#i keep seeing these patterns over and over and somehow they keep getting worse!

[gravityglitch-blog]

My contribution to @beauty-beast-week, organized by @firawren, for Day 3.

The prompt was Lavender (relaxation, sleep, baths, summer, scents...)

I imagine this taking place in the movie's timeline, between the "Human Again" sequence and the famous waltz.

INK AND MOONLIGHT

Be careful what you wish for, Belle thought to herself as she idly drew patterns in the frost on the library window panes.

All her life, she had felt different. She'd never considered herself better or worse than anyone else. She was simply...apart.

While everyone around her was down to earth, she was an incurable dreamer. Her mother had been like that, according to her faded memory. Her father, too. She'd spent most of her life sighing over the pages of fairy tales and wishing something fantastical would happen in her own life.

It didn't get much more fantastical than life with a mythic beast in an enchanted castle filled with living, breathing housewares.

How long had she been here now? A few weeks? A few months? Magic had a way of playing with your sense of time.

She sat curled up in a corner of one of the massive library's many window seats. At her back, flames cheerfully crackled in the fireplace, keeping her warm this winter's night and providing a soft glow to read by. She took another sip of the lavender tea Mrs. Potts had been so kind to provide and tried again to focus on the book in her hands. Normally this was no trouble. But tonight, she was distracted by thoughts of the dreams she'd been having.

It was the same dream, every night since she'd been in the castle. She was lost in a beautiful, unfamiliar forest. It was silent as death, and equally endless. She'd start out walking, then running in search of a path, anything to lead her out of there.

And then the man would appear before her.

She could never make out much about him.

His figure was always blurred, like she were trying to see him through a veil of water. She could make out a few details. Tall. Copper hair. The only thing really clear about him were his eyes, the purest blue she'd ever seen.

Her dream self would always ask, "Who are you? Can you help me?"

"I would give anything to tell you who I am," the man would reply, his voice soft and sad. "But I can only help you back to the castle."

She would pull away. "I don't want to go back there. I want to go home."

"I know," the stranger would say. "And I know you have no reason to trust me. But please believe when I say, you have nothing to fear from the castle or anyone in it."

Then he would hold out his hand to her.

She always wanted to ask more questions.

But somehow, in that one heartbeat, her fears would calm. She would reach out...and she would wake up.

It wasn't even enough to call a nightmare, but it left her unsettled all the same.

She wrapped her hands around her teacup to better absorb its warmth. Belle giggled lightly as she felt the teacup snoring against her palms. At least someone was getting a good night's sleep.

A flicker of shadow caught the edge of her vision. She looked up and saw Beast in one of the archways leading to another book-filled chamber. Though her fear of him had mostly dissolved after that night he'd rescued her from the wolves, she still found him a paradox.

There was strength and power in every line of him, and he could move through this castle quick and noiseless as the shadows themselves. Right now, he looked like a child who had been caught staying up past his bedtime.

"You can't sleep, either?" she asked.

"I didn't mean to disturb you," his deep voice rumbled.

"You're not," Belle assured him. "It gets so quiet around here at night, I...I'd be glad of the company for awhile, if you don't mind."

He nodded, and she thought she glimpsed a shy smile, but his expressions were often difficult to read. He took up the other corner of the window seat, farthest from her. He gazed out the window at the gently falling snow, seeming hesitant to look at her. The silence was broken only by the quiet sound of his breath and her heartbeat. Belle studied his reflection in the glass, the only way she felt she could safely look at him for more than a few moments without being rude. She'd been terrified of him at first sight, she had to admit. The setting and circumstances hadn't helped, her father locked in a dungeon while she bargained for his freedom. Later, when she'd tried to escape and run right into the jaws of the wolf pack, she'd witnessed the sheer ferocity and wildness he kept contained. Looking at him now...there was a strange grace about him. She could imagine him as a creature of myth, an otherworldly guardian of some secret or forbidden world. Belle gave herself a mental shake. No wonder the people back home called her a funny girl.

"What are you reading?" Beast asked finally.

In answer, she held out the book to him. Carefully he took it from her and leafed through a few pages. One heavy eyebrow went up. "Vampires? Are you trying to give yourself nightmares?"

Belle shrugged, feeling slightly embarrassed. "What can I say? I've always found stories of the night fascinating."

He gave a rough snort, his version of a laugh. "No wonder you fit right in here."

She tilted her head. "How do you mean?"

"Can you really not feel it? The magic of this place embraces you like it's been waiting for you all its life."

Unsure what to say to that, she smoothed out non-existent wrinkles in her soft purple dress. Hoping to smooth out the awkward silence as well, she smiled gently at him. "And what about you?"

"What about me?"

She gestured at the caverns of books around them. "You're in here nearly as often as I am. What are your favorite kind of stories?"

He turned to look at her then, and this time she was certain of the smile. "You were the one that reminded me how much I enjoy reading. After so long, I'd nearly forgotten how. I don't think I've even thanked you yet for helping me remember."

"You don't have to thank me. I was happy to do it."

He nodded once, then returned to her question. "When I was young, it was adventure stories. Pirates and treasure hunting."

Belle's smile grew wider, her mind conjuring the image of a miniature Beast embarking on imaginary quests across the high seas. "And what about now?"

He drew in a deep breath, as if gathering up his courage. "Would you like to hear it?"

"You want to read to me?"

"It's the least I can do, after you brought it back to me."

"I'd love to hear it!"

He glided over to a shelf nearby and pulled out a green leather-bound volume, more worn-looking than the others in the library. He rested the book on the windowsill, now kneeling on the seat so he could open the book for her. Belle gasped as the pages spread out to reveal a map of the sky, constellations lovingly drawn and named in delicate strokes of ink. Most stunning of all were the illustrations in the center, the sun and moon frozen in a celestial dance. She gently set her sleeping teacup back on his tray, tucking a napkin around him like a blanket, so she could give her full attention to Beast and his story. Taking only the very edge of the page between his claws, he turned to the beginning of the story. Here the ink spun into an icy landscape, not unlike the scene outside their window. The sky in this picture had been replaced by delicately scrawled words. In his low, soft baritone, he began to read.

"Once upon a time there was a poor husbandman who had many children and little to give them in the way either of food or clothing. They were all pretty, but the prettiest of all was the youngest daughter, who was so beautiful that there were no bounds to her beauty."

She thought he glanced at her here, but surely it was her imagination.

Stop being silly, she chided herself.

"So once", he continued, "it was late on a Thursday evening in autumn, and wild weather outside, terribly dark, and raining so heavily and blowing so hard that the walls of the cottage shook again--they were all sitting together by the fireside, when suddenly some one rapped three times against the window-pane."

So went the story of a girl swept away from her mundane world on the back of a white bear, who was truly a prince in disguise, her true love. They were parted by a mistake realized too late. But so strong was their love, that the girl was undaunted, riding the Four Winds until she could rescue her prince.

Belle wanted so desperately to hear the ending. But the lavender tea was working its' magic, and Beast's voice and presence was so warm, that she fell asleep upon her folded arms.

___

Beast heard her first snore before he could read out happily ever after. He suppressed a laugh with all his strength. She had an adorable snore. Moving quietly, he put the book back in its place. Now he faced a dilemma. He didn't want to wake Belle, but he couldn't exactly leave her here, either. Praying that this wouldn't be pushing their newborn friendship too far, he carefully gathered her into his arms until he was carrying her bridal-style. His heart almost stopped when she stirred, but she only pushed her face further into his broad shoulder. "Warm," she mumbled dreamily.

He would have given anything to live in that moment forever. But time never stops, not even within the walls of an enchanted castle.

Beast glided out of the library and up the stairs to Belle's room. He could already hear whispers from a few insomniac servants. There'd be gossip among them by morning. The door to Belle's room kindly (and silently) opened itself for them. He delicately laid her down on her bed. He thought that she clung to his shirt for a moment before settling onto her pillows, but of course that had to be his imagination.

Don't be stupid, he scolded himself.

He pulled the blankets over her, and allowed himself the indulgence of brushing a rogue lock of hair away from her eyes. He made it to her doorway before looking back at her once more. "Sweet dreams, my princess."

He knew he had no right to call her this.

She might never return his feelings. 

Even if she did, a free spirit like Belle would never be owned by anyone, and that was part of what he loved about her.

But he couldn't help it. To him, she was a princess, no matter what happened next.

He softly closed the door and left her to her dreaming.

And dream she did. But this time, instead of the endless ominous forest, Belle dreamt of ink and moonlight and a gentle thundercloud weaving stories at her shoulder.

[tricksterlatte]

I've always been fascinated by fandom history, and I know I'm not the only one. It's interesting to see how fans of pop culture can create a culture of their own, and in the modern age of social media and the internet in general, that culture is as widespread as ever. Unfortunately, that also means downsides are becoming bigger as this culture becomes widespread, and it's saddening to watch, maybe even concerning.

I don't discuss these things to be preachy, especially considering how I've fallen into several of these pitfalls before, and have perpetuated some of this behavior in the past. To say otherwise would make me a hypocrite and a liar, and I firmly believe this goes for most people in any fandom. I was just thinking about this recently, and how a lot of the biggest stressors in what should be our stress relief really can be pinned mostly into a few central talking points, which I would love to discuss to know if I'm not just going crazy here

The concept of Big Name Fan has evolved into a position of authority on fandom, which does not fall to anyone regarding subjectivity. No one in a fandom is an authority except the creators themselves, who have every right to stay away from the fandoms they have birthed.

Popularity in general being conflated to intellectual authority as well, especially on websites with public stats, particularly following counts. The algorithm is no benevolent god, but people will sometimes see someone with 30k followers and think they are correct on a minor non-issue that has spiraled into discourse, especially when compared to someone with 30 followers. This also is just...a bummer when fanon evolves into perceived canon, and newcomers to the fandom can't post even innocuous meta or headcanons without it being perceived as morally/intellectually incorrect.

Monetization of fanworks, but especially zines, have led to a hypercompetitive atmosphere that only escalates the bitterness and resentment. This is not a universal problem, but many zines across all fandoms habitually accept the same artists and writers, or diminish the value of fanfic due to the limitations of physical printing. The application process has devolved into such a disheartening debacle for a majority of people I see, and the way it is often framed as "your work just wasn't good enough" when it's really about what the mods deem mass marketable will destroy just about anyone's self-esteem after repetitive rejections, and will give some frequent zine runners a false sense of final say over the community (not usually, but it can happen).

The level of distrust for anyone new attempting to start a fan project is just so depressing nowadays (and this one we sadly can blame on a few people by name, but the ones who have sent this issue spiraling still don't care and that just sucks. I feel horrible for everyone who has been tricked).

Somehow comment and anonymous asks have gone backwards from "don't feed the trolls" to "suck it up, at least you're getting comments." I have seen some of these comments people have been told to suck up. It's not okay in general. It's particularly gross when it's an anonymous hate message unrelated to the fanworks themselves, perhaps born out of resentment or bearing an ulterior motive. And some will even attack and defame character due to identity. It's not subtle. It's not okay. People should absolutely be dunked on for this, and I gotta say I'm sick of unsolicited concrit being enforced as positive either. If they didn't ask, don't give it. There's a reason a lot of fic writers some people adore suddenly go ghost, and they can't even talk about it.

Don't like, don't read has been discarded in favor of don't like, tell others don't read and also don't write. Transformative works don't have to fit into a canon or even in character mold. That's why they're transformative! It's a different type of artistic expression. If you don't like it, chances are good it simply wasn't meant for you. It's not bad. Don't shame others, god especially not for non-issues such as a t/b preference or a different gender hc, preferred haircuts, types of animal you imagine them as in another lifetime, I could list literally anything here and I bet there has been a fandom fight over it.

Exclusive yet publicly advertised community Discords that will bar you from invite if you're not one of the cool kids. I have unfortunately fallen into this trap before, and refuse to ever enable or endorse that behavior ever again. This isn't about friend groups either, it's about fandom-dedicated servers that flaunt themselves as a VIP club instead of what they are: a friend group. I also don't even know how to broach the subject of private accounts that turn into fandom tea accounts with dozens if not hundreds of followers, only for people to be angry if someone isn't exactly okay with horrific stuff being said in general, let alone about their mutuals or friends.

I know none of this will likely ever change, and tbh i'm so tired of it all, but...does anyone else know what I mean? I'm stressed out whenever I try to enjoy myself, because popularity and a strange business mindset is steadily taking over fandom spaces. I'm not saying people should stop trying to make stuff that sells, or that people universally do any of this, but fandom is evolving into a thing I'm not sure is good. idk anymore

[uraniumbones]

For those of you keeping up with the book of Bill and it's accompanying website and the bill cypher backstory. THE PARALLELS GOT ME FUCKED UP.

Spoilers incoming.

people love to talk about the dynamic between Stanford and Bill. Sure, interesting. But you know what people aren't talking about? Stanley and Bill. Specifically referencing the website (thisisnotawebsotedotcom.com)

If you input Stanley a bunch it will eventually open a new document instead of eBay pages. The page mocks Stanley and reveals his secrets or whatever. One of the clickable options on this page is "HOW HE BEAT ME". Each time you click into this is an increasingly deranged meltdown about how it shouldn't have been possible. Calling him a "cheap trick loving, past-denying overgrown child protected from failure only by a force field of denial and shamelessness" among other things. And when further pressed accuses you of acting like "those PREACHY INFANTILIZING AUTOMOTONS AT THE THERAPRISM who are SO OBSESSED with getting me to TALK about my "FEELINGS"." After that he spirals further eventually talking about "how much pain I'm in" and only in code admitting "I can still see through the eyes of everyone I've ever..." presumably killed.

If you don't know shit about Euclydia read the wiki page on it, it's not long. tldr Euclydia is bills home dimension, which he destroyed and killed every single inhabitant of in blood and fire. He did so (accidentally?) in an attempt to show them the third dimension which (because of a genetic mutation) only he had the ability to see (with his eye). Please also note when Stanford asks about his home dimension Bill says it was"destroyed by a monster".

In the website's many documents it repeatedly makes reference to Bill's parents and how much they loved him, his home, his childhood (he wore velcro sneakers it's actually incredibly cute), the ways in which he was different and not easily accepted.

Now knowing all these things. A pattern may emerge to you. Are you seeing it? Are you seeing the patterns yet?

Obviously Bill hates Stanley because he's stupid and still he somehow beat Bill. That's annoying, maddening even. But I believe it goes beyond that. He hates him all the more passionately because Stanley reminds him of himself. The poem at the end of the Stanley password on the website summarizes it best "always dragged his family down / One mistake, disowned, denied, / only thing to do was hide." Destruction of his own family, running and hiding from his own mistakes. "Reinvent, retry, reload" trying again in a new life. "When your actions make it worse, / When they see you as a curse," Making things worse where you have tried to make them better. "Give the wheel one last spin, / Take your chips and go all in" this is what weirdmagedon was for both of them. and this is where their lives differ "And lucky stan- the rolls on black, / he got his life and family back. / His big break it finally came, / Redemption from a life of shame." AND THERE IT IS. Stanley got his family back. Bill didn't. (Which is what it seems he was attempting). Stanley got his redemption. Bill didn't.

Stanley was a lonely kid fuck up just like Bill was. And he absolutely hates Stanley's guts for it because he hates his own guts for it. And all this time they're the same, just trying to fix those mistakes, to have their family back again, to be loved again. They both have this facade of untouchable aloof levity, the same insults Bill hurls at Stanley may as well be hurled at himself. "Protected from his failure only by a force field of denial and shamelessness"? "Cheap trick loving, past denying overgrown child"? You can see Bill goes from being outraged and insulting Stanley, to denying a deeper meaning to those feelings (and calling you a therapist), to talking about how much pain he is in (seemingly over all the people he killed in Euclydia), all without any specific prompting. Just pushing. Bill is the one that connected those things. Bill hates Stanley (at least partially) as an act of self hatred. Because he has made the same mistakes and can never forgive himself for them. AND (at least partially) because Stanley is not only just like him, but now just like him if he had succeeded. Stanley got his "Redemption from a life of shame". and in so doing actively prevented Bills.

Now do you see what I'm saying about THE PARALLELS?!

[sulumuns-dootah]

WHB Kings meeting their Obey Me! counterparts

A/N: I try to not pit/compare these two games against each other, but as someone who was into Obey Me! (and still is) and found out about WHB thanks to it, i need to get this out of my system.

⟡ Masterlist ⟡

The scenario is that OM!Solomon messed up some spell and made Obey Me! and What in Hell is bad? universes interconnect and our demon kings get to meet their other version. (I only included those kings that we've already met in WHB - when we get Belphie and Asmo, I might make part 2)

      ༺☆༻

Lucifer

Their meeting is the calmest and most civilised out of all of them.

They don't really talk outside of formal greeting and some polite small talk

Oh, but on the inside? OM!Lucifer is internally appalled by the amount of skin that's WHB!Lucifer showing

WHB!Lucifer is really wondering who this Diavolo guy is, since OM!Lucifer managed to mention him in their little small talk about ten times

OM!Lucifer excuses himself after some time to go make sure his brothers don't do anything stupid while meeting their counterpart

      ༺☆༻

Mammon

Oh

Oh no

This can go in two ways: OM!Mammon's ego gets absolutely crushed (there seems to be a pattern with WHB!Mammon) and just doesn't talk at all, just moping around while trying to look intimidating or he tries to get some treasures off WHB!Mammon since they're technically the same guy and he can definitely trust that he won't sell it to repay his debts

In the second case OM!Lucifer storms in and stops any of his attempts

That entertains WHB!Mammon though, and so he does give OM!Mammon some worthless (read: expensive, but not that rare) treasures

That lights up OM!Mammon's eyes and he doesn't shut up about it for the next century

      ༺☆༻

Leviathan

Well this goes even worse than the Mammons meeting

OM!Leviathan tries to keep his composure, but fails

The envy is strong in this one and some Lovecraftian horrors might get summoned

OM!Leviathan now has more reasons to put himself down, good luck OM!MC with this one

WHB!Leviathan has a hard time believing that that's him from different universe. What went wrong?

But it does make him feel better. He was worried that this other Leviathan would look better than him and beat him at one of the things he's best at

If OM!Lucifer manages to calm OM!Leviathan, they might be able to bond over their use of bathtubs, but no promises

      ༺☆༻

Beelzebub

WHB!Beelzebub expected a lot, but not this

He's not horny? He just loves to eat food so much he even eats inedible objects like pillars of buildings?

Though, he does now wonder how that tastes

OM!Beelzebub tries to not judge WHB!Beelzebub just based on looks, but can't help himself to see how thin he is. Does he even eat at all?

Also, what are those gemstones and how would they taste?

The huge word 'FEED' on WHB!Beelzebub's coat reminds him that he hasn't eaten in a while

The moment WHB!Beelzebub mentions about his hobby in cooking, OM!Beelzebub is on board and on the way to the nearest kitchen

Interestingly enough, the aphrodisiac effects don't seem to be working on OM!Beelzebub, so he just enjoys the meal, but secretly wishes it was Barbatos' cooking instead

      ༺☆༻

Satan

'What do you mean Lucifer is your father?'

These two have hard time accepting that they're technically the same demon.

WHB!Satan is disappointed. He expected someone more scary than horned chicken impersonator. What's that boa about? How do you fight angels in that?

OM!Satan tries to stay calm and not loose his temper when WHB!Satan teases his about his clothing. Somehow he manages.

WHB!Satan is surprisingly more talkative than with most demons. They're the same demon after all and therefore they face the same difficulties, no?

OM!Satan is glad to hear that his other self is favored by his people. The pain kink though? He could do without knowing that, really.

      ༺☆༻

A bonus! ^^

Barbatos

OM!Barbatos is trying to stay as calm and professional as possible, but can't help but wonder what on earth is that noose for

When he finds out it's to show loyalty for his master, he gets calmer

When he finds out that it does actually gets used for hanging, he's back to slight panic mode

WHB!Barbatos doesn't like OM!Barbatos from the beginning. How does one absorb sunlight in so much clothes? No wonder he's so pale and seemingly tired all the time.

All these gloomy colors make him sad. It's almost like this other Barbatos sucked all the color out of the room.

OM!Barbatos is appaled to find out about WHB!Barbatos' interests, but feels intrigued. If the sun ever came up in Devildom, he would try sunbathing, albeit more modestly dressed.

[boss-poss]

See, Lethal Company's real genius is that it somehow marries two normally opposed genres, those being horror and comedy together into something greater. Mechanically it's a multiplayer looter extraction survival type game. It's designed to create stressful and scary situations by forcing you to speedrun mini randomized dungeons while monsters hunt your character to meet a certain quota (our asses are not making quota). That's not the clever part though, no, that's giving the players the ability to fuck themselves over and the hilarity that comes from it.

Anything you say into your mic is said in the game world and can be heard by certain monsters. Many items, similarly, can be used to make noise and you can bet there is little impulse control when a player finds an air horn or gets a walkie talkie. The sound of a distant honk somewhere out of nowhere is not something most players are prepared for while in a pitch black maze. Sound in this game has a doppler effect, which makes it harder to hear the further away the source is, allowing screams to fade into nothing and unintelligible yelling heard for a second before vanishing. You must rely on your senses but those are, by design, limited and regularly tricked.

Because level layouts, monster locations, and item spawns are all random, it's insanely easy to get lost or lose track of thigs, especially in the dark and especially when panicking. Seeing a bracken for the first time will almost certainly send a player running in the opposite direction and get lost, if they even see it all. No one is prepared to have a hand wrap around their face and snap their neck in an instant. It's utterly shocking and will leave you gasping in surprise to first time you experience it.

Certain weather patterns make levels harder, some even nearly impossible (looking at you eclipse), and sometimes your options are avoiding deadly lightning or not being able to see due to fog. High level moons have excessively valuable loot but also feature the worst foes and cost a fee to access, forcing a compromise between greed, ability, and resources.

Dying, likewise incurs a penalties. Your team is fined for dying and not bringing the bodies back but if you all die, all your collected loot goes poof. Gone. A team wipe can and will effectively end the run in an instant if you do something stupid like stick around when you hear "pop goes the weasel" or try to pick up that funny looking roomba. You can almost feel the pressure weighing down on your shoulders when you realize you're the last one left and you need to get back to the ship or miss the quota.

The monsters likewise, are engines of terror that are comically effective killing machines with no cohesive theme to help anticipate them. The already mentioned bracken is one of the scariest things I've seen in a game, and those technically aren't even that bad. They're completely manageable if you keep your head on a swivel and pay attention to your surroundings. Coilheads are these mannequins with bobble heads that will path to and kill you in a microsecond the moment you aren't looking at them, weeping angel style. There's a thing called the ghost girl that I have yet to see but is apparently one of the most terrifying critters in the menagerie. Forest giants. If you know, you know.

All these little mechanics, these choices that are made by and for the player, create a maelstrom of unpredictable chaos that, like a buxom blond transforming into an orgasming pooltoy, turns what would be strictly serious horror into a unique form of dark comedy that layers over it like jelly on peanut butter. You are scared, you are on edge, and it only gets worse when you know what these things are capable of, but the sheer hopelessness is something you all have in common. It's funny how little hope you have. You will die. A monster will wipe your team. There will eventually come a quota you can't beat. You were doomed from the start.

So why not get silly with it? Why not try to fight that bracken with shovel? Fuck him. Why not just run past a turret and try to nab that fat jar of pickles? Why not wander off from the group? You're just as likely to come back with arms loaded and the quota met as you are likely to not come back at all. You're already dead, so take the gamble, do stupid shit, repeat this hell until you can meet its horrors with grim determination and put in the effort to afford that goddamn boombox. Dance. Just press 1 and dance the fear away.

You are all united in your mortality and duty, fragile sacks of flesh working to break even at the behest of perhaps the greatest horror of all: The company you work for. You are so preposterously fucked beyond all belief from every angle there really isn't enough adjectives to describe it. And that's comedy baby, when things are so bad all you can do is laugh.

[aquaburst3]

Last night, some of us were talking about the game on my Discord server. The conversation somehow turned to us admitting that we're all different flavours of neurospicy (like you do?), and suspecting some of the characters as well. We agreed that Riddle might have OCD. Kalim and Cater probably have ADHD. Floyd could be bipolar. Leona, Cater and Idia have depression. Rook, Malleus and Silver could possibly be autistic. But, more interestingly, we talked about how Jamil and Vil might be somewhere on the autism spectrum with the latter being super high masking.

For Jamil...

He almost has a meltdown during the first Halloween event.

Almost has another one during the fireworks one.

Often bobs his head up and down during class.

Fidgets his magipen as much as Kalim.

Talks to himself A LOT in order to process his own thoughts and emotions, even in front of others.

He kinda sounds monotone most of the time unless he gets REALLY emotional. (This is not to diss the VA. He's doing an excellent job and that suits his character. It's just an observation.)

For Vil...

He doesn't understand social norms and communication as much as he lets on. He has no idea how to get his points across effectively. He often has the best of intentions and genuinely wants to help people, but instead he comes off as a intense, domineering hardass in order to get others to see his points. This is even worse for when others who are operating on a different wavelength than him like Epel where he doubles down on things and takes more drastic actions to get his points across. I think part of that is due to him not knowing how to get his points across in a less harsh fashion and knowing when to cool it. Though, we all agreed that some of this could also be thanks to having little friends his own age growing up. (Side note, this is something I struggle with IRL, but I'm working on it and have gotten better at this over the years.)

Vil seems to over value others' opinions, especially loved ones, even when his own intuition tells him those ideas are stupid ideas. Some of this could be thanks to not wanting to lose his few friends like Rook and wanting to be accepted. But, I also suspect it could also due to him not always understanding when others are trying to sway him for the worse, ironically making him more susceptible to manipulation. (Not that Rook is maliciously manipulating him, but he is a bad influence on him and is rather toxic regardless.)

He has rigid thought patterns.

Keep in mind, none of us are doctors or psychologists. We could be off base with all this. These are just headcanons. These guys being possibly neurospicy doesn't excuse their bad behaviour or actions throughout the game. Just like it doesn't for anyone in real life.

I'm surprised there aren't more autistic headcanons for those two. Because they do show some possible signs, especially Jamil.

[anystalker707]

Admiral, my Admiral (1/2)

Pairing: Portgas D. Ace x [gender neutral] Admiral! Reader Words: ~ 2 500 Summary: An unusual relationship that starts with a deal. Tags: no talk to him (ace) he angy / he gets to be babied tho / um, there's angst if you don't mind

MASTERLIST

PART TWO

• Ace could remember passing out during a fight. His division wasn’t able to defeat the marine because they happened to run into a fucking strong division

• He tried his best to fight, but he just ended up getting weak when the spear of Sea-prism stone touched his chest and there was nothing else he could do, not even burn the ship so he would die uncaught, in the bottom of the sea; the last thing he could see was the fucking admiral walking towards him before he passed out. Where did the admiral come from, anyways?

• He woke up in a room he didn’t recognize, but could feel the familiar movement of the sea under him, so he was a little relieved he hadn’t been taken anywhere on land. Or maybe it was actually worse, if he thought well

• The whole place was too... patterned. Minimalist. It seems like a guest room and, when he leaves the room, the place keeps the same dark gray, white and blue colors. He keeps going until seeing a sign with the Marine symbol on it makes him shout and try to start lighting everything on fire until he notices the anklet on his leg and it is made out of that goddamned stone

• It is stupid, but he still jumps on you in an attempt to kill you with his bare fists at the moment he finds you at the desk only to be sent flying into the sea with a kick and rescued by your subordinates

• Ace is so full of anger, so small compared to you as he stands on the deck and stares at you—if only looks could kill...—while you don’t even bother to order him to be chained or anything. He feels like he will combust when you look at him and have the audacity to grin

• Your subordinates seem to know something that Ace doesn’t, but none of them pipe a word about it, all of them always talking the minimum possible with him and ignoring his comments whenever they get him food. He almost feels like when he was taken in by Whitebeard all over again, but this time, the feeling isn’t exactly welcoming because the only one being nice to him there is the fucking admiral, even if you can get on his nerves with your sarcasm and superiority complex. That is living hell

• At first, he thinks you will execute him—doesn’t happen. Then, you’re probably taking him to some headquarters to make him prisoner or something—also wrong. He tries to bribe one of your subordinates into telling him, but it never happens; not like he has anything that may interest them

• All he needs to stop fussing around so much is a letter from Garp telling him to trust you; not really the most convincing thing, but surely does leave a thought in the back of Ace’s head

• If you don’t kill him and have a goal, then the logic is simple; you need Ace alive, so you won’t kill him even if he’s the most insufferable fucker in the whole world

• Spending a few weeks on your ship does make Ace soften, though. He ends up finding himself in late night talks with you on the deck because, as much as he doesn’t want to chat, your sweet talk does keep him going. Not to mention the way he finds comfort in you, somehow

• Ace softening up doesn’t mean peace. His way of showing he is more comfortable around you resolves itself around Ace suddenly falling asleep in the most inconvenient spaces and following you around while making the most annoying comments. It doesn’t matter that you’re an Admiral and the power you have—he will get on your nerves because that’s just how he is, even more knowing he won’t get killed no matter how much he annoys one of the strongest, best known marines and warriors out there

• “What’re you doing?” “...Paperwork.” “Well, that I can see. What’s it about, though? Can I see the files about me? You better have everything right. I’m sure my bounty would be higher if you knew everything I’ve done!” “Why don’t you go take a nap or something? Leave me alone, fire boy.” “You’re so annoying! I can’t even—” You look up from your papers and he is... sleeping again. Okay.

• “You must be receiving a great amount to be taking care of me.” “Oh, I wish I were...”

• The relationship between you two turns into something like; Ace: Yo, I’ve broken about 20 important things, almost sank your ship again and made one of your subordinates almost give up on being a Marine You: I know this and I love you

• Ace is a little suspicious if you really have any real destiny—you’re sailing without stopping at any island for longer than a couple of days and never going to any of the headquarters. Are you going against the rules and acting in secret? Really??? For real??? Damn it, someone for once should tell Ace a word about what’s going on. Not only would half of his doubts go away, but also something interesting would happen in that godforsaken ship before he went crazy

• Although, watching the admiral is quite interesting. Well, the admiral is quite interesting...

• He grows quiet for a while, spending some days processing how you are always checking on him every morning and every night before he goes to sleep, sometimes bringing you food in person and spending some of your time with him

• Why do you want to know if he is emotionally okay and has everything he needs? It's almost like you care

• Then there are those long, uncomfortable silences in which he doesn't know what to do because, maybe unintentionally, those little comments of yours and light smirks have his face turning bright red and something stirring inside his chest

• How did he even allow the admiral to get into his head like that? He can't let it continue this way, though

          “(Y/n)!” Ace whined as he walked into your office and didn’t even care about what you were doing before he threw himself on your lap, holding onto your shoulders as he dramatically leaned back.

“Ace—”

“I am afraid I am about to die! Your ship is so, so boring and your subordinates never talk to me!” He closed his eyes, making a face as if he were under a lot of pain—or at least trying to—, with no regard for the documents he almost made you ruin. “Like, why can’t they give me the combination to the vault? Or let me mess with the sails? That’s no fun!”

You would’ve chuckled if Ace weren’t being so obnoxious, so you just leaned back on the chair and observed him; he pouted at the silence and sat up properly on your lap. He takes in a breath, but you never allow him to voice whatever it is.

“Look, I am throwing you in the sea if you continue like this!”

“As if!” Ace chuckles. “You can’t k...”

Oh, it can’t be. Still, the soft snoring that comes from Ace confirms your theory and you roll your eyes, bouncing your leg lightly.

“Oi! What do you think you are doing, Ace?” You finally let go of your pen and your papers, shaking Ace a little. “Get lost, fire boy! I already forbid you from interrupting me while I’m on my paperwork! Why don’t you go read the books I lent you, hm? Go sleep in your room, at least. In the kitchen. I don't care.”

“It’s no fun without you.” Ace groaned, and you couldn’t help but to smirk and raise an eyebrow; a red tone took over his cheeks. “I—I mean, you’re the one who—”

“The one who?” You nodded for him to continue, resting your cheek against your palm. “Go on.” Ace exhaled, pressing his lips together as he looked away, and the lack of answer made you chuckle while wrapping an arm around his torso. “Oh, you don’t know what to do now that you have my full attention? Just wasting my time? I gave you rules to stay on my ship, Ace.” Your fingers held onto his jaw so he would look at you. “And I—”

Lips pressed to yours interrupted your words. Ace’s lips. You couldn’t help but to kiss back because he kept pressing his lips to yours for a few seconds, dismissing your hesitance, and even daring to hum softly once you started to kiss him back.

None of you stop. It started a chain of kisses that was enough to make you forget about your paperwork, lost in kissing the lips of a filthy pirate that fell in your hands because of a deal. Both of you had this same feeling; the spark of knowing that this was wrong and forbidden was what ignited your feelings for each other. Ace’s lips tasted like the sea, like the sweets he was eating earlier, but also tasted like freedom. A little bit of power that you had over the Marine and the World Government because no matter what you did, you knew no one would agree to have you dismissed from the Marine and they couldn't control every single action of yours.

Your fingers hooked with the hair on the back of Ace’s head to pull him away from the kiss a little. “You are down bad,” you mumbled into his ear.

• Once, Ace hears you talking to Sengoku. He sees you in your office, back to the door and with a den den mushi in hand. Your voice is calm, but not the sort of calm like you are when you raise an eyebrow at Ace then shrug in dismissal before you tell him to do whatever he pleases, no; it is the type of calm when your subordinates do something you don’t like, so you suppress your annoyance to long glares and pursed lips

• “No...” You say to the snail, “I am busy. I won’t be there for the next meeting. You already know my position in this. It is the same as Garp’s. And you know I haven’t seen Fire First. I would’ve reported already. Has he disappeared or something? You haven’t heard a thing about him for weeks.”

• And he doesn’t listen anymore. He doesn’t want to. Either way, it is enough to change the context again, from “stop locking me here” to “thanks for keeping me safe”

• You don’t understand what’s up with Ace being softer around you, but it is well welcomed. There’s something sweet about how he places a chair next to your desk and folds his arms over the table with his head on them, quietly observing you work until he falls asleep

• Actually, one night, Ace knocks on your bedroom’s door. He just walks past you and collapses on the bed at the moment you open the door. And fuck. That boy’s audacity. Whatever. It’s nice to hold onto something while you sleep

• And the fact your subordinates will walk into you making out with Ace on your lap while you’re in your office and just ignore what is happening is just... Hell, you love it

• There’s a whole new routine with Ace by your side

• The moment Ace has to leave comes quicker than you expected. It’s already time for you to return to your usual admiral duties and also for Ace to go back to the sea because there’s no longer a threat

• He can’t believe that keeping him was a whole plan to keep him safe while you, Garp and a few others did your best to convince the Marine that Portgas D. Ace was not a threat, so he shouldn’t be executed

• Ace is at loss of words, unable to formulate a thanks that’s genuine enough and expresses all of his feelings because you only fucking let him know about it when you’re dropping him at an island where Whitebeard already awaits for him. He wants to cry, to hug you, to kiss you, to ramble about how thankful he is, all at the same time—but he can’t

• You chuckle at how lost he seems, grinning happily and telling him he can go because he is safe now

• Ace doesn’t leave without giving you a kiss, a deep one

• What seemed to be a short-term thing, ends up leaving your hearts aching for more once you’re away from each other, in the sea. It is risky, it is dangerous, difficult to manage, even, but you’re picking Ace up in a random island to spend the night with you whenever you are able to, with excuses to the marine that you ended up letting him escape because your priorities were others. Sometimes he will just show up randomly with that devilish smirk on his face

• As much as you’re an admiral, your little relationship does reach the Marine’s eyes and ears, and it doesn’t seem to help them in the slightest bit because you’re not only with one of their highest potential enemies; your behavior also encourages other pirates a little too much, as if it gives them some sort of excuse or extra freedom. You’d always been a little rebel considering the Marine and World Government’s rules, so maybe you’ll go a little too far soon—if you haven't already

• Getting rid of Ace wouldn’t mean just getting rid of a big threat—it also would have you under the Marine’s control once for all

• First of all, the Marine can’t get rid of an admiral so powerful like you, so it isn’t a choice to dismiss or execute you, so that leads to Ace. Given the way you are lovesick, getting rid of Ace will teach you a lesson—and a lesson to every other marine and pirate as well—, and your head will be focused on doing your job. You won’t rebel against the only people who know your weaknesses and help you be stronger

• The new census doesn’t need you and Garp to vote; it doesn’t matter what a small biased minority things about such a threat

• You already suspect what's going on when they send you across the ocean, and it gets worse when they start to guide you to a weird island you’ve never seen before

• Held. You’re being held across the ocean because they know you can save Ace if you have the opportunity, because you’re too precious to be wasted for such an insignificant matter. You’ll just be force– I mean, invited to a confidential meeting later to establish that your relationship with Ace will be forgiven and forgotten since they know it won’t happen again and you’re such a great admiral that they can’t risk losing you. You will have to sign a few documents and be under constant watch for a few months after it

• For now, you will just sit in this cold cell knowing your love is being executed

.𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟.

PART TWO

[chattahoochiecoochie]

Patients, Plural

Summary: A bengals athletic trainer gets caught up with her favorite and his friend. 

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: mild dub con / inappropriate workplace behavior 

A/N: Apparently I don’t have rules or boundaries because this is X Reader which is against all of the above. So fuck it, I guess let me know if you want more, of whatever this is specifically. 

“Pigtails today, huh?” Sam is laying back, staring at you like he always does, with that funny look in his eye like he might know something he shouldn’t.

“Yup.” You pop the ‘P’, trying to seem nonchalant as you work your way up from his knee. It’s always a knee, one or the other.

He comes in, limping a little, wincing when you finally get up to his thigh. Always hiding the same slight smirk when you tell him to take his leg out of his pants—just the one—so you can tape him up. He always goes for both legs, pretending to be flustered when you tell him you only need the problem leg undressed.

So that's where you are now, face to face with his problem leg, trying not to blush as he flexes beneath your touch. It's worse today, with two sets of eyes on you. Joe Burrow is in the chair behind you, waiting with more patience than Sam has probably ever held a day in his whole life. But he’s looking at you, watching—albeit with a different look in his eye than Sam.

“It’s cute.”

You say nothing, biting your tongue as you wrap the black tape around his kneecap, one hand tracing over it as you press it to his skin.

“You’re cute.” He twists slightly beneath you, looking over at Joe. “She’s cute, isn’t she?”

Joe says nothing, and though your back is to him, you’re sure he’s probably blushing like you are, shy under Sam’s dangerous tone.

“Joey thinks you’re cute too.”

You sigh, looking at the warped tape, your work messed up by his movement. Committed to the bit, Sam sees the frustration on your face and puts a hand over yours, swinging his legs off the table as he hoists himself up to sit in front of you.

“You know, it actually feels pretty good. Thanks for taking a look at it.” He shakes his leg for good measure, knee knocking against your thigh. Somehow, he’s still holding your hand, and when you pull away, his grip tightens. Smiling at you, he rips the tape off his knee with his free hand.

“Your turn Joey.” Sliding off the table, he stands in front of you for a moment before letting you go, moving to stand beside you. “I think I’ll watch.”

“Your quad again?” You look at Joe, trying to keep your tone professional. He nods, standing up from the chair. God he’s tall. They both are. Sam’s taller, bigger too, but they’re both so damn tall. For a moment, you falter, getting lost as you stand between the two of them.

“‘Kay, get that right leg out for me and hop up here.” He’s wearing shorts, always more thoughtful than Sam is.

With broad hands, he tucks the hemline into his briefs and hops onto the table with his thigh exposed.

All too aware of Sam behind you, you turn your fractured attention to Joe, prodding him with delicate hands to identify the source of his discomfort. Where Sam is always a knee, Joe is always a thigh. For a moment, you find the pattern between the two of them. It slips from your grasp as Sam inches closer, until his chest grazes your shoulder.

Shuddering at the touch, you blink slowly, trying to look harder at the man lying in front of you. “Here? How about here?”

With a soft groan he tenses beneath your touch. The area is tight to the touch—at least he’s not a faker.

Pressing your fingers deeper, you feel around the area for more tightness. Behind you, Sam shifts, bracing against the table.

“I thought I was special.” From the corner of your eye you can see him pouting slightly. “You touch everyone like this?”

“I’m a trainer.”

“Did you think you were special, Joey?”

“I am.”

“Oh Mister Quarterback thinks he’s special.”

“I am.” Taking the bait, Joe looks up at you with a glint in his eye. “Aren’t I?”

It’s unconscious, the way you play into his hand. He’s trickier than Sam, with those baby blue eyes and long lashes. It seems so innocent.

“Very.” You turn away from them both, reaching for your tape, regret only flashing through your mind when you turn back to find Joe smirking at his friend.  

“She thinks I’m very special.” He swats Sam across the stomach. “I’m probably her favorite patient.”

“I—” Yes, yes definitely.

“He’s your favorite? Joey’s your favorite patient?”

“I don’t…” You falter, suddenly very aware of the way Sam is standing against you.

“You don’t have favorites?”

“Careful, Sam gets jealous easy.” Joe laughs, his nose wrinkling as the sound rings out.

“I’m not jealous.” A hand is in your hair suddenly. From the corner of your eye you can see Sam winding his fingers through the end of one of your pigtails. “Not yet.”

Joe has a serious look on his face suddenly, and he’s tense beneath you. Leaning on your hands for balance you pry away from Sam’s looming figure. How long have you been holding his leg like this?

“Does Joey get special treatment? Since he’s your favorite?” It’s so hot in here, and Joe’s on fire beneath you. You’re still holding him? “Do you blush when you touch him? You get all rosy when you work on me, I bet you blush for Joe don’t you?”

“I…”

It’s hazy, the scene before you. Sam’s voice is deep and soft, softer than the hip of his that's digging into your back. When did Joe sit up? Your hands are on his thighs still, fingers spread across the broad space.

“You kiss him better? Your favorite patient?” Sam's hand is on your back, crawling towards your waist until he’s holding you steady against the table, between Joe’s spread legs. “She kiss it better for you Joey?”

“I don’t.” It's weak, your voice. Why does it sound so small?

“But you want to don’t you?” Sam’s breath is on your ear, he’s leaning down next to you, the scruff of his chin grazing you gently. They’d walked into your room together today, smirking at each other now that you were trying to remember. What had Sam been saying? Why hadn’t you paid more attention? “You wanna kiss Joey better?” There's his voice, pulling your attention back.

Without thinking, you dig your fingers into Joe’s skin, trying to find something to hold onto. Kiss who? Kiss him.

In your periphery, Sam is nodding. Why is he—oh.

Joe is kissing you, cupping your chin as his mouth works over yours. He’s so soft, so gentle against you. There's a whimper lost between the two of you, caught as he slides his tongue over your lip. Somewhere behind you, there's the distant sound of a door shutting and a lock falling into place. That's good.

A hand leaves his lap, finding the nape of his neck, your fingers work through his hair while he nips at you. He’s even gentle then, biting at you, with a grin you can feel. Another whimper leaves your lips as you press against the table, trying to get closer to him. Sucking at his lip, you let the palm of your other hand dig deeper into his thigh, sighing when he takes a hold of your wrist and pulls you even closer.

There's weight behind you suddenly—Sam. Before you can react, his hand is back on your waist where it had been moments earlier, and his breath is on your neck, and then his mouth.

You falter against Joe, shivering as Sam kisses the side of your neck. “’S’okay.” He whispers against you, his other hand coming up to hold your chin steady. Together, he and Joe both now have a hold on your face. Broad hand around your neck, you relax into Sam’s grasp, lost between the two of them.

It’s dizzying, when they finally let you up for air, Sam’s hand even softer on you as Joe’s falls away completely. Hands in his lap, his forehead rests on yours, a loose curl trapped between the two of you. He’s breathing heavily, and his cheeks are flushed pink. God he’s pretty.

“I think Sam feels left out.” You follow his eyes to your right, catching Sam’s gaze. “Go on.” Joe's voice is gentle, and soon his hand replaces Sam’s on your waist.

With far less grace, Sam presses himself against you. He’s rougher to the touch, the scruff on his chin rough against you as he kisses you. He’s heavier on you, and he bites harder, nipping at your lip like he means it, tugging on it until you relax into him. There's a warm feeling spreading through you when he finally lets up a little, sucking on your tongue as he holds you by the throat. Tighter, you think.

You must say it out loud, into his mouth, because his grip is stronger suddenly, fingers pressed into the side of your neck as he kisses you harder.

A hand still on your waist—is it Joey’s still? Another grabs at the one still in Joe’s lap, splaying your fingers across something warm. Twisting in Sam’s grasp, your eyes open. Hand over yours, Joe has you touching him. A whimper rises in your throat and Sam’s grip tightens again.

Releasing your mouth, he turns his attention back to your neck, relaxing only enough to let you look down at Joe’s lap. He’s hard under your hand, thighs flexed as he strains against your touch.

“I think Joey’s sore, baby.” Sam’s hand is falling from your neck, sliding down until he’s got your breast in his palm, rolling the sensitive skin under his fingers. “You don’t want your favorite patient sore, now do you?”

Your head shakes, and before you can think about it, Joe is helping you with the waistband of his shorts. God he’s—whose hand is that?

Still pressed to your back, Sam has a hand over your breast and another over the front of your leggings, his fingers grazing your center. “Joe, baby, worry about him. I’ll worry about you.” I’ll worry about you. Has Sam’s voice always been so deep?

Leaning back on the table, Joe has a hand braced behind him, and the other on the band of his shorts, holding them down as you turn your attention back to him. It’s big, just like the rest of him. Ignoring how heavy he is, you wrap your hand around it, shuddering as Sam touches you again.

There's a brief blur, as you begin to stroke Joe, all while trying to focus through Sam’s hands. He’s being so, so rough. Faltering against Joe, you shudder as Sam pulls your leggings down, tearing through the fabric.

You don’t know what happens first, but there's a hand at the back of your head, and one around your throat and you're choking for a moment. Joe’s cock is still in your hand but now he’s in your mouth, leaking onto your tongue. Behind you, Sam has his fingers on you—no—in you.

“That’s a good girl.” Joe’s voice sounds sweet, earnest, despite the vulgarity of the situation. You’re smiling at his tone when he pushes further into your mouth. When he moans, you’re grinning.

“Such a good girl, kissing Joe better while I touch you.” You're dripping around his fingers, warmth spreading down your thighs as he works his fingers within you. “You want more baby? You think she can take more, Joey?”

Through heavy eyes you look up in time to see Joey nodding weakly, jaw slack as he keeps himself steady against the back of your throat. I can, I can take more, please, Sam. You nod too, spit slipping down your chin.

And that's all it takes, in an instant, his fingers are replaced by something much bigger, and when you think it’s almost too much, just when you start to choke, he’s moving against you, hands braced at your sides as he grips the table in front of you.

“Just like that Sam, fuck.” Joe tenses, his thighs flexing as you rock against him. “God I wish you could see her face.”

“Yeah?”

“She’s so pretty.” Joe looks down at you, that same, earnest look in his bright blue eyes. “You’re such a pretty girl, taking him like that, choking all over me. She’s trying so hard.”

He’s still talking moments later, even when you’ve gotten lost again, and when he tenses again, he doesn’t stop. “Sam, dude, I can’t—fuck. God she’s so—Jesus Christ.” Babbling incoherently, his cock throbs against your lips until he’s spilling down the back of your throat, eyes rolling in his head.

You’ve hardly let him go when Sam follows. Hands tight on your waist, he bears down against you, chest pressed tight on you as he comes hard. And that’s it. It’s over in an instant, the heat of the moment gone, leaving only the wet feeling between your legs and the dribble of spit on your chin behind as evidence.

Body limp, you crumple against Joe’s chest, breathing heavy in time with the rising and falling of his shoulders. His heartbeat is loud and fast, thundering in his chest as you rest on him, unable to move.

With a hand on your cheek, he pulls you closer, using his shirt to wipe at your chin. In a moment of clarity later you would realize the sweetness of it, but for now, you just whimper into his hand, letting your tired eyes close as he holds you.

“Shhh.” Stroking your face with his thumb, you can hear movement behind you. Sam’s calloused hands are on you, tugging your leggings back up. With fingers too thick for fine work, he fumbles with the waistband, trying to smooth it out across your skin.

“There she is. How’s my favorite trainer?” Joe tilts your chin, meeting your eyes with a smirk playing on his lips. Really, really good.

“I…” Have you always stuttered this much? “I’m good.”

“Yeah?”

“Tired?” He presses a kiss to the crown of your head, laughing.

“Thirsty?” It's the first thing you think of, cheeks pink with a twinge of embarrassment. They seem so put together, why are you such a mess?

“Yeah? You wanna get a beer, with your favorite patient maybe?”

“Patients. Plural.” Sam's voice is low and clear behind them. “It was my idea, after all.”

A/N: Find the next part here. 

[scentedpepper]

Missions, Malaise and Migas Pt. VIII | Leon Kennedy

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 Pt. 4 Pt. 5 Pt. 6 Pt. 7

Fandom: Resident Evil

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x Male Reader

Summary: Leon and Y/N have some underlying issues. Ones they tried to warn DSO about.

Content Warnings: None

Other Pairings: Luis Sera x Reader

Author Note(s): AHHHHHHHHH

"Y/N. " Over and over he calls your name, a hand gripping your arm. He wastes no time, trying to nudge you awake as he pulls you closer to his shoulder and your head lulls the slightest, a gush of air whispering through your lips as you weakly say his name.

There is blood. Warm, wet, blood stuck between the crevice of Leons neck and the bridge of your nose and he wants to freak out, he wants to panic when he feels your eyelashes fanning down against his skin, leaving specks of droplets as you fall from your own consciousness and all he can do is cradle your form, like the most valuable object in the universe has been dropped. It's like his world is floating out of existence, a speck that keeps getting smaller.

And it does get smaller. Every time your eyes slip shut, every moment you can barely let out a proper breath or the smallest whimper of your partner's name, the tighter he held onto your dying corpse.

Somewhere along the way he'd found himself on his knees, unable to think as he holds on to you as if it'd somehow preserve your lifeline. He doesn't know what to do. He has no clue. For once, he can't seem to conjure up a solution, a plan, the next course of action, an escape route, a different outcome. Anything.

When his hands cup the sides of your face, your skin is still hot, your body limp, all he can manage out in this flurry of seconds is your name, again and again as if it would be the one thing to bring you back into the world. You always seemed so solid, a rock, the one he could lean against but his foundation was gone now, his only salvation left in the form of Luis who was beginning to kneel in front of him, his frame coming back into focus.

Luis rests a hand on Leon's shoulder and he nearly flinches at the action. "Hermano, a breath. " He needs the mans attention. "This is serious. " It isn't easy to break Leon out of his mental state, but there's panic swelling in his own chest as he tries to figure out why your breathing is only growing worse by the second.

His hands travel from the gentle cradle of your head and he's feeling around the right side of your neck. First, in desperation and then in a more calculated manner, following the trail from your jawline to the soft spot and then he feels it. It's a hasty thrum, a pattern of pounding. Something erratic and unsteady but enough of a pattern to cause relief to swirl around in his stomach. "Stay calm. "

He's shaky and unsure but he nods once.

"You need to call. Someone. Anyone. " He says urgently and Leon fumbles for the piece of equipment in his ear. He pushes the button quickly and he mutters a relieved thank you when contact is established and a voice fizzles through the tiny speakers.

"Leon?" Hunnigan's vocals ring out over the static and for a moment, Leon feels his heart being cradled in the sound of her. His fear, his anger. "We've been trying to locate you. What's your status?"

"I.." Leon can't find the words, can't force out the information he so badly needs to relay, even his fingers begin to feel weak and Luis nods reassuringly before responding to the woman on the other side.

"Ingrid! It's Luis. " Luis is already reaching for your limp form, ready to lift you, take you out of this god forsaken place and into somewhere safer, to people who can take care of you. "Y/N, he's injured. "

"Injured? " The panic in her voice mirrors the amount that Leon tries to swallow down. "What happened?"

"Its-- I don't--" He cuts himself off, hands leaving you for a brief moment as if to search but they fall back to your form. "I don't know. He passed out. The injuries we see aren't severe enough for that. "

"You're gonna have to elaborate. Can you carry him out?"

"Leon? Listen to me. " Hunnigan's voice is gentle but stern and it's enough to center Leon in what he needs to do. It's clear to her that the distress is beginning to consume the agent. She can practically sense the slight hysteria creeping its way into his veins. "Listen to me. " Her voice picks up and she's watching the screen pull up various pieces of data.

Your vitals.

It does not read well.

"I see them. " Leon responds slowly.

The data says your heart rate is unsteady, and even climbing. Your breathing is sporadic at best but with every passing second, it gets easier and then harder to manage.

Hunnigan isn't sure if she should force anything else out of him, and the way his body coils around the air is enough to determine this is not the time. "Carry him out. " It's an order. One that he mindlessly follows like a programmed bot.

"Hand him to me. " He says to Luis as he stands up and for a few seconds, Luis is hesitant.

"Please. " Leon can almost see him processing what he'd just said, how desperate his words sounded and the glazed stare is enough for Luis to get moving again, delicately adjusting you into your partners hold.

Leon takes you gently and when he cradles you against his frame, it's one of the most secure things he's ever felt, your head on his shoulder, your breaths against his skin. He's taken aback by the weight that appears heavier than it should.

Luis doesn't speak but keeps a watchful gaze over Leon's shoulder as he exits the storage facilities. His walk is fast-paced with Luis just a few paces behind him, your gun in hand as he keeps a watchful gaze on the surroundings.

“I’m sending a chopper. “

...

The sounds in his ear, or more specifically Hunnigan, begins to fade out and at some point becomes useless as it shifts to something unimportant and distant. He's worried. Too worried.

The waiting room is cold but he's sweating.

Once he has time to reflect in the moment, away from people watching and judging, he begins to come to.

That maybe he wasn't actually capable of being so distracted as he was being an uncaring imbecile.

He wishes you could see him now.

Terrified.

A mess in the middle of DSOs medical facility.

Alone.

His chin dips down to his chest, his hands clenching and unclenching.

He tries not to think about it. He does. The way you could barely breathe or the way you forced his name past your lungs.

Hunnigans gone silent beside him.

The fact that he's here right now grows distant as his gaze fades into the mucky brown carpet. The color of it is close to the stains on his face. He hasnt been cleaned up, checked, or treated. He doesn't want to be.

He wants to sit in the filthy mess of dried blood for the rest of his life.

Maybe thats dramatic.

But its how he feels.

Hes picking at his fingers, shredding them and hes almost certain he can hear muffled cries from the public bathroom Luis had excused himself to moments earlier.

That or his eardrums are finally giving out.

His head lulls against the wall, shoulders drawn in tightly, feet spread apart, like a child.

It feels like he's too big for the seat, that all he has to do is move, and it will shatter beneath his weight. It feels like his head is too large. His heart too massive and it's fighting against his sternum.

He breathes out slowly.

He blinks in long waves.

He's supposed to be responding, he's conscious enough to know that there's someone standing in front of him wanting to know why one of their best agents is facing a sentence of death. But he can't focus on the words. He can't decipher them.

The look on the persons face reads loud and clear.

Their hands. They pull him up. They hurt, tight against his bruising forearms.

"Agent Kennedy. " It's an older man. He has thinning hair and the buttons of his shirt are loose, the collar even worse. He's almost as much a mess as Leon is. Almost. "I need you to answer these questions. "

His ears ring.

The words blend together and fade to white noise. His jaw opens and he can't find himself able to respond.

"Kennedy!" There's anger in the man's voice.

"Yes. " It's a breath, a strangled answer that the older man doesn't quite make out. There's confusion. An unwelcome scowl.

He tries to get a few more words out of the the man but only ever so many seem to get through. Something about 'understands the policies and how the public services they pay for cannot be wasted'. He seems to believe Leon doesn't care enough about his partner and the 'goddamn mission'. Like its more important than a life.

It becomes easier to disconnect.

When he does finally process the last few words out of his superior's mouth, its enough to settle him.

"..be put on a tight rope, Agent Kennedy. As soon as Mr. (L/n) awakens and is properly handled, you will be called for a meeting that is required to take place after the events that took happened here. Or–" The man is scowling, "You can suck it up and tell me what the hell went on here. "

It's an oddly polite wording and as Leon falls back into the seat after his arm had been harshly released he starts to put together what had transpired without his permission. How lost his mind had been.

To be honest it's still lost.

Everything around him is one big mess.

"Alright then. " The man sighs. "Mr. Sera came to me earlier saying his own explanation would be a bit.. disheartening. I agree. Until we get to the bottom of this mess, you are not to leave. Got it, Special Agent Kennedy? I'll give you an hour and a half to wrap your mind around everything that has happened and then-- "

"I got it. " Leon cuts through the thickness of his voice with the strength of a samurai. His eyes lift to his superior's and despite how numb he'd felt before, when he watches the man's jaw tighten and his nose flare in irritation, all he can think of is standing up and putting his hands around the slimy fellows throat. His back lifts off of the back of the chair, his body tense and unforgiving.

"...Fine. " The man responds and leaves without another glance.

It's a while before he finds the energy to breathe.

Even longer before Luis comes out of the room he'd locked himself into and tries to hide his raw face and sobbing voice.

If Leon were capable of doing anything, he'd acknowledge the pain the Spaniard felt. The potential loss of someone so close. He'd apologize. Tell him how sorry he is for how he reacted when you came into your last breaths.

For all he knows, Luis is your best friend.

He doesn't know. He doesn't. He doesn't know as much about you as he should. As much as he now realizes he wishes he did.

There are so many things the agent needs to do and say to the Spaniard that comes out of his sight after managing the tears welling in his eyes, wiping away the lines streaming down his cheeks, cursing and muttering under his breath as he tries to push the feelings back down into the depths of his heart.

"Leon. " His voice is as soothing as a song and it only puts him at the slightest of ease.

"Yeah. "

"Lo siento. " I'm sorry. Luis' voice breaks at the tail-end of the sentence but there's that constant levelness behind the tone.

Leon shakes his head, as if the man is wrong for apologizing, wrong for saying it. Its habitual, to act like you don't mean a thing to him. That you haven't taken up such a large part of his life, that you are simply just a distant presence. Partners, associates, even. But you're both well aware of the truth.

He wants you to live, just to see what a future where you have to spend every waking moment with him has to bring. A future you two might even consider putting a label to.

He wants to say something to Luis. Anything. Even a 'Don't'. Don't apologize. The words form in his brain but refuse to make it to his lips and his forehead creases in confusion, in frustration. With himself. For his fault.

He wants to try again. Again and again until he can get the right words out of his mouth but his minds focus is quickly altered when he sees the door to the waiting room open from the corner of his eye and a man steps through.

By the time his eyes focus and fixate, Luis has already stood up.

He sees Luis turn his body towards the approaching doctor and hes quick to follow suit, his vest, which Hunnigan had forced off his body an hour into waiting to check up on him herself being carelessly discarded to the floor.

It's about three seconds after he joins Luis' side that he's forced to choke down the painful thudding coming from his heart. It takes three seconds for his eyes to begin to tear, burning, stinging, as if his pupils have become a cauldron to melt his skin.

Three seconds and he can no longer keep the tight hold on his breath.

Three seconds is too soon for Leon to push back the hotness pressing behind his lids.

Three seconds and all he can think is that you're gonna be alright.

Three seconds and the doctor is speaking.

"Mr. (L/n)?" He asks for confirmation even when it's been evident for the last twenty seconds that it's the right people.

"Yes. " Luis looks so pale, so fragile and suddenly all Leon wants to do is tell him he'll take care of talking to the doctor, that you'll be okay, that he can promise he'll bring you back to him clean, recovered and fully functional.

"Mr. (L/n) is in a very delicate state. " He glances at the three faces in front of, holding a soft gaze that reads nothing but empathy. "He has a few broken ribs, one of which has punctured his liver. His ankle is fractured. There was major bruising and swelling around the throat, which caused most of the issue when it comes to breathing. Luckily for him, it wasn't quite enough to end him. There are a few other wounds that have been correctly patched up with cleaning and stitching. "

Luis' head tilts down to the floor. His hand going to cover his mouth and its clear the man is struggling not to breakdown again.

"We have him on life-support at the moment to ensure his hearts strong enough to go on without it. The first day or two are never easy, but like I said. Mr. (L/n) is in a... delicate state. The next day or so are going to be risky. "

Leon's arms feel tingly, numb and he wants to move them, to take a breathe but hes become stone.

"Can I-- Can I go see him?"

The doctor narrows his eyes. "I'm afraid that right now, it is recommended that no one visits Mr. (L/n). If that changes, I will be sure to let you know. If anything else happens regarding Mr. (L/n)'s case, I will be back as well. "

Leon's fingers itch to connect. Wrapped around your body again, around anything of yours he can get a hold of, for the sake of knowing you're okay. He needs that.

He needs to say it, to tell you something he's waited too long to confess.

"Will he make it?" Luis' voice is low and it's a sentence as forbidden as the one he'd asked about Leon when you first came limping into his hotel room.

Will he?

Leon wonders the same and it's becoming hard to keep himself standing, his legs feel unused, struggling to hold his weight. They want to buckle, give out. He has told hold the nearest thing next to him. Luis. The only thing that'll keep him up.

"I.. Over the many times that I've found Agent (L/n) in my office, he's insisted on giving me the allowance to talk a little less than formally. So I won't be lying or sugar coating any of this. " The doctor takes a breath.

"He went over the permitted amount of stress for his heart. He had a significant amount of bleeding into his chest cavity and if he wasn't a fighter, as I know from our various chats, we'd be having a different conversation. I'm sure you and him are close and I hate to inform you with such grim details, but Mr. Sera, he is in an incredibly difficult position. "

..It is possible that he will make it. He'll say, to comfort, even though Leon is barely breathing, fighting to keep the dark dancing along the edges of his vision at bay.

He hopes.

But he can't feel it enough in his heart. Not right now.

What's obvious now, to Leon is that you're at your limit, that you're done for.

You're at your most fragile point, this man clearly knew you well to take away the false promises, the pointless fluff that comes with any story after these events. The story where his partner beats impossible odds, reaches the insurmountable and becomes unbreakable.

This is the part where you pull the plug.

Where it all ends, even the fantasy Leon's created in his own head.

Hunnigans head hangs low behind the men. Her eyes closing tightly. "Right..." She says, her voice soft, choked on with sympathy and grief.

She doesn't lift it again until the doctor gives them his sincerest condolences and not much else.

Her eyes follow him out the door, silently chasing after some foreign fantasy as if he'll suddenly turn around and deliver different news.

"...I want to see him. "

It's Luis. Luis is crying.

He's holding onto Leon like hes the last piece of you he has, the last connection to the living.

"Me too. " He says weakly. His voice cracking under the pressure of his emotions.

When their eyes meet, they seem to be trying to draw strength from each other.

Their bottom lips twitch, their hands shake, and their eyes gloss over and the more the atmosphere settles the closer they lean into each other, as if its keeping them on Earth.

Leon is the first to grasp the man.

Pulling him into a tight, desperate hug.

Hunnigan knows that and not much else as she meets the eyes of the figure standing in the frame of the door your doctor had just walked through.

Her eyebrows twitch.

How odd. The strangest time to show up, she thinks. The most unexpected appearance of those sharp features that had some how managed to hold a quiet resonance of sympathy in them. A sadness.

Hunnigan thinks it's unfitting for Ada.

But she supposes, at the end of it all, she's human.

[phdmama]

Musings on Love and Marriage

Tomorrow is my wedding anniversary. Of late, for obvious reasons, I’ve been thinking a lot about love and weddings and marriage vows, and why I think they matter.

This is not to say that I think marriage is somehow the goal or a better form of relationship than, say, deep and abiding friendship. In fact, if this many years has taught me anything, it’s that it is the deep and abiding friendship of love over time that sustains your marriage.

When we got engaged, we talked a lot about the ceremony. We’re not religious in any way, but I’m a words person. I believe very much in the power of ritual, and we wanted our wedding ceremony to be meaningful. To reflect us. I was raised Episcopalian in the United States, and am obviously deeply influenced by that tradition even though I no longer practice or have any faith whatsoever. Which meant that it was important to me that our vows follow that traditional pattern. These are the vows we took.

I take you to be my husband. I give to you in the presence of these witnesses my vow to stay by your side as your wife in sickness and in health in joy and in sorrow through better times and worse. I will love, honor, and cherish you and I will nurture the trust, respect and joy that we share for as long as we both shall live.

Weddings are great (usually). They’re hopeful and joyful and so, so optimistic but these vows speak to deeper truths. 

These vows speak first to the fact that love is as much behavior as it is feelings. Maybe even more so. Every day I get to choose to behave in a loving way to my partner. I get to choose to appreciate him, value him, respect him, care for him, and take care of him. I get to choose to focus on him and our life and relationship to protect that life. When they say relationships take work, I believe this is what they mean. That you do the work to keep choosing each other, every day.

These vows also speak to the truth of life, which is that, if you’re lucky enough to live that long, all these things *will* come to you. Joy and sorrow. Sickness and health. Good times and bad times. I’ve said to my daughter that I believe character is what you do when it’s hard to do the right thing, and I think marriage is what you do when you’re tested by these things.

We’re being tested right now, my husband and I. I’m getting better but for a solid week, every time I moved, I was in agonizing pain. I had to be lifted on and off the couch; on and off the toilet. I couldn't move. I had surgery, and three weeks after, things are getting better, but I continue to be so dependent on him. He makes me every meal. He has to help me shower.

He has not *once* complained other than to say he really wishes this wasn’t happening *to me* - because he loves me and to see me sobbing in pain makes him cry too. He’s not once griped about the fact that this was supposed to be his summer to really focus on himself and take it easy (he got laid off right before I got hurt, and had severance so this was supposed to be a paid summer off). He’s dealt with me crying and heartbroken; vomiting from pain; unable to care for myself at all, and he’s *done* it. He shows up, every single time.

And through it all, he loves me with this vast, unwavering love that challenges me to receive it, that pushes me to believe I am worthy of that sort of love and care. Now, I know that this is who he is to the core. Caring and kind and dependable. He’s also brilliant, brave, funny as hell, and makes me laugh every day. Okay maybe not every day lately, but a lot of them. 

Life tests us all, I guess. When you get married, you make a promise that you have no way of knowing if you can keep. But the only way to keep it, is to make it.

So, here’s to this life with all of it - the good and bad, the joy and sorrow, the sickness and health. Here’s to continuing to learn about each other, continuing to grow and laugh and love together. Here’s to showing up and enjoying it as best we can, no matter the circumstances.

Here’s to you, baby.

[blainesebastian]

expectant (ccg universe)

words: 1,844 ship: austin butler x reader summary: (anon request) “how reader tells austin she is pregnant” warnings: none notes: other anon i got your request for disneyworld, etc. will be writing it, just might take a min. i’m leaving for a long weekend vacation, but will begin writing something for it when i get back :3 thanks everyone!  tag list: @killerqueenfan, @karamelcoveredolicity, @elizabethrosecresswell, @gigisworldsstuff, @stylespresleyhearted

Here’s the thing about plans—you enjoy having them but also realize that a lot of perfect surprises come along when you’re not restricting yourself to a step-by-step checklist. You’re not gonna lie to yourself that you’ve had a ten-year plan or even a five year one, that’s too far in advance, too many things can happen. You’ve known people with these stipulations, have watched them break themselves into small pieces to achieve goals that don’t even make sense anymore.

You’ve decided a long time ago that that wasn’t going to be you. There has to be flexibility or you’ll drive yourself crazy.

So when it comes to starting a family with Austin, it’s not something you both have mapped out exactly. You’ve talked about it plenty of times, that promise of eventually lingering like a pleasant breeze, just passing through.

Maybe that’s why it comes as such a shock when the third test comes back with the exact same notification: pregnant.

You stare at it a long moment, tapping your fingers against the sink. Well…you suppose that makes sense. The past week or so, you’ve been off and on with feeling funky. You just figured you were run-down from work, another script you’ve been working on, characterization just not clicking for you despite positive feedback from Austin and a few other writer friends you’ve met on sets. There’s always something you’ve been able to blame for feeling sickly—not enough sleep, too many drinks at the bar, staying up too late with a cup more caffeine than you usually do.

Apparently none of those things have been the culprit.

“Pregnant,” You whisper and that single word seizes you, closing around your ribcage, pushing the bones together—it suddenly feels very real.

--

Somehow a hundred plans come to mind along with nothing specific at all. There are so many things out there that catch your eye about telling your significant other that you’re pregnant. Some ideas range from adorable, to ridiculous, to overwhelming. There’s nothing wrong than just…showing him the pregnancy stick? But at the same time, you want more.

Next time you see him, when he comes home from work, you can just tell him…there’s no need to do anything fancy. Save that for the gender reveal, right? Even though you’re not about to overdo that either. Maybe cupcakes with different color icing on the inside.

Universe must be working against you though because an hour before Austin is due home, you can feel a migraine coming on. You can’t take your medication while pregnant and you feel like you barely make it into the bedroom before it completely takes your knees out. You squeeze your eyes shut, telling Siri to send a text to Austin just to keep him in the loop.

And that’s how he finds you, in bed, covers pulled up and over your head.

Austin comes into the bedroom quietly, moving to the blinds to pull them down. He then sits near your hip, his hand stroking along your side in patterned, even strokes. You move slowly, not wanting to make the pain any worse, like sharp shards behind your eyes. You let out a long breath, removing the sheets from over your head. Austin gives you a gentle smile, pushing your hair aside, his thumb rubbing a tense muscle at the back of your neck.

“You expired?” He teases with a whisper.

A soft chuckle rumbles in your chest and you shrug your one shoulder—kinda, maybe. Not completely. Your temples are pounding and the light, even dulled by the blinds being down, hurts your eyes. It’ll pass though. You’re not sure whether the nausea is from being pregnant or from your brain feeling like it’s being tapped with a hot poker. Your stomach does a full swoop, glancing up at Austin and…

Right, you were going to tell him. The words get stuck right in your throat, thick as molasses.

“Can I get you anythin’?” He asks, moving to circle his fingers at one of your temples, massaging. God—feels incredible. “Meds? Water?”

Your stomach does another flip and your fingers tighten their hold on the sheets you have pulled up to your chin, “Maybe some water, meds didn’t work.” And that’s happened before, if you don’t take them in time. You clear your throat, reaching for his wrist though when he goes to move, “Don’t go yet.”

You run your finger along the inside of his wrist, debating on words that crawl up into your mouth. You had nothing special planned, it didn’t matter how you told Austin the news. But…part of you keeps repeating not like this—not when you feel like you do, miserable and kinda sick and a pounding against your eardrums.

Austin hums lightly and moves to crawl in bed beside you, wrapping his arm around your waist. You sigh out, comfortable, allowing your eyes to close as you catch whiffs of his cologne as he draws you close.

You’re so close to telling him, almost—right here. “Austin.”

He shifts, his one leg slipping between yours, pressing a kiss to the back of your head so you know he heard you. He’s patient; quiet.

“Nothing,” You eventually say, shaking your head. “Nevermind.” Your head tips back slightly to look at him, “I’m glad you’re home.”

He smiles at you, brushing his nose against yours before squeezing around your hip.

--

A few days pass, not…exactly on purpose. But one thing happens after another, getting lost in the normalcy of time passing. You keep promising yourself that you’re gonna find a perfect moment, even though you know nothing like that is going to come. Tonight, tomorrow, next Tuesday, it doesn’t matter—you just have to tell him. You’re not sure why you’re so apprehensive about this…or well, maybe nervous is the better word.

Saying it outloud makes it real and while you assume you know how Austin is going to take the news, it doesn’t change the fact that it’s still just a ‘guess’.

You turn into Jillian’s kitchen with a half empty fizzy juice in your hand, your best friend throwing a small get together that feels long overdue. It’s completely lowkey, comfortable, the gathering of close friends to drink (or not), eat a lot of food and play intense, silly games of cards. You’ve been mostly catching up with people, Austin offering you a drink once or twice, but you lie and tell him you’ve got a headache. He brushes his lips over your forehead and doesn’t press…which is good because you’re still formulating those words, teaching your mouth the syllables for I’m pregnant.

Jillian’s trying to talk Austin into a game of flip-cup and you have to bite down on your tongue because you love that game, you’re actually pretty decent at it?

“You can be on a team with Y/N,” Jillian grins, “I mean, that’s practically guaranteeing a win here.”

Austin laughs, mostly air leaving his nose. He looks over at you and gently shakes his head, refilling his own cup with beer.

“I’ll let you play with wine,” Jillian then starts in on you— “I know beer isn’t a good sell.”

Crinkling your nose, “I’ll play with water,” You offer, “Not interested in wine tonight.”

“Oh come on, you never turn down wine. It's like one of your five food groups," Jillian laughs, "What are you—pregnant?"

It comes out so simply that you don’t even think about schooling your expression, but it’s already too late. Austin glances over at you in amusement, a smirk on his lips, until…he gets a good look at your face. Gentle excitement, a tiny bit of uncertainty, fear—joy.

You realize right then you’re taking too long to say anything, your silence is becoming an answer.

You were so unsure of what your husband's reaction would be, it's been a distant plan but…so many of your passions and work are concrete. How does this fit? Can it fit? All those thoughts evaporate when Austin's mouth opens and closes and he takes a step towards you, reaching for one of your hands. His eyes glaze down your form like he's…looking for a difference that he can't see.

"Are you—" It's somehow more of a statement than a question and you let a soft laugh, eyes beginning to brim with tears.

"Yeah," You sniffle, just going for it, nodding, "Yes."

Jillian gasps into a loud exclamation and you—you pictured telling Austin in a completely different way. In a handful of different ways, but you realize that this is just as good as having a plan. His face is…something you'll never forget. Profound awe, love, nothing is better than that.

"What a great reason to turn down wine." Jillian amends with a grin and pours herself more as if to clink glasses with other people in support. She wanders over and squeezes you tightly before going into the other room and you don’t have to hear her to know that she’s telling everyone else.

You let her go, you’re completely focused on the person in front of you.

Austin cups your face, leaning in to kiss you a few times before he draws you into a tight hug. You close your eyes, pressing your face against his shoulder, breathing him in, allowing him to ground you with his arms firmly around your form.

There are slow eruptions in pockets of cheering from the other rooms and Austin pulls away just enough to gently grab onto your hand and tug you somewhere more private. A small balcony Jillian has, the glass door sliding shut able to drown out most of the sound. You wipe one of your cheeks and smile at your husband, Austin cupping both sides of your face again and kissing you.

Slow and intimate, your foreheads resting together afterwards.

“I haven’t known long,” You promise, knowing he’s happy but not wanting him to think you were trying to keep this secret from him. “There were so many different ways I wanted to tell you.”

Austin shakes his head, “I can’t think of any better way of finding out,” He smiles, glancing inside, “Though at the rate Jillian’s goin’, we might not have a chance to tell anyone else.” He says as another bout of cheering rings out.

You laugh lightly, curling your hair around your ear, “I’ll talk to her,” Making sure she won’t spill anything to your families. You love that she’s excited, however.

You’re smiling, fondly, looking over Austin’s face as an eruption of nervous butterflies kiss the inside of your stomach. You hold his gaze for a moment and he squeezes your hands, waiting.

You’re so incredibly happy but…at the same time, “I’m scared.” You admit in a soft whisper, swallowing over a lump of unsaid words in your throat.

Austin smiles a little, running his thumb along your cheekbone before he draws you close, “Me too. But whatever happens? We’ll figure it out together.”

Together, you repeat, pressing a kiss to his lips. A promise.

[manicpixiedreamcurl]

The More You Give ❧ (Part IV)

Pairing | Eddie x reader

Warnings | 18+ minors and blank blogs don’t interact, bullying, once again Eddie flirts with bullies, sex shaming, discussions of anxiety, dom!eddie increasingly present, fingers in mouths and other places, oral (f and m receiving), first time blow job, cum eating (a theme of this story now as much as shyness, apparently). New named characters, hopefully it’s clear who’s important and who’s not.

Word count | ~11,700

A/N | I’m late! It’s late. Thank you for the patience and the very encouraging messages. It’s wonderful to hear that people are enjoying this fic. 

Taglist

Previous Chapter

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Your fingers twist and pull at your scrunchie, turning the stretchy patterned cotton around your wrist. You think about May’s face; one you know better than anyone else’s. Long eyelashes, pink smile; friendly and warm. You can keep her that way if you just say everything right. 

Eddie is kind to me, you imagine yourself explaining. I like him and I want you to give him a chance. 

You hum as you cross the street, not entirely happy with how that sounds.

Eddie is kind to me. That works. I think it would be really nice if you’d speak to him, so you could see how wonderful he is.

You chew your lip. You are getting ahead of yourself. Even if, by some miracle, you can explain properly, even if May accepts that Eddie is important to you now, she still won’t ever want to be seen with him. May likes being popular, and people hate Eddie Munson. 

It doesn’t matter that he’s the Eddie who made you a mixtape after one date, Eddie who doesn’t mind speaking when you can’t, Eddie who holds your hand and kisses you sweet. It doesn't matter because he is Eddie Munson. The way he dresses, the music he listens to, where he lives, the game he plays, how he makes money, who his parents were. He’s like a ticked list of everything people don’t want to understand. 

To think, now, that you ever let yourself believe he was anything other than lovely makes you ache with regret. You think of that word you found in a Welsh poem; hiraeth, like nostalgia, like homesickness. A sinking feeling, the realisation that you should have followed through every time you thought that people might be wrong about him. 

You saw him hold doors open, take Jeff under his wing, play his guitar exactly the way he likes even in the face of relentless mocking. You knew. Knew he was funny, knew he was interesting, knew he was kind. Knew that, somehow, life would be better if you just spoke to him.

What would you be like, now, if you had?

For a second, you’re sure you must be thinking about him too hard, because you can hear the howl of the music that plays loud from his van. But there he is, pulling up at the corner, looking both ways until he spots you and waves wildly like you might not recognise him otherwise. The tyres of Eddie’s van screech as he makes the turn, again when he halts next to you on the sidewalk. “Thought I’d lost you,” Eddie laughs, leaning over to open the passenger door for you. “Hop in, sweetheart.” 

Eddie waits for you to climb up into his van to press a chaste hello kiss to your lips, so casual and domestic it makes that longing to have had him earlier worse. He watches you buckle your seat belt and get yourself comfy with an excited grin, clearly waiting until he has your full concentration to say what he desperately wants to say. 

Eddie peels off from the sidewalk the second you are settled and looking at him expectantly. 

"Guess who met your Dad this morning!” 

You blink. “You went to my house?”

“Of course,” he says matter of factly, peeling away from the sidewalk. “Why do you think I’m here? I’m gonna be driving you to school from now on.” You almost fight the smile, but let it show when Eddie continues. “At first he thought I was there to mow the lawn? Had me all the way to the garage before I realised. My guess was he wanted an expert opinion on the quality of the grass.” Eddie grins conspiratorially, laughing at his own joke. “But I explained that I was there to pick up his beautiful daughter. Thought he was going to attack me with the weed whacker.”

You shake your head, giggling at the image of your cardigan clad, slipper wearing father wielding such a weapon against Eddie. You look him over, giving yourself a moment to gaze at his handsome profile. “But you’re miraculously unharmed.” 

“Oh yeah, it was no problem. Just turned on the signature Munson charm, you know?” He gives you a dimpled smile. “Then he told me you’d left early to catch the bus so I had to abandon my new best friend and speed on over to find you.” 

You like him especially like this. The way he weaves fantasy with the truth so easily, refusing to let reality get in the way of a good tale. He’s a better storyteller than anyone you’ve ever met, so much so that you don’t know exactly how much of this account is real. You won’t know unless you ask your Dad. 

You probably won’t. Eddie’s version is better. 

You watch his adorned hands while he drives, steady on the steering wheel. Your gaze drifts up his lithe arms to his face, bathed in Summer light. His dark hair is shades lighter like this, flyaways made golden by the sun. “Eddie?” He hums a questioning tone, eyes on the road while yours are fixed on him. “Are you really going to drive me every day?”

“Well, yeah. I thought I would.”

“You won’t…miss a day?” You’re not trying to dissuade him, but one thing you have known about Eddie for years is that he is prone to arrive late, if he makes it to school at all. 

“Princess, if there comes a morning that I am not ready and waiting for you with this, your carriage, know that I will have been slain by dragons.”

You are so desperately fond of him. “Really?”

“Nothing but talons and fiery breath will keep me from your door. I promise.”

The van slows to a stop, but you’re too occupied by him to question it. Eddie looks serious, even as he makes such a whimsical promise, and you know he wants you to believe him. Heart fluttering, you lean over to kiss his soft cheek, leaving a little spot of pink gloss on his skin that you wipe away with your thumb.

“Thank you, Eddie.” You grab his hand and bring your clasped fingers to rest on your knee, cherishing the warmth of him, the weight and feel of him. You sigh, chest sore at the loss of all the times you should have held this hand before. Your fingers find the smallest of his rings, this one is less chunky than those on his left hand. The stone at the centre is dark, flecked with grey. Eddie lets you twist it smoothly, run the pad of your first finger along the textured metal. When you look up from his hand, Eddie is already watching you. You give him what must be a sad smile. "I wish-"

“I think I speak for all of us-” You jump at the voice along with the door at the back of his van opening. Feeling caught in an intimate moment, you fight the urge to drop Eddie’s hand, instead squeezing it tight to get out the sudden nerves. Into the van climbs three boys. Eddie’s friends; including Jeff, who waves at you while the youngest, dressed in a sleeveless flannel, establishes his disbelief at your presence. “-when I say I did not think for one second you were serious about getting a girlfriend.”

Your face heats, the word fluttering around your brain like a swallow diving and gliding in Spring; girlfriend, girlfriend, girlfriend.

You don't chance a look at Eddie, even though you see him glance at you in your periphery. You can't, not when the desperation would read so clearly on your face the second you get a real glimpse of him. 

You watch the three boys shuffle and sit together along the bench seat in the back. Arms and legs squish together, and soon elbows appear to try and gain ground. Protesting grunts and curses sound even as Eddie starts the van.

When Jeff widens his legs in the middle, forcing one boy almost off the end and another to slam into the door at his side, a final frustrated groan sounds. “You know, Monday's are supposed to be my day riding shotgun."

“If you’ve got a problem, Gareth, I'm sure your Mommy would let you ride in the front every day of the week.” 

“I-” You rub the gem of Eddie’s ring with your thumb in a circle. “I’m sorry I took your seat.”

Gareth’s eyes seem to light up as if he’s spied an opportunity. “Well, you didn’t exactly take my seat. It was given away before he even picked you up,”

“Gareth-” Eddie starts, a warning sound.

“If you think for one second,” Gareth says, voice matching Eddie’s unique tone almost to a point. “That a woman like that is sitting anywhere but by my side you’ve lost your God damn minds.”

The three of them giggle like real schoolboys until Eddie’s head snaps around like a cat locating its prey, silencing them in an instant. Something about the tension in his jaw, the intensity of his eyes makes you feel warm between your legs. It also makes a long quiet, mischievous part of you want to push him a little bit. 

“When- when was this exactly?”

Four sets of eyes turn to you; one incredulous, the other three shifty like they’re weighing up the consequences of being the first to speak.

“Friday,” the final boy says, eyes darting to Eddie whose face is swiftly turning pink. “He said you were going on a date, that he might be driving you after. Never seen him so excited. And hey, looks like it went well, Eds?”

“You know something crazy?” Eddie grits. “I could've sworn I just heard Matthew’s voice. But that's impossible, because he’s dead to me.”

“Eddie!” You chide, watching his sweet, angry face, his lips set in an unintentional pout. This time, the kiss you press to his cheek is long, and in full view of his friends. Your heart pounds as you do it, aware of their eyes right on you, but it's entirely worth it to see Eddie’s pink cheeks darken further. You tap your feet a little, your own face heating while you rub the back of his hand with your thumb. “I was excited on Friday, too.”

You expect he might glare at his friends again when a chorus of ooh’s starts up behind you, but instead Eddie settles back into his seat, trying and failing to fight a happy grin, his dimples appearing even as his eyebrows are pulling together in an attempt at keeping up his anger. He squeezes your hand tight before he lets go to make a turn, then reaches out again immediately to take your palm back in his. 

“Hey, have you done any of the Chemistry homework?” Jeff asks, head appearing in the front, hiding Eddie from you. 

“Yes,” you nod, remembering the brutal questions you’d spent the rest of your Sunday on after returning from town with Heather. “In between bouts of tears.”

“Jesus. I know. Do you remember ever being taught anything about retention factors?” 

You shake your head, humming the negative. “We weren’t.”

“What does Mr Brown get from that? I mean I thought he wanted us to say, hey, you old bastard, you never fucking taught us this. But literally last week Jessie told him we hadn't learned molecular orbitals when it was on the test, and she got detention.”

“Note to self. Don’t do AP Chemistry.”

“I really don’t think that’s a choice you’ll have available to you, Gareth.”

“Hey! I got a B+ on the last assignment-”

“I’m your lab partner!” Matthew cries, smacking his friend on the shoulder. “I wrote the whole thing!” 

You watch them sitting uncomfortably together on the small back seat, arguing from either side of Jeff, whose stone faced grimace makes you giggle. When you turn back, Eddie is stopped at the lights and gazing at you, looking proud. 

You shrug bashfully, because talking to Jeff isn't so impressive. It's always been easier to speak to people who understand what it’s like to lose your words. 

You feel eyes on you when you jump from Eddie’s van in the school parking lot, uncomfortable prickles crawling up your neck. When you catch the eyes of two cheerleaders you rarely speak to despite sitting with them every day, you see their lips moving, smiles turning, and hear your heartbeat in your ears. 

Then it’s just Eddie, eyes level with yours, close enough you could count the long dark eyelashes that frame them. “You alright?”

You nod, giving him a brave smile. Your fingers twitch, wanting his hand again. “Okay. I have to, uh, meet somebody. But I can leave you with the guys, right?”

You nod again, wanting to tell Eddie that you’ve always liked Jeff, that you think you could like Gareth and Matthew, too. Suddenly you’re thinking about your own friends, and how hard it will be to explain this arrival on top of your dates with Eddie over the weekend. A part of you wants to beg him to get back in his van with you. You could drive to his trailer, hole up in the room that smells like him and hide in his arms. 

Another part wants to grab his face and kiss him in front of anyone who might be watching, scream at anyone who might hear that you've been waiting for this joy for what feels like your whole life. 

But you are stuck here, in an uncomfortable place between the two. 

“Eddie, will you-” You swallow, pressing the toe of your shoe into the tarmac.

“Just tell me what you need, sweet thing. I’ll do it.”

You could cry at how earnest he sounds, how much he means it. Instead you step forward and press your face to his shoulder, wrap your arms around his lithe waist in a hug. You hope he knows you want to give him more, that you’re trying for him. When Eddie’s hands come round your shoulders, giving your body a tight squeeze, you’re sure he does.

“Hey, you wanna come to my place after school?” You nod into his shoulder, sighing happily at the thought of time spent with Eddie removed from pestering eyes. When you force yourself from him, he gives you a final once over. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“Mm.”

As Eddie walks away, you feel a bump on your shoulder and turn to find Jeff grinning at you. He raises an eyebrow and you find yourself covering your face and giggling. “Stop!”

“I didn’t say anything!” He bumps your shoulder again while you walk to the door, past intent stares and whispering mouths. You grab the hem of your skirt, crumpling the fabric in your fist. Next to you Gareth and Matthew are talking about a new album they like, as if people turning to look at you over their shoulders don't matter one bit. Jeff speaks soft. “Hey, you wanna compare the homework before first period? I found an old textbook in the library and I think I have the right idea, but if you’ve given it a try, too-”

Your name comes in a distinctively curt call, the way your Mom used to say it when she found you playing in mud and pretended not to be angry. Your heart drops, toes curling your shoes. May’s expression is tight, eyes fixed on you to avoid looking at the boys you are surrounded by. 

Your mouth opens to speak, but what do you say here? Introduce them? Apologise? Fabric twists in your shaking fingers while you look up at Jeff, knowing that you need to be left alone with your friend now. 

“Let’s go over it another day,” Jeff says, giving you a brace filled smile and May a quick worried look. “See you later.”

Gareth and Matthew follow the farewell, and you’re left alone. Looking at May's face, you can't help but feel guilty. 

She knows. 

“You went on a date with him?” 

Oh. She knows. 

You pull your sleeves over your hands and nod, trying to remember the words you were rehearsing this morning, trying to picture how this scene could play out in a way that ends with May’s smile. You are left empty by the disappointment, the exhaustion in her expression. You just twist your sleeves in your thumbs. “How did you-”

“Tracy's boyfriend works at the diner in town. He didn't know your name, but he told her the freak was there with that one girl that never says anything and well, it wasn't that hard for her and everybody else to work it out." She shakes her head, shrugging incredulously. "Were you even trying to hide it?” You shake your head, wanting it to be a proclamation that of course you weren't hiding, that you didn't want to hide Eddie one bit. Instead, it feels like the action of a scolded child admitting fault. “It’s like-” she starts, touching her forehead as if it’s aching, then clasping her hands together in front of her chest. “It’s like you’re determined to make life difficult for yourself.”

“May-”

“I mean, of everyone, everyone in school, you pick Eddie Munson. Eddie Munson. What is the aim here, exactly? To tank what reputation you have left? What are you going to say to Caroline at lunch when she asks about this?” 

Caroline, something of a Queen Bee in the cheer squad. May has been trying to impress her for years. She's half the reason May joined cheerleading, why she saves up for those weekend trips instead of drinking smoothies and gossiping with you and Heather. Caroline is also the reason May is embarrassed of you more often than not, these days.

Caroline thinks you are strange. She has told you to your face. Conversations with her are limited to sharing the answers of your homework, asking you to do her makeup before a competition, comments about your silence, the fact you can’t look her in the eye, the way you fidget with your clothes.

You could probably ignore it, if you didn’t know it hurt May just as much because of her association with you.

“Oh wait, you won’t say anything. You’ll just sit there and wait for me to explain it for you. Well, I really don’t think I can do that. I mean, do you even know how much time I spent defending you after the Andy thing?” She waits, and you realise she’s expecting an answer. You shake your head and you feel pathetic. “It took up entire practices sometimes. But I did it, I defended you, just like I always do. No, guys, you don’t get it! She hurt cause Andy embarrassed her and she’s shy! Too shy to even try talking to any of you instead of just hanging around all the time, but not shy enough to avoid dating Eddie fucking Munson!”

It’s your longest shame. The memory of the first time you found it hard to speak to someone is hazy, but you know you were young, and that the dread involved in talking to new people, important people, popular people, has never gone away.

You sniff. “I- I’m not trying to make it hard for you.” 

“Of course you aren’t!” She cries, exasperated. “But you’re not putting any effort into making it easy for me, either.”

“I didn’t- It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. I was- I wanted to explain everything.”

“What? So I could defend you properly?”

“No!” You cry, reaching for her hand and feeling relieved when she lets you take it. You stare at your fingers holding hers, your matching pale blue nails. “No, May. I hate that I made you feel that way. I’m sorry that you’ve had to defend me. I’m sorry I've left you to explain, but this- I wanted to explain it myself so you could try to understand.”

“Try to understand what? Why you need to date Munson?”

“Yes. I know you don’t like him but he-” Is perfect for you, makes you feel safe, touches you like you’ve been waiting for. “He’s kind, May. And it’s like he- he knows how to talk to me when I…you know, get quiet.”

Her gaze snaps to you. You feel her fingers flex like she wants away from your touch. “And what? I don’t?”

"No, you do, May. You and Heather, you’re the only ones who ever really have. You know that. But, some of the others, like with Andy. It annoyed him.”

“Well, I’m sorry, but it gets annoying.” 

You swallow the lump in your throat, nodding your understanding. 

“I’m sure Andy didn’t mind it in the beginning either.” May says. “Give Munson time. He might not like it so much when you’re six months in, still barely talking and all you’ve let him do is fucking dry hump you.”

You wince, hating to think about everything that happened, hating that she knew all that before you told her, hating that thought that Eddie could ever act the way Andy did. The tears that have been building finally start to spill, and you drag a sleeve up to your eyes, sniffing desperately and looking up to try and stop the pooling. 

You hear May sigh, feel her squeeze your hand in what you’re sure is an apology. 

“Okay. Fine. You like Munson. You told me that before and I should have taken it seriously but instead I sent you out into the woods to talk to him alone so, wow, I guess this is my fault.” You’re not sure if she’s joking, not sure what she wants you to say to any of that. “But I’m not justifying it to the cheer girls, okay? I mean it. If they want you gone, you’re sitting at the freak’s table for the rest of senior year whether you keep dating him or not.” 

There is a single moment, fleeting in your mind, where the thought of that brings you relief.

She’s not wrong. You let your worries be taken up with explaining it to her, but you find yourself answering questions from just about everyone else all day. 

A boy in Spanish you’ve never once spoken to, asking if you really got a ride to school with Eddie Munson this morning. Your desk partner in Math who always copies your answers passes you a note asking if it’s true you’ve been secretly dating for months. A freshman in the hallway whose brother you babysit asks if the freak is your boyfriend now, if you’re going to try and sneak him into her house when her parents are out. 

Yes. No. Sort of. Of course not. 

Maybe you should feel prepared when you walk into the cafeteria, ready to be questioned. One look at Caroline's picture perfect smile and your packed lunch is shaking in your trembling fingers. 

You spy the empty seats directly opposite her as you approach. Like it's planned, like she wanted to keep your options closed. Instinctively, you look over to the other side of the cafeteria as you sit, wishing Eddie were with you and not at the head of his table, gesticulating with his hands with each beat of the story he’s telling his friends.

“Oh, my God. It’s true.” Your gaze snaps back, feeling caught out even though you weren’t trying to hide. Caroline’s own eyes move from where she had followed yours to your face, eyebrows pulled together like she can’t believe somebody so strange as you could be real. You stare at her chin, shaking your knee under the table. “You are dating Munson.”

“Yes."

You hear the chair beside you pull out, see May sitting in your periphery with a light smile. “Hi, girls!”

“Did you know about this?” Caroline asks, gesturing to you with her head like you’re a red wine stain on a white shag carpet.

“God, no." She did warn you, but it still feels like a betrayal, still hurts your chest like one. "Not until Tracy phoned yesterday.”

“I mean, I can’t say I’m entirely surprised,” Caroline replies, widening her eyes and smirking. “If anyone was going to have a thing for the freak.” 

You would like to be strong. You would like to sound eloquent and speak with finality. Instead, you force out quiet words. "He’s kind.”

It’s as if you didn’t say anything at all.  

“Is this because Andy broke up with you?” You glance over down the table at the curious face of another girl, her hair tied back in the familiar green scrunchie. “Like is this you trying to make him jealous?” You flinch, shaking your head, but she continues, voice half a giggle. “Cause I mean, I think you may have picked the wrong guy.”

“I’m- I’m not trying to make anybody jealous.”

“My God. Imagine being jealous of Eddie Munson,” Caroline laughs, earning herself a chorus of agreement. 

“Have you seen that van he drives?”

“He's been a senior since I started high school.”

“I had to go to his place once to pick up. You know he lives in a trailer, right?”

“Yes.” You answer, the judgement of his home, cosy and safe, filled with Eddie’s presence, so personal that it lends you a moment of defiance. 

“Oh, you've been?” Caroline again, her pretty blue eyes set right on you. She tilts her head, hair falling in a smooth wave over her shoulder. “What have you been getting up to with that boy?”

Your heart pounds in your ears as dread settles. She's looking at you like she knows every salacious thing you have done in Eddie's bedroom, like she was standing over you during every intimate moment, and is now excited to share. Taking a breath, your mouth opens even as you have nothing to say. 

“I think it’s cute.” 

Erin Maclean sits with a forkful of salad ready to go into her mouth, grinning to the side. Clearly she's happy to have interrupted Caroline's excitement at having caught you out. You suspect displeasing Caroline is a bigger motive for Erin than any righteous feelings she might get from defending you. 

She has been one step out the door of being able to sit at the table for months, since everyone found out she slept with Caroline’s boyfriend at a party, a perfect high school scandal that made its way round the school and culminated in Erin being shunned by the whole table…until she threatened to quit cheerleading entirely. More talented than any of the others, her tumbling won the cheer team second place at regionals. 

Even Caroline's influence wasn't strong enough to go up against the desire to win. Now they content themselves with iciness to Erin's face and talking viciously behind her back.

You judged her at the time. It was only later, after Andy, that you saw the hypocrisy. It was like he had no part in things going wrong. Then the injustice became clear, that cruel insults are written about Erin in bathroom stalls months later, while the boy involved, the only one of the triangle who cheated, suffered a single week of pouty silence followed by a public reconciliation that flicked the single spot of dust from his reputation away for good. 

You stare at Erin now, amazed at the ease in her voice, the way she plays them all to her tune. 

“It’s kinda like," she waves her hand in the air. "Who’s that teen actress with the red hair?”

“Molly Ringwald! I love her!”

“Yeah! They’re like Molly Ringwald and the punk guy in the Breakfast Club.”

“Don’t spoil it! I haven’t seen it yet!”

“Damon finally watched Sixteen Candles with me last week, it was so romantic.”  

Just like that, the discussion has moved past you, to someone else’s much more suitable boyfriend, one worthy of their time. You feel your bottom lip shake with the beginning of relieved tears, blinking them away when you find Erin’s gaze. 

She gives you a close lipped smile, but she looks sad with it. The sweet relief you were feeling is dulled by the pity in her eyes.  

❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦

By last period, you are exhausted with answering questions and explaining yourself to people who have never before taken an interest in you. You drop yourself behind a desk and let your head fall forward into your notebook, hoping that hiding your face will prevent any questions from the students filtering into the History class. You filter out the chatter, your head noisy enough on its own. 

Gentle fingers brush at the hair on your temple, and when you turn your head, you find Eddie squatting down beside your desk. At once, the sight of his tender smile soothes the tightness in your chest. You gaze at him, the features of his handsome face, and know that every question, every moment of frustration, will be entirely worth it if he will keep looking at you like this. 

“You okay, sweet girl?”

You almost nod, almost lie, but the truth comes easily with Eddie. “I’m tired.”

“Needed to talk to everybody and their dog today, I bet,” he says, rubbing the curve of his finger over your cheek. This time you do nod, realising he must have experienced the same thing all day. Eddie sighs, as you had. “'S my fault.”

That makes you sit up straight, registering the guilt in his expression. “No, it isn’t.”

Eddie’s eyes follow your movement, and he gives you a dejected smile. “It’s because of me.”

You shake your head, hating that even more, hating that he thinks he’s the problem when just the sight of his face is what makes the real problem disappear from your mind. 

“It’s because of us,” you correct, thinking about reaching out to curl a lock of his hair around your finger but curling your fingers into your palms instead. “And I-” You look away from his eyes, focusing on his forehead so you can say it. “I kissed you first, remember?”

Eddie’s face goes from concerned to soft in an instant, eyes wide and shining as he tilts his head, face splitting into a smile. “That’s true.”  

“Move, Munson,” 

You both glance up at Mark; stocky, scowling, clad in green and white. Shaking his head, Eddie looks at you and rolls his eyes. “If only the class were set up in some kind of grid system, then he could get round me so easily.”

You giggle softly until Eddie is shoved with a knee, almost toppling him until he grasps your desk, looking up again in disbelief. 

“I said move.” 

“Well, if you insist.” Eddie straightens up, taking a step right into Mark’s space to wrap his arms around the back of his neck and swing them round like they’re dancing. He waggles his eyebrows, tilting his chin up with a grin. “This is so romantic.”

“Jesus-” Mark pushes Eddie away from him, sending him crashing back into his seat in a way that must hurt, not that Eddie's laughter would give it away. “You are a freak, Munson.”

“Don’t talk to me like what we had wasn’t special!” Eddie calls after him, adjusting himself in his seat and pouting at you. “They always run.”

You rest your chin in your hand, in awe of him. Eddie looks like he's already moved on. He can deal with cruel words and physical intimidation like it’s all a joke, when an off tone on a single word can leave you wringing your hands all day. 

Eddie sighs, resting his own head on his hand opposite you. “You know, I really wanna pass this class, and if I’m gonna pay attention, you’ll have to stop that.”

You hear the teacher starting up at the front of the room, but you have to ask. “Stop what, Eddie?”

He tilts his chin up. “Lookin’ so pretty.” 

You make distressed sound like you want him to stop, but you can’t fight the cheek aching smile that sits on your face the whole class.

When the final bell rings, you are desperate to get out of the building before anyone new can approach. You find yourself grabbing Eddie's hand the second your bags are packed, half dragging the giddy looking boy through the halls and then outside to the safety of his van. 

When the doors are closed and you are speeding away, listening to Matthew and Jeff argue about what should be on the stereo, hearing Eddie snapping at them and starting up a Dio tape without further discussion, you feel you can breathe properly for the first time since you got up this morning.

Eddie grabs your hand the second Jeff and the others have jumped from the back of his van, the three of them calling out goodbyes to both of you by name. “Still happy to come back to mine?” 

You nod, wanting that desperately. “We could do the History homework.”

“Shit. I told you I wanted to pass that class, didn't I?” 

“Mm hmm.”

"Always setting yourself up, Munson," he mumbles, sighing. "Okay, Princess. For you, I will sit with you in close proximity to my bed and…do homework with you.”

“It’s always easier with two people. May and I-” You cut yourself off, reminded that you don't entirely know where your longest friendship stands. Telling her did not go at all how you’d planned. You’ve annoyed her, something you’ve been doing more and more recently. But maybe it hurt her, too, that she found out from somebody else.

“I guess you told your friends?”

“Mm,” you sigh. “I didn’t get to tell May the way I wanted to.”

“Right. Just checking, you think there’s anything you could have done that would have made her cool with this?”

You consider that, opening and closing your mouth a few times before shrugging. “I don't know. But I wanted- I mean, my plan was...” You squirm a little, finding your new favourite thing to play with, the gem set into Eddie's ring cool to the touch of your finger. “I wanted to tell her why I…like you so much.”

You expect a little tease. Nothing terrible, but Eddie brand mischief at least. Instead, his shoulders roll back like you've given him a bout of new confidence. He glances at you after turning the sharp corner into the trailer park. 

“I’m still not entirely used to that,” he admits. “You know, three different people came up to me today, asking if you were really my girlfriend.” You sit with him when he stops outside his home, pressing one shoe to the top of the other.

“And what did you say?”

“I told them it had nothing to do with them and it was weird as hell to be asking when they don’t even know me.” Eddie gives your hand a squeeze. “And then some guy called Jeff says, what are you talking about Eddie, we’ve been friends for years? So I thought I’d tell him anyway, cause I sort of wanted to talk about it.” Eddie’s face is serious, looking into your eyes. “Told him I hadn’t asked, but I am going to."

“Okay,” you whisper, heart fluttering. Eddie watches the way you sit up in your seat, and brings your hand to his lips to lay a soft kiss at your knuckles.

“Not yet though,” Eddie says, tone suddenly lighter as he opens the door at his side, hair flying behind him as he jumps out of the van. “Gotta be at just the right moment, you know?” 

You blink after him, close to a huff, but the sound of his boyish laugh is so sweet that you find yourself climbing out and jogging after him to keep yourself close, where you want to be.

The TV is on in the space of the living room, but Wayne is standing in the kitchen. Water sloshes. You hear the sound of scoured metal against a pan over the serious voice of a newscaster reading headlines.

“Hi Wayne!” Eddie calls, removing his jacket and throwing it on the couch unceremoniously. 

“Afternoon." Wayne catches you standing at the door when he looks up to greet Eddie and gives you an acknowledging nod. "Hi again.”

You wave briefly and give in to the temptation to hide, pressing the side of your face to Eddie’s arm when he takes your hand. "We have homework. For History." 

Wayne nods again, glancing between the two of you. "Not a problem. Just cleaning up after my breakfast. You want coffee or anything?"

"I do. Sweetheart?" You shake your head, the urge not to be a bother always present. Eddie bumps your hip with his. "I can make one how you like it in case you change your mind, mm?" 

"Okay, Eddie." You let go of him reluctantly, feeling out of place watching him and Wayne fluidly move around each other in their kitchen. 

"You wanna get us set up at the table?" Eddie asks. You nod, glad to have been given a task to stop you standing in the middle of the room feeling at odds. You sit at the little fold out table by the kitchen, retrieving your History folder, notebook and pencil case from your bag while dishes clink and coffee is poured to your right. 

"You two got a lot of classes together?" Wayne asks, setting the washed pan on a drying rack next to the sink. 

"Not this year. This one's working for college credits in a bunch of subjects."

You smile at the pride in Eddie’s voice, digging a toe of your sneaker into the floor.

"You heading to college next year?" Wayne is asking you directly, leaning back on the counter and drying his hands on a kitchen towel. You nod, hum a little positive sound. "Where you headed?"

"Mm, my friends are probably staying in Indiana...”

Wayne’s face is serious, edging on concerned. “Didn’t ask about your friends. Wanna know about you.”

Your face heats. You glance at Eddie, who is already looking over his shoulder at you like he knew you’d need him. He gives you a little smile, an encouraging nod, and you glance back at Wayne. “I mean, I guess I might just stay with them. But, I don’t know, I might try for NYU?” 

"She's gonna write about old poems in other languages. That’s right, isn’t it, sweetheart?" Eddie places your mug down on the table and throws himself down in the opposite chair, immediately searching through your open pencil case. You see his eyes widen in delight, landing on a pale blue pen with a fluffy top that you sometimes play with when you’re in class and the teacher is calling on people to speak. Eddie presses the softness at the end to his face, strokes it up and down his cheek. “Why aren’t all pens like this?”

You watch him adoringly while he tickles his own neck and laughs softly to himself. 

"It was nice seeing you again," Wayne says, suddenly closer. When you turn to him, feeling sheepish that you had, for a second, forgotten he was there, he's giving you a small, but genuine smile. 

You realise that you've been caught. You can only imagine the way you look at Eddie, especially in the moments he acts like this, sweet and silly and him. Maybe your expression showcases it, the fact that you’d rather look at Eddie than anything else.

"You, too.” You mumble, clearing your throat to try and get the next words out more clearly. “Thanks, um, for letting me work here."

"Course. Anyone my boy wants around is welcome. You take care. I'll see you later, Eddie."

Eddie finally pays attention, bringing the soft fluff down from his chin and grinning. "Later, Wayne." 

You smile shyly when Wayne’s out the door, remembering the last time he left the two of you alone in this trailer, Eddie’s hands and mouth exactly where you wanted him most, where you are fighting against the want for him now.

You search through your pencil case for a slightly more practical pen. “I thought, maybe, we could do the questions together? I can start at five if you do one, and we could meet in the middle?”

Eddie’s head tilts, his hair falling across his mischievous face. “You actually wanna do the History homework? It's not due till Wednesday."

"But you have a gig tomorrow." 

Eddie considers this fact for a second, then leans his head back and groans into the air. He slumps, bum sliding forward on his seat until his body is a diagonal line from the back of the chair to the floor. He looks so much like a grumpy little boy with his big pouty lips and wide eyes that your heart aches a little even while you’re close to laughing at him. "I hadn't considered this,” he sighs, arms crossing over his chest. “You're really gonna make me do my homework all the time, aren't you?"

"Oh. I mean, I thought-” You suddenly feel a little silly, find yourself playing with the paper of your notebook, curling up the corner of the top page with your thumb. “I guess I thought it would be nice. But I can- I’m happy to go home, next time.”

Eddie shakes his head decisively, grasping the table to help sit himself up. "No, Jesus. I don’t want that. I’d choose doing my homework with you over doing anything else without you. Always.” He rests his elbows on the surface, leaning in close enough you can smell the smoke and the mint of his breath. “I guess I’m just wondering how much of the time we’ll spend on homework is time I could have spent with my tongue inside you." 

The space between your legs pulses with sudden heat, leaving you rubbing your thighs together. You could curse him for having this amount of power over you already, that he can say something so casually that leaves you with the beginnings of an encompassing ache. Eddie is grinning, proud of himself, watching your eyes keep darting from his face to the table and back again, searching through your blank mind for a reply.

“But you call the shots here, sweet thing,” he acquiesces, satisfied by the shadow of regret on your face. “Question one, you said? I’ll get right on that.” 

You watch him write his name at the top of the paper, leaning over the table. The concentrated look in his big eyes as he reads the question, his pink tongue coming to rest at his top lip. His soft hair is asking to be stroked as well as pulled. The pale column of his neck begs for kisses. The curve of his arms and the tattooed skin peeking out from his shirt want your tracing fingers. 

“Stop it,” you mumble, pressing a toe to the end of one of his Reebox under the table.

“Stop what?” 

You tilt your head. “Mm. Looking so pretty.”

Eddie’s eyes widen. Me? He mouths, pressing a palm to his chest as you nod. That hand moves to drag some of his hair across his face. Eddie plays it up, but you know that you have made him genuinely happy because, when he is done fluttering his eyelashes, his gaze moves to the table and he looks, for a second, earnestly shy.

“Well, I guess I’ll try. But no promises.”

Eddie writes quick, once he’s settled. As you finish your first question, he has written his answers for two. Your agreement, to work on the third question together, gives him a moment of pause that his busy brain latches onto. It drags him on to the next activity as soon as he’s written his last word, and then he’s offering you more coffee and searching through the cupboards for a preferred snack. He even disappears into his room for a minute, emerging with a mug he’d used yesterday that he throws in the sink before returning to his snack hunt. 

It reminds you of the way you’ve seen Eddie in class sometimes. Deeply focused, then suddenly playing with the ends of his hair, drumming a distracting beat, doodling on his notebook around the beginnings of what must have been good notes. 

It’s only when you’re finished with your own questions and reading through his that you bring him back to the table. It doesn’t take much, just an exclamation of, “Eddie, that’s a really good point!” 

He is sitting down opposite you the next second, looking just as pleased at that as he was to be called pretty. 

The second your pens are down from writing the final answer, Eddie is round your side of the table and pulling you up from the chair by your forearms like he wants to run away from the books and paper in case you suggest any more work. “That was exhausting,” he says, walking backwards to keep his eyes on you, briefly tripping over a discarded magazine but otherwise walking with practised ease. “You do that all the time?”

You giggle to watch him throw himself back on his bed and give a tired groan as if he’d just written ten thousand words and not five short paragraphs. He toes off his shoes carelessly, kicking them from his feet while you kneel to tug at your laces

“You really never do your homework?” You ask, loosening the tongue of your left sneaker and pulling it off before shifting to the right one. 

“I try. Sometimes. I just, y’know, get bored,” Eddie says above your head. “Then I get distracted, and I can’t get back into it.”

“Well, we can work together, now.” You finish with your other shoe and look up at him from the floor, finding Eddie’s gaze intent on you already. You swallow, glancing at his knees, bare through denim, spread apart from each other on his bed. If you shuffled forward a couple of feet, you’d be between them.

“Yeah?” Eddie’s shoulders roll back, hands behind him on the bed. “You gonna keep me motivated? Reward me when I’m good?”

A shiver runs up your back, the ache that had never truly gone away now roaring its presence. It is a strange feeling, to know that Eddie likes looking at you on your knees, that he must like the thought of what you could do for him, positioned like this. And then, to still feel unsure. Maybe you’ve misunderstood. Maybe you haven’t and doing what you think he wants would be a mistake anyway. You don’t know what you’re doing, and he won’t like it. If he does like it, if you’re good at that, what would that say about you? 

Do you ask to do it? If he asks you, what do you say back? You know he likes the things you say to him when he is touching you. But to beg and praise and thank him when your body is alight with the pleasure he gives happens naturally. It happens without the involvement of your brain, when your ecstatic body tells your mouth the things Eddie wants to hear. 

What do you say when you are the one giving? When your brain is working full tilt to ensure you are doing everything right?

You look briefly between his legs, the metal buckle of his belt, the black denim that hides him from you, and you are both wanting and scared. You find his eyes, and they are kind.

“Eddie,” you whisper. 

“C’mere.” 

You clamber up to him, almost a familiar position now to be sat in his lap with your knees bracketing his thighs. You bury your face in his shoulder, letting yourself be soothed by the softness of his shirt against your cheek and the smell of him; smoke and weed, his cheap and pleasant aftershave. Eddie hums low, stroking a hand down the back of your head, massaging gently at your neck. 

“I wish-” You mumble, regretting it immediately, the end of the sentence too embarrassing to say. You think he might prompt you, but instead he keeps rubbing at the back of your head with his thumb, his hand a delightful warm pressure on your neck. You breathe in the boyish smell of him, mind settling on Eddie who is kind, Eddie who won’t judge, Eddie who wants to look after you.

“I wish I could talk like you.”

“I’m not sure this town could handle another person who talks the same shit I talk, sweet thing,” he laughs. “Besides, I’d miss the way you talk.”

You hide your whole face in his shoulder, voice coming out muffled. “But I mean…in bed.” Embarrassment crawls up and down your spine to be saying this. “It’s like it’s easy. You just make me all- make me so-”

You unconsciously wiggle on his lap, a desirous little movement that doesn’t escape Eddie. He huffs a soft laugh into your cheek. “I make you so…hot and wet in your little cunt?”

You squeeze your eyes shut even though the world is already hidden by his shoulder against your face. “Eddie,”. 

“You know, it’s probably easier than you think.” Eddie’s big hand locates yours where it was pressed to his chest, bringing it up to his lips to kiss your palm before he lowers it. “Cause, you? Fuck, sweetheart, all you need to do is say my name.” Eddie presses your palm to his crotch, where you can feel him, thick and hard under the zip. “Say it again.”

He lets you curl your fingers, getting a feel for the girth of him, the length hidden by denim. You turn your head from his shoulder, glancing up at his face to find that the warm brown of his eyes has vanished behind pools of black. You whisper. “Eddie.”

You feel the excited twitch of his cock at the sound of his name from your lips. He is hot and ready against your palm, and the thought of touching him more, seeing him like he’s seen you takes over your brain. “Eddie,” you murmur, earning yourself another twitch, followed this time by his soft lips on yours. Your shoulders release their tension, content to feel Eddie’s mouth, to taste the promise that you are allowed to get things wrong because it’s him. You gasp softly when he releases you, your eyes fluttering closed when he dots kisses over your face, breath heavy when your palm rolls tentatively over his swollen cock. “Eddie, I want-” Your throat protests, and you pause to build yourself up to it again. 

“Do you want my mouth?”

Your pussy throbs, the memory of Eddie’s tongue at your entrance, how soft his lips were kissing your clit. “Oh. Yes, please.” 

“S’fucking sweet,” he says, grabbing your hand from his crotch. “Lie back, baby-”

“Wait,” you gasp, tightening your legs on either side of him to keep him from turning you over. “I want- I want to-”

Your toes curl, wishing again you could be more like Eddie, who offers his tongue with the same ease as a cup of coffee. 

Eddie strokes his thumb over your wrist, feels your racing pulse under his fingers and shakes his head, soft hair moving with him. “You don’t have to do anything, baby.”

“I know,” you answer with certainty, chest warm. It’s the knowing you don’t have to that makes you want to. It’s the fact that Eddie doesn’t expect you to offer anything more than what you’re willing to give that makes you want to give so much. 

You can’t say it, not how you want to, but you can still tell him.

You turn your wrist out of his hand, grab his own. Your heart pounds when you curl three of his fingers down. You clasp his wrist with both hands, hoping they can keep each other steady, and bring his fingers to your lips. Chancing a look at Eddie when your tongue flicks out along his rough pads, you find his mouth hanging loose, eyes blinking and intent on your lips. He tastes like his last cigarette at the tips, like skin further down. You breathe heavily through your nose as you press your head forward, sliding along his warm fingers until your lips meet the cool metal of his rings. Your tongue curls naturally around the length of the digits, and the noise that escapes the back of Eddie’s throat when you suck gently stokes the heat between your thighs, the sticky feeling of cotton pressing to wet skin. 

“Okay,” he breathes, face flushed. “Okay, shit.” 

You pull back, dragging the soft inside of your lips along his skin, and Eddie makes a low groan in the back of his throat, one of his legs shaking between yours. “Will you-” His voice breaks, a soft squeak at the last word, and you hear him clear his throat desperately through your heart beating in your ears. Eddie sighs, speaks soft. “Open your mouth a little for me, sweet thing.”

It takes you a second, still wrapping your head around the satisfying feeling of your mouth being filled, the taste of Eddie’s skin, the ability to speak taken away. Your mouth opens wider as soon as the request registers in your brain. You let Eddie press his fingers deeper, your eyes fluttering at the smooth glide over your tongue. Just as you get a taste of the metal of his rings, your body protests the depth,  our fingers twitching at the gagging sound your throat makes. You blink away the first spring of tears as Eddie coos softly, tilting your head so you’re looking right at his intent gaze, his gentle pout. He draws his fingers in and out of your mouth, skating along your drooling tongue. 

“Just wanted to see what I’m working with, mm? My girl wants my cock in her mouth, is that it?” 

You try to make a positive noise, but it comes out as any other sound would with your lips wide open like this. Eddie doesn’t seem to mind. He gives another deep prod with his fingers, grinning when your prepared throat lets him in a little deeper before protesting with a short gag. 

Eddie pulls his fingers from your mouth and grasps your cheeks with his wet hand, the curve that connects his forefinger and thumb sitting at your chin. “I think you’re gonna be a natural. You wanna get on your knees for me?”

The tears that had sprung up from your gagging pool a little more at the relief of Eddie taking over. You’ve told him what you want without words, he understood, and now he’s going to give you it. “Yes, Eddie.��

“Okay, baby.” He helps you off the bed, kicking shoes out of the way and replacing them on the floor with one of his pillows, making you feel soft for him even as you’re trembling in anticipation. Your head feels light when you sink down, settling your knees on the pillow before you look up at his flushed, smiling face. “Comfy?” 

Eddie’s fingers push back stray hairs from your forehead when you nod, his thumb rubbing soft over your cheekbone. “You can stop any time, you know that, right?” Another nod from you, your hands coming to rest at the inner seams of his jeans, feeling the radiating warmth there. “Even half way through, even right at the end, okay?”

“Yes, Eddie.”

“I want a God damn recording of you saying that,” he groans, leaning down to capture your lips in a quick kiss wet with your spit and his. “I’d play it on a fucking loop everywhere I go.”

You hum, body tingling in a mix of excitement and worry. Waiting to touch Eddie, wanting it to be good for him. Knowing he’ll help you, hoping he doesn’t mind. Chewing your lip, you rub your hand up his thigh, staring at his face the whole time. You find him hard and straining still, a soft whimper edging from his mouth at the pressure of your fingers. 

“Baby, I’ve got to-” He groans at the back of his throat. “Can I take it out?”

You nod quickly, the ends of your fingers rubbing the bulge of him as Eddie attacks his belt, his desperation to get it open making his fingers clumsy, fiddling with the clasp until he starts shaking his knee in exasperation. You hear the gentle clink of the buckle when he finally succeeds with it, followed by the differing metallic sound of his zip.  

Eddie’s hand disappears under the grey band of his boxers, and you feel his fingers slide under yours through his pants. His shoulders shake, like he’s been waiting for this relief, like it was hurting, when his hand jerks under the cotton. You stare at that place, the thick, dark curls of hair that peak out from his waistband, the movement of his hand under shifting fabric. Your tongue peeks out to wet dry lips. 

He laughs softly when he catches the anticipation on your face, dimples appearing at his cheeks. Eddie sounds like he’s only just realised what’s happening. “Fuck. Fuck. You want my cock in your mouth.”

Your cunt clenches and you find yourself nodding, watching his hand drag his cock out from his jeans, pulling his fist over the thick length in a few quick strokes. “You ever seen a dick before?” You shake your head, eyes fixed on the round, smooth end of him that peeks out from folds of pink skin when his hand glides back. “Shit, man. It’s fucked. I know it’s fucked but that’s so hot.” 

His hands speeds up, drawing out some liquid from his tip, pooling at his slit. A primal part of you resents being made to watch, your fingers digging into his thigh in protest. Eddie’s body shakes up his back. “I’m sorry, baby. ‘S all yours.” 

The fear that he might leave you on your own to work out what to do rises and falls away when he grabs your hand and shows your where to touch him. Eddie wraps your hand around him at the base, and you feel the twitching you’d only known through fabric, now directly in your palm, along your fingers. 

You swallow as Eddie guides your pace, feeling the soft skin wrapped around firm flesh. “A little tighter, baby- yeah, yeah, shit. Wait, fuckin’, shit, spit on your hand a little. S’better if it’s wet.” It’s like a call and response, the way you take barely a second to spit into your palm and return your hand to glide along his cock. It is easier, your hand moving smoother. “Twist a little at the end.” You follow his advice, turning your hand at his tip, and he groans through his teeth. You watch more cum leaking from him, dripping from his slit, pooling within the skin that covers his head every time your hand moves up towards the end of his cock.

You hardly expect it yourself when your tongue lathes over the end of him. Eddie cries out above you but you hardly notice, considering the new taste of him, musk and salt like the sweat on your top lip after a long run. Strange and new but not unpleasant. Your tongue peeks out again to lap softly at his head, licking away pooling cum and leaving the head of him wet with your spit, unknowingly teasing him beyond what he can handle.

“That taste good, sweetheart?” Eddie asks, voice strained. You look up at him with wide eyes and hum positively, any thoughts of embarrassing desperation miles away when Eddie is watching you like this. “You gonna let me fuck your mouth now?”

Your pussy throbs when Eddie brushes your hand away from his cock, grasping the base with his own ring covered hand and tapping himself against your tongue. The wet dirty sound of it, the feeling of his spongy head bouncing on your tongue makes you squirm, opening your mouth wider so he has the space to take it how he wants it. 

His cock glides easily along your wet tongue until his head, heavy and warm, is past your lips entirely. “If you- if you cover your teeth you can- yeah,” he laughs when you instinctively bring your lips over your top teeth to suck at the swollen flesh filling your mouth, Eddie’s big hand rubbing at the length still exposed to the air. “Was right, baby. You were fucking made for this.”

Eddie seems torn between letting his head fall back on his neck to focus on the feel of you, and remembering every detail of how you look on your knees for him; eyes wide, mouth stretched open. His face keeps disappearing and reappearing, thrown back then staring down. You keep sucking gently, enjoying the weight of him on your tongue, the constant drip of salt slick from his cock. Praise from Eddie has your clit twitching, and you think distantly about dipping your fingers into your panties to rub at the swollen button. But you want Eddie’s tongue more, the thought of it making you whine around his cock. 

Eddie’s hips buck, his cock pushing deeper until it hits the same place his fingers had prodded, your throat clenching in protest. You pull away from him, leaving him wet with drool, to take a breath. “M’sorry, m’sorry,” he breathes, stroking the back of your head with one hand and pressing his tip into your mouth with the other. “Get back on my cock.”

You squirm as you take him back inside, bobbing your head in time with his hand moving along his cock. You rub his thighs, still hidden in his jeans, feeling the ocassional twitch under your fingers from him fighting the urge to ignore your protesting throat and fuck himself deeper. “We’re gonna do this all the time now, yeah?”

You hum in agreement, wanting this feeling again, as much as he’ll let you have it. Sitting at Eddie’s feet, making him feel good, the heavy thickness of him filling up your mouth. 

“Yeah, we’re gonna train you up, baby. ‘M gonna help you take it deeper till you can take my cock in your tight little throat. Till I can feel myself here.” He rubs a thumb over the hollow of your neck, pressing down like he’s imagining massaging his cock through the skin. “That sound good?”

You groan, feeling desperate now. Your panties are uncomfortably wet, your hips grinding into the air in the search for friction. Wanting him to cum, wanting him to cum now, you reach up to brush his working hand from his slick cock, replacing it with your own, trying to replicate his pace and jerking him into your bobbing mouth. 

“Shit,” Eddie gasps, both hands threading through your hair at the scalp, a tight painful grip that only makes your core throb, encouraging you along. You feel his cock twitch desperately in your mouth, under your fingers. “So warm, so fucking good on my cock, you’re unbelievable. This can’t be real. You’re a siren- a fucking succubus, you’re gonna kill me- fuck!”

Eddie’s ramblings make you more desperate for him, things only he would say, pushing you to take him deeper, the head of him finding the tight beginning of your throat. “I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum now.” 

He pulls his cock from your mouth rapidly, leaving your hand to work him through his orgasm. You watch wide eyed at the twitch along his cock, his heavy balls underneath, followed by ropes of white cum from his tip. It covers your hand, warm and thicker than what had been dripping onto your tongue. 

You rub a thumb over the end of him, taking the last clinging drop before you bring your hand to your mouth, licking tentatively. The taste is almost familiar now, the texture new. “Holy shit-” You lap at it on your hand, a mix of curiosity about your own ability to taste and swallow him and the knowledge that boys are supposed to like it when girls do this. With anyone else, you might be worried about seeming desperate. You don’t mind Eddie knowing that you are. 

You gather spit in your mouth to help you swallow down what was on your hand, blinking at his softening cock for a second before kissing at what is left there. Eddie hisses, eyes closing tight while you lick up the rest of it. 

“You swallowed everything, sweet thing?” Feeling a strange, salacious pride, you show him your tongue, wet and clear of his cum, only for Eddie to grasp your face and lick along the muscle, groaning into your mouth at what is left of his taste there. “Okay. Okay, come up here, I’m gonna- fuck. Have to eat your pussy.”

Eddie tucks himself away in his boxers, and then he’s hauling you up to him, dragging your dress up and off before pushing you down on his bed. Eddie lacks all the gentle finesse he’d brought to this yesterday. Gone is the boy who rubbed his cheek against your thigh while playing with the edge of your panties. He tears this pair down your legs like he’s angry at them for being there, pressing his face to your cunt like he needs the taste of you the same way he needs air.

“S’fuckin wet,” he groans, dragging his tongue from your entrance to your twitchy clit. “Imagine that. Sweetest fuckin’ girl in town, and getting on your knees for me leaves your cunt sticky.” His lips wrap around your clit, sucking at the sensitive nerves until your toes curl in your frilled socks. Your hands find his hair, stroking through the soft, broken curls at the top of his head. Teeth brush your clit, your hips flying up against his face and your fingers grasping his hair tight enough it must hurt. 

Eddie spits, saliva pooling at your wet entrance to ease the way for his fingers, sliding through your slick and his to target the delightful spot at the end of you. 

“Eddie,” you cry, the build of it so much more intense than any time before, his fingers fucking your tight cunt while he sucks ungracefully at your clit. You gasp, high and desperate, your thighs closing around his head. Your fingers dig into his hair, keeping his wet mouth between your thighs while your hips roll desperately, using his outstretched, lapping tongue for your pleasure while your pussy clasps around his invading fingers. Your high is a quick, overwhelming thing. You feel it gush wet around his hand, the sounds of him playing with your hole increasingly sloppy until you’re keening, batting at his shoulder with tears in your eyes.

Your tense limbs loosen when Eddie’s mouth leaves you, tensing up for just a second at the final kiss Eddie gives your clit to feel the excited twitch of it against his lips. He crawls up your body, laying kisses on you at every level. Your mound, stomach, breasts. The hollow of your neck. His face is wet with you, leaving damp spots all across your skin. When his eyes are level with yours, his hair brushing the sides of your face, you reach up to tuck some of it behind his ear. 

Eddie laughs softly, his breath warm and humid on your face. “Congratulations,” he breathes. Eddie presses his sweaty forehead to yours and the world becomes his big soft eyes. “You’re going to be in every wet dream I have for the rest of my fucking life.”

You hum, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to pull him right down on top of you, stealing more kisses from him while his body weighs down on yours. 

 “How do you feel?” He asks, big hand rubbing your hip.

Another hum. Strange is the answer. To have been so in a moment just minutes ago, wanting something so desperately, and now to wonder what that wanting says about you. And then to resent that wonder, wanting to be present where you are, pleasured and cosy in Eddie’s bed, in his arms. 

“Liked it,” you assure, looking from his cheeks to his eyes. “I don’t know.”

“Felt so fucking good for me,” he breathes, leaving you chewing your lip bashfully. Eddie shakes his hair over your face, tickling your cheeks until you’re smiling and tucking it back again. Eddie kisses your forehead, your nose and your cheeks. Then your eyes, chin, jaw, back to your nose, soft lips scattering kisses over every bit of your face, leaving you giggly and breathless, clinging to him even more, needing him like this. He sighs into your mouth at the end. “Be my girlfriend.” Eddie’s eyes close tight the second he says it, face embarrassed while you lay under him, a picture of adoration. “I didn’t wanna ask like that- shit. Don’t answer.”

“I want to be your girlfriend, Eddie.” 

“Are you sure?” He asks, as if you aren’t stroking a hand over his face like a lover, rubbing his eyebrow with your thumb to ease the tension at his forehead. Your heart aches at his sweetly concerned expression. “Cause I can ask better. I can make it romantic, you know?” He pulls his bottom lip into his mouth, chews at it cruelly while he stares at your contented face. “I want to deserve you.”

You shake your head. A better speaker would be able to lay out all the reasons he already does, that anyone half as good as him deserves anything, everything they want. You are left with something more simple. “I- I just want to be yours.”

It seems to work just as well. Eddie’s sigh is long and shuddery. The release in his shoulders is the loss of a long held tension that you are trying to rub away with gentle hands.

Next Part

[ryuichirou]

what kinda underwear do you think the male cast would wear?? i like to think Jade would go without some days, so improper!! OTL Floyd with the colorful patterns, whether he actually wears them tho is a 60/40. i can see him in those cliche heart boxers very, very easily. Do you think any of the cast would keep their lovers' underwear, like a souvenir? I could see Lilia doing it. 1/3 (the rest is just horny posting for a fish)

2/3 (this is *not* an art request just me being down bad for a semi-crazy assfish) I would die to see jade leech in lingerie OTL i cant think of any scenarios where he'd wear it, but god is it a beautiful mental image. Considering his take on clothing (being a mer+weird asf) I don't think he'd have any actual hangups about it, but he still wouldn't do it under normal circumstances. i think part of the appeal for me, is that you wouldnt expect a guy like him (big, top, JADE) to wear sumn like it

3/3 in conclusion  they took away my license because of how  fast i was undressing him

Hi Anon!

This is such a great theme for hcs, and I am very sorry that it took so long, but please understand: this is a very complicated subject, I just had to do research before writing it. Well, in actuality I was just googling all kinds of underwear over and over again until the picture in my head for every single boy looked right lol We’ll get to hcs shortly, but first I’ll reply to the other things you’ve said!

Btw, this ask is from MARCH, that’s how far behind I am in replying to those.

Totally agree about Lilia stealing his lover’s undies as a souvenir. This is his trophy, and he is very proud of them. He should have a display in his room…

Floyd also has his stealing undies moments. Some of the boys he sleeps with could be smitten with him enough to try to gift him their underwear, and Floyd would go “??? Why the fuck do I need these”. But sometimes? He just steals them lol He totally stole a couple of Riddle’s undies. He doesn’t really store them well though, so they’re just lying around his and Jade’s room…

Rook. Rook would also take trophies. And he would take such good care of them it’s insane. Now this is someone who would have a display somewhere… somewhere where no one would be able to see it unless he wants them to…

I also think Ortho would do it one time just because he wanted to play out the trope of having someone else’s panties in his room, oops! He’s a weird boy.

Can’t say much about Jade in lingerie, but it really would look good, not gonna lie….

Riddle – god I want him to have cute ones with a strawberry print, but realistically he is probably wearing just some plain tighty whities…. unless they have a pretty embroidered “R” on it, which is somehow even worse. I love him so much. Wait, would he be the one to wear undies with the weekdays written on them?

Ace – just some boxer briefs, nothing crazy; he used to have very colourful ones when he was younger, with fun prints and all, but nowadays he tries to be a bit more stylish and mature about it, so a lot of times he goes for dark-red/red/black ones.

Deuce – pretty neutral, but he does have a “lucky” pair of trunks that he always wears when he has something important going on that day… He also has a pair of very good seamless running underwear (deep blue with some light blue patterns), and he kind of cherishes them because it’s an expensive gift. Just wear them and run, Deuce…

Trey – he prefers boxers, the ones that are basically just shorts and aren’t tight. They also look pretty plain, but he has some with the tartan print. Usually green or red… He would look like a Men’s Health model if he wore something less loose and more stylish, but he loves his stupid tartan boxers!

Cater – boxer briefs, but the “leg” part is somewhat shorter; he has a variety of different ones, but it’s almost always some variation of grey and orange. He buys the ones that seem cool to him, even the sillier ones are on the cooler side; he is very happy that his sisters don’t have power over what kind of underwear he wears… he thinks about it every time he looks in the mirror after taking a shower.

Leona – probably something high-end and luxury, but he also doesn’t wear them all the time. He wears something short, slick and sporty when he does anything sport-related and needs support for his balls, but other than that – nah, putting on underwear is just another annoying unnecessary extra thing to do.

Ruggie – he bought the cheapest ones available in bulk when he was like 13, and he still wears them (they were a little big for him when he first got them). His grandma said that it has to be cotton, but other than that – it doesn’t matter, and Ruggie believes it wholeheartedly. So I guess some neutral grey briefs? Nothing too fancy.

Jack – oh this boy. He doesn’t like underwear that doesn’t give him good support, so all of his options fit pretty close to his body. I guess his signature ones would be briefs in which one leg is just plain black, and the other leg has a print of half of the wolf face… what, you think it’s cringe? At least it’s not the ones where the wolf’s face is in the crotch area… Jack actually thinks those are cringe too – he got a pair of those from Ace, Deuce and Epel for his birthday (google wolf underwear)

Azul – Calvin Klein and Hugo Boss are his best friends. Very… gentlemanly. He always picks the ones that would make him feel like a successful young man. They’re not too short, but a little shorter than regular boxer briefs, and always very tight. To some maybe even uncomfortably tight, but Azul doesn’t mind it at all for some reason. He has exactly 10 pairs of grey and purple ones, exactly 10 pairs of black and purple ones and a couple of white ones.

Floyd – a big collection, kind of like with his shoes and socks. He hates plain ones, but some of his undies aren’t obnoxious – he has a couple of pretty stylish and bright ones that aren’t too crazy. But yeah, a lot of them are pretty obnoxious and bright lol He loves loose boxers, but also has some tighter ones too.

Jade – yeah he’d go commando lol But not all the time. His choice of underwear is… eclectic. Of course, he has some plain ones (a couple of those are similar to Azul’s but in a different colour and size), but also? He has some surprisingly silly ones. Of course with mushrooms and stuff, or something that too cursed even for Floyd to wear. It just tickles Jade when he has a secret…

Kalim – luxury underwear! Mostly white + yellow/golden/orange ones, but he has some black ones as well. Super high quality, super special design, super cool-looking actually. And Kalim doesn’t even know that his underwear is different from the rest of the guys, but if he ever was to try on some other type of underwear, he would immediately feel discomfort and say that it doesn’t feel right against his skin. Too rough…

Jamil – his is also pretty high quality; even though his family serves the Asims, I feel like this is exactly why Jamil can afford a good pair of underwear. It’s not even remotely near the price tag of Kalim’s though, god forbid, no one should allow to wear underwear this expensive..! Anyways, since Jamil likes to go sleeveless, he probably prefers underwear that doesn’t cover his thighs at all, so just some regular tight briefs. It’s mostly black+deep red, his favourite colour combo.

Vil – there he is, the underwear guru. He has all kinds of underwear and sometimes changes it multiple times per day depending on his activity: he wears seamless short briefs for yoga so it’s not visible through his leggings, but still gives him support, he wears longer boxer briefs for jogging so his thighs don’t rub against each other too much, he wears some other type for flying… his collection is expensive, high quality and very well organised… What was that? A thong? Of course he wears a thong sometimes, it looks hot. And lingerie too, when it’s appropriate. Come on now.

Rook – there he is, the man who used to wear underwear with holes in it and didn’t even care. Point at him, laugh at him, and then say thank you to Vil Schoenheit who took one look at this creature and said “I can fix him”. Anyways, nowadays Rook wears a pair of seamless boxer briefs that hug his body tightly but don't feel suffocating; he owns a bunch of these in different colours. He also owns a jockstrap, and finds it kind of functional, but it makes his butt too prominent, so he doesn't wear it. It’s for special occasions only...

Epel – he fought his mum for the right to buy himself some new cool underwear before coming to NRC (having colourful undies your mom bought you when you were 12 SUCKS!), but he didn’t even get to wear them much because Vil saw them and gave him a lecture about how this is the worst type of underwear he could wear (pure polyester, are you serious??), and that Epel doesn’t care about the well-being of his down-there at all. Long story short, Vil got him some red+purple boxer briefs for the regular wear (not too tight, very comfy!) + a couple of  black pairs for magift (longer ones?? Epel didn’t even know it existed). Epel was actually worried that he would get some stupid girly underwear, but wow these are… kind of nice. But he would never admit that the ones Vil got are much better!!

Idia – he usually wears the grey ones with triangles that STYX issues for its personnel. They are pretty comfy, and you can just grab a box and boom – you don’t have to think about your underwear ever again, EASY. But also Idia has some kind of childish loose boxers… with his favourite characters, of course. This isn’t just underwear, it’s also merch. Perfect for rewatching 300 episodes of your favourite anime.

Ortho – how much he wishes he could wear underwear…! But if we’re talking about real!Ortho, I think he would also like good ol’ regular loose boxers. But overall his underwear collection is less childish than Idia’s, at least because he has some Calvin Kleines.  And yes, of course it’s black and neon blue. He doesn’t really like the STYX ones because they make him sad, but he wears those from time to time because he wants to match with Idia.

Lilia – the moment he discovered funky underwear he was never the same. It’s the same thing he does with socks: he buys everything that seems fun, even if it ends up not being his size: he just gifts it away to younglings, so it’s all good! I think every Diasomnia boy has at least one pair of underwear that doesn’t match his style at all, because it was Lilia’s gift… anyways, Lilia either wears black ones with bright patterns (black + neon green+pink!), or something completely obnoxious. Nowadays he’s also thinking whether he could pull off something cute+sexy…

Silver – he wears whatever and doesn’t think about it twice, as long as it’s clean and has no holes in it. The majority of his underwear are pretty boring regular boxer briefs + just regular boxers that aren’t as tight. He also has one silly pair with blue and pink birdies… a gift from father, of course. He always smiles when he wears them.

Sebek – his default is black+green briefs; his thighs are getting too powerful, so he doesn’t like shorts-type underwear these days. But he does wear one lengthier pair – and it’s special equestrian underwear that has padding on the crotch. Sometimes the boy just wants some extra protection against rubbing okay… it’s not as much of a problem for the rest of the equestrian club boys for some reason.

Malleus – it’s clearly custom-made just for him: it’s black, made of high quality special type of silk + has beautiful lacing. Honestly, Malleus panties are a piece of art. I guess it’s like traditional Briar Valley type of design, but super extra fancy; he is the future King, after all. It’s hard to say if it’s comfy or not, but it looks quite dramatic. Malleus also has some underwear that is lengthier, almost like leggings. 

Bonus round!:

Crowley – doesn’t wear anything. Don’t tell anyone.

Crewel – a big variety, a lot of bold patterns, but his favourite pair is a part of black trunks with a white zebra print. Shocking, I know. He has some pretty sexy ones though, maybe even a thong.

Trein – granpa undies… grandpa undies.

Vargas – unfortunately, probably a jockstrap.

Sam – well wouldn’t you want to know? :)

Che’nya – he almost never wears underwear. And he flashes people. He is a very, very bad cat. He only wears underwear when he knows his pants are going to slide down because he doesn’t know how to use a belt properly, and people are going to see that he is wearing boxers with cartoon hedgehogs tickling each other in a weirdly sexual manner. Bad, bad cat.

Neige – pretty plain ones! Almost all of his underwear is either white or light blue. Some of them have silly prints, almost too cute for a guy… He gets tons of very cool expensive underwear for free as promo, but he donates the majority of them without even unpacking it. Thank you for your kindness, but people need undies more than Neige <3

Rollo – he is similar to Riddle, but I also think he would be that one kid who wears some priestly old-timey looking cotton shorts, because these are more traditional, and traditions are to be cherished. One could think that this is a part of his school’s uniform, but nah, Rollo is just a little weirdo… looks good on him though.

Fellow – I’m sorry, it’s probably kind of bad :( it used to be a decent pair of boxer briefs that he got when they suddenly got lucky enough with money, but now it’s well-worn and has some holes in it. It also used to be bright orange, but now it has a pale sort of peachy hue… he wants to get something new to wear, but whenever they get the money, clothes aren’t really a priority.

Gidel – his aren’t as bad because Fellow always wants Gidel to have something at least a little bit better than what he has, but Gidel’s pair of boxers is clearly too big for him. It’s pinned around his waist just so he doesn’t lose them… it has some guy’s name written on the butt part, and while Fellow finds it kind of depressing (maybe he remembers the guy he stole those from), Gidel thinks it’s pretty funny.

[fandoms-in-law]

QPR Desires

Summary: When Steve encountered the term QPR it became his dream, including his best friends. Some reflection shows him how much of a dream that was as he lets go the people he'd placed into it.

Authors Notes: This started as me saying goodbye to a similar dream, so it's an au with no Upside Down cause it didn't fit to leave that in.

/\/\

Hearing the term had been a dream, begun a dream for Steve. A QPR sounded perfect as well as familiar; an echo of friendships he had or once had all in a phrase.

Then he mentioned it and saw no willingness, slightly tested it and found no joy so he re-examined the friendships.

In memories he saw his dream, small habits and rituals teasing the line of a qpr back from when they were kids and part of him yearned for that time. Except the recent memories painted a different picture, worse, harsher. It showed very different people held together by history and a Tommy and Carol he couldn't include in his dreams. They weren't his: not his friends or his QPR. They were barely likable when he thought over how they acted.

Steve still wanted a QPR, wanted that closeness with someone without the push for sex or kisses but had no idea how to ask for it, if he even managed to find someone that might like him enough to agree. So he didn't try, let the kids he once babysat befriend him and bug him for lifts or trips and focused on surviving alone.

"Steve? Why'd you ghost us man? Last month it was like a message every week planning for our trip home while term is out and then nothing? The hell is going on with you?" Tommy asked, appearing on the other side of the counter as he worked. He must have been stood there a while since Steve had been on break and could see Robin across the shop clearing some tables.

Steve shrugged, saying nothing beyond the script and gesturing towards the ice cream.

"No, I want to know what is with the silence? Don't I get a goodbye, a fuck off, an explanation over why you've decided to just drop us like bad meat?" Tommy pushed, leaning over the counter and staying close even at the dismissive glare that usually shut him up.

"I did some thinking and couldn't find any reason to like you or be your friend that didn't begin with 'well five years ago Tommy was a decent human being' so assumed with all that fun you boast over having at college you wouldn't care. Was right too since it took me being in front of you for anything to be said if you'd even noticed the silence before now. What ice cream can I get you to digest with that explanation?" He gestured at the ice cream selection again, keeping the dismissive expression on his face but stepping twice back from the counter to prepare for Tommy's attempt to manhandle him or start a fight. Over his shoulder Steve could see Robin straighten and start to come over, an expression he'd not seen her wear before on her face.

Tommy scoffed, trying to grab him but unable to reach. "You think you're too good for me? Fuck off. I'm better than you."

"No, your dad is a manager because your brother managed to build a business and you are only learning business because you're too scared to try liking one singular thing daddy doesn't decide for you. I actually got out from that pattern and get to decide things for myself. That includes not wasting time with hot headed arseholes flaunting power they haven't got. Make an order or I'll have to ask you to leave."

At Steve's words Tommy pushed on the counter as if to jump over it to get at him but was held back by Robin's hand darting out to catch his collar. "Security have been called. Assaulting or threatening our staff is a ban-able offence even if charges aren't submitted. Do not return to scoops ahoy. We'll have the formal ban sent out to you soon." She stated, somehow dodging the hands flailing back at her and the kicks that made Tommy look like a toddler throwing a tantrum more than a man restrained by his collar.

"You can't do that!" Tommy yelled at her, but didn't argue more as the security had actually shown up in record time. He did turn back to Steve to continue yelling, "You don't get to abandon us, Harrington! We're we're abandoning you! Why would we want to spend time with a washed up nobody anyway?"

Steve didn't reply and from the glare Robin split between him and Tommy he was pretty sure any attempt to would be interrupted.

They stood silently for a few minutes until the security were out of sight.

“Thanks for that, Robin.” Steve muttered, moving over to the till as he spotted Erica Sinclair coming in.

“No thanks needed. Hagan has always been an ass. I’m just glad to have the power to do that to him now.” Her grin was cruel but Steve didn’t feel threatened by it as he had a few times since getting his job. “What happened to complaining about being stuck here? You’ve done that all summer.”

Steve huffed, barely pausing to get the taster spoon Erica requested. “Still am, but it’s pretty good being stuck.”

As he fetched the tasters Erica requested, definitely taking advantage of the store policy, Robin disappeared. It wasn’t a busy time so he didn’t mind or hurry to look for her once the kid finally actually brought a cone.

“You surprised me, Harrington. Maybe we can become friends properly.” She said, coming back to the counter, nodding her head back to the window to the staff room.

There on her board meant to tease him was a ‘You Rule’ tally and Steve could only grin. “Been trying to befriend you for a while now, Buckley. Glad you’re starting to see what a great friend I could be.”

“Give me the chance to put more assholes in there place and we’ll see how this goes.” She laughed before they both had to focus on serving customers.

Perhaps a QPR with his childhood friends was only ever going to be a fruitless dream; Perhaps he had looked for friends in the wrong places before, but now Steve was sure that however close he might become with his co-worker, he’d at least started trying to befriend someone decent.

[hiraeth-witch-11]

Billy Russo's "Pet" Part 2

Warnings: Billy Russo, nonsexual forced nudity

Word Count: 1000ish

Your head throbs as you wake. Resting on something warm and soft, the chill has been chased away from your limbs. Nuzzling into the warmth, you inhale the smell of the forest combined with something spicy and a surprising sweetness. 

“I knew you’d like me if you gave me half a chance,” a voice says teasingly, their laughter sending vibrations through their chest and against your face.

You try to jerk away, remembering where you are. Strong arms wrap around you like steel bands.

“Nuh uh, none of that now. I need to get you cleaned up before we have our little chat about how things are gonna work around here. Do you understand?”

You refuse to look at his face as you spit angrily, “You’re insane. Let me go!”

Billy sighs in disappointment, hand reaching up to grip your jaw roughly as he forces you to look at him.

“I don’t wanna hurt you anymore than I have to.” A pause then a sly smile. “Or anymore than you beg me to. Are you gonna listen or am I gonna have to compel you again?”

You flinch at the idea. Everytime he compels you, it feels like your mind and body are not your own. You try to fight it, but it just makes it worse. It’s a horrific feeling, one you would do just about anything to avoid.

“I’ll listen,” you answer quietly. You’re too tired to try and escape again right now. You need to rest and figure out this man’s patterns, his weaknesses. Picking your battles to get on his good side and keep yourself safe. Then you can bolt the second you get another chance. Preferably with shoes this time.

“Good girl, pet.” 

The words elicit a response from you that is not at all controlled by your brain. Of course the creepy monster man had to be sexy. You try to tamp down on your lust and maintain your anger. “I have a name.”

“I’m well aware.” Billy lifts you and carries you into a magnificent bathroom. His entire home was more life a palace than a house. Somehow, he manages to flick on the light while keeping you in his arms. The sudden brightness makes you grimace, eyes closing as the light sends spearing pain throughout your skull. “Sorry, pet. I’ll keep it off.”

You hear the light switch click and tentatively open your eyes. Billy sets you on the edge of the tub, starts the hot water running, and strides over to the cabinet, pulling out a first aid kit.

“I think you have a concussion. We’ll get you all healed up as soon as you’re clean.”

You aren’t sure what he means and you don’t ask, opting to watch him silently instead. It’s hard to read his expression in the dark, not much light has entered the room from the doorway and his face is in the shadows. He kneels in front of you with the kit and grabs one of your feet. You flinch at the contact and he gives you a stern look.

“Sit still,” he orders. Billy peels off the torn sock, stained with dirt and blood, tossing it effortlessly into the trash without looking. Using a pair of tweezers, he efficiently removes the various debris from your cuts before moving to the next foot. Once your feet are taken care of, he examines your palms and temple. Thankfully, there isn’t much to dig out of the egg sized bump on your scalp, just a splinter. The tub is full at this point, tendrils of steam rising off it, visible even in the dim light.

“Strip and get in,” he says as he washes his hands and puts away the kit.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Your clothes are filthy and you are covered in mud.”

“Turn around,” you insist.

“No.” He leans back against the counter, arms folded. You hesitate. “Now or I’ll just compel you. The choice is yours.”

With shaky hands, you begin to remove your clothing. Once he sees that you are complying, he surprises you by looking away and busying himself with pulling several fluffy white towels out of the cabinet and setting them by the tub.

You step into the tub on limbs rubbery with exhaustion and hold back a groan at how good the heat feels on your sore muscles. The tub is so large that even with several inches between the water level and the rim, you are already chest deep in water. Bringing your knees up to your chest, you wrap your arms around your legs in an attempt to preserve your modesty.

Billy startles you once again by seemingly appearing out of thin air right next to the tub. Maybe your observational skills have declined because of the sheer stress of being kidnapped and chased. In his hand is a white washcloth. You tense as he makes slow, obvious motions. Dipping the cloth into the water and carefully pressing it against the skin of your shoulder. 

He’s surprisingly almost clinical about it, not necessarily because it seems unfeeling, but more because it’s thorough and not sexual in the slightest. Billy wipes the dirt from your shoulders, back, arms, calves and feet, leaving the rest of your body to you. He takes special care as he grabs a fresh washcloth and cleans your face. You can feel the sensation of drying blood on your scalp and your fingers itch to reach up and start scratching your scalp until the blood and mud are gone. It’s an irrational urge, one you are all too familiar with, and you breathe a sigh of relief when Billy instructs you to tilt your head back.

With one hand against your forehead to protect your eyes, he pours warm water over your hair until it’s thoroughly wetted. Then he douses it in shampoo and rubs his fingers into your scalp. You can’t remember the last time someone washed your hair for you. You'd almost forgotten how good it felt.

Billy seems pleased with your reaction as you allow yourself to relax into his touch. He rinses the soap from your hair and conditions it, before repeating the process. You finally feel clean. Something that shouldn’t be so important to you in this situation, but is.

“Up,” Billy instructs, holding out a large towel. You cautiously allow him to wrap you in it and towel off your hair with a second, smaller towel.

“Good pet, you behaved so well for me. Now we can talk.” Billy grins widely, elongated canines fully on display. The look of a predator.

*******

If you want to be put on, or taken off my taglists, feel free to tell me!

Series list: intothesoul, sweetserendipity65

Billy Russo Taglist: @snowkestrel, happydeanpotter, jvanilly

Everything Taglist: @kayhi808,

[pepperstrawberry]

Pepper Rant

I'm sorry. I hate being negative. I... I'm having a hard time right now. Its been building all week. (I tried to figure out how to put a 'cut/readmore', but it seems a lot has changed with formatting since I last created a full post of my own that required more then a few quick images and text)

I know I don't post much on here, or at least no where near my old consistancy... but I am pretty happy I still see some familiar names float across my dash.

Though, right now, it feels like... like I'm lost. Trying to figure out someone to commiserate with, but I kinda don't want to burden folks and I can't remember which of the discords I'm on have spots for political rambles.

Most of my biggest fears are probably going to be very obvious.

November 8 2016, I remember being in a discord chat at the time. All the mods were off for one reason or another. Some folks were freaking out. Some weren't. This was an LGBT focused discord, so the fact that some folks were thinking things would be fine was a bit concerning. I had to use my minis to drown folks out, reminding folks that the discord in question had a specific space for that sort of topic and the main channel we were in need to be a space for just breathing. It was... a rough night for everyone I think.

Over the course of the next year plus, I would often say things like 'this feels like the sort of thing you see in history books around mid 20s - early 30s of Gernany. I wasn't sure how much I was speaking in hyperbole and how much was 1000% serious, but I do know I was leaning toward the later.

Now... here we are, on the cusp of another election, the same bastard moving for power. And I honestly feel more then ever I was at least close to the reality. It wasn't 1 to 1, mind. but it was... familiar enough.

With already some extremely disturbing actions by the SCOTUS and the like mouths before the vote is upon us gives me some chilling fears.

The unparalleled power the position of President now has is... not something to take lightly. And this time, its not a bumbling idiot that is going to be lost at how the job even works.

mind you, he is still a fool. He is still the same self centered piece of garbage. But this time, he has a team behind him already setting a lot of very very disturbing things in motion.

The 'Immunity' decision has basically cemented a path to getting everything they want. Not a little, but a lot.

I don't have the mental strength or energy. All I can feel is a tingling fear in my nerves that is slowly building. A reality I want to wake up from.

And the worst of it is: even if the Biden wins, that is *at best* a holding pattern. That guy isn't much better. Maybe he turned around several things Trump did, but it hasn't really felt like we have moved forward to anything better.

Unless something is *somehow* done about the Immunity decision, among others, then we are just going to be facing this nightmare again in the next election.

Honestly, I am not liking how next year is looking in either case. I would move out of country, but I don't even know which place would be best to run to, nor am I in nearly as 'stable' financially as I was even just a year ago.

I'm sorry, I used to keep my politic stuff on a separate tumblr... but honestly, fuck that. Things are just too fucked. I don't know how to keep my thoughts separate anymore.

I know for many across the world, what I fear is already their reality. It makes this whole mess feel even worse. I know there is good in this world. Good people and good places... but I feel like everyone I know is so spread out. Even my closest friends (aside from a couple of family members and my girlfriend) are miles away at the least and states or even countries away at most. So even if I were to find a place to run to, its going to be... difficult.

No this isn't a plea for cash or anything. At least not yet. Just right now, I need to get it out of my system on some level. Even if it ends up as 'not as bad as I fear', the fact is, it is still going to be horrible for many of us. I thought that at least the Senate and SCOTUS would at least provide a *little* barrier to the plans of that bastard and his allies. But that barrier no longer exists. I don't know what is going to stand against him doing most of not all they are planning.

Tonight, as I right this, there are still fireworks popping off. A night that was supposed to celebrate independence from a King...

I fear next year, they will be celebrating a new king... and they may not even be simulated.