretly hoping Eddie will comment under his post that he wants the items, but he isn't fooling himself when his heart literally skips a beat when the first comment is from Eddie. He messages him and tells him to stop by later that day.

When Eddie shows up, they talk for longer than last time, Eddie asking why Steve needs to get rid of so much stuff and Steve asking why Eddie needs all this stuff—especially considering Steve snooped through the group and saw that Eddie joined over a year ago and hadn't once commented before now (he doesn't mention that thought, but he is thinking it real hard).

Eddie laughs and says he was in the market for a toaster oven when Steve posted one and wouldn't you know it? He also needs a blender—the knife set is just a bonus, he says.

Steve tries not to read too much into it, but his brain is spinning the interaction around in his head for the next week.

He puts up a space heater in the group and within minutes, Eddie has claimed it.

“I should just get your number and text you directly when I find something I want to get rid of next time,” Steve says flippantly when Eddie comes by to grab it that night. “Instead of clogging up the facebook group.”

Eddie smirks at him and steps a little closer. He says, “Maybe you should.”

His neighbor’s car alarm decides to go off right at that moment, ruining the flirty atmosphere with its incessant shrill. They can barely hear each other over the drone of it, so Eddie leaves without giving Steve his number and Steve is left feeling like he keeps having these missed connection moments with Eddie.

In a fit of desperation to see Eddie again, Steve puts up a bunch of random stuff in the group the next day—a shoe rack that’s missing a piece, a step stool, a cheap side table he got from Ikea—and Eddie is still the first person to comment like he’s been refreshing the page, just waiting for Steve to post.

“I left without giving you my number last time and I didn't want to be creepy and message you unprompted,” Eddie says as they load the side table into his van. “I think I was overthinking things and then got kind of spooked.”

“It doesn't look like anything could spook you,” Steve says.

When they get the side table inside the back of the van, Eddie turns to him and admits, “A very pretty boy could.”

Steve can feel his face getting hot. “You think I’m pretty?” he asks.

Eddie nods. “Why do you think I keep coming here? There's no way a person who’s lived here for as long as I have would need all this stuff.”

“Did you need any of it?” Steve asks in a teasing voice. “Or were you just so blown away by how cute my profile picture is that you just had to meet me?”

“Oh, I needed the toaster oven, but everything after that was just to see you again,” Eddie says before biting his lip.

There’s an entire swarm of butterflies in his stomach when Eddie's hand brushes his, when Steve takes Eddie's hand in his and leads him inside his box-filled house.

Later, when they’re making out on Steve's couch—when Steve really should still be packing since he has to move in less than a week—he pulls back to ask, “Wait, so are you gonna put the rest of the stuff you don't need back up for grabs in the group? I feel like that would start so much neighborhood gossip.”

Eddie grins wide and Steve wants to kiss him again, wants to feel his smile against his mouth.

“Oh, we’ll be the talk of the town, baby,” Eddie says, pulling him back in.

[kentopedia]

˚₊‧꒰ა cold embrace (provenance) — fyodor dostoevsky

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎. you buy a two hundred year old house with a two hundred year old painting hanging above the mantel. it's not the only thing the previous owner left behind.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓈. ghost!fyodor, f!reader, violence, angst, death, alternate / modern universe, no smut but it is suggestive, fyodor is kind of a pervy ghost so, wc: 6.1k

𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓈. this one has two titles bc it was supposed to be for my kinktober... never finished it. embarrassing ! but here is a semi-revamped version for this series! i can finally check it off my wips page <3 idk how i feel about it but i hope you enjoy

part of my summerween series !

A chime from the grandfather clock brings Fyodor out of his stupor, the sound signaling another day, another meaningless hour that will only continue his eternal misery. He’s grown used to it now—evening after evening of emptiness, of reading nothing but the same books, playing the same pieces of dull sheet music, and the lifeless chess matches against himself. The house is cold with only his presence, dusty without a housekeeper and a life to make it a home.

There are a million things in Fyodor’s life that he must have done to deserve this misery, but he can’t pinpoint which one solidified his reward of a lamentable, endless cycle.

He’s certain hell is better than this. It’s something he wishes for every day, if only to have an eternal companion with the devil, a challenge to overcome.

Though, even with this boredom, Fyodor refuses to let anyone live in his home. They’ll only serve to be another pain, something that would, surely, push him past the brink of sanity.

The centuries old décor will get replaced with gaudy twenty-first century items, ones that will be nothing more than an eyesore. There are a few already scattered around his home from previous tenants, but only things that he believed useful enough for him to keep; a few books from authors he didn’t live to read, a television from the nineties, a computer that he watched one couple scroll on before he murdered them in cold blood.

Perhaps he is two hundred years dead and gone, but he refuses to be an ignorant ghost, one that is unaware of anything beyond these four walls, caught forever in the past.

Although now, it’s been a while since anyone’s tried to move in, and he’s certain the only reason the house hasn’t been torn down is because its preserved nicely, an eighteenth-century home that has withstood the test of time.

Fyodor, in his lowest moments, wishes they would tear it down. Maybe then, and only then, can he be set free. Or maybe, he’s forever trapped in this exhaustive lot, doomed to decay, even when there’s nothing left of the foundations but soil.

He pushes a pawn forward on the board, putting himself in checkmate for the millionth time in a row. It’s been so long that he’s used to his own tricks. Even the computer, which he’d come to understand quickly, is no match for him. It’s far too exhaustive to play against a machine that utilizes an algorithm he can so easily decipher.

Out of nowhere, the front door unlocks, and Fyodor glances over at the sound, dark hair falling over his eyes. Seconds later, he notices an older realtor with a clipboard leading you around, a woman he’s never seen, dressed up nicely with a darker shade of lipstick smeared across your mouth.

He’s been through this before. It’s a miracle the realtor hasn’t given up on this house yet, a mansion she is determined to sell despite the endless horrors that have been committed by his hand.

“Here it is,” she says, nervous, gesturing around the expansive hall, the crystal chandelier and staircase that immediately follows. “It was built in 1731, but one of the owners remolded it in the style of the mid-nineteenth century. The structure has been stabilized; it’s safe… enough.”

The two of you chat, but he doesn’t bother to listen in. It’s all questions of: when can I move in? can we negotiate? — things you will come to regret once he sets his sights on killing you.

Then, the realtor is sighing, wringing her hands together as she watches you spin around the house in awe. It’s clear that you’re impressed by the layout, the rich furniture and colors that have been used.

That, at least, satisfies Fyodor. Everyone else who has moved in was looking to upgrade it to a modern style, rid the place of its aged grace and charm.

“I’m truly sorry,” she says, brushing curly hair away from her cheekbones. “But I am legally obligated to tell you that every person who has lived here before has suffered a terrible, terrible fate. There have been gruesome murders that cannot be explained, done in ways that I don’t even want to tell you about.”

You laugh, eyeing her with skepticism. “Are you telling me it’s haunted?”

The realtor shrugs. “That’s what people say.”

“I don’t believe in ghosts,” you answer, and Fyodor rolls his eyes, scoffing as he floats to the second floor, unable to listen into the unreasonable conversation anymore. It’s been the same story for decades. No one believes in ghosts, but it is always a ghost that kills them.

He returns to the chess board, irritated, though unable to consider the game any further. Your face is stuck in his mind. For some reason, he can’t remember the last time he’s ever seen anyone with such beauty.

Fyodor stops; your ageless elegance doesn’t matter—it can’t, and it won’t. You’ll be dead by the end of the month, when you gather all your things and invade the bedroom that was once his own. Even if you are beautiful, you are a nuisance, a threat to Fyodor’s eternal torment and quiet existence.

Still, he can’t help but wonder if it would be nice to have something other than his own thoughts to distract him from the endless misery.

You move in on the thirteenth of June, nothing more than a few boxes and a decade old car to keep you company. He guesses you’ve traveled a long distance to get here, and you’ve gotten rid of half of your life in the process.

A good thing for him. That means things can be over relatively quickly, and all your belongings can be disposed of easily after he kills you.

You spend the entire first day unpacking, and Fyodor waits patiently, allows you time to get comfortable in his home. He watches as you bring a stack of thick novels into the waiting room, which once boasted large parties, and place them on a shelf below those that have his name within the covers.

You take a few calls as you hang up your autumn coats, ones that won’t be needed for a few months. The voice on the other line sounds frantic, worried. A local, most likely. You only seem annoyed by his continuous string of anxieties.

When the sun sets, and you grow tired, you rub your eyes and head to bed. The first night you will spend in this place that Fyodor likens to Hell.

It’s the time he’s been waiting for—a moment to catch you off guard. You are so unsuspecting, already so at home in the mansion, that you have no fear of anything hurting you in the middle of the night.

While you get ready for bed, Fyodor slips into your room, observing the pieces of your life that have conquered his bedroom. A soft classical piece plays from your phone, one that he recognizes from his mortal life. Clearly, you are fascinated by the period he once lived in. A shame, really, he won’t be able to tell you more about it.

You leave the bathroom, come back towards him to change into a pair of small shorts, a large shirt hanging over your frame.

He’s forgotten how long it’s been since he’s seen a woman, how long since he’s touched one.

Fyodor finds himself distracted by your body, the smoothness of your skin. His eyes travel over your legs, your hips, the fullness of your breasts and ignores how much he desires to let his thumb graze over your flesh. There is something so soft about you, so gentle and innocent.

Perhaps, that is where his fascination stems from: he has always been the opposite. Even in his human existence, Fyodor was not a kind man, and he doesn’t plan on becoming one now that he is dead.

He shakes away the vision, the thoughts that swirl within his mind. It has been far too long since he has experienced any sort of pleasure, and maybe even a man as cold as himself is not immune to the desires that course within his veins.

Though he tries to be. He ignores his arousal desperately in exchange for a renewed bloodlust.

You climb into bed, put your phone on the white cord, and shut your eyes. Thirty minutes later, you’re sleeping soundly, soft puffs of air leaving your lips as you sleep.

It’s the opportune moment. The silver knife gleams brightly in his hand, streaks of moonlight tracing over the slanted point. It’s the same blade he’s killed every other new tenant with, their screams still echo in the halls like a harmonious melody each time he bring the knife down on another unknowing victim.

He stands before you at the side of the bed, watches as your chest rises and falls, the evidence of your life undeniable. You are a lovely image like this, something to be painted and adored; more beautiful than many of the women he’d met in his time, even those who were of the finest elite in the country.

Fyodor presses the blade to your throat, contemplative. He considers how much lovelier you will look with the scarlet stain of blood seeping down your neck, spraying across the room and ruining the fresh sheets. Will you awaken, gasping as you claw at your throat, or will you drift away without even understanding what has become of you?

He pictures it, and digs the blade close to your throat, nothing more than a pinprick of blood flowering there.

You don’t awaken; but you a little sound leaves you, something between a gasp and a moan, and you shift away from the knife gripped between his pale fingers. It’s a sound that has him pausing, musing, as he regards your vulnerable state, a beautiful figure there with no clue that such a murderous man is also a resident in her home.

You make another one of those pretty noises in your throat, and Fyodor, against two centuries of murderous intent, pulls the knife away. He watches as you roll on your stomach, your shirt scrunching, moving up your body to reveal the undersides of your breasts. Your hand shifts towards him on the bed, reaching in his direction, before you still. Then, your breathing is back to normal, evened out completely.

Your lips part blissfully as you sigh in your sleep.

He can’t stop looking at you, can’t stop wondering what his name would sound like leaving the perfect swell of your mouth, if you’d sound just as pretty when you orgasm as you do when you’re asleep.

Surely, he can find a better use for you—it would be a shame for such a pretty thing to go out so early.

As he draws back, Fyodor notices the chess board on the side table, the pieces arranged nicely, each on the correct square. He can’t tell if you play. You could just have it for decoration, or perhaps it was a gift given to you from a lover that he hasn’t seen pictures of, the one that he’s certain someone as lovely as you must have.

The board is aged; not as old as the one in the drawing room, but a nice set, nonetheless. Fyodor glances back at your sleeping form once more, smiles coolly to himself, and shifts a pawn forward.

The chess piece is the first thing you notice in the morning.

It’s almost ridiculous how easily it catches your eye, a tiny little movement within the chaos that was your brand-new room. A pawn is on a different square, leering at you from the other wall, as if smiling, a flashing sign above its head, calling to you, hoping you’ll pay attention.

You almost think nothing of it; things can move, can’t they? Perhaps there was a shift in the earth overnight… Though, that makes little sense when you think about it rationally.

It’s strange, that much is certain. You remember the realtor telling you about the ghosts, and though you aren’t inclined to believe in haunted houses and scary stories, you find a part of yourself questioning the logic of the chess piece.

You are certain it was on the correct square before you slept.

It’s the only thing on your mind as you get ready, suffer through a tasteless breakfast, and throw on a rain jacket to combat the dreary weather. You’re meeting a friend for lunch—the only friend you have in this town. Sigma is the sole reason you decided to move here, instead of the other arbitrary cities that you’d been desperate to escape to.

Still, the board won’t leave your mind. You take one last glance at it before, on a whim, pushing the opposite color pawn forward as well.

Then you leave, hoping that a conversation with your friend will take your mind off the strangeness of that happenstance, the anxiety you feel about moving to a new place, a new job where no one knows you, a home that stays cold, despite the heat that reigns with long summers.

The walk to the cafe is short, but with the wind and the drizzling rain, you are miserable, your hands wrinkling from the dampness, even within your pockets.

Sigma is waiting for you, his lavender and white hair loose over his shoulders as he peruses the menu, eyes darting across it like he’s never read it before.

You sit, offer him a greeting, and though your conversation is cordial, the two of you catching up on your day, you eventually ask the question you’ve been dying to know.

“Do you believe in ghosts?”

Sigma stops, puts the utensil back down on his plate, and regards you with a thin frown. “Did something happen?”

You think of the chess piece, wonder if another will be moved when you get home. “No, but—”

“I told you not to move into that house,” he says, eyes narrowing. Sigma refuses to step into that mansion, grows anxious every time you mention it. “Over ten people have died there. Do you want to get murdered?”

“No particularly,” you say, staring at him flatly, your mouth pulling into a line. “But I’ve made it one night already. I’ll be fine.”

A hard laugh leaves him, as he shakes his head, unamused by your cheekiness. “That’s what they all say, isn’t it? Then they all die.”

“Very dramatic.” You take a long sip of your water. Sigma’s features don’t crack in the slightest as he stares at you, waiting for you to continue. “I’m not scared. I just want to know if you believe in ghosts or not… Because I don’t.”

Sigma’s eyes flit across your face, searching for any hint of a lie, for any signs of fear. When he finds none, his hands stretch across the table, lacing them together as he glares. “Whether you believe in ghosts or not doesn’t matter. There’s something evil about that house, and you’re putting yourself in danger by living there.”

The conversation with Sigma weighs on your mind for hours after, when you return home, still thinking about the chess board. It was just as you’d left it, two pawns moved forward, staring each other down menacingly. Nothing out of the ordinary.

You sigh and finally put it out of your mind. It was just a coincidence, that’s all. The piece was probably on the wrong square all along, and you’d been too tired last night to notice it.

Instead, you focus your sights on unpacking, and contemplate what to do with the portrait hanging above the mantel.

It’s a dusty old thing, one that the previous owners had, for some reason, never taken down. It had hung over the mantel for centuries, the corners faded from the sun, but the sinister grin of the subject never losing its effect.

You tilt your head, stare at it from a different angle. Looking at it that way, you could, perhaps, see why the painting appealed to them. It’s old, with a style from a different century, and the man composed of deep shadows and pale colors is undeniably handsome. He seems out of place in the portrait, trapped there, too otherworldly to be captured on such a canvas. His features are sharp, molded out of something tougher than diamonds, something more beautiful than this plane is able to comprehend. His deep eyes seem to know all as they stare at you, trace you across the room.

For minutes, you are hypnotized, before a wave of disgust washes over you, and you turn away, unable to look at it any longer. You’ll sell it, you decide. Maybe it will be worth a pretty penny.

That evening, you decide to look into it, but the search into a local art dealer doesn’t get far. When you sit down at your laptop, beginning to type your question into the browser, the lid shuts on your fingertips.

It takes a moment for you to register what had happened. A faint sting dances along the back of your hands, your knuckles tender as you lift the lid back up. Lines bounce along the screen, as if the imprint of your hand had made its way into the pixels, matching the pulse of your nerves.

You curse lowly, hoping that a reset will fix the issue.

The lid had just fallen, nothing serious. It was a newer model, but those things could happen. Issues with the manufacturing, with the way it was assembled. Technology fails you all the time.

You hold the power button, irritated, and upset, when a horrible, screeching noise echoes from the computer. Nothing but a shrill scream, the speakers begging you for help. You slam it shut once more, and the noise stops, but your heartbeat doesn’t slow down.

Shit.

Tomorrow, you’ll have to take it in, and see if anyone can discern the issues. It’s not ideal, but there’s so many things to still need to do, and a broken laptop makes those things very difficult.

You sigh, pushing the chair back into the table. The portrait looms above you as you retreat back to your room, hands shaking. It’s irrational, you know it is, but you swear his eyes follow you all the way up the stairs.

It doesn’t take long for you to start believing in the ghost that is haunting your manor, the one who has let you live for a week and who plays a new game of chess every time your back is turned. Whoever it is, they are much better than you; so far, you’ve lost twice—haven’t even gotten close to winning.

He hides things from you, items that you are needing for the next day, papers that you can’t submit to work on time because the important files have been stashed away.

You find your books opened to paragraphs the ghost seemingly finds interesting, your sheet music scattered in a mess when you return. The candles get blown out unexpectedly, and doors slam when you’re not suspecting it.

If he’s trying to scare you—it isn’t working. You remain in the house, sometimes talking to him like he’s a friend, whispering amongst the walls that know all of the secrets in your home.

You stop at the library on your free weekend, flipping through a dusty copy of the local legends, only stopping when you find your home. There’s a copy of the painting there—your painting, the one that still hangs above your mantel, despite your better judgment.

Beside it, there’s a painting of your home, done when the house was first built. The outside of it is a differently color entirely, the garden in front blooming with pink and yellow flowers. It looks cheerful; the home of a warm and loving family, inviting and kind to each of the neighborhood children. Nothing like the dark manor it is today, with a dead garden in the front and shutters that keep even an ounce of light out.

You read the pages proceeding the painting. The first owner had been a kind man, but the next were not such. After the original owner lost his wealth, he sold the house, passed it to a line of greedy men, ones that were focused only on their money. For a century, it went on this way—until a man named Fyodor Dostoevsky purchased the home for twice as much as it once was.

He was the one who changed it, renovated it, upgraded it to his own personal style, ensuring that it fit in with the times and his own opinions of luxury. Fyodor was charming, but ruthless, deadly with his own intelligence, owning half the town as they lost their money to his schemes.

Fyodor’s rein came to an end when he was poisoned by his closest friend, perhaps the one man he had trusted. It was the first murder in a string of ones to follow within the house.

You close the book, unsure if you regret the knowledge you’d gained or not.

The house feels colder now that you know the history of it. As if you can see the cruelty etched into every wall. Colors of the home bleed into each other, a pastel yellow of warmth and light, and the next room empty, almost uninhabitable, with its royal purples.

You stare at the portrait as you make dinner, feeling like you can never escape the gaze of those oil painted eyes. He has a name now—Fyodor. It feels even more disarming now that you know more about him than he’ll ever know about you.

And though Fyodor watches you, every night, from every angle, you convince yourself it’s just the way that the painting is situated. It would be foolish to think that he’s really watching every move you make, irises pinned on your form, unblinking.

The oven heats up behind you as you cut up your food, humming a soft tune to yourself. It’s getting hotter outside – you’d almost forgotten how miserable the summers could be. You forget every year, even though you’ve lived many.

Just as you’re getting lost in your thoughts, going through a list of things that need to get done in your fixer-upper home, you hear a scratch behind you.

It’s a quick sound, so quick that you almost think it was only your imagination. It’s enough to give you pause, your humming fading out into the night as your eyes dart around your house. Although you’ve tried not to let urban legends get the best of you, you’re paranoid in this aged mansion now.

A few seconds pass. You listen to the sound of your own heartrate, feel it pounding in your chest as you will it to calm down. It’s just enough time for you to convince yourself that it was nothing, that you’re far too nervous about silly ghosts to think rationally.

Though as you turn, a knife flies from the counter, just grazing your cheek, but enough to cause a scratch to open up against the skin. Your finger draws away scarlet as you press it to the wound, staring at the painted crevices of your fingertip.

You can’t move. Despite every cell in your body begging, screaming at you to move, you’re frozen, trapped in the four walls of that kitchen as you stare at your bloodied hand.

It’s all a dream, you repeat to yourself. A dream.

One that you don’t wake up from.

Time passes strangely, when every muscle in your body is on edge, your head pounding from the anxiety that spikes throughout your nervous system. A bead of sweat drips from your temple, and though you aren’t sure how long you stand there, nothing else happens. The knife remains lodged in the wall behind you, and the ghost makes no other attempt to lodge one into your stomach.

It’s quiet. There’s no noise, save for the music that plays softly from your phone.

After you regain control of your racing heartrate, you realize that the song playing isn’t what you’d put on originally. It had switched to a gentle, classical piece. Tchaikovsky, you think… or something similar. Something that a man from a different era would be familiar with.

“Who’s there?” You find yourself saying, perhaps stupidly. “What do you want?”

There’s no response – of course there isn’t. You’re talking to the air. To a ghost. No one had gotten inside the house. You’d checked more than enough times, just as you always did.

“I live here now,” you offer, thinking that, perhaps anger is not the best course of action. Neither is fear, though, if the scary movies you’d watched as a teenager had been any indication. “But I’ll leave, if you want me to.”

There’s no answer to that either.

You sigh, and deflate once more, trying to make yourself believe that there was a logical explanation to knives flying and playlists changing. Just as you’d made yourself believe that everything the “ghost” had done before was just a game, innocently played.

Perhaps, there was never a ghost at all. It could be that stress is driving you to insanity.

With a glass of wine in your hand, you finish up dinner, feeling like you are at your wit’s end. How is it that only a few weeks in this house has already singed your mind, turned you into a believer of things that you are not?

The portrait feels like an omen, staring at you with violet eyes, as you wonder where Fyodor is now. Does he watch you when your home, cooking, as you shower, a vicious gaze tracing over each curve of your body, with a sickening thought of all the things he wishes to do to you?

You shiver. It’ s been a while since anyone’s looked at you with a hint of desire. The feeling has become foreign, now, but you can still recall the gratification that comes with being wanted, how it makes you feel, if only for a moment, comfortable in your own skin.

That thought alone quickly snaps you out of your irrational behavior. Thinking of a ghost wanting you? A man that had been buried in the earth for so long that his body would be nothing more than bones?

This house was making you sick, you concluded, wrapping your leftovers up in plastic and tinfoil, placing them in the fridge. Your nervous friend was right – you never should’ve moved into this house, and you never should have stayed this long.

Your hands shook along the banister, heart racing around every corner. You expected that, maybe, you would see a dark-haired spirit there, his body translucent, but still corporeal. Though, there was no spirit hiding within the depths of the shadows, lurking in the places where he still belonged. No sounds startled you, caused you to jump as you brushed your teeth, completed the one last routine of your day.

The bed was colder than usual as you climbed into it, like a flush of a cold spot had settled within the sheets. You remembered what they said about temperatures and ghosts—how they changed, nothing able to survive in the places that they haunted, as they were not of this world, but something in between, something unnatural.

Your lamp flickers as you turn it on, and it’s just one more red flag you choose to ignore. In houses as old as this one, there are issues like that. The wiring is faulty, the electric needs to be monitored, a laundry list of items you will probably never resolve.

There are a thousand rational conclusions, though, and only one irrational one, which puts your mind at ease. Things like flickering lamps and cold spots can be explained simply, even if knives flying at your face cannot.

Still, you settle into bed, deciding that you will talk to the realtor again soon. You’ll move in with Sigma if he’ll have you. Anything to put your mind at ease for good.

That night, you dream of Fyodor, as if he is there right in the room with you, looming above you with those deep, violent eyes. His fingers, long and pale, trace across your cheekbones, as your eyes flutter open, consciousness coming back to you.

He says your name – it’s no surprise he knows it, after living with you for so long. It’s spoken softly, with a hint of possession behind it, like you belong to him. And yet, you’ve never said a word to him, even if all this time, he’s gotten to know you better than anyone else ever has.

You expect a scream to leave your throat, some hint of surprise, of fear, even, to see a stranger in your bedroom. To see him watching you with those familiar eyes, hair falling over his pale forehead as he gazes down at you from the edge of the bed.

No sound emerges.

Your mind feels a little fuzzy, hazy at the edges as you blink at him, closer to a state of intoxication, than you are alertness. Despite that awareness, you can’t seem to snap out of it; maybe you don’t want to. Instead, you sink deeper into the warmth, the honeyed feeling that comes with turning off your rationality. Everything feels as if it’s coming through in blurred, rosy glasses.

“Fyodor,” you mouth, instead of the scream that you’d anticipated, his name coming out in two wistful syllables.

You should hate him – there’s something in your instincts pushing back at you. A flash of a knife, the days of chaos and uncertainty, where you were sure you were losing your mind, come back at you.

But none of that seems to matter now, as you trace your finger across his cheek, feeling the sharp indent below the high bone. His eyelashes are a shade lighter than his hair, soft as they flutter over his forehead. The portrait of him didn’t do him justice… or perhaps, it is in death that he has found his purest form.

“I’m too tired.”

You’re not sure where those words even come from. Calm, like this is nothing but routine, and waking up with Fyodor beside you is the closest thing to normalcy.

He smiles at you, leaning over you again on the bed, lips pulled tightly together in a morbid grin. It does little to sour your mood, to scare you into action, even if you can’t quite understand why.

“I know,” he replies.

It’s the first time you’ve heard him speak, a deep, accented sound smoothing against your ears as he traces his gaze against each of your features; musical, almost. His voice calms you, lulls you back into a meditative state.

You reach for him, in a trance, and twirl a strand of his hair between your finger, just to see if he’d let you. After the hell you’d been through the past week, well – was it really that miserable? He seems content to watch over you, observe the gentle movements of his dark hair coiled up around your pointer finger.

“Why are you here?” you ask, your voice softer than a whisper, carried away by the wind until it never existed at all.

Fyodor never disappears from your line of sight, even when you try to blink, to close your eyes. He’s there, gazing at you with a lustful fondness, one that’s dangerous, perhaps even malicious. If it’s a dream, it sure feels like a vivid one.

“You wanted to leave,” he says, taking your finger away from his face, before bringing it to his lips. The kiss is barely there, and his mouth is cold, chapped, from the brutality of the afterlife. “I couldn’t let you do that.”

“Hm?” You try to sit up. It takes more effort than it should’ve – you’re so relaxed, so weak, that you fall back down, letting yourself sink into the plushness of the pillow. “Why?”

Fyodor releases your hand, before touching his own finger to your mouth. It’s slender, like a piece of ice, gently parting your lips before grazing your chin, hovering over your neck. Then, he drops his touch to your collarbone. He stakes a claim on every inch of your skin, pausing as he reaches your chest, still covered by the blankets.

Your clothing is thin – it wouldn’t take much effort to get his cool hands on your bare skin. But he refrains, still smiling before answering your question, tucking his hands together onto his lap. “It’s been so long.”

It doesn’t make sense, but you can’t muster up the effort to question him, not when he’s contemplating every word, like he’s hesitant to scare you away. You let him think, watch him ponder, as you stare, too exhausted to move a muscle.

“I thought you’d be like all the rest,” he says, taking a seat next to you on the bed, nearly touching your hip. “They were nothing but filth, stains in these halls. It’s a crime for them to ever think that they belonged here. In my home.”

You blink. “It’s my home, too,” you say, suddenly filled with an immense amount of dread. It crawls up your neck, chokes you, and nothing leaves you but garbled sounds, as you panic.

Fyodor doesn’t move – there is no twitch in his features, as he watches you with disguised adoration, a kind you didn’t think a ghost capable of revealing. “Of course it is, darling,” he says, so softly, it could’ve been mistaken for kindness. Fyodor leans down, presses his cold, dead lips to your cheek, a kiss of death. “That’s why I couldn’t let you leave. It’s your home. You belong here.”

“Right,” you breath, steadying yourself, before nodding. “My home.” Once more, you gaze around the room, your eyes flicking over every surface. Things are exactly as you’d left them, nothing out of place. “With you?”

The ghost smiles, and reaches out to you, finally helping you into a seated position. Your neck is so stiff, in pain, and you roll it around, feeling nothing there when you expect shifting bones. “With me,” Fyodor confirms, running his icy fingertips across your throat, tangling them with your hair.

He leans into you, pressing a lingering kiss to your mouth, one that catches you off balance, before you accept it with an eagerness that surprises you further. It doesn’t feel unfamiliar, instead, it’s as if you’re coming home, like the man you’ve never seen until now was always meant to find you.

A thought that should’ve scared you, even though it doesn’t.

Fyodor pulls away, right as you begin to shift forward, maneuver yourself onto his lap. “You should rest,” he replies, keeping you at a distance. “It might take some time to adjust.”

“Hm? What do you mean?” you blink, holding onto his wrist as your gaze shifts from his impossibly dark eyes to the mirror across the room.

There, in the darkness of the evening, shrouded in moonlight, you can see your reflection staring back at you, eyes vacant, lifeless. You expect to see yourself as nothing but exhausted, but when you draw your gaze across the image of yourself, there is blood seeping from your neck, a stream of scarlet. There is thick gash across your throat, slashed so deep that it would’ve killed you instantly.

The expression on your face shifts from one of calm to horror, as you scrape at your neck, trying to clear off the blood that isn’t really there, the permanent wound that will follow you even into your death.

“What did you do?” you scream, tears rolling down your cheeks, even though you can’t feel them, can only see them in the mirror. “What did you do to me?”

Fyodor smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners. Though you fight against him, he takes you into his arms, and you are too weak to fight him off. “I told you,” Fyodor says, shushing you, running his palm over your head as you scream. “I couldn’t let you leave.”

thank you for reading !

[ohbo-ohno]

i'll eat you whole (ghost x soap)

summary: After a terrible accident during a race, Johnny is left abandoned and lost in the forests of Alaska. While looking for shelter, he’s cornered by a bear.

word count: 10.8k

cw: dark fic!!!, noncon sex, dog hybrid johnny & bear hybrid simon, kidnapping, trans ftm soap, degradation, forced feminization, breeding kink, bloody kisses, spanking, size difference

read on ao3 - see the pinterest board

Johnny hadn’t meant to get lost. He’d meant to win the goddamn Iditarod instead of coming in second for the fourth year in a row, but nothing in his life has gone to plan recently.

Considering how long he’d been training for this stupid fucking race, you’d think his parents would’ve had him running a half decent musher’s sled - you break your ankle one time and suddenly your parents (your managers when you’re an unlucky bastard like him) act like you’ll never run again, sell you off to the highest bidder, and wipe their hands of you. 

Sure Johnny’s injury still flares with pain sometimes, but he’s perfectly capable of gritting his teeth and running through it, like a real racer. He’d even made a full recovery - cleared by a doctor and everything. It’s bullshit he’d gotten stuck with whoever put up the most money.

This year, the highest bidder happened to be some brat human who thought using daddy’s money to buy the best sled and dog shifters meant he could win the Iditarod. Idiot. A bigoted idiot, too, considering how often he’d spoken to Johnny and all the other shifters like they’re actual dogs when they’d shifted into their dog forms. Johnny had been one expectant snap from biting straight through the dumbass’s hand.

Though for as much of an idiot as he was, the brat hadn’t deserved to die. And he especially didn’t deserve to take 13 other people down with him.

Johnny can’t help but shiver at the memory of their deaths. He’d been the only one to survive, and it was pure luck. He’d never been so close to death.

Their musher had taken a shortcut - an unknown, unexplored shortcut - and it cost the rest of them their lives. Johnny can recall the exact moment he realized they were running on packed ice instead of frozen dirt, the way every dog had tried to stop as they all had the same realization, had heard the same deafening crack.

In the end, Johnny was the only one able to sink his claws into the top of the ice, the only one able to scramble out of the freezing lake and back onto solid ground. He’d been quick enough to get the little booties off his paws, lucky enough to flail in the exact right direction. 

He’d tried to pull his fellow racers up, but hadn’t been able to get a firm hold on any of them. They hadn’t been able to calm their panic enough to think, and he hadn’t been strong enough to lift them up with all the struggling. In the end, all thirteen of them died, floating beneath the thick layer of ice.

He’s lost other shifters on the race before, seen frozen corpses as he’s run, but he already knows that the image of his teammates drowning is one he’s going to see for the rest of his life. The whites of their eyes, the cries so pained they nearly sounded human, the scratches and thumps from beneath the ice as the current took them… already, he sees it all when he blinks.

He’d gotten off the ice as quickly as possible, stumbled into an unfamiliar forest on four paws. Now he treks through a frozen forest, body so wracked with shivers that he can hardly walk straight. Every exhale blinds him for a moment, the clouds of white air blocking his sight of everything else white in the area.

He has no idea what to do. Instinct tells him to keep moving, that he can’t give up, but he has no idea how to get back to the track. Between the “shortcut” and the general unfamiliarity of the area, he’s got no way of knowing if he’s even going in the right direction or if he’s just wandering further away. His best hope is that they send helicopters for wounded racers early, and that one spots him from the sky and picks him up. 

Johnny’s not an idiot, he knows the odds of that happening - or of him being alive to see it happen - are slim to none. What he really needs to do is try and find somewhere warm, but that doesn’t exactly seem possible in the frozen tundra of Alaska.

His pessimistic musings are interrupted by a sound - a growl, to his right and from an uncomfortably close distance.

Johnny nearly jumps out of his skin when he sees the bear only a few meters away.

It’s a big beast even on all fours, has to be nearly eight feet tall at the shoulder. Johnny can’t see much but the shape of it, but that’s enough for him to know he needs to get away as soon as possible. 

He’s taken safety training courses for being lost in the wilderness his whole life, knows that if you spot a polar bear you’re supposed to move away as slowly as possible without looking away, never making any sudden or aggressive moves. So Johnny lowers himself a little closer to the ground, can’t help the soft hiss of air through his teeth at the touch of cold ice against his sensitive belly, and shuffles back as slowly as he can with stiff limbs.

If his vision isn’t failing him, the bear tilts its head. It occurs to Johnny that the bear might be a shifter, but if that’s true he should know to put the pieces together that the husky in the snow is probably a lost racer, and the polite thing to do would be to show he’s a shifter too. Of course, there’s always the chance he’s not polite.

Regardless, Johnny continues his slow shuffles backwards. His heartrate kicks up as the bear moves towards him, but it's mannerisms read more curious than aggressive so Johnny forces himself to lay still and not bolt in another direction. He wouldn’t make it very far anyway, not with the chill seeping into his bones the way it is.

The bear’s even more terrifying from flat on the ground, so tall that it blocks out the sun when it stands over Johnny. He bites back a whimper, fights the instinctual urge to show his belly to a clearly stronger animal.

The bear snuffles along his spine, its warm breath sinking into Johnny’s soaked fur. He feels a tongue poke out to stroke against a small cut on his left side, where either a piece of ice or another shifter's claws had gotten him. It’s not bleeding much anymore - Johnny can hardly even feel the sting with the rest of the cold - but the bear licks it several times anyway, almost like it’s cleaning the small wound.

Johnny’s careful to lay perfectly still, nothing more than his ear twitching as the bear continues its perusal. It’s oddly thorough, even goes so far as to try and force its snout underneath his ribs to try and flip him over. Johnny digs his claws into the snow and goes stiff as he can, and a moment later the bear huffs and moves on.

Once it’s finished looking for whatever it seems to want, it starts to shove at him again. This time it’s pushier, and manages to actually lift Johnny’s bottom half off the ground with a particularly rough shove to his hindlegs.

Eventually Johnny has to stand on his own four legs or he’ll be sent ass over teakettle. He moves a few feet in the direction the bear is nudging him, then settles back into the snow with his ears pressed flat.

That gets him an angry huff, one that has his hackles rising. He shuffles another few steps, then drops again, hoping the damn beast will give up whatever it wants - clearly it’s not dinner, or Johnny would already be torn to shreds. But the fact that he’s still got all of his limbs doesn’t make him any less nervous around the absolute behemoth of a bear.

After his third time moving a few feet and dropping, the bear seems to give up on him. It snorts out an aggravated noise and noses the thick fur at the back of Johnny’s neck before grabbing with his teeth and lifting.

All thoughts of no sudden movements fly out of Johnny’s head and he jerks, yelping at the sudden change, and nearly tears himself away from the bear until there’s a snarl above his head.

The sound speaks to a deep part of Johnny’s hind-brain, the animal part of him that commands go still when met with a predator who outclasses him in every way. Even if he wanted to fight and struggle, his body decides to go limp in the bear’s jaws and he’s left feeling like a scruffed pup. 

The bear walks for a long time, Johnny’s body swaying in his hold. Eventually he takes them to a large cave in the side of a nearby mountain - another point for the shifter theory, since even Johnny knows that polar bears tend to burrow underground rather than make their dens in a cave.

He struggles just a bit when the bear walks into the cave, uncomfortable with being so defenseless in a more closed off area. But another of those menacing growls and his brain works against him, body going limp. There’s a rumble against his shoulder where it rests against the bear’s chest, and Johnny idly wonders if bears purr.

The path through the cave is long and winding, the walls slowly getting closer and closer but never so close that the bear can’t comfortably walk through them.

Finally, after what feels like hours to Johnny’s frostbitten brain, the bear steps into a more open cave. There are furs covering the stone floor from wall to wall, several layered over each other in certain spots, and a roaring fire in the center of the room.

That confirms his shifter theory. No true bear is skinning its prey for their pelts, or starting a fire in their cave. The knowledge that he’s (likely) not going to be eaten allows the last few hints of tension to melt from Johnny’s bones.

He flops like dead weight when the bear drops him without warning in front of the fire. He whines a little, shoots a glare at the beast and rubs a paw over his head in discomfort. He gets a snort in response, and then the bear curves himself around Johnny’s back, making sure to angle him so his other side is facing the fire.

As much as Johnny hates to put so much faith into a stranger, he can’t help but feel safe surrounded by the bear’s warmth. He knows he’s an idiot to trust so quickly, but surely no one with bad intentions would drag him all the way across the forest and deep into their cave? It would’ve been easier to just ignore him completely.

So, against his better judgment, Johnny allows the warmth to lull him to sleep. He rests his head on one of the bear’s paws as a pillow, gives them an affectionate huff before letting himself drift off.

———————————————————————

Johnny wakes up, hours later, in his human skin.

That’s normal - depending on his dreams, he’ll subconsciously shift between human and dog as he sleeps. It’s not odd for Johnny to wake up in completely different places after sleepwalking either, so waking up to feel his human cheek against warm furs isn’t a surprise.

The large hands running over him, the weight resting over his thighs? That’s a surprise.

He blinks his eyes open slowly. His whole body feels soft and soaked in warmth, and the idea of moving seems nearly impossible. He can tell he’s still fully clothed - a pair of mukluks on his feet, his arctic bib and long underwear, his ruff jacket zipped up tight, all the layers beneath pressing his tail down uncomfortably. The only things missing are his mittens and his scarf, but his hands feel unnaturally warm without them anyway.

The cave is dark and the walls are far closer than he remembers them being, the ceiling covered in dancing shadows that almost make Johnny forget where he is until he lifts his head a bit. Instead of the wide open cave he’d fallen asleep in, he’s laying in a much smaller alcove that traps all the heat in its walls.

The bear is definitely a shifter - either that or the human straddling Johnny’s legs is an incredible hunter with complete resistance to the cold. 

The fact that he’s a naked human clicks a moment later in Johnny’s head.

“Wha’...” he moans, shifting and trying to move his elbows beneath him and sit up. He’s stopped by a sudden heavy weight over his chest, the man dropping his elbows beside Johnny’s head and giving him his weight to keep him down.

It works, Johnny’s forced back to the fur-covered floor if only because he wasn’t expecting the sudden weight on his chest. The man growls low in his chest, a pure bear sound that vibrates through Johnny.

The shifter’s handsome as a man. Broad jaw, crooked nose, thin lips, pale skin decorated in scars - just Johnny’s type when he’s looking for a night of quick fun. He’s a big motherfucker too, Johnny’s not a small man but he’s dwarfed beneath the bear. 

“Puppy,” the bear gruffs down at him, severe blue eyes set in a glare. He’s intimidating, but the two fluffy white ears twitching in his blonde hair almost make Johnny’s half-asleep brain want to smile.

Then what he’d said registers, and he scowls instead.

“Puppy? Who the fuck are you calling puppy, you big bastard?” He pushes at the bear’s shoulders, grunts when he doesn’t move even an inch. “Get the fuck off of me.”

The bear listens, leans back but keeps one solid hand laid on Johnny’s chest - the damn thing is massive, his thumb and pinky nearly touching each nipple. 

“Still,” he says, his voice so low it’s almost difficult to understand.

Johnny doesn’t listen, keeps squirming beneath the man. “What are you-?”

He huffs, shakes his head a bit. “Quiet.”

Johnny grunts, glaring up at him. “Can you say more than one word at once, or are you gonna keep doin’ your best caveman impression?”

The bear’s upper lip curls and he pushes on Johnny’s chest, knocking the air out right out of his chest. “Quiet. Be a good mate and listen.”

Oh, fuck no.

“Mate? Oh, you’re out of your mind, fuckin’ bastard. I’m not your goddamn ma-“

He’s cut off by another growl and a harsh press of lips against his own. The bear’s weight is back over him, heavy and suffocating and forcing him down with his chest and his face.

Johnny snarls into the mockery of a kiss, lifts his hands to try and shove the bear off by his shoulders. It’s fruitless, and the bear only licks into his mouth when Johnny tries to speak again. His tongue is thick and warm, pressing up against the roof of Johnny’s mouth and between his lips and teeth.

He growls at that, bites down hard as soon as the intruding tongue is back between his teeth. His sharp canines do the trick, and the taste of blood bursts into his mouth. Johnny’s eyes are wide open and he sees the exact moment the bear registers what he’s done, the way his face contorts itself in anger.

The growl he gets in return almost makes Johnny feel like the ground beneath him is shaking, it’s deafening and vibrates through all of his clothes and right to his ribs.

The bear bites him back in retaliation, leans up just enough to lock his own sharp teeth in Johnny’s bottom lip and pulls upwards. It gets Johnny jerking beneath him, lifting up as much as possible to try and alleviate the pressure.

He can’t help but squeeze his eyes shut at the sharp pain, ears pressed flat to his head and just barely managing to keep a whimper locked in his throat. He almost feels like his lip is going to tear right off, his entire torso lifted from the furs as he tries to follow the bear. It fucking hurts.

He can feel blood drip down his chin, a bit into his mouth, and can't resist the whine this time at the taste. He blinks his eyes open and looks up at the bear’s glare, prays that the wetness gathering in his eyes doesn’t turn to tears.

The bear drops him without warning, and Johnny can’t help but cry out when his head cracks against the ground. Even with the fur beneath him, the stone floor is brutal when he can’t catch himself. If he weren’t pinned so securely he’d curl up, cover his head with his arms until the pain faded.

As it is he tries to throw his arms over his face, but they’re quickly pinned above his head by one massive paw. The man’s other hand rests over Johnny’s throat, his palm pushing right against his pounding pulse.

“Mate,” the man growls again, nose nearly brushing Johnny’s when he bends over. “You were wandering around my territory, you belong to me.”

“That’s bullshit,” Johnny spits, lip throbbing. “I was fuckin’ lost, how was I supposed to know this is your territory?”

The bear smiles cruelly. “Not my problem, puppy. You were wandering, alone, in my territory, and now you’re mine. No point in arguin’. I’m keeping you.”

“My arse there’s no point in arguin’!” Johnny thrashes as much as he can beneath the bear’s weight, back arching as he tries to get enough leverage by planting his feet to throw the man off of him. “You can’t just decide I’m your mate! I don’t even fuckin’ know you!”

The man chuckles lowly, pressing his pelvis against Johnny’s to hold him against the furs. “You’re not goin’ anywhere. You can bitch and moan as much as you want, but you’re gonna stay right here in my den, safe and warm. Keep you stuffed full of my cum, maybe that’ll help you calm down, hm? Need a nice load in your guts, pup?”

Johnny’s eyes fly open at that, his heartbeat kicking up another notch as his squirming grows more panicked. “What the- no, what the fuck? Get off, I’m serious, I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” The bear bites the air just in front of Johnny’s sluggishly bleeding lip, the click of his teeth loud and threatening. “You’ll try and kill me? You can’t even get out from under me, pup.”

Johnny growls at that, bares his teeth and on pure instinct leans up just enough to bite the bear’s throat. The skin is warm between his teeth, and he bites down as hard as he can, the animal part of him wanting to taste blood. 

Instead of the man lurching back and away, as Johnny had assumed and hoped he would, he groans and falls further onto Johnny. To his own horror, he can feel the man hardening against his thigh, even through all the layers of clothing between them.

He bites harder, growls and squeezes his eyes shut while he shakes his head like he would to a rabbit he’d just caught hunting. It doesn’t do anything to the bear, only has him working his hips against Johnny. The moans rumble so loudly in his throat that Johnny’s teeth feel like they’re vibrating in his mouth and leave his gums and tongue tingling.

The bear’s hand moves from his throat up to his face, cupping one cheek in his palm. His hand is so large that his thumb rests on the cleft of Johnny’s chin while his fingers cup the back of his skull, nearly wrapping around to the other side. He doesn’t even try to pull Johnny off, only holds him securely in place.

That gets a little confused noise from Johnny, and when the larger man doesn’t do anything but seemingly appreciate his attack he lets go and reverts to trying to struggle away. The spot he’d been biting glows bright red in the firelight, a clear ring of indentions and individual teeth marks so deep that they’d be impossible to mistake as anything else.

To his own frustration, the bear looks pleased above him. “Already claimin’ me, huh?”

Johnny sputters, rearing away from the man and his grinding hips. “Claiming? Fucking attacking, you goddamn oaf.”

Another rumbling laugh. “You think that’s an attack?” The bear’s hand shifts to give Johnny’s cheek a condescending pat. “That’s real cute, pup. Don’t think I’ll mind so much if you wanna keep attackin’ me, then.”

The nonchalance has Johnny’s temper flaring more than it already was, his booted feet scrabbling against the furs as he tries to rip his wrists away from the man. “You fucking arsehole-!” He grunts when his hands are freed without warning, the weight over his chest disappearing. 

He’s quick to throw himself back and away from the bear, hitting the wall of the cave and bringing his knees up to his chest.

The bear somehow looks bigger than he had hovering over Johnny. He blocks the one opening out of the small cave, the roaring fire casting a warm glow around his body. His skin is pale, nearly snow white, and covered in a myriad of scars - claw marks, bites, what might be arrow wounds, what are definitely bullet wounds, all sorts of markings covering him from head to toe. 

The way he sits - knelt back on his ankles, knees spread wide with his arms crossed - leaves his cock on display. Hard as Johnny might try not to look, it’s right there. He can’t exactly avoid it.

His cock is thick and ruddy, rock hard despite the little stimulation he’s gotten from himself or Johnny. It curves straight up toward his stomach, nearly touching the bear’s belly button. If Johnny had to bet, he’d guess his fingers wouldn’t touch if he grabbed around the shaft. His balls hang low and heavy between his legs, and Johnny can trace a vein on the underside of his shaft even from several feet away.

He has to fight to tear his eyes away from the bear’s lower half. The man’s got another thing coming if he thinks he’s getting that weapon anywhere near any of Johnny’s holes.

The bear’s wearing a small smirk when they lock eyes and Johnny’s cheeks go red at being caught staring.

“No need to be embarrassed, puppy,” he chuckles, shifting to rest more fully on his heels. “You can look all you want. Gonna be inside you real soon, might as well get used to it.”

Johnny scowls at that, pushing himself further into the brick wall. His ears twitch where they’re pointed forward, and he has to make a conscious effort to keep them from pinning flat to his scalp. “In your goddamn dreams. You’re not putting anythin’ inside of me.”

The man’s smirk grows. “That a challenge?”

“It’s fucking true! I’m not letting some hermit in the middle of nowhere fuck me! We’re not goddamn mates, you’re just some freak who found me in the forest after the worst goddamned day of my life, that doesn’t give you any right to-”

“Alright,” the bear sighs heavily, speaking over Johnny’s continued ranting. “Don’t get yourself so worked up.” He leans forward, arms uncrossing and ignoring the way Johnny jerks away.

“What’re you-? Hey!” He shouts when the bear grabs his ankle, tugging firmly so his leg is laid flat, then working to loosen the laces keeping his boots tight. “What do you think you’re doing?!”

He tries to kick the bear in the chest with his free foot, but it’s batted away like nothing more than an annoying fly. “Calm down,” the man grunts, finally getting the first boot undone and tossing both it and his thermal socks over his shoulder, then grabbing Johnny’s other foot and working on it. “Need to get you out of all these damn layers. Has it even occurred to you you shouldn’t be out in the snow if you need all this with you?” He looks strangely disapproving as he gets the other boot off.

“No,” Johnny grunts, wriggling like a fish on a line as the man moves up to his jacket. “Because I don’t take advice from fucking kidnappers who live in caves!”

The man grunts as he starts unzipping Johnny’s jacket, ignoring the hands desperately trying to shove him off. “You will now. You’ll listen to your mate when he tells you to do something, won’t you?”

“No!” Johnny bellows, red in the face from anger. The laugh he gets in response only has him shouting again, his struggles hindered as the man yanks his jacket off and temporarily gets his arms stuck. “I’m not gonna listen to shit you say!”

“Oh, you will,” the bear rumbles. It sounds more like a promise than a threat. “You’ll learn that things will go easier for you when you listen.”

“Oh will they?” Johnny snarls sarcastically, baring his teeth when the man tucks his jacket to the side and starts to work on his arctic bib. 

“Yes.”

“No! They won’t! Because I’m not fucking staying here! And will you quit trying to get me fucking naked?!”

The bear huffs a laugh, pulling the top half of the bib down so it hangs over his thick pants, leaving just a long-sleeved shirt on his torso. His tail unfurls beneath the shirt, folded uncomfortably beneath his body. “You’ll overheat in all these layers. The den is more than warm enough to keep you comfortable, no need for your silly human clothes.”

“There is a need!” Johnny grouses, finally lifting his foot enough to plant it firmly on the bear’s chest and keep him back, even for just a moment. “It’s my need to keep myself covered from a pervert like you!”

“Pervert, freak, hermit, kidnapper… not very kind names for your mate, pup,” the bear hums, one hand lifting to hold Johnny’s ankle loosely and running his thumb over the top of his foot. “The locals call me Ghost. But you can call me Simon.”

Johnny scowls again, the expression carved deep into his face at this point. “I’ll call you whatever I fuckin’ want.” He runs through his knowledge of local legends mentally, but the name Ghost doesn’t ring a single bell. If he’s actually known at all, it can’t be by much more than one or two tiny towns. 

“Sure you will,” the man smiles, leans forward into Johnny’s space and tightens his grip on his ankle. “I’ll call you whatever I want, too - mate, puppy, mutt, bitch, hole, fucktoy…”

Johnny’s sure steam must be coming out of his ears as he pulls his leg back and kicks the bear - Simon - solidly in the chest. It doesn’t even make him flinch, and Johnny only manages to frustrate himself more, ears straight up in his anger. “Oi, fuck you! I’m a fucking person, not just some thing for you to take and keep, you big bastard!”

“Take and keep and fuck,” Simon corrects, the grin on his face sharp and mean. He shoves Johnny’s foot out of the way, crawls forward until he can lean both hands on either side of Johnny’s head and block his view of anything else. “Now, what should I call you, hm?”

“Nothin’,” Johnny growls, ducking his head low to avoid being nose-to-nose with the man. He’s so hot in close proximity like this, it’s almost suffocating. “You should let me go.”

“Let you go?” Ghost purrs, one hand moving from the wall to Johnny’s neck and stroking the tan skin there. “Out in the cold again? Thought you were lost, pup, you want me to send you out there all alone to find your way back to town? Send my puppy wandering out in the snow?”

“You could give me directions to the nearest town,” Johnny counters, not allowing himself to work up any hope that the bear was doing anything more than playing with him. Still, he can’t help but glance up through his lashes to watch his  expression. It’s mocking, like he’d expected but naively hoped against. He curses himself for the spark of disappointment in his chest.

“Nearest town’s miles away. I’m not makin’ that trip just to get rid of my pretty new mate.” Ghost ducks his head down, burying his nose in Johnny’s mohawk in between his ears and breathing deeply. “No, I’m gonna keep you right here with me. You’ll be just fine.”

Johnny can’t help but shudder. In this position - bent in half, legs folded up to his chest, big naked behemoth of a man covering him - he feels oddly submissive and vulnerable in a way he usually doesn’t. It’s been a while since he wasn’t one of the top dogs in a pack, and he finds he deeply dislikes being lower on the totem pole. He has to fight the urge to tuck his tail, only really managing to resist the urge because it’s trapped beneath his body.

“You don’t even know me,” he tries to argue, fighting back a flinch when the face against his head moves down to his cheek, hot breath gusting over his face.

“That can come later. Why don’t you start by telling me your name, huh pup?”

He doesn’t want to. Giving Simon his name, obeying his command, feels too much like giving in for his comfort. But the other names he’d used… mutt, bitch, fucktoy… he has to fight back another shudder at the thought of being called any of those words again.

“Johnny,” he finally says, voice hardly more than a whisper in the shadowy cave.

“Johnny,” the bear repeats, voice dropping lower and rumbling through the side of Johnny’s head. “That’s good, puppy. Good boy for listenin’.”

He just barely manages to trap a whine in his throat, eyes squeezing shut for a moment at the praise. 

“Now,” Simon continues, finally leaning back and nudging Johnny’s chin up with the hand not against the cave wall. “Let’s get the rest of these clothes off, hm?”

“No,” Johnny grunts when both of Ghost’s hands drop to the laces of his pants and make quick work of loosening them. “I don’t- stop, you can’t-”

His words go ignored and his thick pants are pulled down quickly, left abandoned to Simon’s side as he then starts on pulling the arctic bib the rest of the way.

The only things left to cover him now are the long underwear and shirt, but he already feels naked. Johnny forces himself to start fighting again, trying to push at Ghost’s shoulders and keep him away. His tail wraps tight around his thigh, fur rising in fear.

“No,” Ghost scolds, catching both of Johnny’s hands in his and holding them still. His glare is stern, but not mean like it had been earlier. “Stop struggling, pup. Let your mate do what he wants.”

“No,” Johnny protests, his voice weaker than it was before. “I don’t want you to touch me, just… just let me be, okay? I’ll find my way to town on my own, you don’t even have to give me directions!”

Ghost sighs, shifting both of Johnny’s wrists to one hand and cupping his throat with the other. “Johnny,” he rumbles, thumb stroking over his pounding heartbeat. “How many times do I have to say it? There’s no point in fightin’ me like this. You’re not going anywhere. You’re gonna stay in my den, let me fuck you, and I’ll take good care of you.”

Johnny can’t help but whine a little, unable to break eye contact with Simon. “I don’t want to.”

“I know,” Ghost hums. “But you will. And you’ll see how good it can be when you behave.”

He lifts his hand enough to pat Johnny’s cheek, seemingly done with the conversation. “Now, no more arguin’ and whinin’. We’ll see if a good dicking helps with your attitude at all, hm?”

Johnny’s never felt quite so much like a doll as he does when Simon removes the rest of his clothes. No matter how much he writhes and complains, he’s still stripped naked and left bare beneath the shifter, struggling limbs held out of the way like they’re nothing more than a slight annoyance.

Ghost hums as he sits back again, takes a long look down Johnny’s body. He tries to cover his groin, self-conscious under the bear’s probing stare, but his hands are caught and held to the side of his body by just one massive paw. 

“No, no,” Ghost chides, tone light despite how secure his hold is. “I wanna see your pretty body, pup. You got nothin’ to hide from me.”

Johnny whines a little at that, squirming as Simon slowly pushes him down to lay flat against the furs. The bear slides one knee between his legs, nudging them wider and leaving his sensitive core open to the air.

“Oh, look’it you,” he coos like he’s seeing something cute, keeping Johnny’s hands pinned as he leans down and noses at Johnny’s stomach, taking big huffing breaths in and slowly making his way lower. “You’re so soft here, pup.” He praises, running his nose over the meat of Johnny’s cunt.

“S-stop,” Johnny whines, hips shifting against the furs to try and move away. “Don’t- don’t touch me.”

“Hush,” Ghost says, leaving a hot kiss where he’d been nosing and ducking a little lower, tracing Johnny’s folds with his nose and breathing in deep. “Let me get to know your pretty pussy, gonna be spendin’ quite a bit of time with her.”

Johnny whines at that, high and loud, echoing against the stone walls. “Not a- not a her.”

“No?” Ghost laughs a little, spreading Johnny’s legs wider and settling himself between them. “She’s pretty like a girl. Pink like a girl. Nice and clean for me like a girl, not furry or messy at all. Let’s see how she tastes.” He laves his tongue, thick and warm and wet, up Johnny’s center from hole to clit. “Yeah, she’s sweet like a girl, too.”

Johnny whines again at that, eyes squeezed shut and a little teary. He can feel sparks of pleasure low in his belly, sharp and unwanted. “Please,” he tries, incapable of much else when Ghost licks a few times at his clit.

“Hm?” The bear rumbles, the noise vibrating through his sensitive nub and straight to his head. Johnny whimpers again. “Please what, pup? Please lick her again? Y’think she wants that?”

He does just that, mimics his movement exactly and adds to the gathering wetness at Johnny’s hole. As much as he fights it, the action feels good and Johnny goes a little boneless against the furs. He keeps his eyes closed, isn’t quite brave enough to look down at Ghost between his legs. His tail falls limp, resting next to him, but his ears stay pinned to his head in fear.

“Y’like that?” Simon rumbles, his thumb stroking over both of Johnny’s wrists slowly. “She sure does. Gonna focus on keeping her happy for a bit, I’ll come back to you later, alright pup?”

He doesn’t wait for Johnny to answer - he doubts he’d have been able to - and instead dives tongue-first into Johnny’s core. It doesn’t take long for Ghost to warm him up, the rhythmic work of his tongue against Johnny’s little cock enough to have him dripping slick in moments. 

He moves a little lower to tongue at Johnny’s hole, thrusts shallowly in and out and scoops any slick he can into his own mouth. Johnny’s reduced to just a moaning thing beneath him, hips writhing as his body and mind war between the urge to get closer and further at the same time. Ghost’s nose rubs right against his clit when he works at Johnny’s hole, and the dual stimulation leaves him slack-jawed and moaning.

Ghost’s free hand creeps from his thigh up to his cunt slowly, so slowly that Johnny hardly realizes it’s moving at all until there’s a finger right at his hole. He can’t help but jolt when the finger presses in, the sudden feeling only heightening his arousal. It’s an unexpected stretch - just one of Simon’s fingers is at least as thick as two of Johnny’s.

“Need somethin’ to clench on,” Ghost mumbles, almost to himself more than to Johnny. 

Or, it hits him a moment later, not to Johnny at all. Just to his cunt.

He nearly wails at the realization, the mix of humiliation and the feeling of that finger curling inside of him a cocktail of sensations that has him inching closer and closer to an orgasm.

“There ya go,” Simon soothes, giving his clit languid strokes with his tongue. “We’ll get you off once, then work on stuffin’ you full of me. Attagirl.”

Tears slip down Johnny’s face as another finger slides in, the stretch not quite painful but definitely noticeable. His hips grind down on the intrusion against his own will, the constant flicks against his clit crossing every wire in his brain. His eyes stay closed, the dark a comfort when he feels so untethered.

“Let's find your sweet spot,” Ghost murmurs quietly, his fingers crooking and searching inside of Johnny. The burn of the stretch leaves him mewling, toes curling against the furs. Ghost hums, gives his clit a few sucks to quiet him down a bit, reducing him to just pants.

Then, without warning, Simon’s fingers zero in on Johnny’s g-spot and press.

His back arches automatically, a loud cry tearing from his throat when Ghost only presses harder at his reaction, giving the bundle of nerves heavy rubs and milking Johnny’s pleasure. He wraps his lips around his clit, sucking hard and long.

“There she is,” he rumbles around the nub. His voice vibrates through Johnny, sending him reeling.

“Oh, oh, please- please, please, please, fuck, that’s- oh God-” Johnny babbles, body tense and pleasure ridden as every part of him fights to get away from the overwhelming sensation. Ghost’s fingers don’t let up, the pressure more than Johnny’s ever felt before, and he flicks his tongue over the clit locked between his lips. He’s never felt pleasure like this, has no defenses against the way it ravages his body.

“Fuck- fuck! Simon, please, oh, oh G-God, oh, fuck, fuck…. Please!” Johnny shouts, eyes flying open to stare at the stone ceiling as he’s finally thrown off the precipice he’d been hovering over, pleasure wracking every limb and racing through every nerve. He moans loud enough to echo as his body slowly goes limp against the furs, muscles weak like all of his strength has drained from his cunt.

The pressure against his g-spot slowly eases as Ghost slips his fingers out of him, his lips releasing his clit. The bear sits up and releases his wrists, letting both of his own hands rest against Johnny’s thighs and giving him a few squeezes.

Johnny blinks bleary eyes open, drawn to the bear’s face against his will. The man looks nothing but smug, chin soaked and eyes bright.

“Hey, Johnny,” he breathes, leaning down and moving his hands to rest on either side of Johnny’s head. He hovers right above him, breath ghosting over his face in warm puffs. “That feel good, comin’ for me?”

Johnny makes a little complaining sound, not quite capable of speech yet. His ears flick out to the side, reflecting the weird mix of displeasure and satisfaction he feels.

“Aw,” Ghost clicks his tongue, dips just low enough to press a closed-mouth kiss to Johnny’s lips, unbothered when it’s unreciprocated. “Yeah, I know it did. You taste real sweet, love. Gonna have you for dessert every night.”

Johnny huffs at that, the reference to a future together dragging his brain back down to his body. He doesn’t have a chance to get himself worked up as Ghost keeps pressing kisses to his lips. He shifts a bit every few kisses, decorating his cheeks and chin too. His lips brush nearly every inch of Johnny’s face, leaving him blushing and a little soft.

This- this isn’t so bad. Johnny doesn’t mind the kisses, the warmth and the pleasure. But the idea of Ghost trying to sheath that cock inside of him… just the thought has him whimpering a little, eyebrows furrowing.

“What?” Ghost whispers, lifting himself just enough to meet Johnny’s eyes, bumping their noses together. “What’s got you cryin’ now?”

Johnny inhales deeply, doesn’t feel any better when it shudders into his lungs and whooshes right back out.

“Please,” he tries, voice quiet between the two of them. “Please don’t fuck me.”

Ghost sucks his teeth, his face a horrible mix between smug and condescending. “Aw, puppy,” he shifts his weight, one hand moving to stroke his cheek. He doesn’t do much actual stroking, considering how large his hand is compared to Johnny’s face. “‘Course I’m gonna fuck you. It’s what good mates do, hm? Gotta give you a few cubs.”

Johnny whimpers at that, a little pained sound at the image that conjures.

“No?” Ghost coos, tapping once with his thumb. “You want a litter of pups, then?”

Johnny’s voice cracks on a sob, a horrible hurt sound punching from his chest. He squeezes his eyes shut against the humiliation, turning his head to the side and pressing his face into the furs.

“Aw, pup,” the bear whispers, nose nudging at the cheek available to him. “You’re alright, you’re alright. You’ll like it, promise. I’m not gonna hurt ya, you’ll be taken care of here. Gonna make such a good daddy, I don’t even care if they come out as silly little mutts like you.”

It’s a conscious effort to breathe. His chest hitches on every inhale, and his nose is blocked up from all the crying. His throat burns. He can hardly think.

“Needed a mate for a while now,” Ghost continues, speaking into Johnny’s skin. He alters between kissing and licking, but never leaves more than an inch of space between his lips and Johnny’s head. “Knew it, but there’s no one around any good to raise my cubs. But I think you’ll do well, won’t you?”

“No,” Johnny finally says, voice weak. “No, no, I don’t want… you can’t.”

“You’ll look even prettier,” Ghost continues, heedless of Johnny’s whine. “Round with me and mine, soft and perfect for me. Maybe these will swell up a little.” His hand strays to Johnny’s flat chest, fingers working at his nipple. Little pinches and pulls, a bit of pain that still manages to feel good.

“Stop,” Johnny tries again, tears slipping down his nose again. Every exhale is shaky, a little whimper in his breaths.

“I’ll provide for you, don’t worry.” His fingers massage Johnny’s pec, like he’s trying to coax something out of the nipple. “Take such good care of my mate. Get him whatever he wants, never let him leave…” Ghost’s voice dips so low that it’s near incoherent as he licks broad stripes up the side of Johnny’s face between sentences, words almost slurred. “You’ll be perfect.”

Johnny can’t hold back the sobs anymore, one ripping from his throat against his will and unblocking the dam he’d built in his head. He’s left nearly bawling into the furs, body tense as a bowstring, eyes stinging, ears flat and tail tucked. He can’t even begin to imagine how pathetic he looks.

“Oh, Johnny,” Ghost sighs, a little bit of clarity reentering his voice. “Alright, sweetheart, deep breaths. I think you need a fucking, hm?”

“No-ooo.”

“Hush, you’re alright, A nice cock in your cunt will make you feel better, I promise. Just need to give you what you deserve. On your stomach for me now.”

He’s already halfway there, it doesn’t take much work for Ghost to flip him entirely. He hefts Johnny’s hips up like he’s a doll, settling him so his knees are spread wide but his weight is left on his chest and face, pressed into the furs. He ends up with his face buried in his folded arms, tears dripping down to the floors

“Hips up, puppy, c’mon. Present for me.”

Johnny doesn’t listen but that doesn’t deter Simon from pushing on the small of his back, forcing his hips higher into the air and leaving his holes displayed. Ghost tsks at the way Johnny’s tail is tucked, blocking all of his vulnerable spots. 

“No hiding, now,” he chides, tugging his tail out of the way just roughly enough to make him yelp. Simon holds it by the base, keeps him from tucking it again immediately with a firm grip. “There we go, look how pretty,” Ghost hums, stroking his free hand fully down the split of Johnny’s body, spreading his slick. “Nice and soaked for me.”

“Not-” Johnny hiccups, trying to take a deep breath. “Not my fault.”

There’s a laugh behind him, loud in the small alcove and just patronizing enough to make Johnny’s heart sink even further. “No? I think it is, pup. Who else’s fault would it be?”

“You. Can’t-can’t help it when you keep touchin’ me.”

He knows it’s the wrong thing to say as soon as Ghost rumbles a low, pleased sound. “Can’t help it? Can’t help that you’re so needy, such a slut for my touch?”

Johnny whines, tail flicking nervously in the air.

“Oh, you’re sweet, pup. Real sweet. Your puppycunt just can’t help getting wet for her mate, yeah? She knows who she belongs to, knows ‘m gonna take real good care of her.”

Johnny bites his lip to hold back the whine, his sharp canine digging into the cut Simon left and reopening it. He focuses on the drops of blood dripping to the furs, tries not to think about what Ghost is saying, but it burrows deep into his head. He can feel his cunt twitching, clenching around nothing.

“Don’t worry, I won’t make you suffer much longer - what kinda mate would I be if I left you empty when you’re dripping for it? I’ll take care of you, pup, just relax.”

As much as Johnny hates everything that’s happening, hates everything that’s brought him to this moment, he can’t help but feel the tiniest bit grateful when Ghost slips two fingers into him instead of his cock. He’s still not sure he’ll be able to take it, but if Ghost is going to make him… he’s at least glad for the stretch.

Simon rubs one hand over the curve of his ass while the other scissors two fingers inside of him, his goal to stretch instead of getting Johnny off. It doesn’t make much of a difference for him, he still can’t help but rock his hips against the bear’s hand, unable to resist more of the heady pleasure.

Ghost laughs over his shoulder. “Need it that bad, huh? Be patient, Johnny. Just gotta wait a little longer.”

He whines into his arms, eyes squeezed shut. Even he’s not sure if he’s whining for more or less, but he can’t let himself think about it. He unintentionally sinks into a deeper arch, leaning more weight on his knees and spreading his cunt further, baring himself more for Ghost.

“Good boy. Just relax for me, I’ve got you, pup.”

He slips a third finger in and Johnny tries to breathe through the stretch, just barely managing to keep from moaning. The tang of blood on his tongue is a good distraction, but not enough to keep him from panting like he’s run a marathon. He can’t help it, Ghost’s fingers feel good in a way no one else ever has. He can’t imagine what his cock will feel like, barely managing to hold back a shiver at the thought.

Eventually, Ghost pulls his fingers out of Johnny. There’s an almost obnoxiously loud sucking sound, and a pleased rumble from Ghost as his free hand moves to stroke the base of Johnny’s tail softly, leaving him squirming.

“Taste so good, pup. Can’t believe I got so lucky with you.”

Johnny whimpers, shifting his weight from side to side to try and ease the slight ache in his knees. It doesn’t occur to him until he hears Simon moan that he’s literally waving his holes in front of the man’s face. 

“Hungry fuckin’ bitch,” Ghost nearly snarls, voice pitching lower. “Need cock so bad, don’t you? Need your puppycunt filled? Huh?”

He lands a heavy slap on Johnny's backside and he can’t help but cry out at the sudden flare of pain, the sting quickly fading into a burning that travels right to his clit. He whines, lifting his head just enough to glare over his shoulder.

Simon looks nearly as wrecked as Johnny feels - his cheeks are flushed and his chest heaves, panting breaths audible in the otherwise silent cave. He’s got a hunger in his eyes that makes Johnny shiver, makes his tail twitch to tuck between his legs again.

“Nuh-uh,” Ghost scolds, gripping the appendage and yanking with just enough force to make Johnny yelp. He instinctually claws at the furs, lifting himself up to try and pull away from the sharp pain at the base of his spine. “What did I say about hiding, huh? Can’t fuck you if you’re tuckin’ your tail, pup.”

“That’s- that’s why-” Johnny tries to argue, teeth gritted, but he’s cut-off by a series of blows, forcing him further into the furs to try and escape the blooming pain. He makes a humiliating sound somewhere between a snarl of rage and a whine of pain, eyes flying wide open.

“That’s why what?” Ghost growls, landing a smack across the center of his ass, nearly clipping his soaked folds. “That’s why you’re doin’ it? Then why are you moanin’ like a whore, huh? Your hole’s dripping, Johnny, you’re gonna stain my furs and you want me to think you don’t want it?”

Johnny can’t speak, can only make choked, pained sounds as Simon continues his barrage. His hand is so big compared to Johnny, he covers nearly his entire ass on every spank. Johnny wants to roll over, wants to tuck his tail and show his stomach, but he knows that would only make everything worse.

“I’ve been real lenient with you, let you sit there doin’ nothing but bitchin’ and moanin’, but my patience isn’t endless, Johnny.” Simon grips his flaming cheek, digging his nails into the irritated skin and drawing a high whine from the smaller man. “All you have to do is lay still and let me fuck a little into you, and you can’t even do that right?” He scoffs, lands another blow against the meat of Johnny’s ass.

“I’m-” Johnny gasps, burying his face into the furs. “I can’t- fuck, stop!”

“Why should I? You’re still soaked, mutt. Doesn’t seem to matter much to your cunt if I’m wailin’ on you or pettin’ you. This what you need to start being sweet for me? Huh?” He reddens Johnny’s ass on nearly every word, leaving him wiggling in place and trying to crawl away. The hand anchored around the base of his tail is the only thing keeping him within arms reach, and the sharp pain leaves tears leaking down Johnny’s cheeks. “Need me to be mean for you to learn your manners, is that it?”

“No-no!” Johnny manages to get out between whines. He tries to breathe through the pain, but Simon layers his smacks in just the right spot to hit a tender area on every impact, and the effect leaves Johnny wanting to scream.

“Then where are they, huh? I’ve been good to you - stretched you out, ate your little cunt, even got you off. Didn’t get any thanks, did I?”

His palm shifts lower, focusing on the crease where Johnny’s thighs meet his ass. Simon’s fingers clip his folds on nearly every smack, leaving Johnny jolting around to try and get away and yelping at the pain.

It takes him a minute to get what Ghost’s asking for, but once he understands he doesn’t hesitate to give it. He can’t even bring himself to care about the humiliation of it all, only wants the pain to stop.

“Th-thank you!” He nearly shouts, eyes squeezed shut against the pain, ears pressed so tight to his skull that they nearly ache. “I’m sorry, so sorry, I just- fuck, please! Thank-thank you, thank you!”

“There you go,” Ghost rumbles, his hand immediately switching from smacking to rubbing across the whole of Johnny’s backside, shushing his whine. “Was that so hard?”

Johnny keens loudly, shoulders shaking as he tries to hold back his sobs.

“We’ll make a good boy out of you yet. C’mon now, back up on your knees.” Ghost slips a hand between his thighs, pushing Johnny’s stomach up and simultaneously tugging on his tail to urge him back into his position. He goes with minimal struggling, far too raw to fight anymore, left only with the instinct to avoid anything that could get him in more trouble with the bear

“There you go, attaboy,” Ghost praises, finally releasing Johnny’s tail and laying it across his back. “Bein’ good for me now, huh? Thought you mighta had a little more fight in you, Johnny.”

There’s a part of him that growls at that, that snarls and bites and proves that he does have more fight, that he’s not easy prey. But the larger part recognizes a stronger predator when it sees one, and urges Johnny to listen. That’s the voice that wins out, and he whines when Ghost laughs.

“Still wet for me, huh? Such a good mate, Johnny. Gonna give you a reward for learning, alright? Hush, pup, don’t whine. It’ll be good, I promise.”

Johnny sniffles, rubbing his nose into the furs beneath him. He whimpers when he feels something hot press against his hole, knows that it can only be Ghost’s cock.

“Be good,” Ghost says, then slowly begins to force his way inside.

Johnny feels like he’s being broken, like he’s being cleaved down the middle. He moans lowly, more pain than pleasure now as the stretch begins to hurt. He wants to crawl away, wants to dig his claws into fur and stone until he escapes the incessant push of Simon inside of him.

The bear moans loudly behind him, voice echoing through the cave as his head pops fully inside. “Fuck.”

More tears slip down Johnny’s cheeks. The push is endless, a constant pressure against his hole, the cock pushing into parts of him nothing’s ever touched. He throbs with need, his clit almost burning from neglect. He just barely manages to keep himself from reaching down, some last part of him clinging to what little dignity he has left.

“T-tight,” Ghost grunts, hips bucking forward with just enough force to make Johnny shout and push up from the furs at the shock of pain. “Fuck, you’re fine pup, get back down.”

Johnny whines at the command, but obeys when a heavy hand lands between his shoulder blades.

“There you go, good boy. Just… fuck, squeezing me so tight. Just let me fuck you, alright? I’ll get you off too, just gotta… just gotta be patient f’r me.”

Johnny’s hardly able to understand what Simon is saying, most of the words fluttering in one ear and out the other. He’s too focused on the invasion of his body, the internal betrayal as he only grows more wet between the thighs. He can feel himself fluttering around Ghost, both of them moaning every time he clenches down on the thick shaft against his will. 

Finally, mercifully, Simon bottoms out. His balls are hard against Johnny’s cock, but they feel perfect when Ghost grinds himself deep, the head of his cock nudging Johnny’s cervix. He yelps at the first hint of pain, jerking in the furs.

“Shh, shh…” Ghost soothes, stroking down Johnny’s spine in long, slow motions. “You’re alright, deep breaths, pup. I know, it’s a lot of cock for a little thing like you isn’t it?”

Johnny whimpers, nodding into the furs.

“Yeah, you’re… fuck, clench like that again, pup, God… you’re so little, huh? Tiny puppycunt hardly big enough for me, that right?”

He pulls his hips back just enough to shove in again, sending Johnny forward a few inches and drawing a high yelp at the sharp spark of pain.

“Shit, how’re you so tight?’ Simon pants, one hand gripping Johnny’s hip hard enough to nearly grind bone. “You clenchin’ down on me cause it hurts? Do I need to hit you some more to keep you tight for me, puppy?”

Johnny shakes his head as best he can, just barely managing to choke out a  “N-no!” as Ghost starts to find a slow rhythm, rocking in and out of his body. 

He hums, like he doesn’t quite believe Johnny, but he gives him a warm and solid squeeze to the nape of his neck, and he doesn’t hit him again. Johnny tries to breathe a sigh of relief, but he chokes on it as Ghost bottoms out again.

It doesn’t get any easier to bear. Johnny can never fully catch his breath, not if Ghost is pulling out to just the tip and thrusting back in on one fast plunge, and not if he’s just grinding himself right against Johnny’s cervix. It’s like he’s lost control of his lungs like his heart - both erratic, both making him feel like a struggling prey animal, even as he’s limp beneath Simon.

The bear is all but silent, for all of his horrible words before. Johnny would call it a mercy, but the way his fat cock bullies endlessly into his cunt could never be merciful, even in the near-silence. Johnny’s sure Simon doesn’t even know how to be merciful, not with the way he speaks, the way he takes.

Johnny can’t bring himself to be silent, though. He hates it, but the sounds are forced out of him on every thrust. Horrible, cock hungry moans, whorish whines, yipping noises that sound like they’re coming from the wrong form. His face flames, tears streaking down his cheeks, but he can’t hold anything in.

He feels unspooled beneath Ghost. Like the man had taken one look at him, found all his loose strings, and just plucked and pulled until he came completely undone. Johnny would hate him if it didn’t feel so good, but his mind works against him when it’s so overloaded.

With a hand clamped on Johnny’s nape and the other on his hip, Simon fucks him with a vigor that feels impossible - impossible to bear, and impossible to keep up with. His own drool smears against his cheek when it’s pressed into the furs, unable to do anything but take what Ghost gives.

Simon eventually finds a rhythm that allows him to pull nearly completely out and bury himself back to the hilt on every thrust, leaning what has to be most of his body weight against Johnny’s nape to keep himself at the right angle to nudge his cervix again and again.

It hurts - the stretch, the drag of his cock against slick walls, the sharp shocks on every thrust - but the pain only makes it better. Johnny can’t help but moan, humping the air in his best attempt to push Ghost for more.

“So good, puppy,” he moans, pace quickening. The slap-slap-slap of skin is audible, Johnny’s wetness only making everything sound more crass. “So tiny for me, squeezin’ around your mate’s cock so good… gonna make you feel so good, give you a reward for keepin’ yourself tight.”

Johnny’s whine is high, needy, and a distant part of him hates it but the present part is too wrapped up in the promise of feeling good to care.

“My good, tight girl. Didn’t let anyone else fuck you, huh? You a virgin, baby?”

He’s not - far from it, actually - but Ghost doesn’t answer and moans at whatever image he’s conjured in his head.

“Stay… oh fuck, stayed fresh for me? Didn’t let any other men make your cunt loose, did’ya? No, no,” he’s panting, his pace so quick, so hard, that Johnny would almost be convinced he was using a toy if not for his audible exertion. “No, my girl stayed nice and tight for me. She doesn’t have a sloppy cunt, not my mate.”

Johnny sobs at the shift of pronouns, the feminization. He feels something rise in him, a heat that comes from deep inside and feels like it might burn him up entirely. Johnny hopes it does, hopes it consumes him for long enough to forget what’s happening, what’s happened.

“She’s gonna…” he trails off into a snarl, biting roughly at Johnny’s shoulder before pulling back at his shout. “She’s gonna carry my cubs, take such good care of them. Keep my cum warm, then keep my babies warm… so good, gonna be so… fuck, puppy, I can’t… you’re too fucking good, can’t…” he huffs, trailing off into pure animal noises, growls and snarls the vibrate through Johnny’s spine.

Simon shifts a little on his knees, making his cock drive further up into Johnny’s channel and drawing a moan that sounds more like a scream from him. After that, it’s hardly any time at all before he’s coming.

Ghost’s orgasm is loud, something uninhibited and almost proud in the sounds he makes. Johnny can feel the hot cum spurting inside of him, feel it covering his insides. The few final erratic thrusts he gets are just enough for him to reach the peak too, that fire finally coming up to coat every limb, every nerve of his body. His ears fold over, flopping to the front of his head, and his tail falls limp to the side of his body.

He sinks into it eagerly, desperate to drown his brain in everything good to try and block out the bad. It works, and he’s left feeling like nothing but a brainless toy as Ghost shudders through the final vestiges of his own orgasm. Johnny lays boneless, riding the waves of euphoria and milking Simon’s cock slowly, trying to draw every drop of pleasure from the bear he can, trying to keep himself in this moment.

But it has to end, and Ghost’s breathing slowly evens out as he softens inside of Johnny. He can’t tell if it’s his own wetness or Simon’s come dripping from his hole, and he can’t work up the energy to care either.

“That was perfect, Johnny,” Ghost praises, his hand trembling just the slightest bit as he shifts from holding the smaller man down to stroking his spine again. “You were perfect, so good for me. My good boy. My pretty mate.”

Johnny whines, but even he can’t tell what the sound is supposed to mean. Later he’ll insist it was upset, displeasure but it sounds more like appreciation.

“You tired, puppy?”

He nods as best he can, unintentionally rubbing his face into his own spit and blood.

“Alright, you can nap. You’ve earned it, Johnny.”

Ghost tips him to the side with a soft grip on his ribs, keeping himself firmly lodged within Johnny and pulling his back to his chest. They’re left spooning, Simon’s back to then entrance of the cave and both of them pressed so tightly together than Johnny’s not sure they’ll ever be able to pull apart.

“Relax now,” Simon rumbles, one hand wrapping beneath Johnny’s head to let him use as a pillow and the other tucked around his waist, holding him close. He buries his nose in Johnny’s mohawk, and Johnny can feel his ears pressing against the bear’s cheeks. “We’ll figure everything else out later.”

Johnny shifts, wincing at the squeeze to his stomach and the weight still resting inside of him. “Can you…?”

Ghost grunts a low, disapproving sound. “No. Gotta keep you plugged up, make sure it takes.”

If he had any tears left, Johnny might cry again. But he’s drained, emotionally and physically exhausted from all the day’s trauma, and he’s got nothing left to give.

So he sinks into the heat at his back, the solid arms around him. He feels almost shell shocked, staring at the way the shadows dance across the wall with a heavy bear behind him. If it weren’t for the thick cock plugging him up, he’d almost call the scene domestic.

Eventually, the peaceful embrace of sleep welcomes him. He doesn’t try to fight it off, desperate to leave the cave if only in his subconscious mind. 

Against his better knowledge, he can’t help but hope when he next opens his eyes he won’t see the cave at all. He knows it’s bad to hope, knows he’s only setting himself up for disappointment, but… Well, if he pretends the heat surrounding him is from his blankets, that the pleasant scent in the air is his den, not the heavy smell of satisfaction, then that’s his business.

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 | Not The Same

He's not the same- and neither are you. And you'll never be, as long as he can prevent that.

Tags/Warnings: Alien!Jungkook, Human!Reader, dystopian AU, space/Sci-fi/cyberpunk-esque, Enemies to lovers, Angst, Violence, Drama, romance, adult, angst, potentially triggering content, mentions of prostitution, fluff??, injury

Length: 2.8k words

There is no taglist for this fic.

-> Masterlist

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You really only sleep on the ship and leave right after, because Jungkook told you he doesn't trust them enough to stay much longer than you both have to.

And you'd also probably be in the way of repairs- so you both roam around the surrounding city instead, looking around for ways to make money.

Jungkook plans on selling some of the cargo he has. Mainly Steel from earth- though the issue is that currently, no vendor you've visited wants to take it, and any other one that's in the surrounding areas is way too far away out of town to just walk to. There's some alarm to take caution today, because a certain gas is higher in the atmosphere especially outside of the city- so Jungkook denied any of your attempts at telling him to go alone instead then, since his body would not really have any reaction to the change in the air.

But he refuses. Says he can't leave you alone, for some reason you're not sure of.

What he doesn't take into account is however, that he does, occasionally, leave you out of sight. For example right now, as he went into a store to buy something- and you can't stand here and just wait until disaster strikes. He needs the money, his ship is important- and from what you could tell from the destination coordinates inside the control station, he seems to have a tight schedule ahead that he already will have trouble to keep up. And either way, it's time for you to repay him his hospitality- after all, the only reason you're healthy and still alive and not in captivity, is because he simply decided that.

And it's a kind decision, even if he didn't mean for it to be one.

So you feel in your pocket for the little device for his ship, and look for an opportunity to vanish- doing it exactly as he seems to argue about payment for something, a perfect chance since he's distracted now.

The city is bustling, loud, fast paced and intimidating. But it's nothing you can't manage- signs and a rough idea of the city's layout giving you enough hints to help you know where you have to go. That place is a vendor, far out of town- about a three hour walk. Manageable- you're used to walking most of the days anyways from your past homelessness on earth, so it's not out of question.

You just hope that you find the right person, and don't run into some bad news along the way.

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Back at the store, Jungkook is absolutely panicking inside.

You're gone, completely vanished, not even a trace of your scent remaining to help him find you. And while he could always just regroup and settle himself before freaking out, you kind of have his main communication device with you- which makes him worry about your intentions, considering how much you've tried just hours prior to make him sell you after all, just to fund the repairs for his ship.

He can't even think about doing that. He's not his father.

He asks around if anyone has seen you, before he even thinks about your collar. He could just have you searched by law enforcement, and he's steady on the way towards a station, when he stutters. They'll probably shoot you down if you run, and considering your past, you'd definitely run.

So instead, he walks around, goes hint after hint to somehow try and figure out what the hell your plan is. You definitely didn't return to the ship, so he's safe in that department- it would be a nightmare to somehow make those guys understand that you are not for sale, and weren't allowed to just.. sell yourself like that. And if he was to lock his communication device, they'd surely ping you and you'd be labeled a thief- which would just get you hunted down again.

For now, you're safe with his collar around your neck, his name, ship number and citizen ID engraved in it. Currently, you're owned and basically free to move around-

and he hopes you don't get the stupid idea of trying to get rid of it.

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Your nose is burning. The back of your throat is equally in pain- just like your chest, breath tasting like iron as if you'd ran a marathon too fast, too long. But it doesn't matter, because you finally spot the sign towards the vendor ahead.

The large tent is quiet, but at least it's shielded from the scolding sun, a little cooler but stuffy from all the cargo that's catching dust out here in the desert. A man, three eyes in his face with one closed permanently, is looking at you. "What'cha here for, pet?" He chuckles lowly, like a man who's smoked since he was born. He's pretty overweight, hammock-like seating arrangement creaking a little as his body shakes with laughter. "Come 'ere. What does your master want, eh?" He asks, and you walk closer, holding out the communication device that displays the currently loaded cargo in Jungkook's ship.

"120 tons of Steel. Earth-made." You say, though your throat hurts when you talk. "I heard you're currently looking for that." You say, as the man leans closer, and hums, clearly interested. Only now do you notice the two extra sets of arms he has, three fingers on every hand, claw like tips dull, not sharp.

"Indeed.." He mumbles. "What does he want for it?" He asks, and you swallow the stale tasting saliva, clearing your throat.

"Whatever you can offer." You say, remembering how much Jungkook had paid, according to the data on his device. "At least twenty-five hundred though."

"Pah!" He laughs, leaning back. "He's one stupid fella if he sends his pet to get money!" The guy laughs. "You get thirty six hundred."

"Forty flat." You say.

"Thirty five, now that you're trying to be bold, little brat." He growls. "I could just shoot you right now, and take the license for the goods instead."

"Then my collar will send a distress signal to my master immediately." You say. "He's waiting for me, after all. And he probably knows the worth of the goods a lot better."

"Are you threatening me?" He asks lowly, squinting sharply at you.

"I'm just offering the option to agree on a price with a 'pet' that's not aware of the actual worth of the goods she's supposed to sell." You shrug.

It's tense for a good moment, and suddenly, the man laughs, loudly enough to reverb in the metal vases stored around, hammock shaking under his weight.

"You're a lovely little thing!" He roars. "I almost want to buy you instead!" He chuckles, slowly calming down. "Forty flat, agreed. Give me the thing so I can pay-"

"I'll need it.. physically." You tell him, trying to keep your face stoic despite your growing fear.

"He taught you well. Ah, at least I'll get my things." He mumbles, searching under the large table full of things for something- filling a bag with metal currencies, same one's Jungkook and everyone else uses commonly. "Forty five." He purrs, putting the bag on the table. "Just because you're very entertaining." The alien man rumbles towards you, pushing the bag closer with one of his clawed fingers. "Buy yourself something nice with it." He laughs, as you take the bag, and tap on the device to sell the goods- hovering it over a glowing patch on the metal table that's clearly meant for the signal of the device you're holding.

'Ownership transferred to: Yaelno 'Spider' Spyolden.' is seen displayed as a message.

"I will have my men pick up the goods tomorrow morning." Yaelno tells you. "You should go home now, little pet. I bet your master already misses his dog." He roars with laughter, as you snatch the bag and practically run out of the tent.

Only when you're far away enough to not see the tent clearly anymore do you check the bag to count- and the man was true to his word, currency real, shining with the distinctive rainbow- shimmer that can't be replicated, and the Number of bigger and smaller coins adds up to the amount you agreed on with the man.

Even the extra adds up.

The only thing that you now feel could become a problem, is the storm- throwing sand left and right around you, while the air feels scratchy in your throat, stinging in your eyes with every breath you take. You try and use your shirt over your mouth, but it's useless- you can't really see properly anymore, barely reaching the first few metal sheds outside of town, when you hide behind a wall, curling up after hiding the bag of money under your clothes.

You made it- but you somehow failed, too. What a mess.

And only faintly, as you lose consciousness, do you notice someone crouching down in front of your body now laying on your side on the ground, a hand pulling the collar a little to read what's engraved in the tracker, which's LED light is now blinking red due to your body being in clear distress.

A sigh is heard. A low voice speaks- mostly to himself.

"Jeon Jungkook.." The voice mumbles, almost disappointed, but also a little amused. "..You're just like your father after all."

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"You have to help me." Jungkook immediately barks at his long time friend, who steps aside after Jungkook just walked in.

"Ah yes, Jungkook, of course you can come inside, make yourself at home. I'm doing great, thanks for asking-" The man says, before Jungkook turns around, eyes a stressed turquoise color.

"I'm not kidding around- I need to find something.!" He presses on, while his friend helps him sit in the kitchen area of the metal house, inner walls padded with fabrics and pelts to keep the warmth inside. "I lost someone-"

"I know." He says, a gentle smile on his lips. "Nah- sit down. You're way too agitated right now to think clearly." He pushes the Alien back into his chair, anger slowly mixing into the colors of his eyes. "She's fine- Yoongi is looking after her right now." He explains, filling a glass with water before he sets it onto the table. "Why was she out alone anyways?"

"She wasn't-" Jungkook rubs his hands over his face. "I just- I went into a store to get her those stupid.. things she needs for knitting or something, and when I-"

"You bought her knitting equipment?" The man laughs. "That's adorable, Jungkook!"

"Seokjin, shut up, it's not about that!" Jungkook growls. "Anyways, I came back out and she was gone. I have no idea where she went or why!" He sighs, finally taking the glass to drink from it.

"Well, she had a pretty hefty amount of cash on her, that's for sure." Jin says, sitting down in front of Jungkook, who's eyes are now full of a surprised blue. "And your general communication device too- though it was locked." He informs his friend in front of him, who's clearly finally coming down, emotionally, from all the stress he's been through. "What's she to you anyways? A partner?" He wonders.

"No-" Jungkook denies. "-I'm not sure anymore.." He says, staring into the water in his glass. "She snuck on board. Didn't care if she died. Even now-" He sighs. "She wanted me to sell her to the mechanics so I could get it fixed."

"So you took her in." Jin gently finishes, though Jungkook shakes his head.

"No, I'm just-" He pushes his tongue against the inside of his cheek, thinking clearly. "I haven't found the appropriate planet for her yet." He excuses.

"Uh-huh." Seokjin lifts a brow in question. "That's why you went out and got her knitting-stuff."

"Well, she's bored!" Jungkook defends himself, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. "Doesn't have anything to do, can't read well, doesn't know how to steer a ship or calculate maps. I don't have any kind of job for her." He says.

"So you don't want her to be bored." Jin offers. "You want her to be happy." He teases, making Jungkook growl while his eyes can't hide the embarrassed pinkish hue.

"Fuck off." He simply responds, when a door opens.

"Oh." Yoongi says, his cat-like ears turning towards him, tail snapping upwards in interest. "She's asleep, but fine." He offers, only somewhat leaning the door closed, keeping it open for a bit in case he's needed back inside. "Throat's irritated as hell. She won't talk for a little while, that's for sure." He says, bumping his head into Jungkook's- a common greeting amongst the shorter Alien's kind. "The hell was she doing outside?" He wonders, filling a glass with water for himself.

"Jungkookie bought her some supplies so she can have a hobby while he explores the galaxy with her~" Seokjin teases, earning a glare from the younger alien.

"Oh really? Thought you wouldn't go for a human, considering you didn't want to be like your father."

It's deadly quiet as the sentence is spoken, even Seokjin now on edge as Jungkook's white eyes stare at the tabletop.

The worst thing is, that Jungkook can't even deny any of it. He doesn't know why he's getting attached to you, why he can't seem to get rid of you even if the world offers him chance after chance. He could've left you twice already- but he can't do it. He actually enjoys your company, especially after letting you inside the command central. You're calm, and easy, and you feel good to be around- and yeah, maybe his ship has been fucking lonely all those years that he's lived this life.

Is he just like his father after all?

"No." Jungkook says, quietly. "I'm not like him."

"So you're not her partner?" Yoongi wonders, and Jungkook shakes his head, eyes swirling colors, unsure what's really going on inside him. "Interesting. Maybe we could keep her here then?" He looks at Seokjin. "Or I could take her with me. I'm sure my partner would enjoy some fellow human company-"

"She's not going with you." Jungkook denies. "Neither is she staying with Jin. She's registered under my name."

"So she is your partner-" Yoongi jabs again.

"She's not!" Jungkook bursts out. "She's-" He searches frantically inside his head for an answer that could satisfy not only his friends, but himself also. What are you? You're definitely not the same as all the other humans. So what the hell are you?

"She's a friend." Jungkook finally decides, not only for now, but in general. "She's a friend, and she's coming with me." He says, a final tone to his voice that let's no argument get involved again.

"Jungkook." Yoongi says, tiny tufts of hair on the tips of his cat ears swaying a bit in the wind of the fan close by. "You know that I just tried to help you, right?" He offers, as the fellow alien of a different kind looks at him. "Of course you're not like him." He says. "And neither is she the same as your mother-"

"Absolutely not." Jungkook says, standing up at that- the mention of his mother clearly setting him off. "-I'll make sure she doesn't end up like her." He says, before he walks into your room where you're sleeping, a soft but thin blanket over your body, sensor attached to your forehead to measure your temperature.

And yet again, just sitting close to you is already putting him at ease again. He feels ten times better than just moments ago, simply because he can watch you breathe and be assured that you're fine now. He slowly moves to the little bag of money, counting it, an unsure and most of all surprised expression on his face at the sheer amount of it all, before he spots his communication device.

And unlocking it gives him all the answers.

"You sly little devil.." He mumbles to himself, chuckling a little under his breath. You must've overheard him the entire time at the vendors where he tried to get rid of the slowly rusting metal inside his ship- but the fact that you sold it for almost more than double the amount he thought he'd ever get on this planet, is astonishing.

You're full of surprises- and maybe even more than he thought.

Maybe keeping you at his side isn't such a bad idea after all.

Maybe he should let you stay.

[livelaughlovesubs]

Hey Nini! Sooo I was wondering if maybe you can write about how the kings + Eligos would be and react while having a vibrator in them in public, controlled in public.

:) also how are yooouu?

- 🐼

Hey dear, I’m doing well~ here is the fic you requested, hope you don’t mind how long it took

I’m not going to do lucifer, cuz we don’t know much about him yet, I don’t want to speculate sorry

Satan

This is hell, and he’s the one that told you that, to enjoy yourself to the fullest. Then he also has to help you with that, no? Devils are pretty shameless things, so he definitely would mind it. But maybe he’ll mess things up to provoke you, your anger really tastes delicious after all.

You were walking down the streets of Gehenna, holding satans hand. The two of you looked like a newlywed, an innocent couple spending time together. On this day a second hand market opened on the streets, many devils came out to gift or sell their stuff. “Hey Satan, what do you think of this gun?” You pointed towards one of the many weapons on the display, Satan scoffed, “you don’t need those things, I’ll protect you.” “Yea right…” somehow you didn’t sound convinced, but instead sarcastic. The seller tried to promote his stuff and said, “your majesty Satan! But they look really interested in buying one, and you never know if you won’t need one…”

He growled, “are you doubting my abilities? Want me to show it to you?” “No no no! Not at all, your majesty..! I- I’m sorry!” “Let’s get go- aAHhh.” Suddenly a moan erupted from the devil king, surprising everyone that heard it. “Did I hear it right?” “Was it.. his majesty..?” No one knew what was going on, except for you two. You had to give it your all to not start grinning stupidly, fingers playing with the remote in your pockets. Satan slammed some money onto the desk and took the gun with him, then he took you by your wrist and stomped off. You couldn’t help but laugh silently, giggling like an idiot.

“Hmmm? What’s gotten into you? Are you alright, Satan?” You acted clueless as you two walked past the other stalls. It was cute how his legs shook, but you had to admit, he was doing pretty good pulling himself together. “Look at me, Satan, what’s wrong?” Teasing him even more, trying to provoke him. When he did turn around, you had to bite your lips to keep your composure. His face was all red, teeth clenched together and sweating, his breathing was also uneven and shaky. The vibrator was buzzing around inside him, enough for his mind to get clouded by lust. And the fact you made him almost get caught fuelled his lust. “I need it, now.” That wasn’t a plead, it was a command, a need of his. “If you can hold on until I’m done with my shopping, then I might think about it.” Don’t even expect him to follow your words, because for him, it’s more fun if you do get angry at him.

Mammon

The one that claims to be yours, just like Satan, he’d do anything you ask of him. For him to please his master, to fulfil their requests, isn’t it natural for a servant? For something that belongs to them? As long as you keep being greedy with your commands, oh how he loves it.

Bimet just loves money, doesn’t he? And he especially enjoyed counting money, even more so if it was mammons. Cuz he can do that for centuries! It’s such a relaxing thing to do! This time, you went to the treasure trove of Tartarus with the two devils, curious as to see all the riches of your servant. “I know it might be hard to not steal anything, but still, don’t.” The peach haired male told you, it was a warning. “I won’t I won’t, it belongs to me anyway.” You answered, you weren’t technically wrong with your statement. While Bimet was going around, basically bathing in this Paradies and dream of his, you and mammon stood at the entrance. “He really loves this room.” “He does, and I don’t mind it.” “But it’s getting boring for me.” Mammon looked at you after you said that, he thought about what to do then proposed, “master, you can take anything you want.” “I can?” “Yes.” Well then, if he insists…

You had him wear a vibrator beforehand, and since he is encouraging you to do what you want, you decided to turn it on. Watching him jerk a little, shivers ran down his spine and his face turned reddish instantly. “Ahh.. master.” “You don’t mind this, do you mammon?” He smiled at you, after a few seconds he kneeled down in front of you, wrapping his arms around your legs. “Give me all you have, be more greedy, master.” “Alright.” Then you turned it up a few levels. “Mhm..! AhHhh.” The avatar of greed tried his best to hold in his voice, don’t wanting to disturb Bimet who was counting every last coin in the chamber. It looked weird to you how he didn’t notice anything and couldn’t read the room, was he really that absorbed in his little hobby? Nevertheless it made you more eager. “You are pretty considerate, mammon, let’s see how long you can hold on.”

The way it rubbed against him was heavenly, or should he say hellish? Yet it wasn’t nearly enough, he needed more than just a little toy like this. His desires and want was overwhelming, raising his lust even more. You stroked his hair as he kept kneeling at your feet, you also caressed his horns a few times. Not long after that you saw a wet spot appearing through his robes. Those sensations were enough to send him over the edge, muffled groans escaped him. “What a needy servant. You think you can do another round for me?” Of course you’d want another round. You were his master, and you won’t be satisfied with just one.

Leviathan

You had to convince him, because why should he. Not that he doesn’t like it, in fact the devils probably like any kind of pleasure, the question is why should he listen to you. Just treat it like you are arguing with a child, “because I said so.” And he might listen. Being arrogant is the way to go with him. (Quote from Solomon)

It took a while to convince him, which is why you were even more exited at the thought of playing with him. You got the opportunity when Levi invited you to one of his meetings, apparently it had something to do with you. “That’s why you have to attend.” Those were his words, he didn’t clarify why you were included and why your presence was needed. Again, leaving you in the dark, carrying out his own plans. You knew he was going to get something out of having you there, otherwise he would have never done this, so you decided to take something from him as well. It’s not faire trade if only one side gets what they desire.

Your request was a simple one, for him to put a small vibrator inside him while attending the meeting. Leviathan, as prideful as always, disagreed at first. Though as mentioned before, he eventually gave in to your requirement. Such a little thing won’t hurt him, and he’ll get jealous if you proposed the idea to someone else. That’s what led you to your current situation, with Levi sitting at the long table and all of his subordinates on either side. You were right next to him, he said it’s so that you wont cause any troubles. Right, that must be the reason, mhm. The meeting was surprisingly very political and serious, they all had their own opinions and arguments, as well as worries. Discussing them among themselves, asking Levi for his thoughts once in a while.

It got boring real quick, you were here because you were ‘needed’, but it was too much talking and not enough action. That’s when you remembered the little thing you prepared, finally things are spicing up. With a swift motion you raised the intensity of the vibrator, going from zero to the middle in an instant. He doesn’t need to get used to it, and you weren’t going to be nice neither. Their flustered expressions are what you were truly looking for after all. “Ah..” the male gasped a little, in an instant he glared at you, burning you with his gaze. “What’s wrong, your majesty? Please continue! I’m behaving well~” smirking at him playfully while you fumbled with the remote more and more. His once pale face flushed and turned pink, he also started smiling with content. Some whimpers were threatening to spill, but he forced them down, causing him to not get any air in the process. The others haven’t noticed the strange expression of their king yet, and levi wanted to tell you to stop. But if he did so, he would be jealous of his past self that got to enjoy this pleasure able moment, ahhhh what a dilemma..! Guess he just has to keep going then!

Beelzebub

He’d to do for free, without questions asked. You want it? Sure, why not then. He might, just be to cheeky, ask for compensation, like your underwear or clothes. If you do give it to him, count him in, he’ll do whatever you want and way more. Beel really is carefree and spontaneous huh?

It’s been a while since you saw the wandering king. These days, with how much he traveled around, it was hard to meet him. Even more difficult than meeting andrealphus. So when you did get the chance to talk to him again, he immediately invited you out to a restaurant. “I know the owner personally, the food’s really good.” Beel said, before ordering something from the menu. “So.. what have you been up to these days?” You asked him after the waiter left, he answered, “thinking about ways to steal you from Satan.” “You must be joking again.” The man grinned, he is joking, right? “Don’t kidnap me. I dare you.” You warned him, but it sounded like an ant trying to threaten an elephant. “Oh? What else am I supposed to do then?” He questioned you sarcastically, “hmm. Prove you are better than him?” This caught his attention, “prove? What do you mean?” There was no answer to his question, you just said that out of impulse, nonetheless you thought about it and got a pretty good idea.

You rummaged in your bag and pockets, til you found a small sex toy you had brought with you. It was a coincidence that you had it, cuz it was meant to be used on someone else, until you meet the avatar of gluttony. “Go to the bathroom and use it, come back when you put it in nicely.” This time you were smirking at him. Even though you were sure he would agree, you were still a little curious of his choice. “And you will test me? Haha, interesting.” Beel said and obliged, standing up and coming back after a few minutes. “It’s all done!” He said with a smile, seemingly exited about it.

Soon the water came back with plates of delicious looking food, they dishes looked amazing, like a piece of art. Not to mention the smell, it was so good you would have had to sell your house to get a piece of this, if you were still on earth. “Please enjoy your meal.” The waiter said, and beel wanted to answer. Right as he opened your mouth, you decided to test his patience, turning the toy on and watching his face twist. His eyes widened and little, before he grinned sheepishly again, using his hands to press down onto his raging erection. “Mhm~! Ah, yes, ahhh~ thank you, we will be fine. Hmm!” “Ah, is that so, your highness, then please excuse me.” You didn’t know why, but the devil hurriedly ran away. “Well well, lucky you beel.” After uttering those words, you turned it off again. “Guess this means I have to wait until they come back.” Ah, how was he going to enjoy his food like this?

Eligos

He would, because this means you’ll shower him with attention. You will stare at him the whole day to see his reactions, to be near him all the time and tend to him afterwards, right? The other devils will also stare at him because of it. Besides, mammon will question him after it too, so even more attention!

Eligos was an adorable devil, enough to make you feel joy whenever you saw him. You wanted to fulfil his every request, just because of your fondness of him. He looked very innocent for a resident of hell, so consider you surprised when he asked for permission to do such a naughty act. “Are you sure you want to do this?” You said in a soft voice, patting his head while he layer his head on your lap. “Yes, so please, let’s do it?” The shorter male asked for you to control the vibrator he kept inside him. Apparently he wanted to do this with you for a while now, and has been waiting for this day with eager anticipation. It was hard saying no after knowing his background infos.

“If that’s really what you want?” “Yes!” He answered, well, if that’s the case you won’t say no. The two of you went to a spa together, he explained that he went there regularly because of how relaxing it was. Since you were curious about the spas and bathhouses of hell, you both decided to go into the public bathhouse first. When you saw the water, you got a little nervous. It looked way hotter than the ones you’ve seen on earth, were you going to get burned by this? Eligos kept telling you it will be fine, before he stripped and jumped into the water. Somehow he didn’t look uncomfortable at all but instead enjoying the temperature. Of course devils were tougher, but they also had a generally high body temperature?

You touched the water surface with your tiptoes, and it was like boiling water. “Ah. Hot.” The pale devil swam towards you and pouted, speaking in a disappointed manner, “aww, sorry, I didn’t make sure it gets adjusted to human standards.” “It’s alright, Eligos.” You tried to tell him, but he shook his head, “now you won’t have anything to do though, all the others are also in the water.” Right, there were more than one or two devils. There were many. “It’s alright, I only need you.” Before the little devil could process your words, something started moving inside him. “Mhm..! Ah-ahhhh! You are playing foul!” “Why’s that?” Eligos clenched to the edge, legs trembling slightly as his cheeks flushed. “… I need more than just this.” He started to feel some eyes on him and it made him more aroused. “Is that so? My little devil isn’t that little after all?” Once again you patted his head, like you were proud of him. He closed his eyes, when he opened them again, he got pleasantly surprised by your teasing gaze, “you proposed the idea first, Eligos, please don’t mind me being greedy.” He wasn’t going to mind, as long as you kept your attention on him.

[an-au-blog]

Artist Usopp who has the most vivid dreams of Sanji ever since he can remember, this mysterious blond growing alongside him in the unconscious world. So he grows up, goes to art school, gets his degree, and starts the path of a starving artist. Not a lot of people buy his art, but he keeps making it. He never liked showing the overwhelmingly large collection of sketches, paintings, 3D prints, carvings, clay figurines, literally anything he could make of Sanji. It felt too personal to show anyone, but people would inevitably see them, as he can't stop doodling the man. They keep saying that's what he should be promoting as his work and how people would pay big money for those, but he always doubted it.

A time came where he could feel the "starving artist" title a bit too literally. With regret, he took his friend's advice and sold a painting to some random guy. The man came back with a friend - lover of the arts and before Usopp knew it, he was selling the blond of his dreams to collectors and museums. He started making marble sculptures, now that he could afford it, like the blond was a greek god, an angel sent to feed him in his most desperate times. Usopp knew such a man didn't exist, but it was nice to have him in his dreams at least.

Well... that was until one day Luffy sent him a video. One of those memes where people went to galleries and posed with victorian portraits that looked like them. He captioned it with "lol rly thought it was him for a sec". Usopp thought this would be another video forgotten in the waves of spam Luffy liked to send, but as the different people went by, suddenly, Usopp felt cold sweat down his back. It was the blond. He looked exactly like the man in his dreams... no. that was the same man. He was absolutely sure of it. He had been drawing and studying that face, those hands, the colors and curves all his life. That was him!

He desperately tried finding him, but all he had was a private page and that was it. He couldn't get any clue as to who he was from the user name "LetHimCook" or the bio saying he was 21 and a rat and a cheff's hat emoji.

Usopp gave up hope for the time being as he was supposed to finish a project that was the biggest in his career so far.

The day to present it had come and Usopp stood there, nervous, talking about his art while snobbish-looking people hummed as if they understood anything about his life's work. Some of the asked questions that he absentmindedly answered, but then someone from the back, who Usopp couldn't see asked something that caught his attention.

"I have two questions if I may. Firstly, who is the inspiration to this "dream" collection? It seems to be more about a lover than actual dreams. And secondly, have you ever considered doing an auto portrait?"

The two unrelated questions caught him off guard, and he didn't know how to say anything about the first one without sounding insane, or the second - without sounding depressed.

"Uhm, interesting questions." Usopp cleared his throat. "You see, uh..." he tried finding the words but they died on his tongue when the asker came into view. It was him. "It's you." He said accidentally out loud.

"I beg your pardon?"

They look at each other for a long second. Usopp couldn't tear his eyes away from the blue haunting his every day and night. "Sorry, I- I didn't answer your uh-" Usopp stuttered, trying to keep any semblance of dignity he could. "I don't like doing self portraits, I've made a few but the model kind of sucks." The people laughed with him but the blond only gave a small smile.

"I would love to see them some time, as I'm sure I'm not the only one."

How could this man leave him speechless every time.

After the Q&A bit was over, Usopp tried his best to avoid small talk from the guests so he could get to the blond before he left. But by the time he got there, Sanji was talking to someone, it would have been extremely awkward to join in.

"Hey, Usopp!" The man who was talking to Sanji turned, and oh God it was Luffy.

The artist didn't know if he should be happy or a bit scared. Luffy dragged Usopp into the conversation and it started flowing quite easily. It was not long before Luffy left to see another friend of his but his absence didn't make it uncomfortable. Usopp learned the man's name, that he loved to cook and that he had been a fan of his work for a while.

Agreeing that Sanji would get a "private tour" or the rest of Usopps (not displayed works), the "party" ends.

On their way home, Luffy hits him with a "It was so funny seeing that guy flirt with you all night."

Usopp, stopping dead in his tracks: Who?

Luffy: Blond guy who kinda looks like your obsession drawings...

Usopp malfunctioning: .......... oh...... . .. . . ... OH!

When they finally arrange a date for the "private tour", Usopp keeps an open mind, trying to see if he really WAS flirting. But then they get to the half-assed self portraits Usopp made of himself and, honestly - Usopp never wanted to show them. He wasn't all that good-looking, he didn't like how they turned out, he hadn't put in any effort and most of them were more reminiscent of grotesque caricatures than the usual realistic beauty he was used to painting.

"They're not really - I mean I mostly made them out of boredom, I- I don't really like them and- and-" He tried to excuse himself, but when he looked at Sanji, he lost all his words. The blond was looking at the paintings and sketches with such awe and sympathy. He reached out to the painted face, the tips of his fingers barely grazing the surface.

He looked back at Usopp, causing his breath to catch in his throat.

"You're far too mean to yourself." Sanji said, faint, barely audible. His eyes widened slightly as the words escaped his lips as if he didn't mean to let them slip.

On instinct, the deep-rooted self-loading Usopp had harboured all these years bubbled just the slightest. "Haha, or maybe not enough."

But then Sanji turned to him seriously, lips in a thin line, a bit hurt. "In... in an interview you once said you're glad the public liked your art, because you wouldn't bare sharing a piece of your soul and seeing anyone insult the man who's haunted your dreams." A stuttering breath. "So, I'd like to request you don't insult the man from mine..."

Oh...

[lilmoony]

Can you please write a kaz brekker x reader fanfic where the reader tries to convince one of the crows to come with her to a fruit market because they have like the best strawberries or something and no one wants to go and Kaz shows up to her room one day and is like let’s go and she gets excited but it turns out Kaz doesn’t like the fruit or hasn’t had it before and the reader is like why did you come then and he just wanted to spend time with them

𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒘𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔🍓

pairing: kaz brekker & reader – 2k words

plot: when no one wants to go out with you to the fruit market, kaz suggests going with you. turns out it’s not because he likes strawberries, but because he wants to spend time with you.

cw/tw: nothing, fluff at the end, maybe some spelling or grammatical errors (sorry)

word count: ≈2k

You were a member of the Dregs, and particularly of the Crows, for quite a long time now. And since you became a member of the Crows, you barely had any free time. You always had at least something to do and there was always something going on out there; you always had to think about something, above all, security.

But this week was one of those super rare days where you had (almost) nothing to worry about. Well, you always had to worry about something, so let’s say it was one of those days where you had (almost) nothing to do. For this special occasion, and because you never found the time before, you wanted to go to the market. During one of your undercover missions, you saw an old lady selling strawberries at Ketterdam market. Since you were on a mission, you couldn’t just stop to buy these red fruits. Kaz Brekker wouldn’t have allowed one of his Crows to get distracted by strawberries; he probably would have sent you one of his death glares, thinking about how much you were an idiot.

You gave yourself a mission: go to the market to buy strawberries. Yet, you haven't wanted to go there alone. You never really liked walking alone in the streets of Ketterdam, because who knows what could happen? That is why the first step of your mission was to find someone to go to the market with. And with that idea in mind, you came out of your room, a big smile on your face.

Unfortunately, you came back in your room quite quickly because the first step was a total failure. You asked every Crows if they wanted to go with you, but they all came up with a different answer; though they all had one thing in common: it was “no”.

“No, I’m sorry, I have to take care of my precious babies” answered Jesper, cleaning his revolvers.

“I’m keeping Jesper company” answered Wylan, sat next to Jesper with a shy smile on his face.

“Matthias and I are going out; we are getting waffles.” simply said Nina, a big smile on her face. Matthias was smiling to you, arm in arm with Nina.

“I was planning to take a walk” said Inej, but you only heard “I was planning to spy on people.”

There you are, climbing the steps of the Slat separating you with your bedroom. Just as you reach the middle of the stairs, you saw a face you knew too well. It was Kaz Brekker, your annoying boss. The one who always had a lot of different plans in mind: each more dangerous than the last; each more brilliant than the last. He had this neutral and closed expression on his face. He seems quite surprised to see you. Generally, when the Crows didn’t have a mission, there was no one in the Slat except him.

“Y/N,” he simply said while looking at you.

“Hmm, yeah, I guess that’s my name,” you replied to him, a slight smile on your face to hide your stress. The fact that he just said your name and nothing else was stressing you. It was the same effect that when someone says “We need to talk”.

“What are you doing here? Why aren’t you enjoying the sun?” he asked, leaning on his stick, and raising one of his eyebrows.

“Nothing. Just wanted to go buy strawberries with someone but they’re all busy. Guess I’ll stick to reading in my bedroom. I could ask you the same question, even if I think I know the answer.”

You continue to climb the steps to reach its height. At first, he only looks at you without saying anything. Then, you see a slight smile on his face.

“You might have nothing to do today, but I do. I have a meeting with some merchants.” His tone wasn’t even harsh, even if you could think so.

“Oh, well, I’m not bothering you anymore then. Good luck, I guess? But you don’t really need it,” you ended the conversation,

But if you had, you would have seen him following your silhouette until he lost sight of you when you entered your room. Yet, you would have just thought that he was looking at you in the most neutral face. You could have hardly guessed that you weren’t just a colleague, an associate, or even a friend to him.

The next day, since you still weren’t planning to go alone at the market, you had planned to spend the next day in the Crow Club to watch people gamble their money, just like Jesper used to do. Since he no longer hid his Grisha powers, or at least accepted them, he said he no longer needed to play and waste his money. The one he was supposed to go to university with…

Even though it was 9 A.M., you could already feel the sun on your face as you were lying on your bed, eyes closed. You weren’t sleeping, just relaxing a bit before going at the Crow Club since you had trouble sleeping. A knock on your door drew your attention. You didn’t answer directly and got up, opening the door yourself.

You were quite surprised to see the one and only Kaz Brekker in front of you, at 9 A.M.

“Hello Y/N,” simply said Kaz. He had this habit of beginning a conversation by saying a simple sentence consisting of less than five words.

“Hello Kaz,” you replied, confused, as to why he was at your door, “Do you need something in particular?”

He stayed silent for some time, as if he was searching for the words he was going to use in his sentence.

“I’m free this morning. Do you still want to buy those strawberries?”

To say these two sentences surprised you is an understatement. Because Kaz never suggested activities, just plans. It was your turn to stay silent for a moment.

“Hmm… Well- Yes,” you try to put two words together, difficulty. “But like… With you?” You saw a smile appear on his face. Apparently, your question was funny (or dumb) to him.

“No, with the white bunny that I saw across the street.”

A big smile broke out on your face, and you couldn’t help to let out a chuckle. Kaz was offering to accompany you to the fruit market? Who was this person and what did he do to the Kaz Brekker?

“When do we go?”

“Now.”

And that is how you end up in the streets with Kaz. At first, the walk was silent. But it wasn’t uncomfortable at all. You really wanted to know why he wanted to go out with you. And, moreover, to buy strawberries. Because why would Kaz spend time in a fruit market? Seriously. He wouldn’t. Or would he? Maybe he just wanted you to be happy? No, impossible. Maybe he also wanted strawberries? After all, who knows?

“You know… You don’t have to feel obliged to accompany me,” you said, breaking the silence that established itself.

“I don’t feel obliged to.” His sentences were always short but this time, you didn’t know why, you had the feeling that he wanted to say more to you. It’s as if there some words that were left unspoken. “You know I wouldn’t have come if I didn’t want to.” He finished his sentence without looking at you. His voice was low, as if he didn’t want you to hear what he just said. But you did.

“Well, you know, I’m still quite surprised you asked me to accompany me to buy strawberries. I never thought you were the one to like strawberries.” You hear him scoff after your last sentence.

“That is because I don’t like strawberries.”

Well, if you weren’t confused before, you were definitely now. You only looked at him, an eyebrow furrowed. You didn’t have to answer because you were already in front of the fruit’s merchant. The stand was manned by an old lady.

“Oh, hello beautiful lady,”

“Oh, thank you,” you answered shyly, “I could say the same to you Miss,” you replied, a smile on your face, as she laughed at your answer.

“Tell me, what do you two lovebirds need?”

And that was the last straw for you. When hearing this, your eyes opened widely. You began to blush yet tried to concentrate as much as possible so that Kaz couldn’t see how it makes you feel to hear that HE is your boyfriend. Because you sometimes dreamt of it, but you always put that thought out of your head as soon as you woke up. You had come to terms with it: it would never happen.

And that was the last straw for Kaz. When hearing this, he kept a neural face, as if the lady never said anything. But in this mind, oh boy. He couldn’t believe what he just heard. Because he sometimes thought about what he liked in you. He liked how you always smiled to everyone, how you talked about what you liked to do. He adored your repartee, the way you always returned compliments. He loved your smile, your eyes. You.

“He… He is not my boyfriend,” you tried to answer without letting any emotions out. “He’s a friend.”

“Yes, I see… Unfortunately,” answered the old lady while laughing, leaving your speechless. “Anyway, tell me what you need.”

“I’ll – I’ll take a kilo of strawberries, please.”

While the lady prepares the stray of strawberries, you took your courage in both hands and looked at Kaz. Needless to say, he was looking at you for quite a while already. But his face was unreadable.

“There you go, young woman,” the only lady gives you a large stray of strawberries.

“Thank you, a lot, and have a beautiful day,” you greet her finally.

You turned directly towards Kaz, happy.

“Look at them, they seem so tasty,” you exclaimed, but you directly remembered the fact that he didn’t like strawberries. “Wait, you told me you didn’t like strawberries so why did you come with me?”

You take a glance at him, and he looks a lot colder than before. He has a closed face, as if he’s angry. But this is just his usual expression. Or that’s what you think.

“I wanted to get some fresh air, I guess.”

“What you just said is a lie.”

“It is not.”

You can’t help but let out a little laugh. This situation turned out to be ridiculous.

“You can’t lie to me Kaz. You can’t lie to the best liar of Ketterdam. It’s really kind of you – and strange – to go out with me, even more when you don’t like strawberries. Just tell me the truth.”

“I just wanted to spend time with you. Are you satisfied now?” he answered abruptly.

You stopped directly when you heard these words, and he stopped too. But neither of you tries to meet the other’s gaze. There are a lot more questions in your mind than before. And there was already a lot of questions before.

“You…” you paused, searching for your words. “You can’t be serious, huh?”

“And what if I am? You told me to say the truth, here’s the truth.” he answers, his jaw slightly clenched.

“And you couldn’t say that since the beginning? It would have been ten time easier.”

“Don’t be silly, why would I say that?”

“Because I want to spend time with you too. And we could have spent more time together. That’s why.”

You can’t see the smile that makes his way to his face. And this isn’t really a slight smile.

“Good, at least something we think the same about,” and a laugh escapes your mouth while you look at him.

He looks at you too. There is this spark in his eyes, just as there is spark in your eyes.

“Yeah, you’re right. One thing in common, but I’m sure there are a lot more things we have in common. We just have to find.”

“We’ll have plenty of time to find that Y/N.”

“Right. Did you already taste strawberries with fresh cream?”

“Never.”

“Well, let’s get to the Slat and you’ll have to taste that.”

You continue walking back to the Slat, chatting together. The atmosphere was brighter than ever.

[lulublack90]

Prompt 5 - Bookshop AU

@wolfstarmicrofic April 5, word count 748

Sirius loved working in the bookshop. The Potter’s had asked if he would take over running it when they retired, as James was taking over the rest of the Potter��s substantial enterprise. But the bookshop was special, and they knew how much Sirius loved it. 

It had been the first place he’d ever worked. Effie had given him the Saturday job when he’d first moved in with them. He hadn’t wanted to keep asking them for money for things, so that had been Effie's way of giving him money without making him feel bad. 

He loved the smell of the place. Not only did they sell the new releases, but they also had a rare book section that Sirius sometimes just went to hide in. 

It was on one of these occasions that he came across a tall, lanky man wearing a truly horrendous jumper. It looked like something out of the ’70s, and judging by the threadbare cuffs, it might actually have come from that era. 

He was so engrossed in the book in his hands that he didn’t notice Sirius at first. Sirius tried to carefully back away so his customer could browse without interruption. But his movement must have alerted the man to his presence as he looked up straight into Sirius’s eyes. And Sirius felt his stomach flip. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to disturb you.” He smiled apologetically at the man before him. “I can do a good deal on that one for you.” He gestured to the book in the man’s hands. “

“Oh, no… I can’t afford any of these books.” He blushed. “I just like looking at them. Choosing which ones I’d buy if I had the money. Plus the smell of them—it probably sounds silly, but I find it soothing.” 

“This is my favourite aisle. Always come down here for at least five minutes before I go home. It’s the, er, smell for me too. I don’t know what it is, but all my troubles just seem to melt away…” Sirius stopped talking before he embarrassed himself further. The man carefully replaced the yellowing book on the shelf and straightened.  

He didn’t know why, but Sirius wasn’t ready to say goodbye to this odd man. “You can come by and read as many of those books as you like. As long as you’re careful with them.” Normally, he would never let anyone actually sit and read, but he couldn’t help himself.

“Oh, are you sure? That’s incredibly kind of you. Er…” 

“Sirius.” Sirius offered. The man smiled at him. 

“Remus.” 

Everyday after that, Remus came in and spent a couple of hours in the rare books section. Thankfully, he treated the books as though they could fall apart at any moment. Sometimes, he’d bring Sirius a coffee. Other times, they’d share a sandwich. Sirius got used to seeing Remus every day and felt the huge amount of disappointment when, after over a month, Remus didn’t come. 

He wondered if he’d done something wrong. Sirius sat in the shop an hour after closing time. Just in case Remus turned up. 

When the clock passed six, he gave up. He gathered his belongings and locked up. He turned to head home when he heard the sound of pounding feet on the pavement. He looked behind him, and a very dishevelled-looking Remus was running towards him. 

“Oh my god! What happened to you?” He asked, worried about the state Remus was in. 

“I’m so sorry I’m late. Some awful person stole my bag on the tube, and it had everything in it. My phone, my wallet, even my keys. I had to walk here because I didn't have any money for the train.” 

“You had all that going on, and you still came to the bookshop? Are you mad?” Sirius asked, baffled by Remus’s choices. 

“ No, I didn’t come all this way with only the clothes on my back to come to the bloody bookshop. I came to see you, you idiot!” Remus blurted out, exasperated. “Sirius, I don’t come into the shop everyday just to look at books.” 

Something clicked in Sirius’s brain. Oh, he thought. He closed the gap between him and Remus and pressed a kiss to his lips. They parted, smiling dopily at each other.

“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get something warm in you. Takeaway? My treat.” Sirius took his hand and pulled him in the direction of his flat. 

“Yeah, okay then,” Remus replied as he followed Sirius home. 

[punkeropercyjackson]

Imma try to chill so that instead of raging,i can just explain this politely:If you're in the Batfam fandom or are interested in joining,please be respectful of the Batkids' canon characterization and stories with exception of the offensive bits because that way,you will be able to fully appreciate and enjoy them as characters and get along with long time fans too as they'll appreciate you for it since Batfanon is so overwhelmingly popular and you'll be helping combat it

You want a ray of sunshine optimist who's actually realistic instead of a cornball and has depth and layers and is beloved by everyone in the DC world?Read for Dick but avoid Tom Taylor and Devin Grayson as their writing of him is extremely ableist,misogynistic(see Babs' character regression for his sake and the 'disposable black love interest' trope times 10x towards Kory)and anti-romani with Taylor being a whole ass zionist and Devin only made Dick romani to fetishize him and wrote canon Batcest and even other pedo ships.She has since apologized for the latter so Batcels can't use her as validation

You want a goth boyloser who's a lone wolf and has an awful relathionship with Bruce where both feelings are completely justified but he himself is morally gray and treated as such rather than coddled?Read for Jason but avoid og Rhato because it's a shitfest that screws over everybody involved including Jason himself and nobody who likes it cares about him at all since it's the worst thing to ever happen to him,INCLUDING The Joker.He was also textually miserable the whole time and is way happier with his new cast on top of being better written

You want a relatable teenage boy who's a positive role model for irl ones and is canonically into dudes and can be the token normie that reacts to the weirdness of his family for jokes?Read for Tim and please don't believe anyone who tries to tell you he's a bad person or a raging misogynist because they're the same niggas who stan Jason the ex-serial killer and Slade the pedophile who's child abuse even of the non-sexual kind is his defining character trait as stated by Marv Wolfman,who MADE him.He's literally just a 17 year old boy who's not perfect and people are just ageist and generally hateful.Everybody should care about Tim Drake /ref

You want a strong female character who's genuinely super weird and real and does justice for the girls that don't fit in and are abused by men but is also really funny and feminine?Read for Stephanie and don't buy into the bullshit propaganda DC keeps trying to keep selling since her debut that she's 'just a girl' or somehow less hardcore than the Batboys or ESPECIALLY the fandom's emphasization of her blondeness when she got it from her abusive dad and has never shown pride in it and was never an 'It Girl',she was the school outcast at ALL her schools,including college.Just because Stephanie Brown is a white girl that dosen't mean she's a white feminist or a prop or basic-She's literally a pastel punk who has a Metalica poster in her room ffs

You want a wasian with gender fuckery who was raised to be a weapon and had no parents until Bruce adopted her and became super human through crazy ass means and is a mega cool edgecase?Read for Cass and keep in mind she was created with the intention of defying easian woman stereotypes,including existing for white men and nothing else and that includes not forcing her to like Jason or steal her Shiva origin to give it to him and as an afro-dominicana,Jason feels more afro-dominican than he does anything else and we HAVE an asian Jason Variant but he was south asian,specifically indian and not easian/chinese so it's even more orientalist than before with Sanjay Tawde's canonicity in mind(He is from The Doom That Came To Gotham for anyone interested)

You want a brown boy raised by a bad organization he has complex ties to because his connection comes from his family who is very much a little shit and anger filled but also a sweetheart who's truly trying his best?Read for Damian but keep in mind he's a victim of anti-arab writers,he's not a demon or a villain or an animal-He's just a hurt little boy who's almost never known anything but pain and being seen as a monster compared to white boys and that's why so many Damian stans are so grateful for Flatline/Nika because she loves him as much as we do and gives him the TLC we wish we could(platonically in our case but still)

You want a troubled but good kid who has god-like superpowers and loves to run his mouth,gives Bruce's headaches with his shenanigans and is not only an unconventional Robin but Jason's Robin and vice versa?Read for Duke and don't even look in the general direction of runs that leave him out-Which do the other Batboys dirty too every time anyway!!Duke has refered to Bruce as his dad and Bruce has refered to Duke as his son and ALL the Batkids see him as their brother and the poor guy feels left out of them because DC are a bunch of antiblack pieces of shit who baited us with the first ever black Robin just to exclude him for his blackness and act like they were being 'careful'.Nah,FUCK that-If Cass can be respectfully written as Bruce's kid,so can Duke!He don't got parents either,the ogs got Jokerized and Gnomom is emotionally abusive and he's literally a minor!

And they're just the core Batkids!!!If you're looking for another type of character,then they definitely exist and i'd be happy to tell you who fits it so i can tell you what to read/watch/play for them!Trying to switch the Batkids CAN be good depending on how you do it but 99% of the time it's just bigotry!REAL bigotry minorities can't stop dealing with just by logging off and fandom is supposed to be a safe space for weirdos-Not 'nerds',WEIRDOS.Black people and woc and mentally ill people and autistics and abusive survivors and EVERYONE,not just stupid ass kinksters that think kink is inherently anti-establishment and white people who had 'hateful ideology phases' and think it's universal and play victim when told otherwise

'All Batboys are trans and autistic!'but then they leave out the most autistic-coded and tboy swag filled Batboy just because he's black and use the 'mains' excuse when they've never read enough comics to know that became a thing,that it wasn't always a thing and that it dosen't make SENSE for it to be a thing.'All Batkids are/do [x]' but they leave out the girls even though 'Batkids' is the gender neutral term as it's meant to refer to the whole gang.Do not fall for it.They're about as gooth faith as 'Allmighty God Superman who fucks all the women' dudebros.Please be kind and be a real superhero fan by reading the comics so you can join us in dunking on them.Please,you'll be doing the comics fandom a lot of good and you might even help influence the comics industry itself because it responds to mass fan appeal way far back and that's how we got a fair amount of runs and adaptions we do today and yesterday and tommorow.I promise it'll be infinitely more fun than fanon too

[yanderes-galore]

@okchijt

@shinjisdone if you still like BOTW mutual.

I hope this came out well- It's not really gorey but Zelda never usually is so-

Yandere! BOTW! Link Concept

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Overprotective behavior, Violence, Mentions of death, Manipulation, Dubious affection, Dubious/Forced relationship.

Like other Links in the past timelines, Link is also a quiet hero.

He most likely met you after his century long rest and resurrection.

If you think of what this Link has gone through... he's certainly been through a lot.

He's died trying to defend the kingdom, he wakes up to see all he cares about dead, he's alone as he tries to fix Hyrule.

Having a companion to help him along the way could potentially cause obsession.

He has no other companions when he first wakes up and begins to train.

Zelda is locked away to keep Ganon from growing in power.

The Champions have died with their spirits locked away in the Divine Beasts.

Sure, he gets companions and allies as he explores.

But his journey still feels rather lonely.

Not only that but he may not even remember them due to his memory loss.

You are the face that greets him when he manages to make it way into a village.

It's a surprise to see Link of all people 100 years after the battle.

However, you still make an effort to aid the hero.

Link notices the hope in your eyes as you offer him whatever supplies he may need.

You offer tools, scavenged weapons, food, water, whatever.

You even offer companionship.

Link naturally finds himself drawn to your helpful nature.

Your companionship touches his heart, friends are something Link needs during his journey.

You offer him a bed to rest and buy trinkets he finds to sell to you.

You help him find a good stable and horse to use on his travels.

The first village he visits, your village, he often revisits.

He hates that he doesn't remember much of anything.

All he knows is he has a purpose, even if his memories have been wiped away.

Part of him uses this to start new.

He allows you to be the first companion in his journey, one he can rely on as he grows stronger.

Link would still do what he's fated to do.

He'd challenge shrines to regain his strength.

Then he'd use such strength to aid Zora's Domain, Rito Village, Death Mountain, and Gerudo Valley.

Yet when it comes to rest, Link always treks back to your village on horse back.

It's like each day the knight of Princess Zelda comes back to you stronger.

He gives you a soft smile and holds out little things he's found for you.

You are too scared to leave your village most of the time due to Ganon's monsters.

So Link makes you feel like you're on this journey with him by gifting you treasures.

They're little gifts from him, it shows he cares.

Link's attachment to you grows as his journey continues.

He's silent, often speaking in actions more than words.

He's playful at times when he sees you again, encouraging you to hug him when he visits.

He takes you on horse back at times just to see things.

He promises to protect you outside of the village.

If any monster of malice threatens you, Link slays them with a blade and watches as the dark aura drains from them.

He apologizes with a hug that you nearly got hurt.

Truth is, he'd slay anything to protect you.

No matter how dirty the job is.

I feel Link trying to encourage romantic attraction between you would consist of gifts and physical affection.

He collects flowers on his journey to give you.

He collects shiny jewels for nothing but attention in return.

His hugs also appear to become longer the longer he's away.

Maybe he'll even sneak in a kiss on the cheek.

Before he lost his memories, Mipha and Zelda were potential partners he could choose.

But now... he only ever wants you.

In fact sometimes he wishes he didn't have to bear such responsibilities of piecing together Hyrule alone.

He just wants to settle down with you in your village.

He hates it when he has to part from you, especially for the final battle.

Even when he regains his memories, his thoughts of you stay rooted in his mind.

He no longer wants to be with Zelda romantically.

He's her knight, sure...

Yet he still wants you.

So when he comes back after saving Hyrule, why do you refuse him after everything?

You tell him he belongs with Zelda.

But he doesn't want that.

He wants you.

You seemed so susceptible to his affection before?

Every kiss, touch, hug, and gift....

Now... you won't embrace it.

You claim it was wrong to give into him, or that you never saw him in such a way.

Well... Link simply won't stand for that.

You've been a big help to him through his journey.

Even if you never physically came with, having somewhere to retreat to after battle felt fantastic with you.

Link isn't going to accept leaving you, he's tired of things never going his way.

So he decides he'll always stick by you, like it or not.

You can't get rid of him.

You can try to push, yell, and threaten him.

He doesn't listen.

He's fought off the evils of Hyrule just to be repaid with your affection.

He won't let you take that away from him now.

He's way stronger now and won't let you go.

You'll be safe with him... he promises to love you as repayment for helping him...

He's chosen to love you and no one else, even willing to even fight fate to stay beside you instead of anyone else.

[xiaq]

Steddie Time Travel Fix-it: Pt. 7

Ao3 Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 Pt. 4 Pt. 5 Pt. 6

Eddie is good at puzzles

Cryptograms, jigsaws, Rubiks cubes, mazes. For all the trouble he has in school, he’s always loved word search and crossword assignments. He finishes first; he saunters up to the teacher’s desk; he slaps it down in the assignment box. He grins as they grade it with grudging respect. The strategy required for D&D was just as appealing, initially, as the escapism.

So. Eddie is good at puzzles.

Until, of course, Steve Harrington appeared in the early-morning hallway of Hawkins high, apparently having turned over an inexplicable and very puzzling new leaf.

Steve Harrington is unsolvable.

And it makes Eddie crazy.

He’d written out a list detailing the nuances of the Steve Harrington Puzzle. That was the title on the piece of the paper he’d torn out of his campaign spiral: There was the sudden friendship with Robin Buckley and the additional strange company he’d been keeping with Nancy and Jonathan and Barb. There was quitting the basketball team and absolutely burning bridges to ash with his former friends.

The panic attacks, related to flickering lights and D&D monsters The kids. The walkie-talkie check-ins and mentions of gates.

Chief fucking Hopper’s involvement.

The weird obsession Steve seems to have with Eddie. The flirting.

The baking.

Okay, the baking could be normal, but it’s still potentially out of character enough that Eddie doesn’t scratch it off the list.

Eddie's first hypothesis is drugs, even though that doesn’t explain everything.

As long as he’s not leaving town, there’s only one person Steve could be getting drugs from if he’s not getting them from Eddie. So Eddie walks to the gas station down the road and calls Rick from the pay phone outside.

“Hey. Weird question. Are you selling hard shit to Steve Harrington on the side?”

Rick laughs at him until he hangs up. That’s fair. It was a long shot anyway.

His second hypothesis is…

Well, that’s the problem. He doesn’t have a second hypothesis. Because nothing explains all of the everything going on with Steve and even drugs only explain like…half of it.

Eddie crumples up the paper and tosses it in the trash and the Steve Harrington Puzzle remains unsolved through Saturday night as he loads up his guitar and amp into Gareth’s mom’s car.

One of them really needs to buy a van or a truck or something. Showing up to your metal gig in a minivan is not the cool aesthetic they’re trying to embody.

Eddie has been trying not to have expectations. Just because Steve said, several days before, that he was going to come to their gig didn’t mean he’d actually show up. And unlike Eddie’s embarrassing, seat-saving hope from Friday, his anxious door-watching as they set up and then take the stage at Hideout does not pay off.

Steve doesn’t show.

Maybe he forgot. Maybe he changed his mind or something better came up or maybe he never intended to come at all. 

It doesn’t occur to Eddie that there’s another potential reason until he gets home, hoarse and jumpy with endorphins to find a note from Wayne by the phone. 

Steve called. Said he’d been in an accident and was sorry he couldn’t come. Sounded rough. Left his number for you.

Eddie calls the number, even though it’s late. It rings. And rings. And rings. They have an answering machine, because of course they do, but the woman on the recording sounds like a stuck up bitch and Eddie lingers, just for a moment, trying to think of something to say, before hanging up.

He tries again on Sunday, just past lunch. Still no answer.

By Monday morning he’s vacillating between annoyance and concern which takes a careening turn down the concern offramp when he catches sight of Steve in the hallway. His face is beat to shit and his neck––

His neck looks like someone tried to fucking hang him.

But despite the bruises and the line of stitches at his temple and the general signs of a thorough ass-kicking, Steve is moving through the tide of students around him with the unmistakable swagger of someone who won.

It really does make Eddie want to see the other guy.

Eddie isn’t thinking. Well, he is thinking, he’s thinking what happened and are you ok. He’s not thinking about optics as he pushes his way through the other students in the hallway, grabs Steve’s wrist and drags him into the bathroom. It’s empty, thank god.

“What happened?” Eddie says, tugging down the collar of Steve’s shirt so he can better see the—Jesus, the ligature marks on his throat. “Are you ok?”

Steve’s hands catch around his shoulders, pushing him back with an infuriating little smile that says he’s enjoying Eddie’s reaction. Enjoying Eddie’s concern about him nearly being killed, the sadistic asshole.

“Hey, easy,” Steve says, “I’m fine. Though that does hurt a little so maybe let go of my shirt, yeah?”

“Oh what, you can pull me into bathrooms and feel me up but I’m not allowed to return the favor?” Eddie snarls.

Steve goes delightfully pink. “Okay,” he says. “I’ve apologized for that.”

Eddie lets go.“And you still haven’t explained it.”

“I can’t.”

“And all of this?” Eddie gestures to encompass the entirety of Steve’s stupid, muscular, injured self. He’s wearing the same jeans and boots as he was on Friday, this time paired with a black T-shirt that is likely intentionally a size too small.  “Can you explain this?”

“I––”

“Can’t.” Eddie finishes with him.

At least Steve looks cowed about it.

“Are these the worst of your injuries or are there more under your clothes?” 

Steve opens his mouth and Eddie interrupts before he can say anything. “Don’t lie.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “My back is a little beat up, but it’ll be fine.”

“Let me see.”

“What, do you have a medical degree, now?”

“Let me see.”

“Fine. Fine,” he turns, bracing one hand on the sink and using the other to hike up the back of his shirt. “I forgot how goddamn annoying you are when you’re––”

He cuts himself off, going still. His eyes are wide where they meet Eddie’s in the mirror. “I mean. Sorry. Whatever. Look, I’m fine.”

Eddie looks.

“Oh my god.” He’s touching the mottled bruise down the left side of Steve’s spine before he realizes he’s going to do it and by then it’s too late. He tries to be gentle, at least. “What hit you, a truck?”

“Eddie.”

“Are you pissing blood?”

“Only a little. Honestly, I’ve had worse.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

Eddie drops the shirt and lets Steve turn to face him, but he doesn’t step back. Instead, he leans closer still to inspect the tidy line of stitches hugging Steve’s temple.

“At least everything looks clean,” he murmurs, pushing Steve’s hair out of the way. “Did you go to the hospital for these? Please say you didn’t do them yourself.”

He doesn’t get a chance to answer, though, because Tommy Hagan pushes his way into the bathroom. Where Eddie currently has Steve pressed against the sink, nearly hip to hip, with his hand on Steve’s face.

He’s going to die today.

“Oh, fuck off, Tommy,” Steve says with a degree of annoyance that Eddie finds commendable considering the circumstances.

“What are you––what’s going on?” Tommy says as the door slides shut behind him. “Did Munson do that to you?”

Steve scoffs and Eddie should probably be insulted. Steve slides around him, putting himself just a hair in front of Eddie as he half-turns to face Tommy. One of Steve’s hands is on Eddie’s chest and Eddie isn’t sure how it got there, but it’s steady and firm, like he’s holding Eddie back.

“No,” Steve says. “He’s just a concerned citizen. What do you want?”

“He was touching you,” Tommy says, low and quiet and weirdly hurt. 

“He was,” Steve agrees easily. “But there’s nothing wrong with that. Friends touch each other all time, right? No reason to make it weird.”

The words land like a blow. Eddie watches as Tommy physically recoils from them.

“Steve.” Tommy sounds wounded.

“Tommy,” Steve answers, dispassionate.

Tommy’s eyes move to Eddie. Move to Steve’s hand on Eddie’s chest. He turns abruptly and shoves his way back out of the bathroom with a muttered curse.

Steve watches him go, and then, when he turns to face Eddie again, his mouth twists.

“Shit, I wasn’t thinking. I sort of implicated you, there. I swear he won’t tell anyone, though, even if he does think we’re––whatever. I can,” Steve exhales, shoving a hand through his hair, and then winces, either because of the stitches or his side. “I can tell him you turned me down.”

As if that would happen.

“No,” Eddie says. “It’s fine. I mean, a lot of people already assume that I’m––” he knows he shouldn’t ask but he can’t seem to help it, “––wait, are you?”

“Yeah?” Steve says, like it should be obvious. “I like both. Either. All.”

“Right.” Eddie says. Like his entire worldview hasn’t been shaken to the core. “And you and Hagan—?”

Steve leans back against the sink. “I’m honestly not in the practice of outing people, if I can help it.”

“Hey, I’m not going to tell anyone.”

“Yeah,” Steve says finally. “I know.” He’s got his hands braced on the lip of porcelain on either side of his hips. It makes his biceps look enormous. “We didn’t have a thing,” he murmurs. “Not really. I wanted to, which is embarrassing in retrospect, but––” he laughs and there’s nothing comedic to it. “Some guys are just fine with you giving them handjobs in the dark, but god forbid you ask them to kiss you in the daylight, you know?”

Eddie does know.

“Their loss,” he mutters.

Steve bites his lip. “Hey, so. I’m sorry I missed your show. Can I buy you dinner tonight as an apology?”

Eddie might not recover from the conversational whiplash. “What?”

“I can pick you up at seven?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“Okay, cool. We should get to class.”

And then he’s gone. 

Eddie has a quiet, 30 second, existential crisis before following him.

***

Steve takes them to the diner again: same booth; same waitress.

She doesn’t try so hard this time to get Steve’s attention, either because she learned from last time or because Steve’s face looks like it’s been put through a meat grinder.

Regardless, they’re mostly left to their own devices and Steve gets him talking about the Lord of the Rings and once again Eddie finds himself flailing his way through a long-winded rant while drinking a chocolate milkshake. Steve watches him fondly.

He keeps forgetting that Steve is a giant, potentially dangerous, puzzle that needs solving in the face of his fond looks. It’s really becoming a problem.

Eddie is trying to find an elegant way of inviting Steve back to his place when Steve’s ever-present overstuffed backpack makes a static noise and then Eddie hears the muffled sound of Chief Hopper’s voice saying: Steve, you there?

Steve is out of the booth, throwing money on the table, in seconds.

Eddie scrambles to follow him.

Steve unzips his bag and pulls out the walkie before he’s even out the door.

“Hop?” he asks into the receiver. He doesn’t hold the door for Eddie which Eddie will be bitchy about later.

Are you still at the diner? Hopper asks. He sounds out of breath. 

“Yeah.”

I’m two minutes away, meet me in the parking lot.

“It’s happening now?”

It’s happening now. Sorry, kid, I know you probably haven’t recovered from Saturday yet but––

“No, it’s fine.”

Two minutes, Hopper repeats. Be discreet.

Steve starts running.

By the time Eddie catches up to Steve at the back of  the parking lot, he’s got the trunk of his car open and he’s pulling basketball uniform shirts out of a giant duffel bag. Previously hidden under the layer of jerseys are—guns. 

Holy shit, that’s a lot of guns.

And grenades? Probably. Eddie has never seen a grenade in real life but he’s reasonably sure those are grenades. 

“What.” Eddie says. 

Steve zips the bag back up, cursing, and reaches for a baseball bat wrapped in a towel. Except when he pulls it out by the handle, the towel falls away and Eddie realizes the top of the bat has been gored through with at least two dozen nails: Spiked and lethal and covered in a red brown patina. 

It could be rust.

Eddie is pretty sure it isn’t rust.

“Steve,” he says.

And Steve meets his eyes with a disturbing degree of calm.

Neither of them has a chance to say anything else, though, because Hopper's truck is careening into the parking lot and literally screeching to a stop a few feet away from them.

Steve tosses his bag of guns and his murder bat into the truck bed with a degree of familiarity that Eddie does not want to think about.

“What the hell, Steve,” Hopper is saying through the open window, “what part of be discrete did you not––oh.”

Eddie turns and when Hopper’s eyes settle on Eddie’s face, he stops talking.

 “Eddie,” he says.

And that is not a way that Chief Hopper has ever said Eddie’s name before.

“Hop,” Steve says levelly.

“Fuck,” he says, still staring at Eddie like—Eddie doesn’t even know. Like he’s a ghost, maybe.

“Right,” he says. “Munson.” He drags his attention back to Steve. “We need to go. Now. Is he—“

“No.” Steve says. “Absolutely not.”

“Am I what?” Eddie asks.

Steve is shoving something into Eddie’s chest. Eddie’s hand comes up automatically to close around—keys. Steve’s keys. 

“Do you know where my house is?” He asks.

“Yeah? Everyone knows where your house is, dude.”

“Don’t go home. Wayne is working tonight, right?”

“Yeah, but—“

“I need you to trust me. Please. Go to my house and––wait, no. The pool.”

He looks at Hopper.

“Henderson,” Hopper says. “The Henderson’s house. The other kids are already there. No nearby gates.”

“Gates? What the fuck are you two talking about?”

“We don’t have time for this,” Hopper says.

“Where are you going?” Eddie demands. “What is going on?”

“Eddie,” Steve says, urgent and terrible and wild. “Please.”

There’s an undeniable supplication in his tone, in his eyes, that makes Eddie say: “Okay. Alright. Just––tell me what to do.”

Steve pulls out a sharpie and a butterfly knife from his pockets. He pushes the knife into Eddie’s hand that is already holding Steve’s keys. He takes Eddie’s other arm and turns it palm up, uncapping the sharpie with his teeth. He writes hurried instructions across his wrist.

“Ok,” he says. “There. Take my car. Go to Henderson's house. Stay with the kids until I come back, okay?”

“When will you come back?”

“Late. Early. I don’t know. Before school tomorrow.”

“Steve,” Hopper says.

“Just don’t go back to your house, ok? Don’t go anywhere near Forest Hills or Lover’s Lake. We’ll get a message to Wayne too, but. Don’t go back. Go to Henderson's. Wait for me.”

“Steve,” Hopper says.

He squeezes Eddie’s arm. He lets go like it hurts him.

Steve climbs into Hopper's truck and Eddie watches them pull out of the parking lot with a dread he can’t explain sitting like stagnant water in his chest.

Eddie’s pulse is loud in his ears and heavy in his stomach as he considers the black ink on his arm; the knife; the keys. There’s a thunderhead building, eerie and green, eclipsing the sunset in the distance.

He walks to Steve’s car, closes the trunk, and opens the driver’s side door. He sits. He cranks the engine. 

Dio is playing.

He looks at the instructions on his arm, directing him left onto Main Street, and for a minute he considers obeying. He doesn’t. He puts the car in gear and turns right toward Forest Hills. 

He’ll go to Henderson’s. But Steve is acting like the trailer park is going to get bombed in the night and there are things at the house that…there are things he needs. He still half thinks this is all some giant prank, but Steve’s injuries are real and the guns were sure as hell real and Hopper is real.  If something terrible is going to happen tonight, Eddie has to save his guitar, his mom’s records, the t-shirt from the first concert Wayne ever took him to. He’ll need to get Wayne’s favorite mug and the rosary Wayne’s mother left him and their social security cards and other important documents from the drawer in the kitchen. 

It’ll take five minutes. Guitar. Milk crate of records. One bag of assorted shit. And then he’ll go to Henderson’s.

Five minutes.

In and out.

It’ll be fine.

[steddieasitgoes]

Steve’s maternal grandfather was a classically trained pianist. He traveled all over the world as a concert pianist before retiring around the time Steve was born. He takes a job as a church pianist and buys Steve a baby grand piano so he can teach his only grandson how to play. Steve learns how to play piano and read music before he learns how to read books.

His grandfather dies when Steve is 9, and his mom gets upset whenever she hears Steve playing, because it reminds her of her dad, who chose the piano over her most of her life. So, Steve stops playing, not wanting to upset his mom. She tried to sell the piano, but no one in Hawkins is interested, so it stays covered with a bedsheet and locked away in the former music room.

Steve picks it up again when his parents start fighting and his mom starts going on business trips with his dad. He finds himself spending long nights at the penchant, fingers dancing across the ivory keys. He’s rusty at first, but playing the piano is a lot like riding a bike — you never really forget.

He keeps his talent a secret, though. Keeps the piano locked away in the old music room when Robin and the Party is over and doesn't let them down that hallway. Likes that he has something for himself, though he does have moments where he wishes he could share his talent with his found family.

Eddie’s the first person he tells.

They’re hanging out together in Steve’s living room. Eddie’s got his acoustic slung across his lap. Fingers moving up and down the frets. His brows are furrowed, and his lip is tugged between his teeth. He’s been stuck on the same melody for days now and Steve offered up his place, hoping a change in scenary would rid him of his music block.

It hasn’t.

“Jesus H. Christ” Eddie swears, gently moving the acoustic to the side. He throws the rest of his body down on the rug.

“You’re being too hard on yourself, Ed’s. It sounds great.”

“You’re just saying that cause it’s not loud and obnoxious.”

“It is different than your usual sound,” Steve hums, gently guiding himself from the couch down to the floor next to Eddie.

“Jeff wrote a love song for this girl he’s seeing. But he's always sucked at the music part, so I said I’d give it a shot.” Eddie says, raising his arms in the air in front of his face. He starts to fiddle with the large skull ring on his finger. “I think the melody would sound better on a piano but none of us can play so, my acoustic will have to do.”

Steve's not sure why he does what he does next. Maybe it's because Eddie is right, and the song would sound better with a piano, or maybe it's because he'd move the moon and starts to make Eddie Munson smile. Whatever the case, Steve stands. Offers Eddie a hand and hoists him with him.

He starts walking down the hallway towards the room no one even knows exists. Eddie hot on his heels.

"Don't tell me you've been hiding a secret sex dungeon," Eddie teases as Steve raises to his tiptoes to grab the key hidden on the top of the door frame.

"If I had a secret sex dungeon, don't you think I'd have shown it to you by now?" Steve asks, hip-checking Eddie out of the way so he can get to the door knob.

"Fair point," Eddie says.

Steve can tell he's about to say something else, when the door clicks open. The baby grand is still covered with a white bedsheet, but it's easy to make it out. Especially for a music expert like Eddie.

"Holy shit," Eddie says, slowly moving closer to the center of the room as if he's going to startle the piano. "Is that what I think it is?"

Steve nods and begins rolling up the bedsheet exposing the beautiful black, shiny baby grand piano. He tosses the sheet aside and takes a seat at the bench. Carefully lifts the keyboard cover and pats the bench next to him. Eddie joins instantly.

"You can play?" Eddie asks as Steve's fingers start moving across the keys. He starts with something simple, the melody to "Twinkle Twinkle," before moving on to one of the formal pieces his granddad taught him. Eddie sits motionless, eyes darting between Steve's profile and his fingers dancing across the keys. When Steve stops, Eddie lets out a gasping breath. Playfully bumps his shoulder with Steve's. "You son of a bitch! You have been holding out on me!"

"Maybe a little," Steve chuckles. "But not about having a sex dungeon."

"You sure about that?" Eddie says, moving in closer. He rests his head on Steve's shoulder and angles his face so his lips are right next to Steve's ear. "I hear sex on a piano is pretty amazing."

Steve blushes, feels the butterflies fluttering in his gut. He laughs, shrugging Eddie off his shoulder. Playful. Bashful. "Come on, we've got a song to write."

Eddie looks at Steve, even more bewildered than before. This time Steve meets his gaze, takes in Eddie's woofish smile that he's trying to hide behind a strand of hair and his blown pupils.

"You really are my wildest dreams come true," Eddie moans, stealing a kiss. It's a quick but passionate. A reminder that they're not done yet. "Alright, let's get this song done so we can really break this piano in after."

[thebottomfromhell]

this one is just for the demon children, in reverse au. Let's imagine a scenario where they were found, still babies, by the demon reader who, whether out of curiosity or another reason, decided to raise them. It could be something short about them growing up with their demon father or the kids' impressions of what it's like to have a father who isn't human.

Adding to this is another scenario where a hashira (canonical, if you want to give names) finds the child with the demon and tries or even manages to kill the father and take the child with him. What would our three children's feelings be about this and what would they do?

Sorry for being so long, but your blog excites me

It's ok, I like these long texts at requests, to people to share their ideas and explain them. This looks more than a divergence than Reverse AU, but hey! It's 100% welcome here. I love to see everyone's concepts.

Reverse AU (with divergence) Demon Kids (as humans) having Male Demon Reader as a Father figure since young + Reader facing a non-character Hashira

Warnings: Implied child neglect and abuse, Implied child prostitution, Cannibalism, Attempted kidnapping, Angst, Implied non-character death, Reader's death (explicit),

Daki (ft. Gyutaro):

The boy (Gyutaro) holds his sister (Ume/Daki) close to him, she is barely a toddler, yet he must heat her up outside on the snow. Their mother doesn't like them in the house when it's winter. She doesn't mind them any other station, since she goes out to try and get clients and drugs, but in winter she stays inside, and she hates them. Still, three years old... he is still amazed of how much she is growing, and at the same time, worrying she isn't growing up enough. She neesd more food, better food, she also needs a warm place to stay, and many other things he never had. At his 16 years he works for it, collecting debts, but he can't leave her alone in this cold. What if she dies?

Then he notices a figure, a male adult before him, eyes glowing in the dark. He holds his sister tighter as you get on your knees in front of him. "You both smell like frozen meat, do you think you will survive the winter outside?" The boy ignores you, they can, they have to, his sister can't die like this, and that means he must also live to take care of her. "You look very weak, even if your smell says otherwise. You think she won't die with you? Such a pretty child doesn't deserve such a fate." He knows it. She is pretty, she is worth the world, unlike him, but that is more reason to keep her alive. "Ne..... ne... And what would you have me doing?" He can barely speak up, but he does. "Our mother won't let us in."

You took a look on the little girl. You know well this place, here she will grow up into nothing more than a shell that sells itself for the sake of food, add power if things go well enough. She is beautiful, you can tell even at this young age, she would definetely be able the find someone to buy her services the second she turns legal at 13 years old. And for that same reason you know she has no place in here, nothing worth the little treasure she is. She could be a lot more, a lot of children in this place could, but you have a better feeling by this one. Even now, as she grips tightly her only source of warmth, you see she is a survivor, someone determined. She takes it from the boy helping her, you guess, but unlike her, he is alreasy tainted by this place. You might have come earlier, but that would mean facing the Kizuki that lives nearby. "I can take her away, to somewhere safe. Somewhere she will have a better future than as a prostitute."

To his credit, the boy seems to consider it. He looks very distressed, not knowing what to do with the cub in his arms. "Can... I follow from behind? I promise I won't be a bother. I won't talk and stay behind, you won't even have to look at me. But... I need to take care of her... that way you won't have to...." He talks rushed, but shy, not knowing what to do. It's, a bit sad, so willing to do whatever gives her the life she deserves but unable to let her go, to thw point he is willing to become nothing but an accesorie in her life. You don't comment on it, while weak he does look old enough to live by his own. "What is her name?" Is all you ask, and he looks at one specific direction, probably his mother's house, for some seconds before answering. "She doesn't have one." Now that is weird, even demons have names. Even uou have a name of your own. "And what is your name?" Same reaction, but he seems less ashamed of the answer. "I also don't have one... people just call me different names... insults that... are for me. But she deserves a better name."

You end up taking both, mostly doting on the girl that you ended naming Daki, something with a potential to live on. While on the boy, he is sixteen, old enough to choose what he wants to be called, and you tell him so, waiting for him to come up with a name and tell it to you. He ends up choosing Gyutaro. A very ugly name, but you guess Daki isn't much better. In the end, Gyutaro is a lot more helpful than you expected. He is able to make up with few as you stay in caves, using snimal skin and your victim's possesion to build something, besides always having a campfire onn. You teach them how to write and read, and in the end it's Gyutaro who ends up feeding her and making sure she is healthy, always staying behind when you play with her, watching. You don't know how to apporach him, you never did, considering he was 16 when you found them, now he is fully an adult, even if he never became healthier or bigger, no matter how much he ate or rested, but he is stronger. He even decided to ho back to the district and take the job as debt collector again, comming every once in a while with money and gifts for Daki.

You make your mind on turning him too, once once the girl becomes an adult and you can turn her. The boy, now a man, is so strong he could easily become a Kizuki if he tried. Right now she is 13, and is playing outside at the sun, while you watch her over the shadow, using a little river nearby to entertain herself by splashing and collecting rocks. "Otou-chan, look! I found pretty rocks. Can you save them for me as I look for more? I want to give these ones to onii-chan, the next one is for you, I promise!" Such a beautiful child. "Of course, my little princess." But of course, the second she is some steps into the sun, you see someone moving fast into your direction, making you move back into the cave. "OTOU-CHAN!" She screams in fear, sound reaching you as the blade starts to pierce through your neck smoothly, too smoothly. Is this a Hashira? Your neck is almost completely cut by the time the slayer moves because out of reflex when the girl threw a rock at him, then only to keep grabbing things to try and stop them. You see the human trying to talk to her, tell her to run away, as she screams "NO! GET AWAY FROM HIM! I'M TELLING YOU TO STAY AWAY FROM MY OTOU-CHAN!"

You manage to get the scent of Gyutaro not so far. "DAKI! GO OUTSIDE! GO GET YOUR BROTHER!" It was a mistake to tell her that, you wanted to be safe, but the second she was out in the sun again and began to scream for Gyutaro, the Hashira cut your neck effortlessly, attacking you from behind before you could realize where he is. Everything because you were paying attention to the girl. The cut in the neck hurt, then, you began the desintegrate from thin air. It doesn't really hurt, but it fills you with despair, specially as you see the slayer go to Daki and grab his wrist. "What the- LET ME GO! LET ME GO RIGHT NOW! ONII-CHAN! OTOU-CHAN! HELP!" You hear her crying, slowly realizing in the middle of evevrything why you are not going to save her, still shouting for you as her beautiful voice breaks ans her eyes shed tears, still struggling against the man as she pulls her amr and hits him.

But... then there is a sense of calm, because suddenly, with a kanna on his hand, Gyutaro is behind the slayer. "Oi, oi, oi...." he says before stabbing the heart of the slayer before he could react. "What are you doing to my sister, ne?" At least she will be safe, and that is the only thing that matters right now. "OTOU-CHAN! OTOU-CHAN! NO! DON'T LEAVE! DON'T DIE! I WON'T FORGIVE YOU! I WON'T!" But there is nothing you can do about it. You look at your cub, wanting to smile but already being without a mouth, just sheding some last tears with her as... everything becomes a numbing black.

Kaigaku:

Kaigaku never met his parents, he was an orphan for as long as he remembers. You, on the other hand, don't remember having a child ever, but that doesn't mean you never did, with your memory loss. Most demons under Oyakata-sama do remember their past, you have no idea why you are different, but it has never stopped you from anything you wanted to do. You are able to run free, to eat, to make, to control... and yet, when you see a child in front of an orphanage, sitting alone in the dark, there is a nostalgic feeling growing inside you. Did you ever find another child like this? Were you a child like this? It's impossible to know now. But you are aware, this child is lonely... and afraid. He wants to survive, to live, he has determination. A fire- no. A thunder in his eyes.

"I'm not going to hurt you, little one." How old is he? How did human age work again? You don't even remember that. For you, he could be 2 the same way he could be 12. But he is young, young enough that his legs are too short, his face and body are chubby and lacks defines muscles. "What is your name?" You try again as he doesn't answer, doesn't move. "Kai.... Kaigaku...." he says softly, voice almost girlish as it hasn't reach enough levels of testosterone to sound like anything else. You look at him and you feel so much warmth and value from such small body. "Nice to meet you, Kaigaku. I would like to be your friend." Something in the boy's eyes lights up at that last word. "Will you be my friend?" And that was all you needed to take him with you.

You... do make mistakes. Like feeding him with raw flesh sometimes... it took you a while to realize he won't get used to it. You could always transform him, but you would rather wait until he is an adult for that. To let him live his childhood fully, without being tainted by thirst. You also realize fast he can't be out in the cold... and that he needs to drink heated up water as any other also makes him sick, and that his moods swings depending on if he is hungry or cold or sleepy, because he needs to sleep a lot more than you thought he would. Well... this IS harder than you expected. "We will live here from now on, Kaigaku." You say as you bring him to a warm, cozy home out in the middle of nowhere within the trees and definetely did nor belong to your last dinner...

But the boy is happy here, happier than ever. You start learning how to cook with books, realizing you have to also teach the boy to write and read. It's a bit hard... everything. But you see him grow up and smile everyday, and even form a temper. "To-san! To-san! Look! I killed a boar by myself!" And he also grows up too fast. He is definetely a teen now, an age he can already be considered an adult but... he is still your little one, that small and puffy kid you found alone in the dark. That is an image you will never forget. "Very well done, kid."

And then it hit's you, literally. A thunder breathing technique, no doubt, there is no other way it coukd have reached you fo fast before you even realized someone was there. The blad cut half of your neck as you grab it to avoid being decapitated. "To-san!" You hear your boy, your cub scream for you, and you have no idea what to do. Specially when you see the golden button in the jacket of the uniform. It's a Hashira! You have no chance against one. The only reason you are alive right now if because the slayer stopped his speed and strenght, probably to not risk hitting Kaigaku. It seems that same thing has saved you, because Kaigaku tries to get in between the affair, screaming at the slayer, who tries to take him away and explain the situation while he is attacked by the boy with a knife and keeping you at bay by cutting your limbs whenever you get close.

You are afraid he might loose his patience and defend himself against the cub, but also, the more you look at him the more you think. You don't want to die, you can't, not know, not when you are the only person in this boy's life. If you die, he will end up all alone in this cruel world. He doesn't deserve to be like that again, sitting in the dark, cold, alone and afraid. You can't let that happen again, but how can you face a Hashira? What might be ebough to deal with one? "To-san, run! I will distract him! I will see you back home!" "Don't do anything foolish! Kaigaku, stop!" You also lunge at the slayer to prevent anything to happen, making sure to cover your neck with your arm, the cub gets to scratch the face of the sword user before being sent away by a strong push, flying to the side as you jump to catch him. The boy is unconscious, and you have to let him fall on the ground amto evade another slice on the neck, barely making it again.

You just... care too much for this boy to leave him. Even if he isn't yours by blood... by blood. That... that might be it. You see the scratch on the slayer's face, it still bleeds a little.... it might work, you loose nothing trying. You must try. When the human is close again, you rip off your arm. It hurts, a lot, but it bleeds directly into the Hashira's face. Usually demons don't rely in hurting themselves, but you are desperate. You need to save Kaigaku. The blood in his eyes blinds him for a while, enough for you to throw your arm at him, grab the boy and run. The transformation should start soon, and if you are lucky, the slayer will kill himself before it even begins the second he realizes demon blood touched an open wound.

You barely make it home before sunrise, but you do, not managing to close the door, but still hidding in a shadow. Your arm hasn't regenerated fully yet, and Kaigaku is still asleep. You let him wake up by his own. "To....-san?" You soothe him with your good arm. "Don't worry, kiddo. We are fine. We made it. All thanks to you." He really has a thunder inside him. He seems to calm down, only to cry his emotions out as you comfort him the best you can. Paises, pats, hugs, everything you can do right now. It's fine, it will be.

Zohakuten (ft. Clones):

"YOU DID WHAT?! HOW DARE YOU?! I SHOULD KILL YOU FOR IT! YOU PROMISED HIS MOTHER YOU WOULDN'T THROW HIM OUT!" When Hayato (Urogi, 13 years old) and Kazuo (Aizetsu, 12 years old) overheard Toshirō (Sekido, 17 years old) and their father arguing, they ran to the street, where Zohakuten (who the fuck names their child "Hatred"?) was thrown, a four year old thrown into the streets. It seems that is what the two eldest are fighting about, since it happened when all of them were away, even now Masami (Karaku, 15 years old, the only one who already goes by that name in the streets) is still at work, so they can't rely on him while searching. Did he ran away? Was he taken? Have they failed their youngest brother already? Attacked by an animal? It's already dark, who knows what happened, and they don't exactly live in a safe area. Then in one turn, they see you, picking him up as he sleeps in your arms.

"HEY! HANDS OFF! THAT'S OUR LITTLE BROTHER! GIVE US ZOHAKUTEN!" Screams Hayato as Kazuo grabs him, sensing something wrong about you. Your eyes glow... why are your eyes glowing? "Hayato, one of us should look for Toshirō or Masami." You were about to answer when you have to move fast to evade a blade in your neck. A slayer? You jump towards a ceiling to look at that person better, still holding the child that grips you tightly in dreams. Such a precious and unprotected cub. From an open window from an inn a another human, similar to the other too, shows his face, clearly sweaty, covering himself with a sheet, smelling like arousal. "HEY, BASTARD! COME BACK HERE! YOU STILL HAVE TO PAY ME! I DIDN'T TAKE ALL YOUR SHIT UP MY ASS SO You-..." He shuts up when gazing the other two. "Hayato? Kazuo? What are you- Where are Toshirō and Zohakuten?!" He smells afraid now.

Thankfully, it was a weak slayer, slightly drunk, definetely tipsy. Easy to kill once in his blind spot by a hit in the neck. The two first humans paralyze at that while the green-eyed runs, already dressed. You were going to leave in the silence, but the third one arrives. "Wait! Wait! Don't take him!" He blocks your path, annoying you slightly. "I know what you are, you... he won't taste that good. I... I can offer a lot more. I can serve show and dinner... willingly! Amuse you for as long as you need then you can just eat my flesh, but please let him down... I am good at-" "Silence." He does obey you, even if he looks as if he is about to cry or laugh, probably both, but he still doesn't move or relax, looking at the cub in your hands. A few seconds pass as the blue-eyed human speaks, hugging the gold-eyed one's arm. "Please. Just give him back. We were just looking for him. It was our father the one who threw him out. We want him back. We will take care of him, just... don't hurt him or Masami. Our onii-san is working on the matter, it won't happen again, we promise."

Then there is suddenly a scent of blood nearby in the area that wasn't there, big amounts, full of alcohol. "Blood and alcohol nearby." All of them seem to pale as the cub stears, you rock him in your arms in an attemp of calming him down. "Please... Toshirō... we.... I'll do anything. Toshirō is important to Zohakuten." You both spend the time in silence, until you settle for a compromise."I won't hurt the cub. I carry him to his home with you." They can't trust him with you, nor you can trust him with them. But still, it's acceptable enough, even if the Masami one takes the slayer's sword with him. When you arribe to the house, too small, dirty, smells like alcohol all over, you find a red-eyed version of these humans besides a corpse, being badly hurt himself. "Toshirō! Toshirō, what happened?!" The Toshirō one is panting, grabbing his wound in the stomach, before talking. "He is dead, we must leave before anyone else finds out."

You just grab the cub when everything happens. You all end up in a house of your victims or caves, moving together, since nobody can do anything about it. Zohakuten is stubborn and attatched to each one of you, as you are the one who take care of him most of the time, he starts calling you "papa". They changed their names to emotions, except Karaku... he said he was already recognized by that in some places and he wanted to keep working, so he would keep it that way. The others also begin to work, but Karaku dis keep the sword. You wonder if he would joing the slayer corps if it wasn't because he is afraid you will hurt Zohakuten. "Papa! Papa! Let's play!" You wouldn't, not this beautiful boy. Between all of you, it's easy to keep him happy and give him everything he needs, specially when all of them reach adulthood. "Papa, can we go out and see the stars? I really can't sleep."

You were never able to tell him no, that was something that for once, you shouldn't have done. You went out alone while the others were asleep, and suddenly... you need to cover the boy as you are attacked by a sword. You remember the night you took the boy in your arms by the first time, this slayer is muchas faster and stronger. Is he a Hashira? Probably. This means this time you are fucked. Also, a difference from that time is that Zohakuten is awake, so he screams. Both the afraid voice and the cut are painful, as you move to try and let him on the floor to face the slayer. A bit of your blood feel on the cub's face, what if the slayer attacks him thinking there is a risk of transformation?

"Kid, you need to run back home! Go back to your brothers!" You say without taking your eyes off the Hashira, who doesn't take them off you in exchange. "Go!" You urge him as the slayer ruches over you the second your skin begins to heal, making you grab his wrist while you duck. "NO! I WON'T LEAVE YOU TO THIS BULLY! THIS VILLAIN!" As endearing as that is, it's not the time for that. He needs to get out of here. "I can handdle it for now. Look for the others so they can help!" Ypu lie, there is no way you can survive against a Hashira by your own enough time for a 12 year old human to go all the way home and back. But you have a priority. "Listen to your papa, go get help!" After some seconds of silence, "ok...." he runs away, you can only hear his steps.

He will probably cry and curse you, he does have a bad vocabulary, courtesy of you and Sekido. Sekido will probably lead the process of moving on without you, he could feel Karaku thought of you as a threat, only keeping you around because he felt little of a choice, not liking or trusting you, having Aizetsu and Urogi around you all the time. Had you listened to him and brought one of them with you, you might have survived. But no, you are beheaded easily and left for death, but you did manage to run away on the opposite direction to hive Zohakuten time to get home. Urogi and Aizetsu will at least remain comforting the little guy, and Karaku will, as always, keep working.

Your heart aches as you die alone in the dark, wishing to have been able to comfort the cub one last time, or at least say goodbye. But it's over, and at least he will never be alone as long as he has his brothers, hence, you beg they never become slayers. Never.

[ladykailitha]

Can Anybody See Me? Part 8

Now we’re getting to the reason behind the title.

On the tagging, I HAVE REACHED MY HARD AND FAST LIMIT OF 50. I love the response this story has gotten. I do. I love you all. I love every reply, like, and reblog. It brings me so much joy, you don’t even know. But tagging is hard for my ADHD brain. I have gone up from 20 to 30 and finally 50 as my system improved but I think if I do any more than that I’ll go insane. So any future tagging requests will be ignored. Sorry.

The best way to keep update on these stories is follow me and set me on notifications. I rarely do a lot of reblogging these days (too busy churning out stories like whoa), so more often then not a post will be a story. I try to post at least once a day (some times twice if I’m trying to rush through the posting a bit like I did to make sure the Valentine fic got out in time without making people wait on Vamp!Eddie), just never at set time.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

*

When Eddie heard how Gethin had done it, he was starting wonder who the smart twin was, because it was brilliant.

The chemicals for developing film were kept in Miss Chen’s room and he took some quick pictures of Steve’s piece before promptly spilling some of the chemicals that the teacher had in her class room all over it.

It ATE the paper. Gethin had tried to mop it up before it got too bad. But alas, it was too late.

“Mr Hughes!” Miss Chen protested. “Please be more careful next time!”

Gethin apologize profusely. He begged her to give the poor student whose piece he had just destroyed an extra week to finish the project, because he had been soooo careless.

She agreed.

He ran out of her class with the chemicals he needed to develop the film in his camera.

Pictures he slipped into Eddie’s locker during lunch.

*

After school Eddie waited until the halls were empty before he opened his locker. He knelt down to pick them up and blinked. Steve was really good. The composition was sound and colors were great.

The page wasn’t even that scary. It was just of this boy walking up to a house in the dead of night. In one of the panels you could almost make out something watching the boy, but it was the vague sense of unease made it so you could tell it was going be a horror comic. It was good. And suddenly Eddie was pissed at Miss Chen for calling Steve out for this.

Especially since Eddie’s own comic was about slaying a dragon.

He shoved the pictures back into his backpack and slammed the locker shut.

“Well what have we got here?” a voice said from behind him.

Shit.

Eddie turned around slowly. There was Tommy H, Billy, and Kyle, standing there with their arms crossed.

“Hey, boys,” he said with a grin. “You looking to buy? I’ve got about four kilos.”

Tommy and Kyle looked at each other, nervously. They didn’t want to antagonize their drug dealer.

Billy ran his tongue over his teeth thoughtfully. “I just wanted to talk. I’ve been seeing Harrington hanging around you freaks lately and wanted to know why?”

Eddie folded his arms. “I get you’re new here, Hargrove, but your friends should have told you: I’m the king of picking up lost sheep. I like bringing people into my fold that the rest of this school has deemed outcasts. Steve Harrington has become one of those. And how could I resist such a tempting treat as the former king of Hawkins High?”

“You leave him the fuck alone, you hear me?” Billy growled.

“Or what?” Eddie asked. “You’ll do me like you did him? And then where will you get your weed? Because if you do I will make sure that I don’t sell to you or any of your little friends.” He wagged his finger as he indicated to Tommy and Kyle. “I’ll fucking cut off the entire basketball team. Don’t think I won’t. How long do you think you’ll be king then, Hargrove? When suddenly everyone’s supply dries up because you fucked with me?”

Kyle tugged on Billy’s arm. “Come on, man. Whatever your beef with Harrington is, it’s not worth this.”

Tommy just stood there looking Eddie in the eye.

“So what’s it going to be, Hagen?” Eddie asked. “You going to side with King Jackass here and alienate the whole fucking basketball team because you’ve got a hard on for Harrington? Or are you going to the smart thing and walk away?”

Tommy grabbed Billy’s other arm. “Let’s go.”

Billy wrenched his arms from both of them and stalked off.

“Run along, Tommy,” Eddie said making a shooing motion with his hands. “Go suck Hargrove’s dick.”

Tommy made to swing at Eddie, but Kyle stopped him. “Don’t do it, dude. He’s trying to get a rise out of you.”

Eddie grinned. He blew a kiss at Tommy and then walked off, a nervous energy humming in his veins.

He walked out to his van and found Steve waiting for him. Eddie smirked.

“You waiting for me, big boy?” he asked walking up to the other boy.

“I wanted to thank you for what you did about my art project,” Steve explained. “And then I saw Billy and Tommy and I got worried.”

Eddie patted his cheek. “You’re sweet, but I told you, I’m immune.”

Steve rolled his eyes.

“Plus, pretty boy,” Eddie said. “You won’t have to worry about that lot anymore. They came after me and I set them straight. If they want to keep buying weed, either they’ve got find someone new or leave you the hell alone.”

Steve sighed in relief. “So everything’s cool?”

“Cool as can be,” Eddie agreed. He opened the door and hopped into the van. “And I didn’t do anything to your project, Stevie.”

He saluted Steve and drove off, leaving behind a very confused, but very happy Steve Harrington.

*

Steve kept his eye on Tommy and Billy but by the end of the week there was no doubt that whatever Eddie had said them, made them back off.

“Hey, Steve,” Gareth said, nonchalant. “Did you know that there chemicals used in the art department for all sorts art related shit that can dissolve paper?”

Steve cocked an eyebrow at him. “You don’t say.”  

“Didn’t you now,” Brian said with a grin, “Gareth’s brother is a big photography nerd.”

“Oh, he must know Jonathan Byers, then,” Steve said, deliberately not taking their bait.

Gareth cocked his head to the side and hummed. “Maybe not. Different grades. But still could do, I suppose.”

Steve grinned. “Miss Chen did say it was a photography student that ruined my comic, maybe I should go thank Jonathan.” He winked at them and they burst out laughing.

Which was actually what Steve thought had happened when Eddie denied all knowledge of what happened. That Jonathan had recognized the scene of Steve on his way to Jonathan’s house and messed it up, worried Steve might get in trouble with the government.

But Gethin doing it made Steve sigh in relief. He already owe his life to Jonathan, owing him for the art project, too? That was too much for even Steve’s wounded pride.

Steve had already fobbed Nancy off earlier in the week because Jonathan had snitched.

She was practically screaming about being so careless. As if Steve would make the characters look like them. He had asked her if she had seen it herself and when she admitted she hadn’t, Steve told her to back off. Which lo and behold, she actually did.

“It’s bullshit Miss Chen even said anything,” Eddie growled. “It’s of this boy walking up to a house at night. It could’ve been of a boy going to pick up a girl on a date, but because Steve used muted tones and creepy vibes, she decided it was sad or some shit and threatened to call Steve’s parents.”

The other three boys looked at each other. “That is bullshit,” they all agreed.

Steve shrugged. “I changed to be about a lost little girl who connects with a social recluse and they become a family. If she gives me shit about that one, I’ll kindly let Chief Hopper know that Miss Chen thinks him and his adopted daughter’s story is toooo depressing for school.”

“I like the way you think,” Jeff said with a cackle.

Steve grinned. Silence descended as the boys ate their lunch. As they were packing up, he casually dropped a bomb on them.

“Miss Lucy wants me to try out for the school musical...”

“No way, dude!” Eddie said. Miss Lucy was the drama teacher. Her last name was one of those that looked easy on paper but really wasn’t. So she had all her students call her by her first name.

“I thought you were new to the whole drama thing,” Brian said.

“I am but she seems to think I’m good enough to tryout,” Steve said with a shrug.

“Are you going to do it?” Eddie asked in all seriousness.

Steve bit his lip. “I want to but I don’t want people to get mad at me if I do a get a part.”

Gareth’s brow furrowed. “Why would they be mad at you?”

Steve shrugged again. “That a newbie like me is taking away a roll from one of the more seasoned kids?”

“If that’s the case,” Jeff said, “then fuck them. You didn’t know you had a talent for it.”

Steve smiled warmly at them. “Thanks, guys.”

Eddie clapped him on the back. “You go get ‘em, tiger!”

Steve laughed. “Yeah, okay.”

He felt the warmth from where Eddie touched his back all day long. And he carried that feeling all the way through his audition.

*

“You are such chicken shit,” Eddie told Steve. The results were back for call backs and he was too afraid to look.

“I know, I know,” Steve murmured. “But I would rather walk through an entire pack of demodogs then look at that stupid piece of paper.”

“What the fuck is a demodog?”

Steve blinked. “Something the kids made up for their D&D campaign.” Which was true. Mostly.

“Uh-huh,” Eddie said, licking his lips. “You owe big time for this.”

“I’ll buy you dinner,” Steve promised.

“And it better be somewhere nice!” Eddie called back over his shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve grumbled.

Within seconds Eddie came flouncing back. “Bad news, Stevie...”

“I didn’t get called back?” Steve asked.

Eddie cackled. “You got called back for Charles Thomson. You’re going up against Kyle Carver.”

“Fuck.”

“Language, Mr Harrington,” Mr Hall, one of the swim coaches murmured as he walked by.

“Sorry, coach,” Steve said automatically. He turned back to Eddie. “He’s going to get it, isn’t he?”

“Kyle?” Eddie asked. Steve nodded. “Probably. Though it would be a serious miscarriage of justice if he does.”

Steve grinned. “Good thing you’re a fan of those. Maybe you start a letter campaign against bias casting in school plays.”

Eddie looked around to make sure there weren’t any teachers. “Fuck off, Harrington.”

Steve kissed his nose and ran off giggling. “See you later, Munson.”

Eddie stood in the hall being jostled by other students as he thoughtfully rubbed his nose.

*

Steve watched Kyle audition from the audience and was so sure Kyle had it in the bag. Until he opened his mouth to sing and what came out of his mouth was horribly off key.

“Mr Carver, are you all right?” Miss Lucy asked.

Kyle nodded and tried again. This time it was better, but no where near it was when he auditioned the first time.

“I must be coming down with a cold,” Kyle excused.

Miss Lucy frowned. “Your turn, Mr Harrington.”

Steve took a deep breath and let it out slow, like Eddie had taught him. He stepped up to the stage and turned around.

“You know, sometimes I think the general is speaking to me,” Steve recited his lines, his voice breaking on the last word. And then he used the scene to launch into the singing part of his audition.

Miss Lucy was humming and nodding as Steve finished up the song.

“Thank you, Mr Harrington,” Miss Lucy said. “Results will be posted on the drama room door tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Miss Lucy,” Steve said.

As he passed Kyle the boy hissed, “Suck up.”

Steve just shrugged. “Or maybe it’s just polite to thank someone for their time.” 

Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15  Part 16  Part 17 Part 18  Part 19  Part 20  Part 21

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[jerzwriter]

This was entirely too much fun! To answer the question for Day 5 of @tobias-carrick-appreciation-week - WWTD? He's accidentally opened a package that belongs to someone else, and the contents are very embarrassing... what does he do?

Book: Open Heart (Post Series Timeline) Pairing: Tobias x Casey Carrick (F!MC) Rating: Teen Words: 1,800 Summary: Tobias is the first one home, and when the lights go out, he accidentally opens the wrong package, and he's in for quite a surprise. Can Casey help him through it? Or is the man scarred for life?

A/N: Participating in @julychallenge Vulnerable, Emotional, Intimidation, Drama, and maybe even Grief. lol

Tobias pulled into the driveway behind his townhome under darkened skies. His hopes of getting home before the skies opened were dashed, and the flimsy newspaper he held above his head did nothing to prevent the soaking he had hoped to avoid. He sighed with relief when he stepped under the front door awning.

A two-car garage, he thought to himself. Another reason to convince Casey that they should sell the townhome and buy a house in the suburbs. It was a hard sell... he loved Boston, and so did she, but with a baby on the way, there was a good argument to be made. The biggest argument of all was his mother buying a condo just two blocks away. His beloved South-End neighborhood was about to change drastically, and he wasn’t sure he could cope.

His shoulders slouched as he reached down and picked up several packages on his front step before going inside. It was hopeless. Casey would never agree to it. He'd already tried before.

“Tobias, she's not going to be here all the time. She just wants a place nearby when she comes to Boston. With the baby on the way, she wants to be around more, and she'll be a big help to us. Besides, would you rather she just stay here with us when she visits?”

“NO!” He hollered out loud, suddenly relieved that he was the only one home.

He loved his mother, he truly did, and he even agreed having her around more once the baby arrived would be good for everyone involved. But Vivian Carrick had taken up residence with them three weeks before to oversee the work being done at her new place, and he was being reminded of why he and his mother did best when they didn't spend too much time together.

He placed the packages on the kitchen table and found a note on the fridge.

Darlings, Don’t wait for me to have dinner. I expect to be home late tonight. Love, Mom

“Yes!” He grinned, pumping a victorious fist in the air.

Casey would be home in a couple of hours, and they could have the place to themselves for a bit. He could spoil his beautiful wife as he saw fit without any competition from Mom. They could cuddle on the couch—clothing optional—and if things moved according to plan, well, they wouldn’t have to keep the volume down. A definite win!

A loud thunderclap rattled the windows, and the room lit up with the lightning strike that followed; then, everything went dark.

“Damn it!” he cursed, grateful for the bit of light that remained in the sky; he grabbed the package addressed to him and headed upstairs.

After changing out of his wet clothes, he returned to bed and opened the box. After breaking the tape and removing the packaging, he was in for a pleasant surprise.

“Oh.... nice,” he hummed with a salacious grin. His fingers traced the red lace on the teddy he already pictured on his gorgeous wife. The effects were almost instant. “Simmer down, big boy,” he said to his favorite appendage. "It's been a long day, and you need to take a nap before she gets home.”

There was another bit of lingerie as well, bit being the operative word, and then behind that...

“Well, well, well,” he beamed with approval. “Looks like we’re in for a very good time!”

He had to be the luckiest man alive. With morning sickness now in the past, their sex life had bounced right back to where it was... but that got him thinking... he Googled what sex toys were safe to use during pregnancy – after all, he was a horny bastard, but he was a protective husband and dad-to-be before all. With a bit of reassurance from the internet, he put the items back in the box, and then it hit him... what if she had wanted this to be a surprise? Feeling guilty, he repackaged the box and left a little note on top.

Hey Baby, I accidentally opened this, but don't worry! I didn’t see a thing... but I’m dying to know what you bought. xo

He hopped under the covers with a smile, knowing his wife would be home when he woke, and several hours later, that came to be. Casey leaned over to wake him with a gentle kiss on his forehead, and he awoke with a smile.

“How was your day, baby?” He asked groggily.

“I can’t complain. But I’m happy to be home with you."

“And I'm glad you're here,” he simpered, tugging her down to join him. “Good news! Ma is going to be out tonight... so we’ve got the place to ourselves.”

“Oooh,” Casey groaned, her husband already nibbling at her ear. “What are you doing?”

“Mmmhh... it’s either this or we go downstairs and eat,” he replied. “Ma’s been here too long, and I have to do something to alleviate the stress.”

“Tobias!” She playfully admonished. “Be nice to your Mom!”

“I am nice! I’m also serious. The woman can drive me insane!”

“My poor baby,” Casey purred. “What can I do to take away some of that stress?”

“Well,” he wiggled his brows. “You did get a package in the mail today.”

“I did?”

“Yep, it’s on your dresser.”

Casey flipped the light switch. Fortunately, the power had come back on, and she retrieved the brown cardboard box from her dresser. Returning to the bed, she removed its contents, a bewildered look on her face.

“Uh, hon... this isn’t my package.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, adjusting his eyes to the light.

“I was waiting on a coffee grinder... and while the things in this box can certainly be used for grinding, well... there wouldn’t be any coffee involved.”

“What?” He asked. “The lingerie... the toys... you didn’t order them?”

“Nope,” she said, flipping the box over to look at the address label – her eyes popping as her lips morphed into an amused grin. “Oh... my... God!”

“What?!” Tobias demanded, taking the box from her hand. His eyes bulged open, and he followed with what could only be described as a primal scream.

“Tobias,” Casey chuckled. “Keep it down! The neighbors will think you’re being murdered!”

“Oh my God,” he groaned, “Right about now, I wish I was!”

There it was. In bold letters. MRS. VIVIAN CARRICK.

“Oh, no! No, no, no, no, no!” Tobias wailed. “I need to shower! I need to get out of this house! I need to go to confession!”

“You’re not Catholic,” Casey laughed.

“Well, I’m willing to be tonight!”

“Hon, take it easy,” she assured. “It’s embarrassing, but it’s not the end of the world. Just tell her you accidentally opened the box, and....”

“WHAT? ARE YOU KIDDING ME? I can’t let my mother know I saw this! And... who the hell is she using this with?”

“I think we have to file that second question under none of your business.”

“It is too my business!” He insisted.

Casey placed the box on her nightstand and rolled her eyes.

“T., your Mom is of age. She has a right to do whatever she wants to do and to do it in privacy. Does she know everything you’ve done?”

“That’s different!”

“Why?”

“Because she’s my MOTHER!”

“Oh,” Casey declared. “And mothers just stop being sexual human beings. You better hope that’s not true, dear, because in another six months, I’m going to be a mom, and I hope you don’t think our sex life is coming to a dramatic halt."

Tobias looked insulted. “Of course, it won’t, but she...she’s my MOTHER! I can't let her know I saw this. Can you tell her you opened it by mistake?”

“Me?!” Casey startled. “NO! I’m not doing that!”

“Why not? Baby, please? Do it for me?”

“Not even for you!” She insisted.

“I’d do It for you!”

“Oh," she chortled. "You’d tell my Mom that you accidentally opened her box of sex toys? OK."

Tobias flipped his head back and threw a pillow over his face before letting out another scream as Casey's side split with laughter.

"For what it’s worth, hon, if it were my mom, I’d just confess. You need to be honest with your mom."

“He needs to be honest with me about what?” The woman herself asked.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN OUR BEDROOM!” Tobias howled.

“The door was wide open!” Vivian pointed out. “Now, what the heck is going on in here?”

Casey handed the box to Vivian matter of factly, a shit-eating grin on her lips. “This arrived for you today. Tobias accidentally opened it, and he’s been trying to contact his therapist ever since.”

Vivian shook her head. “For the love of... I can’t be in the room with you for more than 10 minutes without the two of you engaging in some form of sexual innuendo... but I’m supposed to be a nun."

Casey turned to her husband with a shrug. “She makes a point...”

“God,” Tobias shrieked, pulling the blanket over his head. “Just take me now.”

“Vivian!” Casey said enthusiastically. “You never told me you were seeing someone!”

“Well, I didn’t want to tell anyone in the family unless I determined that he was worthy of introduction.”

“Makes sense...” Casey started as Tobias sat up, pushing the blankets away with a flourish.

“What! That’s the kind of man you’re seeing! Someone unfit of introduction!”

“Son,” she replied with an icy tone. “Do we really want to discuss how many ‘unworthy of meeting the family’ types you had in your life prior to finally settling down with this beautiful woman?"

“MA!” he yelled.

“Oh, babe,” Casey chuckled. “Like I don’t already know that....”

“That’s not the point,” Tobias groaned. He rolled onto his side, assuming the fetal position; Casey rubbed his back as she watched him coming apart.

“I’m sorry, Vivian," she smiled. "My husband is having an existential crisis. Why don’t you let me get him settled, then I’ll be downstairs... I want all the details.”

“I’d love that, darling. Normally, I’d say I’ll pour the wine, but...” she pointed to Casey’s barely there baby bump. “To be honest, I’m so glad I don’t have to worry about that anymore.”

“Oh, God...” Tobias winced.

“Viv... downstairs!” Casey ordered. “Make us a pot of herbal tea!”

Once they were alone in the room, Casey snuggled next to her traumatized husband. “Honey, why don’t you take a shower, have a nice stiff drink...”

“I can’t... I’m done for. You're going to have to raise our child on your own."

“Really? Well, that’s a shame... because you may have accidentally opened your Mom’s package, but you didn’t see the one I've had hidden in the back of my closet.”

“Wait,” Tobias's mood turned in an instant. “You... you have a package? What’s in it?”

“You’ll have to wait and see,” she winked.

“Come on, babe! Just give me a hint... is it something... you wear?”

“You’ll have to wait,” she teased, heading toward the door.

“Does it need batteries? Because... if it needs batteries... I could run out to the store.”

Casey blew him a kiss and smiled. “You’ll just have to be patient, Dr. Carrick!" Then she shut the door behind her.

Tobias jumped up from bed the second she left the room. After a quick shower, he lit candles and waited for her... rather impatiently... in bed. Casey knew the man all too well; after that exit, he didn't give his mother a second thought for the rest of the night.... and he learned an important lesson ... always check the label on a box before opening.

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Tagging others separately.

[timetohop]

Probably never gonna write this AU but it's haunting me so I'll throw it here and maybe someone is gonna play ghostbuster and write it for me.

Xie Lian is down on his luck and struggling to keep afloat, barely getting by with odd jobs that seem to change every other week. But it's fine! He's managing, he has a small flat and Ruoye and most days even two small meals. It's fine.

Except there are two kids living on the alley next door who don't seem to belong to anyone and no one seems to take care of them. The little girl is barely 6 - maybe not even - and the boy can't be much older. They're thin, and dirty, and XL can't look away, so he shares his meal (he can survive on one per day, no problem) and then it rains and how can he leave them outside? So he invites them in and then he can't let them go again. They're HIS now, and he is all they have (they ran away from their last abusive foster home and they refuse to go back).

But. Kids need food, and clothes, and medicine, and suddenly the money isn't enough anymore, even if he stretches meals and scavanges for second hand deals, and he can't get government support since they aren't officially his and they'd be taken away if it becomes known.

He tries getting a second and a third job, but it's not enough. Having kids is so expensive! He hesitates for a long time but he knows he's always been pretty, and after little Banyue goes hungry one too many times, and young Pei Xiu tries to make money to support XL when he should be a child instead, XL gives in and sells himself.

He hates it, and he only does it when money is especially tight, but it brings in enough money to feed everyone and pay rent and he can even buy them toys sometimes so it's worth it (even if it's slowly destroying XL, but it's fine. It has to be. It's for his kids, after all) (he doesn't notice how they notice him getting more and more withdrawn and every smile comes harder everytime he comes home late. Pei Xiu has seen enough on the streets to know)

Enter Hua Cheng. XL has made quite a name for himself, his beauty highly desirable. Maybe it's curiousity, maybe simple desire on first sight, but HC buys him for the night to accompany him to some event. The first time they meet, they are instantly attracted to each other. HC finds him immensely interesting, and XL is just glad to have a client for once who doesn't see him as just an object. They actually talk! It's sad that that is an improvement from 95% of his other clients, he thinks, but he's having fun and he thinks the after-party might not be so bad either.

The first half of the event is pretty boring. Small talk, pretentious rich people, less food than he'd like but good wine (too bad he doesn't drink). And then someone shoots at HC. XL has trained martial arts in his youth; he was the best, before everything went to hell. He hasn't trained in years, but his reflexes are still lightning fast and he pushes HC aside and saves his life and then knocks out the shooter like it's nothing.

And HC is gone.

A day later, XL receives an offer to be HC new personal bodyguard.