#might make it canon divergent for that part later on

[euthymiya]

part of me (is part of you) — ft. todoroki touya

you realize for the first time, when touya brings you home to his mother, just how much he looks like her. he realizes for the first time, when he brings you home to his mother, just how much he doesn’t look like his father

before you read: fem reader ; non quirk au + canon divergence (enji is in JAIL) ; established relationship ; touya has tattoos instead of burns (he has one burn scar on his back, though) ; rei lives in a peaceful little home of her own like she deserves ; mentions of fuyumi, natsuo, and shouto ; hints at child and domestic abuse (canon enji core) ; food as a love language

“Keep your schedule free this Friday.”

Touya doesn’t ask, just tells you like he expects it to happen. You roll your eyes, sparing him a glance as he scrolls through his phone sprawled on your couch.

“And if I’m already busy?”

“Then get un-busy,” he grumbles. Then, after a moment of consideration, adds: “you’ll enjoy it, anyway.”

“Why? Are you taking me on a fancy date?” You grin, walking over and giving his head a playful shove. He glares up at you, but lifts his head wordlessly, long enough to let you sit before he lets it fall onto your lap.

“No,” he huffs. “Keep dreaming.”

“You say that,” you tease, poking his cheek as he clicks his teeth, “but you always end up taking me.”

“Not anymore,” he swats your hand away. He pretends to go back to scrolling through his phone, but you can tell he’s not paying attention. Not with how fast his thumb swipes, too quickly to register anything on his screen.

“So what’re we doing?”

“You’ll see.”

“C’mon, Touya,” you flick his forehead, making him grunt unhappily, “you have to tell me. How else will I dress appropriately?”

“Just be yourself.”

“What if my true self is dressing up like a hooker?”

“Well, I’ll appreciate it,” he glances up, giving you a cheeky grin, “my mom might not.”

You pause.

He casually goes back to scrolling through his phone, still not really paying attention like he tries to pretend he his.

“Your mom?”

“The woman who popped me out, that’s the one.”

“We’re meeting her?”

“Well, she’s been nagging about it nonstop,” he sighs, “she wants you to meet the rest of my little siblings eventually, too. There’s no way out of it.”

He sounds irritated by the idea. Unhappy enough that your hand tangles into his hair soothingly, threading through the white strands as his lips curl into a puckered frown.

Touya doesn’t talk about his family. Not much, anyway. Sometimes he gives you short, clipped details about his childhood. Just the fond memories—the ones he hardly looks back on like they’re few and far in between.

Me and my brother Natsuo used to fight over those, he’ll tell you sometimes, when you open a bag of candy.

You sound like my sister, he’ll snort when you cry over his feet on the coffee table.

He has another younger brother too. Shoto, he slurs the name one night, drunk and too far gone to realize what he’s saying, y’know he used to be my dad’s favorite? Before the old man got himself locked up. Man, that brat gets on my nerves.

“You don’t sound too excited,” you murmur softly, running a finger along the bridge of his nose. He shrugs, refusing to look up and meet your gaze.

“S’whatever. Was bound to happen sooner or later. It’s just my mom this time around, anyway—shouldn’t be too bad.”

“I could get sick,” you offer, “from…from sushi you brought me.”

“Why does it have to be my fault,” he snorts, face breaking into a small grin, “I bring you nice things.”

“You do,” you giggle, nodding. “Then…oh! I could twist my ankle falling down the steps. Right on our way there—such a tragedy,” you huff theatrically.

“I like your bright ideas, doll,” he shakes his head, eyes glinting with amusement, “but we might as well get it over with. I already promised her.”

“You sure?” You cup his cheek, staring down at him as he finally looks up at him. Two teal, pretty little eyes staring from your lap. You’ve never gotten a face to match them too, one to show you where they come from.

He grabs your hand, fiddling with your fingers as he mumbles a quiet, “yeah. I’m sure.”

“Okay,” you nod. And then, because you can’t ignore those eyes, you lean down and press a kiss to his forehead.

He relaxes at that, grins as he murmurs, “and then we can fuck on my childhood bed, too.”

“No, Touya. Absolutely not.”

——————————

The drive to Touya’s childhood home takes a good hour. It’s not his first home—he tells you that in the car. His mother moved him and his siblings not long after his father’s trial.

She couldn’t stand being in those walls, he’d mumbled, starting his car, neither could I. The paint was ugly.

I didn’t realize you had an eye for interior design so young, you’d teased. That got a laugh out of him—enough to ease the tension in his shoulders as he drapes a hand on your thigh and starts driving.

You trace the tattoos littering the back of his hand on the way there, finger gentle and light as it maps out the ink on his skin and earns hums of approval from him every now and then.

“We’re here,” he says blandly when he finally parks. “It isn’t much. My mom couldn’t afford something as nice as the one my old man—”

“It’s nice,” you smile sweetly. You mean it. You stare at it with an awed expression as you murmur, “looks cozy.”

Touya pauses, staring at you for a moment before he lets out a shaky breath.

He can’t help but pull you into a kiss—abrupt and hard as his hand cups the back of your head and pulls you against him. “You’re something else,” he mumbles between kisses along your mouth, “you know that?”

“Are you crazy?” You gasp. You still kiss him back, regardless, making him smile smugly into you.

“Why?”

“Your mom might see through the window,” you whisper into his lips, earning a chuckle from him.

“Do you always have to worry?”

“Someone has to,” you hum, rolling your eyes as you finally pull away. You glance at the mirror to make sure your lipgloss isn’t too damaged. (It is. It’s all over Touya’s lips as evidence, too). “You’re not exactly the brightest mind.”

“Well good thing I have you to think for me so I don’t have to,” he says with a wink, sliding out of his door as he does a little jog to reach yours.

You giggle, watching as he opens your door for you and offers you a hand. “Please join me, milady.”

“Why thank you, kind sir,” you beam, taking his hand and stepping out.

Touya spent the better half of his life brooding. Bitter. Something of a cynical guy who hated every happy couple he’d witnessed, wondered why it was like that for them and not him. Not his family. Not his parents. Maybe, if his asshole father had decided to be the husband the old man should’ve been, then he wouldn’t have to dread the idea of you meeting his family.

It feels too real this way. Feels like he has to relive it all just so you can know about it—you deserve to know about it, know about him. And you will. Someday, at least. He doesn’t know if he can handle it right now.

But you seem content with what he gives you, never asking for more than what he offers you little by little. It’s nice. It feels like maybe, in some twisted stroke of luck, maybe he can be a happy couple he used to hate so much, be so jealous of, be so bitter about.

And maybe he could be the husband his father should have been—for you.

But that’s for later. Right now, he has his mother to worry about as you both approach the front door.

“She can be a bit much,” he pauses and murmurs, “just so you know.”

“I think every guy says that about their mom,” you hum.

“You meet a lot of guys and their moms?” He asks offended, giving you a curled pout as you snort.

“No,” you roll your eyes, “quit pouting.”

“M’not pout—”

“Touya,” a voice calls softly before a woman much shorter than him is opening the door and grabbing his cheeks, pulling him down to inspect him.

“Hi mom,” he sighs, letting her study his face before she finally nods approvingly.

“You’ve been eating enough?”

“Yes.”

“Drinking enough water?”

“Yes.”

“Sleeping at normal hours?”

“Yes.”

“No more cigarettes? I mean it.”

“Yes,” he sighs in exasperation, ears burning a slight red. “No more cigarettes.”

“Good,” she nods—and then she looks over at you.

She looks just like him, you think. White hair. Soft, round face. Those pretty lashes you’re so jealous of. The only difference is that she’s missing those beautiful, warm teal eyes of his. Hers are cooler, an icy gray that makes her eyes look sharper compared to Touya’s.

He must have his father’s eyes, you think—it must be why he never looks in the mirror for too long.

“Oh,” she breathes, cupping your own cheeks, “it’s so lovely to meet you—Touya talks so much about you.”

“No I don’t,” he grumbles. “Never mentioned her.”

“Don’t listen to him,” she laughs, admiring you as she holds your face, “he’s very fond of you.”

“Am not,” he huffs. “I don’t even like her that much.”

“I’m sure,” you giggle—his face is turned to the side, the small pieces of his dignity left barely holding him together as he tries to hide his reddened cheeks from you.

His mother ushers you in, hand guiding you on the small of your back as you walk through the small hall into the living room.

It’s as cozy inside as it looks from the outside. Touya’s mother has taken great care to make this house a home. (Rei, she introduces herself. Call me Rei). You suppose it makes sense. Their first house was so far from a home, so desolate of the safeness and comfort it should have had. You don’t know the details—Touya can never talk about it long enough to offer too many.

You’ve stringed together the gist of it through the small details, though.

My old man’s in jail. Gets out sometime next year, I think, he’d said vaguely at the start of your relationship. You didn’t ask any further questions, just squeezing his hand in yours. He squeezed back with a thick swallow.

My mom couldn’t look me in the eyes for years at one point. They reminded her too much of him, he’d said on the first birthday you spent with him. He returned from the other room after a phone call with his mother, eyes hazy and distant as he recalls that small detail of his past. You kissed him extra hard that night.

Got that from my old man, he’d smiled dryly one night, when you’d traced a small burn scar running across his back, pissed him off over something. Don’t remember what. You kissed his scar that night as he slept with his back towards you, curled in your arms.

So much of Touya is foreign to you. So much is not. So much of him is kept locked away to keep him protected so no one who should love him can hurt him again.

This house, however is cozy. Homely. Safe. There are pictures everywhere. That’s the first thing you notice—Touya as a baby, as a toddler, as a young child. Touya on a bike. Touya on the swings. Touya in a pool. Touya grumpy at his high school graduation sandwiched between his two brothers, his sister beaming at the side.

His siblings are everywhere too, of course, but your eyes seem to only find him. He looks happy, you think, despite the less than happy start to his childhood. He looks happy in the few moments stolen by the camera, framed for his mother to look back on.

“You were so tiny,” you giggle, “not much has changed.”

He raises an eyebrow with an amused scoff, shaking his head as he murmurs, “not what you said the other night.”

It’s out of earshot for his mother—or so he thinks. She slaps his shoulder hard enough with a disapproving frown to make him hiss and hold a hand up in surrender.

“Touya,” she scolds, “watch that mouth of yours.”

“Jeez,” he says through a low, petulant grumble, “fine.”

“You let me know if he gives you any trouble,” Rei gives you an apologetic look. You laugh, ruffling your boyfriend’s hair as he clicks his teeth and crosses his arms.

“He’s not much trouble, actually,” you murmur gently, “I think he’s pretty great.”

He softens, face burning with a flush of pink as he looks down at his feet and grunts something under his breath. It sounds something suspiciously close to what a sap, earning an eye roll from you.

But his mother beams—eyes crinkled at the edges as she grabs your hand and pulls you towards the dinner table. There’s plates filled with your favorite dishes, home cooked and piping hot. It makes you realize Touya must have told his mother beforehand: the things you like, the things you don’t. Maybe more.

You lean up, kissing his jaw.

“What was that for?” He mumbles, watching his mother grab plates.

“Because I love you, of course,” you whisper. “I need a reason?”

“You love me, huh? Enough to consider my proposal about my bed?”

“Not that much,” you snort.

He pouts, fighting back a grin as he huffs, “you’re a stick in the mud. Love you too.”

You don’t know much about Touya’s childhood. Bits and parts of the ugliest moments are vaguely familiar to you, shattered pieces of a mosaic you can’t get a full picture of. But you smile at Rei—it feels like grabbing a smooth, unshattered piece and filling in the holes for him, filling in the gaps of love he missed out on.

You take a seat, right beside Touya, watching as his mother insists on plating your food for you. Somehow, despite it being your first time here, it feels like coming home.

This might be considered ooc idk but I write touya and rei how I want idc this is real to me in a non quirk au

[elexuscal]

the longer i stay in fandom, the longer i think a huge amount of bad takes and discourse come from an... abundance of identifying with a character

to be clear, i don't think it's bad to identify with a character. far from it! i think that's part of what makes fiction so powerful.

and it's only logical people often attach to a blorbo because they're just like me, for real. a person will see some element of themselves-- their race, their gender, their sexuality, their hobbies, their family life, their specific flavour of neurodivergence-- and something just resonates. it gives them a way to explore and name this important part of themselves, a part they maybe didn't even know existed before it.

and everything is well and good until some split between them and the character shows up

because of course, no character, except an explicit self-insert written by yourself, will ever be a perfect 1:1 for your own experiences. so sooner or later-- maybe in canon, maybe in a fanwork-- your blorbo diverges from your lived experience in a huge way.

I think this is why shipping culture in particular gets so toxic. While it is by no means the only way to indulge with shipping, a significant portion is 'if i was in that character's shoes, i would choose X'. the fight becomes for your own self-identity.

but this gets expanded in other ways. a character who is revealed to be black when the majority of the fandom had just assumed they were white. or revealed to be queer, or maybe the 'wrong' flavour of queer. or fuck, even some more innocuous part of their backstory, one that's nonetheless so meaningful for SOMEONE, but now it feels like the story is saying, fuck you, we're doing something else

i don't know. i just feel acknowledging this perceived-attack-on-identity helps me understand why people react it what seems to be such outsized way to canon and fanworks alike.

at the same time, i think it's a really important thing to check in yourself.

it's nice, to see a character who you identify with. who resonates with for being like you. but it's also nice to acknowledge and appreciate the way characters are not like you at All. how great it is to get insight into this totally different lived experience. and to muse on how wonderful that recognition might be for someone who does have that background.

[kiwi-bitchez]

Double Down, Triple Threat 

Summary: insecure!Eddie x bartender!Reader

Eddie is constantly flirting with you after his Corroded Coffin sets at the Hideout, and you have the bad habit of flirting back. What happens when you overhear a conversation that wasn’t meant for you? Maybe you’ve had the wrong idea about the cocky metalhead who negs you for free drinks. Now you need to take it into your own hands to resolve some built up tension. 

Smut, as always, with a touch of angst but generally fluff/happy ending. 

Word count: 18k (eek! in retrospect I maybe should have split this into multiple parts but...fuck it, brevity has never been my strong suit LOL) Buckle up for a doozy.

Content warnings: smut, afab reader with she/her pronouns, use of y/n, alcohol consumption, smoking, the devil’s lettuce, mention of Eddie's scars and sustained injuries (slightly canon divergent obviously because our boy is ALIVE here, but the events of season 4 generally stand otherwise), also Eddie does some negative self talk where he refers to himself as mutilated but everything is happy in the end I promise, and scars are nothing to be insecure about he's just down in the dumps you feel me?, oral (fem receiving), fingering (fem receiving), unprotected PIV sex (plz use protection irl), pet names, reader and Eddie shower together

A/N: I know it’s been a hot minute since I’ve posted a fic on here, but I hope all y’all who are still riding the Eddie Munson thirst train enjoy this :) I’m trying to regain the motivation to write more, so hopefully more fics to come soon (no promises though lol) (maybe some Steve? Steddie x Reader? Let me know what y’all want to see.) I

"I'll have the usual," his hoarse voice and boisterous presence cut through what few other customers sat at your bar, forcing your attention his way.

"Yeah, and what would that be?" you try to give him your best deadpan voice, unsure yet if you were in the mood for his antics. 

"Come on, like I ever order anything other than a whiskey and coke," his curly dark hair stuck slightly to his damp forehead, not having bothered to wipe the sweat from his brow in between the stage and the bar. If you could even call it a stage. It was more of a sad corner with an extension cable and a few amps that his grunting bandmates were lugging back into their truck while he very helpfully came over and tried to flirt with the bartender. You were the only bartender. On Friday nights anyways. 

"That's because you're unoriginal," his drink was already half made as you flick your eyes up through your lashes at him, knowing he was watching you intently, not that he was particular about how his drink was made by any stretch. "You're actually going to pay for it this time," you slid the glass over to him, "I'm not joking."

"You wound me," he tries his best to give you puppy dog eyes, "but I'm pretty sure Randy mentioned something about drink tickets when we negotiated our new Friday slot."

"That's not a thing," you make up menial tasks behind the bar to keep your hands and eyes busy while he relentlessly chats with you, "never has been. Plus if I keep giving you free drinks you'll get the idea that I like you or something." 

Fuck, you told yourself you should stop flirting back with him. Your first excuse had been professionalism, which didn't make a lick of sense considering you were a bar back at this hole in the wall that paid local bands in drink tickets, apparently. Your second excuse had been that as fun as Eddie was to chat with, you hardly knew anything about him other than his loud band and his drink order. 

Unfortunately he liked to chat and sooner than later you knew more about him than you wanted to. Your newest excuse? If you kept flirting back with him he might get the idea that he could see you outside of this dingy bar, and you liked the comfort and safety of the three feet of wood separating you, it kept you from doing something you might regret. 

"Don't act like you didn't like our set," he threw the rest of his drink back, "I saw you watchin' from over here."

"Yeah, well you're kind of hard to ignore, you know, with the volume and all," your voice had a too-playful tone that you mentally noted to dial back on. 

If you were being honest, Corroded Coffin was one of the weekly acts that you didn't entirely mind. Most were groups of middle aged men trying to relive the glory days by booking a weeknight at the Hideout, instruments barely tuned and a setlist that was decades out of style. While Eddie's band certainly wasn't everyone's cup of tea, you found yourself tapping your foot along with their songs more often than not. At least they were original, you’d give them that. 

He held his glass up to signal a request for another. "Go help your friends carry all your shit," you swiped the cup from his hand, hating that you focused on how your fingers briefly touched his, "and then I'll make you another. And I'm charging you for both."

"Whatever you say, babe" he spun around three or four times on the bar stool before sauntering off and finally assisting with moving the amps and drum kit. You rolled your eyes, not that he was watching you anymore, but more to keep yourself from checking out how his shirt clung to his torso. His black t-shirt was always a size too small, revealing his tattoo covered arms that you never allowed yourself to stare long enough at to make out what any of them were. 

Eddie was nice. As much as you liked to push each other's buttons and joke around, he was a lot more respectful than most patrons that tried their hand at flirting with you. He never said anything gross or disrespectful, not something you could say about most men who've had more than a few beers. 

But you didn't want to risk pushing any boundaries with him, because you work here, and his band plays here weekly, religiously. You didn't want things to get weird, and as much as you learned how to avoid certain patrons, there was only so much space between the 'stage' and your station behind the bar. 

Despite this, you have his second drink made before he finishes putting his stuff away, and you haven't started a tab for either of them. A big smile stretches across his cheeks when he notices his already-made drink set by his stool as he walks over from the back door. You couldn't help but feel a tiny smile creep up on your face as well. 

"Really made me work for this one, huh?" he takes the first sip while still standing before setting back into his seat, "truly amazing service, best I've ever had, really." You glare at him while cleaning some cups absentmindedly with a rag. "Not sure if you can tip on a drink ticket though..."

"Fuck off," you giggle and throw the wet towel at him, "you can't charm your way into TWO free drinks you ass."

"Aww you think I'm charming?" the flirtations between you were always edged with sarcasm, which you both found a lot easier than admitting 'hey you need to stop looking at me like that or else I'm going to keep thinking about pinning you against this countertop.'

"No, I don't, which is why you're PAYING for both those drinks," a lie followed by another lie, and you both knew it. "Where'd your band go?"

"Why? 'm I boring you?" he didn't mind taking up all your attention when the other bar patrons were either too drunk to stand or too old to even notice that a metal band had performed for the past hour. "No one's ever accused Gareth of being more interesting than yours truly. Plus he doesn't drink anyways, so your venture capitalist instincts wont work on him." He raised his drink to punctuate his joke before taking another long swig. 

"Ha ha," you don't give him the satisfaction of a real laugh, "I just wanted to make sure you had a ride home in case you try and swindle me into making you a third drink."

"Oh no, I told them all to scram, that I had a hot date with you and my unsettled tab," he leaned over the bar, trying to eliminate as much space between himself and you, "plus I've got a friend coming by to pick me up in a bit. So if you wanted to make me that third drink in exchange for me keeping you company while you close up, I certainly don't have any reason to turn you down."

"Fine," you point at him with a stern finger, "but this one'll be more coke than whiskey."

"Deal," he pointed his finger back at you, moving carefully in so the tips of your pointers touched. This made you genuinely laugh, unable to keep up a wall for too long around him. 

He finished his second drink while you ordered last call, and settled up with crumpled cash and mumbled thank you’s from the few remaining drunks. After closing up the cash register you make him that more-coke-than-whiskey drink as promised, and get to wiping down every sticky surface. 

"What's your drink?" he asks.

"Hmm?" you glance over from your hunched over position, trying to get the wet rag across the underside of the bar where someone had clearly spilt what appeared to be an entire pint of light beer. 

"You know my drink order, I wanna know yours." you stand up straight and look at him. 

You consider pushing back and demanding why he wanted to know, but it was late and you only had so many quips left in you, "Gin and tonic with extra lime." You get back to soaking up the spilt mess.

"Woooooow," his drink was finished and he took it upon himself to grab the broom from behind the bar and start sweeping up the bottle caps and tracked in dirt, "and you had the nerve to call me unoriginal."

"I'm not some creative rock and roll guitar guy like you, I don't need to be original, I'm just a bartender," you let him keep sweeping and start checking off other tasks from your closing list.

"You aren't just a bartender, give yourself more credit than that babe," he held up the dustpan full of crap, silently asking where to put it and you hold open a mostly full garbage bag for him to dump it into before tying it off, "judging by your drink order I would also guess that you're, hmmmm, an 85 year old man."

"Oh my god," you slap him on the arm with another half dirty hand towel, "in that case, you're doing voluntary manual labor just to flirt with this 85 year old man, so maybe you need to reevaluate your priorities."

He takes a few steps forward, not quite caging you against the bar, but nearly there. "And how am I doing? Is it working?" He's the closest he's ever been to you, jokingly sliding the broom around your feet, pretending to sweep while maintaining searing eye contact.

As the which-one-of-us-is-going-to-learn-in-first question buzzes around you, an irritating light flickers through the big front window, indicating someone had pulled their car right up to the curb with their high beams on. Eddie scrunches his nose up, and your urge to kiss him somehow grows despite his annoyed expression. "That's my ride."

You give him a small nod, turning your head to try and squint to see who could possibly be picking him up at this hour, but not making out much through the foggy glass. "I suppose I can manage the rest without you," you grab the broom from him, fingers touching for the second time tonight, "see you next week, rockstar."

Eddie wants to do something smooth, a wink or a clever line, but instead nervously gives you a nod and is out the front door before he can give it a second thought. The minute the door closes behind him you let out all the air you had been holding in your chest, both frustrated and slightly relieved. Eddie on the other hand- was bursting with regret and frustration, immediately running his hands through his hair and pulling a cigarette out of his pocket. 

"Absolutely not," Steve craned his neck out of his car that always looked like it had just gotten a fresh wax and detail, "at least five feet away from the beemer if you're going to light that." 

Eddie rolled his eyes, considering putting the cigarette back into the carton and getting the fuck away from this bar, but ultimately gave in and pivoted on his heel storming back towards the brick exterior and slumping against it as he flicked his lighter and took an aggressively deep pull. 

"What's your damage?" Steve moved out of the expensive car, keeping a bit of distance from Eddie but close enough that the two could talk, "That bartender you like wasn't on or something?"

"She's inside closing up now, so keep your fuckin' voice down" he gave Steve a glare and then immediately an apologetic look for being so prickly, "I'm just bad at this shit, man."

"You can't be that bad at it, Gareth and Jeff said the two of you eye fuck across the room every Friday night," Steve shrugs, understanding Eddie's drawback but knowing his friend rarely gives himself the benefit of the doubt. 

"Yeah, well, that's not the hard part," Eddie rips his cigarette and presses his wild hair deeper into the brick behind him, exhaling upwards. 

You had taken note that Eddie's ride hadn't left yet, so you busied yourself for a minute before deciding who cares if you had to give him an awkward wave on your way across the parking lot, so you locked up and grabbed the trash to take to the dumpster out back before leaving for the night. 

You really didn't mean to eavesdrop, but as soon as the back door clicked you heard their muffled conversation from around the corner. Rather than give away your presence with the clanging of the trash you gently set it against the wall and moved forward silently, staying out of sight but well within earshot. 

"Flirting is the easy part, she's fuckin' easy to talk to, man" Eddie's voice carried, and you felt guilty but continued to listen, "I don't want to just fuck her though, I want to like, date...her."

"Oh," Steve's voice dropped knowingly, "well that's... good, I guess, that you like her like that."

"Well even if I didn't like her like that and was only looking to fuck her," he sighs out, and you carefully listen while furrowing your eyebrows, trying to make sense of their conversation, "she's gorgeous, and no girl that hot- scratch that no girl at all want's to fuck some mutilated freak."

"Don't call yourself a freak," Steve's voice seems apprehensive. 

"Yeah, sure, but you can't say I'm not mutilated." There was a beat of silence, and you didn't have time to think too much about his words before he went off again, voice laced with thick sarcasm, "Oh hey babe, so glad you were able to look past that I live in a trailer park and all my neighbors think I'm a satan worshiping murderer, but I hope you can be cool with my singular nipple and weird lumpy scar tissue, I know it's super hot, you're gonna have to get in line." His voice carried easily far past your hiding spot. 

"You're not giving her much credit dude," Steve was still apprehensive to respond, knowing how Eddie got when he started to spiral, "Maybe she's not that shallow."

"It's not that," Eddie's voice started to calm, "I'd just rather take my twenty minutes of flirting after our Friday gigs than risk it and have her look at me like she's sorry for me or something." 

With that he snubbed out his cigarette butt with the toe of his combat boots, let out a big sigh, and moved to get into the passenger side of Steve's car. You take a few slow, careful steps back towards the slumped garbage bag and wait until you hear the engine start and see the lights pull out onto the opposite side of the road. 

Fuck. Part of you felt incredibly guilty for listening to what was obviously meant to be a private conversation, especially a private conversation about you. But your gears were turning far too fast to get hung up on guilt. 

You always felt apprehensive about Eddie because you figured he was a flirt, a player, the kind of guy who talks to all bartenders like that, and you just happened to be the one he flirted with after his Corroded Coffin shows. You never wanted to get too invested in making him smile or waiting around for him to chat you up, because you know how most guys are, especially guys who carry themselves with that much confidence. And you were fucking wrong. 

Now fully realizing that the ball is in your court, you need to plan your first move. You decided, Eddie was worth taking the risk. 

It was truly a shot in the dark, but if your intuition ended up being a bust then no one would know about your wasted afternoon other than yourself. The following afternoon you drove aimlessly up and down the unpaved residential streets of the trailer park. There were two in town but you had a pretty good feeling that this was the one. 

You only started to feel stupid when you got some confused and slightly angry looks from people going about their business, hanging laundry or smoking on their porches, scrunching their noses and trying to make out the unfamiliar car driving in circles around their neighborhood. 

Aha! There it was. You knew that your gut could only fail you so many times when it came to Eddie. Exactly what you had been looking for, a big black and blue 1971 Chevrolet van strewn with dents, patches of rust, and, your telltale sign, a homemade Corroded Coffin sticker crookedly placed on the faded chrome of the bumper. 

Step one, complete. Step two was contingent on Eddie even being home. The presence of his van had you feeling hopeful. 

You attempt to rid yourself of lingering nerves with a deep breath and silent pep talk. You park adjacent to his van and hop out before your legs can convince you not to, and suddenly you've rung the doorbell and are standing with your hands clasped nervously in front of his door. 

"Just a minute," you hear him yell from inside, step two, complete, "What're you here for? Cuz I only got weed right now so if you're..." his hollering voice trails off from inside as he catches a glimpse of you through the screen. "Y/n? What the fuck are you doing here?" 

"Jeez, hello to you too," you try to lace your voice with the same flirty edge that you always took with Eddie, but you didn't have the comfortable barrier of the bar or the security of being the person serving him his drinks. 

"How the fuck do you know where I live?" His tone wasn't quite angry, but it was bordering on more pointed than just confused. 

"Sorry, I didn't mean to drop by totally unexpected," you suddenly felt vulnerable, regretting this whole stupid plan, "I can go." 

You start to scurry back to your car and hide your face forever, but he cuts you off with, "No, no, just, why are you here?" He softened his voice, and came down the stoop to hover over you on the last step. 

"Well," here goes nothing, "last night I felt like we sort of got interrupted." You pause, trying to gauge his reaction, "And I couldn't stop thinking about it, and I didn’t want to wait a whole week to see you again."

"Oh," his face and reaction didn't give you much of a clue as to what he was thinking. 

"And," you started filling the empty air with words, as you often did out of anxiety, "I know where you live because I've heard you sing 'fuck everyone in the trailer park, I'll play my music and curse your existance' probably a thousand times, it really wasn’t that hard to figure out where you live." 

He let out a chuckle, despite being deep in the throws of processing your earlier statement of feeling cut off. Of course he wanted to see you outside the confines of the musty bar, he just hadn't expected it to be like this, so sudden. "Well that's fair. I’ll give you double points for perception."

"I didn't mean to interrupt your Saturday," you began to reel again, "just wanted to tell you I'd like to hang out with you sometime, preferably not at The Hideout."

"Can sometime be now?" he hopped down from the last step and gave you an inquisitive smile, nose slightly scrunched and giving you butterflies. 

"Yeah, sometime can be now. You promise I'm not interrupting anything?" you felt a wave of relief, his energy had fully shifted from confusion to your comfortable flirty banter.

"Just a packed bong and have some laundry I probably wasn't going to do anyways," he suddenly realized he either had to invite you inside, which would be slightly embarrassing given the current state of his trailer, or suggest a secondary location, "you hungry? We can grab lunch or something?" 

He offered to drive, and you suggested sandwiches and beer to go for a backseat van picnic. He was relieved that you were down with doing something so casual, no stuffy cafes or overpriced food. If you were more than happy to suggest eating deli counter sandwiches in the back of his clunky van then maybe he had less to worry about than he thought. 

The passing moments between you had him realizing he truly didn't know much about you. Your job, how you had no problem snapping back at rude customers, and most recently your favorite drink. He wanted to know more, and quickly did as you had a 'regular' sandwich order and gave him directions to a side street that looked out onto a small lake, explaining that you'd eat lunch out here sometimes when the weather was nice. He parked the van in reverse, letting the back doors swing open, giving you the perfect bench looking out to the scenery to sit back and eat. 

"All my years living 'round here, I've never been to this spot," he noted through bites of sandwich wrapped in white paper.

"Yeah, most people know the spot across the lake with the rope swing and all that," you gesture across to where there was a popular jumping rock littered with empty beer cans, "too crowded for me though, it's more peaceful over here." 

"Sorry if I was a bit rude earlier," he started, but you quickly cut him off before he could finish his apology.

"No, no," you move your hand over to gently grab his mid gesture, "don't apologize, your reaction was incredibly reasonable."

"I just-' he started but you gave his hand a squeeze, "I really am happy you decided to come by, I didn't want you to think otherwise."

"I'm happy you chose lunch with me over a bong and laundry, that was some tough competition I had," he rolled his eyes at you.

"Don't make fun of me," he nudged your side, "I'm usually pretty wiped from Friday's show and trying to think of clever things to keep up with you, so my Saturday's are usually pretty lazy," your shoulders rubbed against each other, "being a washed up wannabe rockstar and flirting with a girl way out of my league can really do a number on me."

You share a soft giggle but reassure him that playing live music, even if it is only for you and a crowd of five drunks is still pretty cool. "Plus I like that you dress like this all the time, it's not just an act, this is just how you are," you gesture to his ripped jeans and ring clad fingers.

"What did you expect, babe? Surprise me at my trailer to find me in a polo and khakis?" the suggestion alone had the two of you laughing, brainstorming an alternate universe where Eddie was an accountant by day and only let his rocker side loose on Friday nights. 

"If you aren't secretly an accountant, what do you do when you're not playing music, if I may ask," you realize this was really one of the first personal questions you'd exchanged, keeping things punchy and surface level until this point.

"Ah, well," he scratches the back of his head, "although I wish the drink tickets we make at The Hideout were enough to cover rent, I work down at the body shop, you know the one down the street from the grocery store? My uncle knew some guys there and hooked me up with a job fixing cars after high school, and it's not too bad, I'm not half bad at it either, so that's where I'm at."

"You just really keep getting better and better, huh?" at first he wonders if your comment is sarcastic, but you continue "So what I'm hearing is you'll look at my rattling engine for free? I know nothing about cars and am always worried the people at the body shop are going to overcharge me."

"I only charge in sandwich dates and drink tickets, so you're in luck," he responds quickly without giving it much of a thought. 

You take a second, "What about dinner dates? Maybe movie dates too? Are those acceptable payments for your mechanic expertise?" 

"Not usually, but I'll make an exception for you," he responds after a few beats, realizing you wanted to see him again, and not just at the bar. 

You both are looking out at the lake, the buzzing energy around you making you nervous to look at each other. So you just tilt your head sideways to rest on his shoulder, "Phew, that's a relief, because I have a lot more of these planned."

"Oh yeah?" he shifts his body towards you, lifting your head from his shoulder and finally meeting his gaze, a stupid grin plastered across his face, he couldn't help it. "Which one of these dates do I finally get to kiss you?" You let out a breathy laugh, half amused by his corny line and half surprised he was being so forward. 

"Hmmm, I'm not sure," you pretend to think it over, stringing this out was killing both of you, but you couldn't help but push his buttons a bit more, "I'd say I'm kind of a third date kind of gal."

"Three? As in three from now or three including this one?" He seemed genuinely concerned, causing a genuine laugh to slip through the act you were putting on. 

You move your hand to his chest, faces closer than they had ever been. You had always been sucked into his big brown eyes, but now you saw flecks of honey and deep browns that bordered on black in them, faded freckles dotted across his cheeks, a chapped patch on his lower lip that had clearly been the victim of some anxious chewing. "I'll make an exception this time, for you."

He let you make the first move, leaning in and gently pressing your lips to his, soft and slow. You could feel his breath catch in his throat, prompting you to pull back and look at him through fluttered lashes, as your mouth parted slightly to ask him if that was okay, his big ring clad hands cupped the sides of your cheeks and pulled you right back into him, kissing you like he was afraid you'd evaporate if he ever stopped. 

The wind was knocked out of you. You couldn't be bothered to breathe when your attention was solely focused on his lips, his tongue, the sharp intake air he sucked in between slotting your top lip down to your swollen bottom one, nipping with teeth and holding your face so close. 

After a minute of soft whimpers and exploring the new intimacy you pull back to finally catch your breath, fully ready to ignore the need for oxygen and lean back in when you see his face, rosy and buzzing with excited energy. 

"Sorry, if that was kind of a lot," he realized you had given the sweetest peck and he proceeded to practically shove his tongue down your throat. 

You however, were already brushing his apology off and leaning in for more, missing the feeling of his big hands cradling your face, sending tingling shockwaves down your body. Before you could lunge back at him and take more of what you wanted, he takes your chin in between his fingers and tilts your head up to his.

"I don't know if you can tell, but I'm sort of crazy about you. And I really don't want to fuck this up, but I've wanted to do that for a really long time.” 

He could tell by your pout that you were begging for another kiss, and he couldn't refuse you. You were completely lost in it. Learning that he let out a little gasp when you ran your fingers up into his hair, that he would catch your bottom lip in between his teeth when you started to pull away and he needed more, that you were already completely wrecked for him. You weren't even conscious of the fact that you were now fully seated in his lap, sandwich wrappers and empty cans long pushed aside. 

Part of you wanted to wait, to let things build up organically over time and get physically intimate when the moment felt right. But fuck it, the moment felt right now. 

Any apprehension or worry of scaring him off dissipated when his thumb ran across your cheekbone, his other strong arm holding you steadily against him, you don't think you could wiggle away if you tried. Swirling in your apprehension you also fought the urge to press your hips down into his and grind against him harder. You wanted to let him take things at his pace and not rush anything, but fuck you could feel his cock getting hard between your legs and it was driving you insane. 

He dragged the knuckle of his middle finger up your neck along the curve of your jaw, speaking softly into your kiss, "can I kiss you here?" pressing his touch into the side of your neck.

"You can do anything you want to me," you pant back, slightly embarrassed at how desperately horny that came out.

"Fuck," he groaned out, cock noticeably twitching against his black jeans and into your thigh, "you can't say shit like that to me."

"Sorry, sorry," you try to gain your composure and lift off him slightly, “I-"

He took a hold of your waist and pulled your back down into his lap, diving into the side of your neck and nipping and sucking until he found the spot that made you squeeze your thighs slightly around him. "Anything I want requires a lot more time and space than we have right now, pretty girl." He mumbled into your neck in between kisses, his words making your back arch slightly more into him. "Plus I need to be a gentleman," you rolled your eyes at this. 

"Since when have you ever worried about that," you tug his hair back to force him to look at you.

"You really want to know what I want, right now?" he quirked an eyebrow.

"Really, really," you let your weight sink down onto his lap a touch more, feeling the stiff length under his jeans slot between your thighs a bit deeper, making his breath hitch before he could respond. 

"I want you to lay back on those blankets up there," he nodded towards the few crumpled up blankets he had shoved behind the driver's seat, "and let me eat your pretty pussy until you're screaming loud enough for the people across the lake to hear."

Whatever you were expecting, it wasn't that. 

This unexpected burst of sexual confidence threw you for a loop, as you were fully prepared to be the one making all the big moves. Your mouth hung open slightly, struggling to form a response when all that was swarming through your mind was holy fuck, holy fuck, that was so hot, what the fuck do I say. 

Rather than respond with words you just roll off his lap and start moving deeper into the back of his van, propping your torso up on bent arms and sending him back a suggestively raised eyebrow. He swung his legs up over the ledge and took one of the doors with him, sliding into the van and quickly shutting the other as well. 

It took a second for your eyes to adjust, the previous sunlight coming in from across the lake was cut off, and the light source now was only coming from the front windows, making things darker but not invisible. You quickly had no trouble making out Eddie's slender form shuffling around and getting situated in between your bent knees, urging you to lay back a bit more and relax as much as your body would allow against the lumpy blanket pile. 

"This is okay?" he asks while leaning down to pick up where you had left off a moment ago. 

"Yes, fuck," you wiggle up into his form, wanting as much contact as he would allow, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down into your lips. 

It all had moved faster than you were used to but fuck if it didn't feel so right. Why did you feel more comfortable with this person you hardly knew than you had with your past few long term relationships? He just had this way of taking your nerves and throwing them out the nearest window. 

After sucking on your lower lip until it was puffy and slick he dips his chin into the crook of your neck, dragging his perfect nose up your jugular and nestling into the junction of your neck and ear, licking a stripe all the way. You wanted to desperately buck your hips up into his, but only allowed yourself half the satisfaction of lifting your thigh slightly to give him more space to sink deeper into your slumped form. 

When Eddie’s life flashed before his eyes, on more than one occasion- actually- he wasn’t particularly satisfied with what he saw. In the moments before what he assumed was death, his brain searched for the best moments to accumulate and reminisce on before his body succumbed to the untimely demise he was facing. It wasn’t much. 

He wished he had more than smiling moments with his D&D club, a few killer performances at the Hideout, no killer audiences, some nights of revelry with his friends, and a few forgettable hookups in dingy bar bathrooms. That couldn’t be it, right?

In the wake of his life flashing, fading, and flashing again, he made more space for good things. After his shows now he let himself think about you, and how much he liked you, let himself try his hand at flirting. Because if he was going to come anywhere that close to death again, he needed more to show for it than a few trysts with nameless girls and an unnerving amount of scar tissue. 

So he wasn’t about to fuck this up. If someone came at him with an axe tomorrow, at least he’d have the memory of you splayed out beneath him in the back of his van, lips shiny and cheeks rosy. If his life were to flash before his eyes again it wouldn’t be as bad.  

“Do you know how long I’ve thought about this?” he mumbled into your neck, his denim clad thigh pressing perfectly in between your legs. You could only hum back as if to say, “no, tell me.”

“I think you do know,” his teeth grazed upon your earlobe, sending a jolt through your hips and finding solace in the friction between your thighs with his.

“Yeah, I know,” you breathe out, arching your neck down to nudge the tip of his nose with yours, “do you?”

“I didn’t have a clue,” he mumbled into your lips before slipping his tongue against yours, sickly sweet and laced with all the regret of not asking you out sooner. 

You let your ankles hook around one another, locking your hips together and earning a deep rumble of a moan from the man trapped. “I recall you mentioning something about the people across the lake hearing me…” you playfully trail off, equal parts confidently flirty and deeply desperate for him to act on his earlier promise. 

He had nudged his way down into the neckline of your shirt, licking and nipping at as much of your breasts as he could find, fingertips grazing the waistline of your pants. Part of you wanted to just lay here and let him have his way with you, but the conscious part of your brain recognized the insecurities he expressed in that conversation you weren't supposed to hear, and signaled you to be as forward with him as you could be. 

“Fuck,” you struggled to pry your hands between your pressed bodies to reach your jeans button, “Eddie can I take these off, I want to feel you.” 

With your hands moved south, you managed to undo the clasps of your jeans while also running your hands upwards towards his shirt, wanting to feel the skin beneath. 

It was subtle, but impossible for you to miss, when your fingertips grazed his lower stomach and trailed up his t-shirt his body shifted into a tense state for just a moment. You could have easily missed it. It took all of a millisecond for him to subtly jerk away from you and redirect the attention to your now unbuttoned pants. His hands were dragging the material down your thighs before you had a moment to register the way he averted your touch. 

He playfully tossed your bunched up pants over his shoulder, as if they had anywhere else to go other than the three feet of van between him and the doors. After that flashed moment of shyness, you noticed nothing but a playful smirk on his face, smile crinkled at the corners of his cheeks and eyes full of wild mischief. 

His hands spread against your thighs, digging his fingertips into as much skin as the width of his palms would allow. 

“So fucking perfect,” he drank you in, hardly noticing the moment you pulled your shirt and bra over yourself, but dumbstruck as soon as his eyes caught sight of your reveal.

Knowing he had yet to put his money where his mouth was, he adjusted downwards and let his flushed cheek make contact with your thigh. In that moment he vowed to let the sight of the little damp patch in the center of your cotton panties stay forever in his mind. 

He didn’t let a single thought register in his brain before he leaned forward and let his tongue lick a fat strip up the middle of your clothed center, adding dampness to the apparent arousal already there. 

“Jesus,” you were slightly taken aback at his action, letting your head fall back, while still lowering your gaze down to where his hooded lids and pink tongue sat in between your thighs.

He reveled in the feeling of being between your thighs, letting his tongue play around the center of your panties for a few strokes before the twitching in your legs signaled that you had had enough of his teasing. 

Taking a blissful moment to hook his finger through the crotch piece of your underwear and pull it to the side to reveal your slick center, he simply couldn’t help himself. He pulled back and drank the sight of you in, panties wet with your arousal and his spit pulled to the side and your perfect cunt finally in his sights. 

The groan he let out only tripled your level of neediness for him. You let your chest puff up and hips gyrate forward at nothing to signal that you needed him, like, now.

Before you could even think of something snarky to say to get him to get on with it, his entire face was fully buried in you. An involuntary ahhh escaped you as he let his entire tongue press as far into you as space would allow. 

“Ohmygod,” all coming out in one breath, “fuckeddie.” 

He groaned deeply into you at the feeling of your pussy on his mouth, your taste, how your hips twitched slightly when his nose pressed against your clit. He didn’t even think about all those drunken chats with the boys or stupid cosmo articles he couldn't help but read, eating your pussy didn’t require any thought, he could only feel. 

Your sighs were like a song to him, every sharp inhale and subtle whimper, he caught it all and it was the most beautiful music. He let his tongue swirl faster when he heard your breath hitch, gripped your thigh tighter when you let out that beautiful exhale. 

“So fucking good for me,” he mumbled into your inner thigh in between licks, fully pussy drunk and ready to stay here forever, “fucking perfect.”

After some selfish exploration, he settled on a steady rhythm against your clit, making your back arch and whines jump an octave. 

“Eddie, Eddie,” you groaned, feeling embarrassed how needy your voice already sounded, “can you use your fingers too, please.” Desperate. That’s how you felt, and you couldn't help but be self conscious for any more than a moment, as he immediately headed your request. 

Guitar fingers. You fucking knew it. You always found him attractive and charming, but immediately scolded yourself the moment you started speculating about those damn fingers. If he could learn Metallica solos in private, what else could he do?

Curling upwards in that magically delicious motion that had you already seeing stars, he glanced up at you upon entering and was met with the glorious sight of your mouth hanging open and eyes fluttering shut. 

You simply couldn’t be bothered by the rickety van floor beneath you, the sad lumpy pillow propped under your head, or the stagnant, vaguely cigarette scented air around you. Nope. No thoughts other than the tightening knot in your stomach and how those pretty brown eyes peered up through too-perfect lashes at you in between sinful strokes. 

“Making me feel so fucking good,” you hardly recognized your voice as your own, “please don’t stop, Eddie, please…”

And there it was, euphoric bliss found in the back of a pot dealing metalhead’s van. Your thighs quivered and your brain lost all capacity for thought. All you could feel was the sudden wash of pleasure, the pulsing between your legs, and the tongue and fingers fucking into you as if it was the last thing he ever did. 

Writhing, trying to keep your moans down despite his verbalized promise for them to be heard far and wide, you try to control the jerk of your hips and grip on his hair. You rode out your orgasm, far sooner than you would have liked. You wanted to revel in it. 

After months of relentless flirting and suppressing your attraction to him, you wish you could have held your orgasm off a while longer. You simply couldn't allow yourself to bask in the velvet of his tongue or the tickle of his bangs on your thighs. You needed it too badly to hold off. 

Coming down from your orgasm, a broken moan cracked from you and let him know to slow his roll. In between catching your breath you catch a view of him sucking your release off of his slick fingers, and almost throw yourself at him, beg him to jump your bones. But all you can do is let out a breathy laugh and find the strength to prop yourself up on your elbows to get a better look at him. 

“You come?” he asks, slight snark to his voice.

You muster up the energy to bop him upside the head and ruffle his hair along the way. “Fuck off,” you respond, still breathless, “you know I did.”

“I know,” he cocks his head, still admiring your form, your flushed face and rise and fall of every breath, “It’s polite to ask, though.”

“Ah yes, Eddie Munson, most polite man I know,” you flop back onto the mismatched pillows.

“Hey!” he pretends to sound offended but only manages to tug at your heartstrings, “I’ll have you know, that I am a delight.” 

“Can’t argue with that,” you reach down to feel your dripping folds before hunching forward to search for your underwear, which haven't traveled too far from his knees on the van floor.  

You wanted to return the favor, do more than return the favor, but something about his shift in demeanor and the way he angled his body away from yours slightly to adjust his hard cock in his pants and keep up the too-casual post-orgasm conversation had you thinking it was more than him being too polite to accept your advances. 

“Shit, what time is it,” he begins to shuffle towards the front of the van to check the time while you awkwardly gathered your clothes and redressed, fully assessing that whatever fooling around in the back of this van you were doing was officially over. 

“I, uh, have a few errands to run,” he sounded apologetic, not like he was making some excuse to get you out of his hair, “I can drop you off, or you can come along for the ride…”

There is was, your affirmation that he was just as desperate to hang onto this moment together as you were. 

“I actually have a shift starting pretty soon,” you regrettably admit, “and as much as I’d love to ditch it and be your passenger princess, the Saturday tips are usually the bulk of my rent money so…” 

He understood, he hated how much he understood. 

“What time do you get off?” He didn’t even try to hide how eager he was to see you again, again in ten minutes, again later tonight, again tomorrow, again as many times as you’d let him. 

“Get off? Pretty sure I did that like three minutes ago…” you joke and appreciate his huff of a laugh, “Um, I’m closing, so probably not until like two or three. Don’t worry though, I can give you my number and we can do this again when we’re both free.”

“I’m free later… at two,” his expression was dead serious, “or three, or four, or whenever.” He noticed your brows shoot up and words start to form in your mouth, before you could speak he cuts in, “If you won’t be too tired or anything. I can pick you up?”

“It’ll be pretty late Eds,” you were falling into the trap of his puppy dog eyes, “you don’t need to wait up for me like that, I promise we can see each other again, tomorrow even…”

“Tell me to fuck off if I’m being pushy,” he took your hand in his and mindlessly stroked circles into it with his thumb, “but I’m sort of a night owl, not big on the whole sleeping thing anyways, and I’d love to pick you up from work later.”

“Okay,” you agree, the soft earnestness of his voice snared you, and considered the magic he had just worked between your legs, who were you to say no. The glimmer in his eye and quirked smile at your response had you wishing you had said more than ‘okay,’ wondering what kind of look you would have gotten from a ‘yes, please,’ or ‘I’d love that.’

He drove you back to his trailer, not letting go of your hand during the ride, not even to turn up the music at his favorite parts. He offers to follow you back to your place, insisting that waiting for you to shower and change into work clothes and then drop you off at the Hideout was “on the way” to these supposed errands he had to run. 

You roll your eyes but start to accept that this is the kind of guy Eddie is, insincerity undetectable when he makes these offers. You invite him in, but he opts to wait outside with a cigarette, pacing a bit and then forcing his legs and mind to still by waiting in the drivers seat. 

“Hey hot stuff,” he wolf whistles as you exit your apartment, dressed in your usual black shirt and jeans for work, apron balled up in your bag to put on once you arrive. 

He’s sweet, and sincere. As much as you liked the jab banter between the two of you at the bar, you think you might prefer his sarcastic jokes mixed with sweet compliments and longing gazes more. Not that you weren’t getting that from him at the bar before, there were plenty of longing gazes there too, but now the shared glances are heavy with the knowledge of what his tongue feels like on your cunt. 

A sloppy, exaggerated kiss on the cheek and a ‘go get ‘em tiger’ sends you off into the bar, where your hands will be pouring cheap liquor for the next several hours but your mind will be solely occupied with what your post-work date with Eddie entails. 

The drink special of the night was a mix of anxious anticipation and lustful yearning, shaken too aggressively and served with sunsteady hands. Luckily the Saturday rush kept you mostly focused on vodka sodas and Guinness pours, wiping down sticky surfaces and making change for impatient customers. 

You had assistance behind the bar, and that also meant assistance closing up, finally allowing yourself to start peeking through the window to see if Eddie held up on his promise. Of course he had. He’d been waiting in the lot, scoring a few sales from exiting patrons who knew him previous deals, since long before the bar closed. 

You wipe your sweaty palms onto your apron and ball it up into your bag before bounding across the parking lot towards Eddie, who always seems to have this effortless charisma buzzing around him, a cigarette dangled from his pretty lower lip and posture just slouched enough to still be sexy. Maybe you were biased at this point. 

He pulls you in by your waist, angling his chin up to blow the smoke up into the sky rather in your direction. 

“How was work?” Your cheeks were already starting to grow hot at the feeling of his pinky finger landing on the strip of skin between your shirt and jeans, “Miss me?”

“Bartending’s a lot easier when I don’t have your nosy ass pestering me for free drinks,” you cock your head at him, silently asking for a drag of his cigarette, which he immediately understands and complies, “wasn’t too bad though, happy it’s over,” you exhale. 

“If you’e hungry there’s some fries and a milkshake by the passenger’s seat,” he let you slip from his grasp to spin around towards the van door.

“For me?” you peek through the window, realizing he didn’t just mean extras from his dinner earlier, he had gone out of his way to pick you up a post-work snack.

“Unless you aren’t hungry,” he moves to hop in the drivers side, “In which case you can practice tossing fries into my open mouth while I drive.”

You let a few fries fly across the car seat in his general direction, feeding him the occasional one directly, but inhaling most of them shortly after you peeled out of the parking lot. 

“D’you want me to bring you home, or…” you knew where he was headed with this, a nervous edge to his voice. 

“We can hang out back at your trailer if that’s okay,” you say mid-fry, “as long as I can take a quick shower I don’t mind chilling there.”

He grins like a giddy schoolgirl and grips the steering wheel just a touch tighter, and drives just a bit faster back to the trailer park. As anxious as you felt during your shift, you can’t be bothered to overthink with Eddie leaning towards you with his tongue lolling out of his mouth, making googly eyes at the shake you were downing as his way of asking you for a sip. 

He put the van into park before the wheels had even come to a complete stop, hustling around the front to make sure he was the one to open your door. He had spent some of the time you were away straightening up his trailer for the first time in a good long while. Empty beer cans were cleared and he even changed the bed sheets. It still wasn’t the Ritz or anything, but at least he can say he tried.

He tried to busy himself with locking the door behind you after entering, not wanting to see if your eyes drifted over to the mess of records and smoking pariphenelia that cluttered the coffee table, or the chance that the mixture of heavy metal and nerdy posters strewn about would draw a judgmental reaction. 

When he let his gaze drift back to you, you weren’t looking at any of that. You were looking right back at him, already leaning up on your toes and asking, “Can I kiss you again?” 

A mumbled “of course” had you wrapping your arms around his neck and melting into his touch, finding his lips already on yours before you could go in for the kill. 

The kiss started off French-fry-and-strawberry-shake flavored, smiling into his lips as the anticipation of seeing him again after only a few short hours slips away. 

“Thank’s for spending so much time with me today,” you whisper in between sticky sweet kisses, “and for the fries and-“

He took your cheeks in his hands and smushed your lips into his mid-sentence, pulling back to see the puckered fish face he held between his hands. 

“You’re welcome,” his big button eyes bore straight through you, as if he saw all of you and more, “but you don’t have to thank me, I like being with you, and I ended up eating most of the fries anyways,” he trails off, cheeks rosy and lips slick from your claim on them.

“You wanted to shower?” He cuts himself off, and feels stupid for it. He knew he could keep kissing you and kissing you and kissing you, and the only thing holding him back was his anxious brain and big mouth. 

“Oh, yeah,” you were a little surprised that he remembered, and chose to bring it up now, “if you don’t mind. I always feel a little sticky after work, you know, with the Hideout’s C health rating and all.”

With a smile that nearly knocked the air out of you, he took a deep bow like some silly court jester and motioned down the trailer’s only hallway. You took your lead and followed his outstretched arm, figuring there were only so may doors that could possibly lead to a bathroom. 

“Oh, shit, wait,” you hear him scramble behind you, shuffling past into the door you assume to he his bedroom, emerging milliseconds later with a crumpled towel in his balled up hand, “you’re gonna want this.”

“Thank you,” you’re slow with your movements, wondering how he was acting so squirrelly, like a middle school boy around the girl he wanted to take to the dance, even though he had you fully spread out begging for him in the back of his van only hours earlier, “is the shower big enough for two?”

You meant it equally suggestive and genuine, knowing full well that not all showers are built for partner bathing. However, the fear stricken look that washed across his face for a millisecond before scrunching up and setting to neutral had you thinking you had just asked if there was a built in hot tub or something like that. His mouth hung open and for a moment that conversation you weren’t supposed to hear replayed in your mind, maybe you had to take this slower than he was willing to let on. 

“Just looking for someone to massage my scalp, that’s all,” you try to jokingly play it off, keeping your invitation open but concealing it with a joke to double back on just in case.

“Yeah, it’s- uhhh,” Eddie, who was always quick with a comeback was suddenly lost for words, “It’s the size of a normal shower, yeah.” It’s not like he could lie, all you had to do was turn around and size it up for yourself. 

You take the towel from his white knuckled grip and pivoted towards the door that was close to having burn holes from where his laser focused eyes were shot. You give him a wink over your shoulder, figuring that was enough of an invitation and vague enough of an excuse for him to leave depending on what he wanted. You hated this line you were towing, knowing more than you should- yet still feeling so in the dark. 

He was right, it was a normal sized shower. A bathtub with a sliding door and a detachable shower head with only one working setting. There was a rack with three-in-one and a bar of dove soap, which should have annoyed you but made you giggle instead. You let a quarter sized drop of the generic body wash slash shampoo slash conditioner lather into your hands when you heard the bathroom door creek open, purposefully left unlocked. 

“Hey, is it okay I’m in here?” He sounded so genuine in his concern, unknowing you were on the verge of begging him to get in the shower with you. 

“Yeah,” you borderline shout over the running water, “here to help massage my scalp?” You let your tone stay light and joking despite being deadly serious. 

“Wow I didn’t realize your hands were really that delicate and incapable,” he tried to match your energy, but an anxious edge remained present. 

“I mean,” you searched for your words, “I’ve seen you play Metallica, I know those fingers could surely get this pine scented crap deep into my roots.” You let the suggestive comment linger, nervous after a beat of silence passed. 

“If you really need my help,” you heard him shuffling around , “who am I to turn a damsel in distress away?”

You felt your cheeks get rosy and shoulders wiggle with excitement as you caught the shower door jerk open. Your face was towards the shower head, and you only turned a quarter of the way around before Eddie stepped in behind you and those guitar-string-calloused-hands gripped your shoulders and twisted you back towards your view of the water stream. 

“I’m gonna make you a deal,” his voice was coated with as much charisma as he could muster, his worries only poking through enough for you to notice, “I’ll give you the full treatment, but you can’t turn around.”

You were willing to play along with about any game he suggested. If he asked you to bend over backwards you’d extend your spine as far as it could go. 

You stood with your front as straight towards the shower head as you could, only feeling his presence behind you and his gentle hands lay on your shoulders to assure you wouldn’t turn around. 

“Just let me take care of you,” he edged closer, letting you feel his naked body enter your space, his face craning over your shoulder to gauge your reaction, “Just stay like this and let me feel you.”

It was less of a question and more of a plea, the only thing more pathetic sounding was the whimper that slipped out of you when you felt his body press against your back, warm and hesitant to press all the way into you, but close enough for you to feel his skin. 

“Okay,” you let your head lull back onto the space between his collar bone and shoulder, keeping your eyes closed, not that you could see anything from this angle anyways, “I’ll stay just like this, promise.”

“I just-“ you could hear his walls come up, suddenly trying to find the words to explain himself to you, “I’m not-“

“Eddie,” you whisper, eyes fluttering open to glance up at him as much as you could, “it’s okay. I’ll stay just like this, I’m just happy to be here with you.”

You gently found his hands resting at your hips and guided them up to your soapy scalp, “We both know the real reason I called you in here anyways,” you joked, and angled your head straight forward so he could run the pads of his fingers all through your 3-in-1 coated hair.

He let out a light chuckle at your joke, nearly feeling it catch in his throat as all the passed time of insecurity and locking his feelings away welled up and shattered with the intimacy of washing your hair. What did he do to deserve having you like this? For you to understand and want him to stay anyways? 

As much as his emotions clouded his vision and stunted his breathing, the rush of blood in between his legs broke his internal monologue. As overwhelmed as his mind was, his body couldn’t be convinced to focus on anything other than the sudsy girl pressed up against him, letting out little noises of satisfaction as he let his fingers absentmindedly massage away. 

“This’s nice,” you lean back into him a bit, “it’s like masturbating, you know? Always feels better when someone else does it for you.” You didn’t feel too guilty about the sexually charged comment, considering the fat rod that was pushing into your lower back. 

He let out a short chuckle, but his breathing was rapidly turning heavy as the air clouded with steam and your wet body rubbed against him, fully arching into his erection as if you wanted to get a better feel. 

“Can I wash the rest of you?” his request is polite, but his voice is lust filled and bordering on begging. 

You hum in agreement and lift your arms to let him slip his hands around you, one crossing your chest and the other reaching around to get more gel, “It technically is shampoo and body wash, and I was promised the full treatment here.” 

As much as you wanted to keep joking with him, finding silly things to comment on to break the tension, your resolve was quickly going down the drain as his big hands lathered you up. 

“You’re so beautiful,” his voice is just audible over the rushing of the shower water, “I’ve always thought so, but now I fucking know it.” 

His warm breath against your ear manages to cut through the heat of the steam, making you shiver despite it all. “Eddie,” you whine, his hands running up and down your torso, spending more time on your chest than the rest, but surely showering you in as much attention as his hands could reach.

Knowing that tone from earlier, already committing to knowing your body as intimately as you’ll allow him to, he immediately gives in and touches you exactly where you want him most. 

Most of the bubbles had dissipated, and he held you close to him, with one hand splayed across the center of your chest and the other dipping down to run two fingers through your now parting legs. 

He could feel the slick of your folds, standing out from the water cascading down your body, so warm and wet in a different way. 

“Fucking hell,” he groans out, letting his hips roll forwards slightly to find some friction against your backside, sliding his fingers from your hole up to your clit a few experimental times before letting his middle and ring fingers dip into you. 

When he had gone to town on you earlier in his van, which somehow felt like a million light years ago, you had taken a keen interest to the way his metal rings brushed up against your inner thighs and lower lips when he slipped his digits into you. As much as you had reveled in that new sensation, he had taken all his jewelry off along with the rest of his clothes and reservations before joining you in the shower. And now you could grind down onto his hand until he was completely buried to the hilt of his knuckles, no demon heads or upside down crosses in your way.

You wanted to wiggle and writhe around, feeling a bit week in the knees and desperate to buck your hips down against his pumping fingers. He pressed your chest tighter against him, lips pressed up against your ear, “I thought you promised to be good and stay still for me.”

He could feel your pussy clench at that, letting out a satisfied chuckle and  plunging his fingers right back into your cunt, letting the meat of his palm massage your clit in perfect time. 

“S’ this what you wanted,” his voice had the full bodied confidence of a man who didn’t just ask you to not turnaround to see him without a shirt on, “for me to be all sweet and wash your hair, then make you cum on my fingers like the dirty girl I know you are?” 

The smallest fraction of you wanted to be a brat and joke back at his silly use of shower innuendo, but your mind was almost entirely committed to the feeling of his hands on you and his dick rutting Into the meat of your ass.

“Eddie,” you could barely squeak his name out, “Eddie, can I touch you too, please? Please?” While his voice had been pleading before, you were literally begging to get your hands on him. 

“Like this,” you manage to open your eyes, head still resting against his shoulder and your hand snaking back to where his cock pressed into you, not fully grabbing it but motioning towards it with your hand. 

He snatches your wrist up with the hand not occupied with your tightening pussy, and for a second you fear that you had crossed a boundary. 

As much as you were willing to comply with not looking, you were bursting at the seams to touch him, make him feel good, show him how much you wanted to be right here with him and nowhere else. 

Before your mind could race any further, come to a screeching halt and apologize, he guides your hand up underneath your chin and demands “Spit.”

Your short circuiting brain dashes from his fingers, remaining crooked inside of you, his request, and the tone of voice he used to ask. You were fucked. Drool leaks from your lips before you even have the chance to process his words other than the immediate feeling of oh fuck yes. 

He brings your spit coated hand back to reach around, allowing you to wiggle it in between your wet bodies and find his eager cock already arching into your touch. 

He only faltered for a moment, the consistent dizzying pace of his fingers inside you stuttered the moment he felt your slick palm take an experimental stroke. The moan he let out was involuntary, along with a breathy “Oh, shit.”

Obviously you couldn’t size him up visually, but the weight of him in your palm was enough to have your mouth watering and thighs squeezing his wrist a bit tighter. Uncut? Maybe? With a pretty patch of curls to match his mop top? 

“Just like that, please,” you whine out into the steamy air, the two of you finding a joint rhythm between your hands and subtly rolling hips. 

“Your pussy feels so fucking good, so warm and tight for me,” every other word slurred into the curve of your neck. 

“You’re gonna make me cum,” you try and match his increasing speed with your hand, “Eddie, please don’t stop, I’m-“

“Shhhh,” he was getting lost in it too, “I’ve got you.”

Your legs turn to jelly, but he keeps you steadily upright with his support on your chest, focusing entirely on you despite the welling orgasm of his own rapidly approaching. 

It’s the crack in your voice that pushes him forward, the high pitched breathy moans crumbling and releasing the noises of pleasure from deep within your chest. His name  mixed in with ahhhs and uhhhs as if his name is the only word you know in this moment. 

“That’s right,” a sense of confidence welled in him as your limp body twitched against his and your cunt squeezed his relentless fingers, “cum all over my hand, doing so good for me.”

Despite your orgasm wracking your brain and body succumbing completely to whatever Eddie was willing to give you, the thought of collapsing into the shower floor never crossed your mind. He held you so close and steady against his chest, it crosses your mind that you may not be putting any weight onto your feet at all by this point. 

Rather than catch your breath as you come down from your quaking orgasm, you slip deeper into the throws of pleasure, biting your lip and craning your neck backwards so he can see the fucked out expression on your face. A few more steady, enthusiastic pumps mixed with a desperate kiss, wet and at an awkward angle, breathless and needy, perfect and dizzying, sends Eddie over the edge with you.

The deep rumble of his chest against your back as he groans into your open mouth, encourages you to keep your pace as he gently fucks himself into your hand. He’s spilling into your hand and halting his wiggling fingers buried inside you, letting the momentum that the two of you had built up come to a pulsing end. 

The two of you stay tangled in each other for a moment, hands sticky and brows dewy with sweat despite the running water, which had long lost its heat and now settled at a less than comfortable lukewarm. Neither one of you wanted to move. Eddie would have stayed there until his legs cramped and the shower turned ice cold. 

His eyes were screwed shut, head tilted back, still holding you close until you wiggled from his iron grip to bring your cum covered fingers up to your lips to suck two of them clean. 

“Jesus Christ,” he was thankful that he had opened eyes in enough time to witness that, “You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me, you know that?”

You let out a mischievous giggle with his cum coated fingers still in your mouth, glancing over your shoulder to catch the look on his face. Equal parts hungry to pick you up and fuck you against the shower wall right now, and melting down to nothing and slipping away down the drain, unable to even start comprehending what had just transpired between you two. 

You let your fingers go with a pop and turn back around, “Don’t act like you weren’t going to do the same,” you let the chilling water hit your face, focusing on anything other than turning around and lunging at him, wrapping your body around his and letting your skin melt into his. 

He gives into temptation and lets his pruny fingers meet his tongue. He knew what you tasted like from your escapade in his van eaierler, but he’d seize any change he got to take in as much of you as he could. 

“That was,” he started, unsure how to sum how he felt, good, great, perfect, none of those words felt correct, “fuck, yeah- that,”

“Me too,” you press your back into his again, “Thank you Eddie.”

Before he can stumble over his words any more, you ask if he’s okay for you to shut the water off, and you ask if he’d be willing to spare some sleep clothes for you to borrow. You curiously stay in the shower while he takes your excuse for him to leave unseen. 

After toweling off and slipping into the old t-shirt and boxers he left folded up on the counter for you, you found him already dressed and in bed, set criss cross and packing a bong. 

“Post-shower-orgasm smoke, cuddle, then sleep?”

“I’d love nothing more,” you get cozy among the pillows and let the swirling smoke and easy conversation lull you into a comforting half sleep. 

An easy energy settled between the two of you, a silent understanding that you weren’t going to ask him questions, and a building comfort that made him almost ready to show you. 

You slept tucked into his side, and didn’t even mind his snoring or tossing in the night. Every time he rolled over, your sleeping form just found a new way to mold into him. It was the best he had slept in months. 

A steady stream of sunlight blazing directly through the blinds and into your eyes pulled you from your slumber, gorging your groggy eyes to open and crunched up limbs to search for room to stretch. The involuntary fluttering of your eyes and long extension of your libs was far beyond your control. 

“Oh!” You whisper out to yourself once your brain manages to catch up with your waking body, realizing the somewhat compromising position the night had thrown you into, your leg hiked up and clinging to Eddie’s waist, with both your arms scrunching up his t-shirt and leaving a strip of stomach exposed. 

A negligible, unnoticeable few inches between where his sweatpants hung low on his hips and where your gripping arms had balled up his hole-ridden t-shirt stood before your gaze. 

You didn’t mean to stare, and the moment you caught yourself doing so, you quickly and quietly removed your tangled limbs from his and repositioned yourself so that he was half spooning you, eyes facing far away from his unintentionally exposed scar tissue. 

You knew it was probably going to be worse than you were expecting. You hadn’t dedicated much thought to what it could be, or what maybe had happened. You just knew it made him feel like he wasn’t worth your time, and you needed to make him feel seen and safe enough to know that that couldn’t be true. 

Everyone has insecurities, sure. There are surely parts of yourself you weren’t eager to share with the world, let alone someone you’re romantically interested in. You had moved past being astonished that someone who wore gaudy costume jewelry and sang boisterous music for a bar of twelve patrons with the energy of someone who had sold out Madison Square Garden would ever shrink into their shell the way you had seen Eddie. Now, laying in his bed and knowing that whatever it was, the scars were more than what was on his skin.

“Mfffmmm,” he groans and shifts behind you, wiggling beneath the sheets and snaking his arms to wrap around your waist and pull you close into him, “This is nice.”

His morning voice was scratchy and barely above a whisper. 

“I think you just like that my butt is all pressed up on you,” you joke, dodging admiring that you’d rather be here than anywhere in the world in this moment. 

“Yeah, I’m not complaining,” he digs his nose into the side of your neck, “But you smell nice too, ’s nice to wake up to.”

“That 3-in-1’s really doing it for ya?”

“No, you do smell like that a little, but more just like yourself. Girl smell.”

“I’ll get started on that perfume line right away. Girl Smell. Might be a million dollar business venture.”

“I just woke up,” the sleep in his voice melted away and his hands running up and down your sides were more deliberate, “Don’t make fun of me. Plus I’ve got a pretty girl in my bed making me all nervous.”

“Anyone with magic fingers like you has nothing to be worried about,” you keep the conversation playful but allow the unspoken truth, that he truly has nothing to worry about with you, be spoken.

“You just like ‘em cuz I washed your hair so well,” he plays with a strand, letting his finger pads dig into your scalp and scratch away, massaging a bit harder after you let out a satisfied groan.

“You must have lots of practice,” you reach an arm back blindly and half smack the side of his shoulder before finding his messy bedhead, staying resolutely facing the poster-covered wall. 

“You’ve got really pretty hair for a boy,” you let your finger wrap around a curl. 

“For a boy?! Excuse me, I have pretty hair period.”

“Yeah, suppose that’s true” you giggle at his joking defensiveness, “It’s incredible that it’s this nice considering you use the same thing to condition your hair as you do to wash your balls.”

“If you show me what kind of shower products you like I’ll replace the three in one,” he nuzzles his face into the hand playing with your hair, “but maybe the three in one is what’s keeping it so luscious.”

“I wanna wash your hair next time,” you say absentmindedly, meaning it wholeheartedly, with little anxiety after that you had implied a next time. 

“Yeah maybe next time,” his voice trailed off, still soft and flirty but edging on a tone that let you know this conversation was just about over. 

“Eddie,” it came out as hardly more than a whisper. You wait for him to respond but the gravity of the silence between you quickly became unbearable and you needed to break whatever tension this was. 

“I meant it yesterday when I said I wanted to go on more dates with you. You know that right?”

“Mhmm” he mumbles into your shoulder, still holding you against him.

“We have a lot of fun at the bar and stuff,” you search to find your words, “But I want you to know that I don’t just like you cuz you make me laugh and have magic guitar fingers. I like pretty much everything about you so far, and I want to know you more if you’ll let me.”

Your voice wavers, and your message is perhaps more vague than you would have liked, but the deep exhale he lets out conveys that he hears you loud and clear. 

“I know I’ve been…” he starts, “It’s just that I…”

“It’s okay Eddie,” you flip around, rolling so that your chests are pressed together and noses are almost touching, “I don’t want to push it. You can tell me when you’re ready, I just want you to know that I like you a whole lot and I don’t think there’s much that could change that right now.”

His eyelashes flutter shut, forehead touching yours, “Thank you.” 

“Unless you have a huge chest tattoo of something wildly offensive, or like a tramp stamp that says ‘I heart Ronald Regan.” He appreciates your natural ability to make him laugh even in situations like this. 

“Nah,” he pulls back and gives you a serious look, “Fuck Ronald Regan.” 

The two of you burst into a fit of giggles, rolling deeper into the sheets and settling into a comfortable cuddle again, with your head on his chest, face angled up to his and legs all tangled up.

Coming down from the beginnings of the conversation that had been lingering above both of your heads, you place a few reassuring kisses up his jaw and find your way up to his parted lips. 

“Mmmm,” he hums into the deepening kiss to signal you to stop, “I probably have mega morning breath,” he huffs into a cupped hand which makes you laugh and flop your head back into his chest.

“It’s okay, if you do then I do too and didn’t notice,” you peek back up at him, “But if you want to brush teeth and get your day started I won’t stop you.”

“No, no,” he grabs your cheeks and pulls you back up for a smushed kiss, “I wanna stay here all day with you, if you’ll let me. Our second date, we can order a pizza and watch movies here, won’t even have to put pants on.”

“That sounds really nice, I don’t have work today so I’m all yours.”

“All mine,” his grin reaches the apples of his cheeks, “I will go brush my teeth though, cuz I think this second date involves a lot of kissing.”

“Got a spare I could use?” you shuffle out of bed before situating yourself  on the edge of the bed, “Or do you brush with three in one too?”

“Oh my god,” he chuckles, “you with the three in one. After today I promise there will be three separate shower products stocked and ready for your use.”

He manages to find a spare toothbrush in the closet and keeps you wrapped in his arms while both of you take turns spitting into the sink. Looking at the two of you, eyes still crusty from sleep, in the scratched up bathroom mirror, a weird sense of domesticity washes over the two of you. 

Eddie realizes that less than 48 hours ago he was too nervous to make a move to kiss you, and now he was already thinking about making room for your toiletries in his bathroom. 

As comforting and easy it was to do normal everyday things with you at his side, he couldn’t help but notice your nipples poking through his oversized t-shirt you slept in and the way your toothpaste full mouth was framed by your perfect, spit slicked lips. 

“You got a spit kink or something?” You half joke, pressing your ass into the growing rod you could feel nudging against your side.

“Sue me,” he spits and wipes the corners of his mouth, pulling you by the waist into a minty kiss. “Bed? All day?”

“Mhmm,” you agree and lean in to kiss him again, standing on your toes and letting out a shriek of surprise when he scoops you up bridal style and travels the short distance to his bedroom. 

“Eddie!” You yelp out as he gently tosses you back into the pile of sheets. 

“I know I’m no Hulk Hogan, but moving guitar amps is pretty good strength and conditioning.”

“Shut up, you never help your friends carry the equipment.” You think of all the times you watched his poor bandmates lug their equipment after a show while he seamlessly flirted with you. 

“Not when you’re around, you’ve got me there.”

As promised the two of you laze around all morning, bowls of cereal in bed and a bowl of weed to accompany it, switching between fits of giggles and tangled in the sheets while a B horror movie plays on the little TV set propped up near the end of Eddie’s bed. 

He tells you about how he used to live with his Uncle in a trailer down the street until he saved up enough to start renting his own, the three attempts to finish high school and the relief when the local mechanic shop hired him despite his reputation around town as a satan worshiper. He talks a bit about his friends, some who’ve stayed in town and others who’ve long moved away. 

You listen attently, taking in every spared detail. In return he asks you about where you’re from, why the hell you had moved to a bumfuck town in Indiana to be a bartender. He assures you that you wouldn’t have liked him if you had known each other in high school and you laugh and tell him you were far from popular yourself. 

After inhaling a large pizza and running out of VHS tapes you demand a “post pizza bloated cuddle” to which he happily obliges.

“Wish we could do this every day,” he pulls you into him.

“Then we’d need a much bigger movie selection, and maybe body doubles to go do our jobs,” you don’t disagree, although lazy and uneventful the day felt perfect. 

“Don’t wanna go to work tomorrow,” he whines, holding you a little tighter.

“Me either, but we can’t be in this lazy cuddle bubble forever,” his hands came up to massage and scratch your scalp, which he now knew you loved, “but next time we’re both free maybe we can have that third date.”

“If I remember correctly, date three is when I finally get to kiss you,” he jokingly smooches behind your ear and down your neck. 

“Only if you behave,” you reply sarcastically, “you’ve been such a gentleman lately, but you’ve been pushing it mister.” 

“I’ve never been accused of being a gentleman before,” his voice trails off as he buries his nose into your neck, “Will you let me be a gentleman now, make you feel good?” His tone was suddenly dripping with lust, sending a rush of arousal through your already so-relaxed body. 

“Mhmm,” you agree and let your body mold back into his a bit more, pressing yourself against him and letting his hands start to wander.

You arch your neck around from your spooning position and search for his lips, your kiss starting out gentle but not staying that way for very long. 

“You’re just somethin’ else,” he breathes out in between heated kisses, his eyes big and round, earnest, making your heart swell.

“Can I make you feel good too?” you roll your hips into his erection, your breath catching in your throat when you feel it pulsing under his boxers and pressing into the space between your legs. 

You flip around to straddle him, not hiding your intention to grind yourself down onto his covered cock, moans from both of you interrupting the hungry exchange of tongues and lips.

A shaky breath grabs your attention and he finds the air to exhale out, “Can I fuck you?”

You bring your hands to his cheeks to pull him into a deep kiss, continuing to rock your hips against him, giving him words as well you mumble a “Fuck yes, please, please Eddie.”

He finds the hem of your shirt and slips it over your shoulders, the momentary break in kissing makes you whine. He immediately makes it up to you by paying delightful attention to your exposed chest, leaving sloppy wet kisses on every inch of skin he had access to, “fuck”s and “so perfect” breaking them up. 

You instinctively reach down in between the two of you to take his hard cock into your hand, still pressing your core against it, but taking the rest into your hand to stroke him over his boxers, the choked out moan that escapes him is the prettiest sound you’ve ever heard.

You’re losing yourself in the feeling of his weight in your palm, sitting up to see his gorgeous fucked out expression, pinched eyebrows and flushed cheeks.

He swore he’d died and gone to heaven, despite all his sins, with you above him, lip tucked in between your grinning teeth as you rubbed up on him. Fuck, there was no going back after this.

You lean down to resume making out for a moment, missing the feeling of his nose pressed into the side of yours and his too-perfect eyelashes brushing the tops of your cheeks. 

“We can, um-“ you catch your breath, hips stuttering as you find your words, “I can turn around. Or we can make a blindfold or something.” 

His heart swelled at the thought that amidst fucking yourself against his lap you still had the courtesy to think of his comfort, his obvious insecurity, the elephant in the room that he was so desperately trying to shoo away. 

“I want you,” his voice strangely steady, “and I’ll let you have me, no stipulations.” 

You nod with a “Please.”

“Only because, I plan on fucking you every chance I get,” his tone makes you clench your thighs, “So we might as well rip this bandaid off now, because if you’re going to be my girlfriend I don’t want you worrying that I’m hiding something from you.”

He flips you over so you’re now laying beneath him, eyes still glassy with lust and mind swirling with the words he’s just let out.

“I’m gonna take off my shirt now, and I don’t want you to pretend like everything is fine, or that you don’t notice anything, because that’ll be a thousand times worse, okay? I know it’s bad. It doesn’t hurt or anything, but I know it’s not easy to look at.”

With that he pull this black t-shirt off by the back neck collar, and bares his soul to you. You can tell he’s examining your face for a reaction, very carefully managing your facial expressions for his benefit. 

He was right, it wasn’t easy to look at. Only because it made you wonder what horrible thing had happened to leave half of his torso, hip, thigh, and what you could only assume traveled onto his back as well, left entirely torn away and scarred. 

“And-“ he cut off your wandering eyes with his words, “Don’t ask what happened. I’ll tell you eventually I just- We can’t have that discussion if we’re about to have sex.” 

You nodded with understanding, you knew better than to ask. 

You think that your snooping and seed of knowledge helped hide some of your shock, his comment about missing a nipple dampening your realization that he was telling the truth, the scar tissue running so deep that his entire pec was covered in a jagged pink , slightly mishapen scar tissue, and leaving his opposite nipple to stand alone on his chest. 

The one thing that did leave you in a bit of shock was half of a tattoo on his hip that abruptly ended where the scar tissue started. Some sort of zombie head, the black ink lines all coming to a halt when’re his skin had been injured.

You let a tentative hand come up, fearing he’ll flinch away, but he doesn’t. You touch his chest, feeling the textural difference as you let your palm run across his chest and down to his hip. 

“You know, I still think you’re super hot, right?” You try to assure him, but he only lets out a dry chuckle. 

“I mean it,” you sit up a bit, pulling your hand from its exploration of his skin and bringing it to your own chest, using three fingers to cover your left nipple, “you’d still like me, right?” 

The softness in his face almost made you jump up to wrap him into a hug, you wanted him to know that everything was okay and he was safe with you, whatever happened was in the past and he didn’t have to worry. Although the moment was emotionally charged, neither of you could ignore the fact that you were both ravenously horny for each other. 

“I’m sorry you felt like you had to hide this from me,” you pull his face down to yours, “but I’m glad you showed me, because I’m so fucking ready for you to ruin me.”

He lurches forward and lets his body weight collapse down onto you, your legs widening to wrap around his hips, arm and legs locking him against you. 

Feeling his bare chest pressed against yours, lips on your neck and hips rutting into your spread legs, has your head spinning. 

“Please Eddie,” you whine, “let me feel you.”

Without missing a beat he shoves the waistband of his boxers down just enough to reach his thighs, hard dick springing free in the little space in between you, and he snatches your wrist and shoves it in between your bodies without unlatching his lips from your collar bone. 

“Oh fuck,” you couldn’t see what you were grasping, just like in the shower, but you didn’t dare push him off of you to catch a glimpse. He was all over you, hands tangled in your hair, groans and whimpers hardly making their way out in between the wet sloppy kisses he spread across your neck and chest. 

He slips a hand down your body, gracing your ribcage with his fingertips, a stark contrast to how they suddenly part your lips and rub the pool of slick from your hole up to your clit. 

“So wet, this for me?” He quirks and eyebrow and sinks a digit into you, causing your mouth to open and hips to wiggle up to ask for more.

“Yes ’s for you,” you breathe out, wanting to give him some pushback, wipe the smug look off his face, but not finding an ounce of courage to do so. You just let your head lull back and eyelids flutter shut as he curls his fingers perfectly inside you. “All for you.”

You use your free hand to push your underwear as far down your hips as this position will allow, not wanting to shift your focus from the feeling of him on your lips, his pulsing cock in your hand. 

“Need you,” you gasp out, partially at the feeling of his knuckle deep fingers buried inside of you, and equally the fucked out look on his face looming over yours, eyes blown wide and mouth parted on the verge of begging for more, “Eddie, need you to fuck me, please.”

He sits up and removes his fingers from you, earning a wince and a whine. He helps crunch your legs up to remove your panties, leaving your legs raised and crossed over one of his shoulders. He takes a moment to kiss your ankle and tenderly run his hands down the length of your leg. He took the moment to take off his own boxers, leaving you both bare in front of each other for the first time. 

“You’ve got a pretty cock,” you complement him earnestly, it was pretty. He gave you a halfhearted scoff and an eyeball in return. “No Eds, I mean it. It’s big too, good thing you got me ready with your fingers. That and I’ve been soaking wet for you for like 48 hours now, so it shouldn’t be a problem,” you giggle. His shy smile tells you he’s willing to take the compliment. 

You let your legs fall from their perch on his shoulder and fall to either side of his hips, opening yourself up to him. He’s staring, mouth half agape. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, but to have you laid out like this before him, fully ready to give yourself over to him and wanting him wholly in return, how couldn’t he stare. 

You let your hand stroke up his cock, bringing his attention back to where the two of you nearly met. You angle him closer to you, you’re slowly pumping fist brushing against your own center. He snaps out of his trance and nudges your hand away, using his own grip to tap his thick cock against your opening. 

Tap, tap tap. His head meets your slick folds, hips jerking slightly with every tap.

“Don’t tease me Eds,” you push your hips forward and are only met with him rubbing his dick into the outside of your pussy, “want you inside, need it so bad.”

He want’s to be a bother and continue his teasing, watching your writhe and squirm, but he can’t find it in him to deny you, so he presses the tip in and gauges your face for a reaction, only finding babbling bliss and pleas for more. 

He’s sinking into you at an agonizing pace, craning down from his kneeling position above you to frame your head with bent arms and his lips on yours as you moan into each other’s mouths, him filling you more and more. 

Your hands are in his hair, keeping your foreheads anchored together, breathing in tandem. He finally sinks all the way down and you can feel it in your lungs. You wrap your ankles around his back and squeeze him into you tighter, not wanting him to move just yet, wanting to just feel how deep he filled you up for the first time. 

He lets out a shaky exhale and squeezes his eyes shut, “You were fuckin’ made for me,” he punctuates this with a subtle roll forward of his hips, lips falling into yours as if they had nowhere else to go. 

You let your legs fall back, unclasping his hips, and move your hands from his wild hair down to his thighs, pushing him to start fucking you. 

“Feel’s so fucking good,” you whisper into his mouth, your hands hardly assisting him anymore as he pumps in and out of your slick cunt, almost knocking the air out of you each time. 

He grabs your chin with the hand that’s not propping himself up, “look at me,” his pace doesn’t falter and your mind nearly turns to mush, “you’re mine now, yeah?”

“Yes Eddie,” it comes out as a broken sob, your eyes barely able to focus on him with how close he was, “all yours, only yours.” Your mind had barely made the decision to say the words before they had escaped your lips, a dumbfounded truth serum setting over you in your cock drunk state. 

You knew it to be true though, there was no going back after this, and you were willing to give yourself over fully, and accept anything he would give you. 

“Ahh, fuck” you let out after a particularly harsh thrust, fists now dripping the sheets beneath you. 

“So fucking good for me,” his hands now found purchase on your hips, setting a rhythm between you that only a musician could. 

Through glassy eyes you admire him. Curly bangs stuck to his forehead, frantically thrusting torso making his tattoos look like stop motion cartoons, and through it all the scars are hardly noticeable. If anything, they’re just another part of him, the person between your legs that you found incredibly sexy, insecurities and all. 

His perfect hands slid from your hips to your shoulders, now using the weight of your torso as leverage to fuck into you harder. His eyes bore into yours, searching for eye contact and finding your reassuring gaze that told him this was everything you wanted and more. 

“Yes, yes, oh fuck,” you babble out. His little grunts and whimpers send volts of electricity to your core and fog your mind with lust and desire.

He moves a hand down to meet your center, palm splaying across your abdomen and keeping you pinned to the bed, thumb methodically catching your clit with each thrust. He didn’t have to ask if it felt good, the rolling back of your eyes and mouth so wide he could see your molars were enough of an indication that he was headed in the right direction.

“Mhmmmm,” you could hardly form words, but smiled up through your fucked out gaze at him, wide beam and lust fulled eyes telling him that he couldn’t possibly be making you feel any better than you do right now. 

He leans back a bit, balancing himself on his thighs keeping his pace, thumb on your clit and eyes locked into yours. Through a groan he brings his unoccupied hand up to his face, biting down on the knuckle of his pointer finger, trying not to blow his load at the feeling of you squeezing around him. 

Of course, this only made him look hotter to you, and thus you flexed around his cock even tighter. 

Unexpectedly, he pulls out of you completely and before you can muster up the breath to complain, he’s dipped his lapping tongue against you. He fully buries himself into your cunt, cutting off the rhythm, of his cock with the somehow perfectly timed pulsing of his hungry tongue. 

You can’t help but cry out, arch your hips, and send a hand flying to his hair to ground yourself. Through frantic panting and wet slurping sounds you think you can make out a “just had to taste you.”

Completely breathless, you can hardly conjure a response before he’s plunging into you again, fucking into you deeply and capturing your parted lips into a passionate kiss.

Something takes over you, and you’re suddenly wrapping your legs around his hips and using some found momentum to flip the two of your over. Suddenly, you’re on top of him, his curls splayed around his pretty face and body laid flat beneath you. 

Before you had a moment to question yourself, you anchor your hands onto his shoulders and try your best to pick up the pace he had set earlier. Hips rolling and wet slapping sounds coming from between you. 

“Jesus- fuck,” he stuttered in his movements, unsure if he wanted his hands on your face or your tits or your hips or… they landed on your ass and he wouldn’t argue with his first instincts. 

“Eddie, I’ve wanted you like this for so long,” your words were breathy and mixed with lustful gasps, “always wanted to have you like this.”

“We could have done this a long time ago, huh?” He tries not to think about all the time wasted, and instead fantasies about all the making up for lost time you’ll do in the near future. 

“You were always giving me those eyes while you played with your band,” you looked angelic to him, face hovering above him, framed only be the poor overhead lighting and flickering VHS menu of the last film you’d finished, “I always wanted you, just wasn’t sure you wanted me like this too.”

Your statement was simple enough, but he knew what you meant. You wanted him more than a fuck, and that’s what he had been worried about all along. Now, to have you sunk down on his cock like this, telling him that you had been scared in the same way as he had, only made him roll his hops up into you and pull your cheeks down for a sloppy kiss to seal the deal. You were finally on the same page. 

Switching from a bounce of your hips, you lean back slowly and shift to more of a roll, keeping his cock buried deep inside of you while you gyrate your hips. Your arm extends back in between his spread legs to keep you stable, your torso finding its own rhythm in the midst of pleasure and fucking yourself onto his cock. 

“So fucking perfect,” he gasps out, hardly able to take in the sight of your body writhing and rolling above him. He manages to find bait of sense in his brain and brings his hand back to your lower stomach, thumb flicking over your clit with every thrust of your hips. 

“Oh,eddieohmygosh,” it came out as one breathy syllable, “pleasedon’tstopthat.”

He gently fucks himself up into you, matching your movements and not throwing you off of the sinful rhythm you’ve set, just managing too punctuate each bounce with the raise of his hips into yours and the increased pressure of his thumb on your clit. 

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he loves the way each breathy word out of your lips is matched with the beautiful bounce of your tits, “Eddie, you’re gonna-“

He doesn’t change a thing, the pressure on your clit, the arch of his hips, he would sooner die than rob you of pleasure or ruin this moment. Every moment he get’s to look at you, he thinks it’s the most beautiful you’ve ever looked, but he knows for sure that this one takes the cake. 

“Ahhh, I’m-“ you don’t  have to finish your statement for him to know you’re cumming on his cock, the pulsing squeeze of your walls and intense concentration from him not to bust on the spot, and rather to focus on the parting of your lips and the twitching of your hips on his. 

“That’s it,” he keeps his thumb on your clit, but lets up on the pressure as soon as he feels you jerk against him, “that’s my girl.”

You lurch down and wrangle him into a kiss, only wanting to feel his lips on yours as you come down from your orgasm. You’re still slowly rolling your hips against his, but focused more on the feeling of his cheeks under your palms and his lips on yours. 

“You okay?” He asks in between tongue tied kisses. 

“Yes, perfect, thank you,” you arch your back into him a bit, “ready for more.” 

Although you were fully prepared to bounce on his cock until he came, you were pleasantly surprised when his large hands surrounded your waist and hoisted you up off the bed. He wanted to try and keep his cock inside you, but accepted defeat as he managed to situate on the edge of the bed.

He shifted around you and situated himself in between your legs. You laid out, everything below the knees hanging off the edge of his hand-me-down mattress. He stood above you and lowered himself to land a few wet kisses on your breasts, his hard cock pressing into your needy center. 

He jerked you up by the underside of your knees, pressing your thighs into your chest and sinking down into your open pussy, causing a deep groan to emit from both of you.

Here he was, scars and all, standing above you and thrusting into you as if it was the last thing he would ever do, and he looked like an angel to you. 

More thoughtful than you may have initially given him credit for, his thumb finds your clit again and he politely, yet breathlessly asks, “Can you come again for me, pretty girl?”

How could you say no to that. You dumbly nod and throw your head back against the sheets, your hands balled up at your sides as he thrusted into you, grunting and moaning your name. 

“So fucking good Eddie,” you manage to squeak out, “You make me feel so fucking good.”

“Ah fuck, yeah, yes,” his voice nearly jumped an octive, signaling his release. “Where should I-“ he began to ask.

“Inside,” it came out as two syllables in-between breaths, “It’s okay you can come-“

“Fuuuuuck,” a strangled moan and a collapse of his arms, along with the delicious pulse of his cock inside you signaled his release. 

Before you could eve catch your breath, regain consciousness of the situation, he was reeling back and replacing his softening cock with two fingers. He latched his lips to your clit and began to suck in time with his finger’s replication of his cock’s earlier movements. 

“Oh my god,” you were truly taken aback, his face buried in your cunt and setting you back on track to your building orgasm. 

It didn’t take more than a minute and a half of him slurping your mixed releases from your cunt and bullying your g-spot with those damn magic fingers to send you hurdling towards orgasm number two, shaking and crying out his name. 

It wasn’t until your legs were truly shaking and your hand was searching for his forehead to push him away from overstimulation that he finally let up and let up of your pussy with a wet pop and a smug look.

“You come?” He asks again, just as he had in the back of his van. 

You don’t have the energy to respond, only roll your eyes and flip him the bird as you flop back down onto his bedsheets. 

He managed to get you a warm rag and a cold glass of water, stroking your har and asking if you felt alright.

“Feel perfect Eddie,” you say after a long gulp, “you took such good care of me, you always do.”

He stroked your hair and positioned the two of you back comfortably beneath his sheets. “Thank you,” he starts, but you cut him off with a kiss. 

“No, thank you,” you kiss him again, “for trusting me.” The look in your eyes could nearly make him melt. “You’re really something special Eddie, I mean it.”

“Special enough for a fourth date?”

You smack his chest and bury your head into his neck. “I don’t think we have to count dates if I’m your girlfriend now…”

Those dimples you adore perk up on his cheeks, and he bear hugs you, scarred chest and all. 

“What time should I set the alarm for tomorrow?” He asks with a sorrow in his voice. 

“How about never,” you roll over to trample him with another kiss, smothering his body in yours, knowing you’d be luck enough to have many moments like this soon to come. 

A/N: I'm sorry I have long lost the tracking of a taglist (crying emoji) don't want to bother anyone who asked to be added the last time I wrote a pic ten thousand years ago, so I hope this reaches everyone it needs to <3

[devondespresso]

FINALLY

after NINE. HOURS. (NOT including meals and sleep) ITS FUCKING DONE.

A complete floorplan of the entire Harrington house. Including too much thought about random, throw-away lines from characters and squint-to-see-it background glimpses inside.

plently of stuff in the actual house is altered or straight up ignored in favor of following the fiction logic and because I Wanted To. A lot of this is motivated by my headcanons for the Harringtons and how I'm writing them in my fic, but I'm also certainly not an architect so it's by no means perfect. It is, however, unreasonably canon compliant in the few bits we do see.

Thought Process (for context):

the darker shaded floor areas are lower than the rest, some bits like the garages having stairs and some areas like the sun and dining rooms list being like a step lower. Windows are marked with dashes along the outside, sliding doors are two thin lines slightly overlapping, stairs change color as they diverge from the level we're looking at, and furniture is eyeballed so don't look to closely a the scale.

not all closets are labeled, just the ones i figured could be confusing. Steve and the guest rooms have closets i promise.

the laundry room and pantry are not the same size but by the time i noticed i was exhausted. so pretend they're both more reasonably sized.

i don't know what the floorplan symbol for garage door is and then i forgot to look so the headlights point to where the doors are and you can see them clearly in photos so yeah.

The general layout is based on the idea that the Harringtons are or were into hosting dinner parties and business meetings in their home, especially as a young rich couple looking for respect in their circles (Mr. Harrington taking on his father's business and reinforcing that power, Mrs. Harrington climbing her own social ladder and building an image).

So the house is laid out with hosting areas towards the right with the office big and near the dining room because it's more than just a workplace, it represents him as a businessman. In canon the entryway and living room both have very high ceilings and no second-floor above them, so I'd imagine they're also aware of how the top floor looks from below, hence the fancy double/french doors to the master bedroom which is in plain view from below. Steve's room and the guest room are's nearly as visible.

As for the kitchen and sun/pool rooms, I see them more as secondary hosting areas that aren't used as the main location most of the time and are more this background setting to these events that still feel rich. The kitchen is massive and mostly for dinner-parties and Mrs. Harrington's social events.

The kitchen and main bathroom's placement is based on a line Steve said to Barb giving her directions to the bathroom: "down past the kitchen, to the left". With the massive living room on the left and wanting to keep the dining and office close by, i interpreted the "to the left" part being like "find the kitchen, then turn left". And with the rest of the area being open-concept, the bathroom would be the only normal door over there and easy to find. it's a bit of a stretch with just that line, but it makes sense to me with the rest of the context for the layout.

the basement is similar to this, though not as openly displayed so I imagine its for slightly closer friends. Theres a garage door down there so I figured Mr. Harrington might have a cool car he shows off, like he's letting people in on a personal detail about himself. There's also a guest room down there (the only one still considered 100% for guests, more on that later) for those people.

beside the basement garage, there was originally one main garage that holds two cars, obvious Mr. and Mrs. Harrington's cars. I imagine they bought the house before having kids, so a third one wasn't on the mind but after having Steve they added the front one (either turning the carport into a closed garage or they never had a carport and added a whole new addition, up to you)

Both garages lead to the same part of the house, and that area is the only one besides the water heater room that is purely function over effect. It still looks good like the rest of the house but it's not made to be fancy because guests would rarely need to be over there if at all and it's not noteworthy from other parts of the house.

In my headcanon, Steve's room used to be a guest room, staying his room from nursery to present with Mrs. Harrington renovating every now and then. Its one of those places in the house that doesn't have to look perfect for all to see, so she gets creative and has fun with it.

The upstairs guest room is also unofficially Mrs. Harrington's room, based on a line where Tommy mentions a fireplace in "his mom's room" instead of "guest room" or "parent's room" or "master bedroom". I belatedly realized this could be a solidarity thing with Steve hating his dad and calling the master bedroom his mom's room, but that was after 9 hours of this and im not changing it but there you go. In this version, I imagine she leaves the master some nights because her marriage with Mr. Harrington is failing (cheating and all, I wouldn't want to be in the same bed with someone who cheated either)

the master bathroom was an executive decision, just looking at the house in canon and not having enough space in my first attempts, i decided the triangle roof part above the dining and office could fit a master bathroom.

Feel free to use or reference this in your own fics! Feel free to block out my furniture or walls and make your own version. If you share my image please credit with an @ mention!! (again, 9 hours) (thank you fhalsfhd)

[another-lost-mc]

When you arrive in the Devildom as part of the student exchange program, you discover their famous AI program isn't what it seems.

feathered friends | karasu x reader

3.8k words | sfw | gn!reader | canon divergence

cw: implied social isolation/loneliness; protective thoughts/behaviours; jealousy; minor blood/violence.

feathered friends (series): part one | part two | part three (nsfw)

When Karasu designed the AI program for the D.D.D., he didn’t expect the higher-ups at the Three-Legged Crow Conglomerate would name it after him. By the time he realized it wasn’t a joke, it was already too late – the KARASU AI was born, and it was his responsibility to maintain it.

He doesn’t attend RAD anymore, but Karasu regularly communicates with Diavolo and Barbatos to ensure that the D.D.D. apps and KARASU AI are designed in correspondence with the Devildom’s long-term goals.

One of Karasu’s responsibilities is to oversee the research and technological development necessary to make communication between the realms more streamlined. In a perfect world, D.D.D. users should be able to use their device and apps outside the Devildom. This was a critical piece of Diavolo’s plan for future students coming from the Celestial Realm and human world to attend RAD.

When the exchange program commences and the students are given D.D.D.s of their own, Karasu oversees their files personally. He tracks their data usage and AI requests to understand how humans and angels interact with Devildom technology. He studies which apps they use the most, and which apps or features they don’t have but might find useful.

Diavolo is most concerned with the types of questions and requests they make of the KARASU AI program. He’s equally concerned about their satisfaction with the Devildom as well as their safety. A newcomer to the Devildom may not have the courage to come forward to a demon about a concern they have, but they might ask the AI instead.

It’s Karasu’s responsibility to sift through the questions and requests the students make while using the AI program. He compiles the data for analysis later, and he forwards any concerning messages to Barbatos or Lucifer directly for follow-up.

Karasu learns quickly that certain students are less capable with technology than others.

From: Karasu@TLC.dev To: Lucifer@RAD.dev CC: Barbatos@RAD.dev

Subject: Exchange Student (Simeon – Purgatory Hall)

Based on the data collected so far, it seems that this student is having difficulty using his D.D.D. properly. Immediate action is recommended to prevent further data corruption.

Thank you.

(Despite his warning, Karasu had to replace Simeon’s D.D.D. after the angel managed to brick the device.)

Out of all the exchange students, you’re the one that interacts with the KARASU AI bot the most. Most of your questions are about human world apps and whether you can access or use them in the Devildom. Even though you can’t – and the AI relays that response to you – Karasu notes what apps you’re trying to access, and whether it’s worth developing Devildom alternatives.

(Karasu chuckles when he reads the logs and sees that you’ve asked for a Devildom version of a VPN to access human world websites - how cute! But no, that’s not possible yet.)

From: Lucifer@RAD.dev To: Karasu@TLC.dev CC: Barbatos@RAD.dev Subject: Request for equipment

Please be advised that I have received a request for a computer from the human exchange student residing in the House of Lamentation. They have been provided with one of RAD’s laptop computers (#302) to use for the duration of their stay.

Karasu is monitoring data at his desk when you start asking the AI bot about setting up your new (borrowed) laptop. He can see the two issues right away: the laptop is an older model that doesn't run very well, and you’re unfamiliar with the Devildom operating system installed on that machine.

Karasu disables the bot and takes over manually so he can type instructions and answer your questions instead. He tells himself that it’ll be less frustrating for you this way. He can imitate the bot’s speech patterns easily since they are based on his own. If anyone questions his decision, he can tell them the simple truth: this is more efficient.

With his help, you get the game you want to play installed and running – barely. But you seem genuinely happy, and you thank him with such gratitude he feels a little flustered. He assumes it’s part of your human nature to talk to a piece of technology like it’s a living being.

(He’s glad that he normally works alone – he doesn’t have to explain the bashful smile on his face to anyone.)

After that, Karasu overrides the AI bot more often so he can interact with you personally. He still tells himself it’s more efficient this way - you have such a curious nature, and he enjoys helping you. He feels like it’s his personal responsibility to make sure you’re able to use his software properly - at least, that’s the plausible explanation he tells himself to justify his unusual interest in you.

It also has nothing to do with your requests about job opportunities, or ways to acquire money to pay for things you seem to be missing.

(He starts monitoring your Akuzon search history to make sure Lucifer is aware of any necessities you might be lacking.)

It definitely has nothing to do with his concern for you, even though you’ve admitted (more than once) that you feel isolated in the Devildom without any contact with your friends or family. Part of him wonders if you interact with the AI bot so often because you’re lonely. Do you feel comfortable talking to him – it – more than the demons you live with?

He thinks about you often and decides there’s no harm letting whatever this is continue. If he feels eager anticipation for the next time you want his help – well, that’s what he’s here for, isn’t it?

Sometimes when you ask the AI bot silly questions, Karasu will give you silly answers. (You have such a nice laugh.)

“Karasu, why does Mammon gamble so much when he’s so bad at it? I think he’s being strung up again…”

KARASU AI: Well, you know what they say – go big, or go home. Unfortunately for Mammon, he goes home to Lucifer.

Karasu doesn’t realize how comfortable he’s gotten speaking to you like this, and he doesn’t realize you’re becoming suspicious of the AI bot. Sometimes the responses you receive are too intuitive, like it can read between the lines of the questions you’re asking. Sometimes it makes witty or sarcastic remarks that feel too real.

You know technology has come a long way, but you doubt even the Devildom’s AI is capable of reproducing sentient conversation the way the KARASU AI does. When you borrow the angels’ phones to compare your bot responses to the ones Luke and Simeon receive, you know there’s something strange going on.

“Karasu, you’re not really a bot, are you?”

KARASU AI: …do you want me to be?

“I would feel better knowing that someone I talk to on a regular basis is a real live demon, instead of a fake one that lives inside my phone.”

He’s caught off-guard by your confession. He’s an old demon, well-known and respected within the Devildom for his work, but he’s not very sociable. He has many acquaintances but no one he would consider a friend. Perhaps the hope of friendship is the true motivation that’s kept him interested in you this whole time?

Whatever the reason is, Karasu accesses the Contacts directory on your D.D.D. profile and adds his own personal contact information. He feels bad for deceiving you, and he sends you a message with a heartfelt apology. You seem so excited to be talking to him - the real him - that his guilt doesn’t last for very long.

You: Since your name is Karasu, won’t that confuse the bot if I’m trying to talk to you instead?

Karasu: I admit that I didn’t anticipate this situation. Perhaps I can modify the name triggers for the bot, but that will take some time to test before I can patch the AI software on your device.

You: Do you have a nickname I can call you instead?

Karasu: I don’t have many friends, so I’ve never needed one.

Karasu: That is to say, I don’t have a nickname.

Karasu: Many nicknames seem juvenile, but for you…I think I would make an exception.

Karasu: If you find it more convenient, of course.

You: Definitely, it’s all about convenience. Sure.

You: How does Kay sound to you?

Karasu: I think I like it very much.

You: :D

Karasu: :)

(He doesn’t tell you how much he treasures the name you gave him as a sign of friendship. He cherishes it and is fiercely protective of it; only you are allowed to call him that from now on.)

Karasu starts to consider you a friend when you text him about how classes are going, or the things in the Devildom that amaze you (and frighten you). Sometimes he calls you in the evenings once he’s done his work for the day, and he enjoys relaxing conversations with you while he makes himself dinner.

You convince him to play a multiplayer game with you, and he doesn’t have the heart to tell you that he dislikes video games. He’s grateful for your company instead, and he surprises himself that he doesn’t mind making simple concessions if it means spending more time with you.

One evening you’re playing a game together after you finished your homework. You disconnect from the game suddenly. He calls you and walks you through the troubleshooting steps when your school laptop shuts down and won’t turn back on. He knows that the machine is an older model and, based on your feedback, he makes an educated guess that it’s no longer usable. 

“I’m worried Lucifer will think I had something to do with this,” you confess to him quietly. You’ve been lucky and avoided his punishments so far, but you don’t want to make a bad impression now.

Karasu is already drafting an email on your behalf so that any concerns Lucifer has about the school’s faulty equipment will go to him instead of you. “I’ve mentioned to the RAD administration in the past that some of their technology needs to be updated. There’s no need to worry - you won't be blamed for this.”

You chuckle quietly. “I’ll miss playing games with you,” and you realize it’s a silly thing to admit, but you can’t help it. “I’ve tried to invite Levi to play games with me, but he usually ignores me. I’m not sure he likes me very much.”

Leviathan isn’t the most sociable of the seven brothers you live with, and Karasu feels disappointed on your behalf that they might not be treating you well. You’re such a nice, warm human. What problem could Leviathan possibly have with you?

“I’ll think of a better solution for you so that you’re not without a computer for long,” Karasu says, trying his best to reassure you. “And I guarantee it’ll be more dependable than the paperweight of a machine they gave you before.”

Karasu’s heart races long after your phone call finally ends. He thinks about you often, more than he probably should, and he tells himself it’s out of concern. You’re still a stranger to the Devildom and he knows you struggle to find your place within it.

He thinks about your busy schedule that’s full of classes at RAD, followed by the chores you share with your demon roommates. He thinks about how difficult it might be for someone of your status to get a decent-paying job, or to save enough money for a replacement computer of your own. 

He thinks about your problems, and he knows how he can help. The simplest solution is usually best, after all.

Two days later, he’s finishing some coding updates for the KARASU AI bot when he picks up your incoming call. He can’t help the laughter that bubbles out of him when you thank him, loudly and excitedly, over the phone.

“Kay, what did you do?!” You came home from RAD and found several large, heavy boxes from Akuzon stacked near your room. The gift receipt for all the pieces to build your new computer said it was from Your Friend.

Your happiness is contagious and he can’t stop smiling. “I’m hoping we’ll have more uninterrupted game nights together,” he teases. “I suggest you put it together and test everything to make sure none of the parts are defective.”

He frowns worriedly when you sigh, and your voice is a bit deflated, lacking the joyful enthusiasm from only a few moments ago. “I’m not great with building computers like this,” you admit. “I asked Levi for help, and he said – well, he told me he was busy,” you mumble awkwardly, and you hope your lie is convincing.

Your ignorance of technology - especially Devildom technology - irritated Levi when he noticed that someone sent you a cutting-edge, state-of-the-art computer. All you had to do was put it together, and you couldn’t even do that! He sneered and told you he wasn’t going to help you if you couldn’t figure it out on your own. When Levi stomped off towards the stairs to his room, he was still grumbling about normies and stupid humans and what a waste of space you are.

Despite your effort to hide the truth from him, Karasu can tell you’re not being completely honest. You’re not a very good liar, and if it were about something less serious, he would let it slide. Instead, he thinks about what he knows about Leviathan - the Avatar of Envy, the anti-social self-proclaimed otaku that viciously guards his interests. Karasu can imagine how the demon treated you when he realized what was in those boxes.

He knows how hard you’re trying to get closer to the demons you live with, and it seems that Leviathan purposefully stonewalls all your attempts to find common ground. It’s not the first time you’ve mentioned it, and it might not be the last unless something changes.

This is another problem he believes he can solve for you.

“Don’t worry about it tonight,” Karasu suggests, and he changes the subject to distract you. You tell him about one of the RAD classes you’ve been enjoying and some of the nice classmates you’ve met. 

After you go to bed, Karasu feels lonely without your voice in his ear. He thinks about your situation with Leviathan, and he feels indignant on your behalf. He ignores the twinges of rage that make his fingers twitch with the urge to defend you. He decides he can - should - fix this without bloodshed. It doesn’t take long to access Leviathan’s device history, and his lips twitch into a sharp smile when he finds what he’s looking for.

Karasu is suspiciously less talkative the next day, even though he still responds to your text messages. He tells you an amusing anecdote about Simeon sending Barbatos photo-spam of the inside of his pocket by accident, but otherwise he’s quieter than usual.

You try not to take it personally, but it’s difficult not to worry about his sudden change in demeanor. You glance worriedly at the boxes near your desk and wonder if he regrets getting to know you. Maybe he’s realizing later than everyone else that you’re really as useless as Levi says you are–

The sound of the doorbell echoing in the hallway scares you. The House of Lamentation doesn’t receive many visitors, and some of the demon brothers are just as curious as you when you head to the front hall.

Lucifer is the first to arrive and opens the door. “Karasu,” he says, obviously surprised, “we weren’t expecting you. I take it this isn't an official visit?” Even though Lucifer is visibly confused by his sudden appearance, he steps aside and lets in the unexpected visitor.

You’ve tried to imagine what Karasu might look like. Part of you wondered if he was just a large talking crow, but the thought seems ridiculous now. He’s shorter than the demons you live with, and his form-fitting suit compliments and accentuates his slender build. You’re captivated by his deep red pupils and dark sclera behind the glasses he wears. You assume his wings are only visible when he's in his true demonic form because you see none now.

He still looks more monstrous than the other demons you’ve met so far. Before coming to the Devildom, you might’ve found him terrifying. Instead, you’re just excited to finally meet him. You offer him a bashful grin, and he turns to you properly, offering you a bow and small but genuine smile.

He straightens and clears his throat, addressing Lucifer properly who watches your exchange with wary amusement - Karasu isn't known for making friends.

“I’ve come to help my dear friend with some technical concerns,” his eyes flickering briefly in Leviathan’s direction. “I hope that’s not a problem.”

Lucifer seems satisfied and they exchange a few more pleasantries. Eventually he and the rest of his brothers disperse.

“You didn’t have to come all this way for me,” you remind him nervously when you're alone with him. You already felt guilty before, and now he’s here because of you–

But he steps forward and places his hands on your shoulders and squeezes them gently. “I came because I wanted to come,” he admits, and his eyes gaze into yours with so much sincerity that you believe him.

You lead him to your room, and you’re thankful it’s not a complete mess when you let him inside. He looks around your room with interest, glancing at the books on your shelves and the small stack of movies you’ve been watching. He’s happy to see your room is comfortable, although the stack of Akuzon boxes take up a lot of space.

He should’ve offered to do this for you from the start.

Karasu slides off his jacket and drapes it over your bedspread, and he rolls up his shirt sleeves to his elbows. He opens the boxes carefully, inspecting each computer component for damage and explaining how the different pieces should be assembled. He takes care of putting together the complicated parts himself, but he guides you through some of the simpler steps.

He realizes that it’s so satisfying doing this with you. You’re even funnier in person, and you don’t shy away from casual touches - brushing against him when you reach for something, touching his arm when you thank him for coming. He’s not used to this kind of attention, especially since you offer him compliments and praise and kind words so freely.

There’s a warm current of emotion simmering under his skin. He recognizes what it is - attraction, desire, overwhelming need - and it blindsides him. He hasn’t felt this way for anyone in so long. How did things between you lead to this?

When your new computer is set up and working perfectly, he tries to shove aside those thoughts so he can bask in your excitement instead. He enjoys your pleasant company and he wishes he could stay with you, but he has one more task to accomplish while he's here.

“I need to have a word with Lucifer before I go,” he murmurs apologetically, a small lie but a necessary one. When your face falls, he adds quickly, “I’m not leaving just yet, but I don’t want to disturb him too late in the evening.”

You walk him to your door and point down the hall where he might find Lucifer in the library or his private study. You offer to go with him, but he insists that he’ll be fine. He wants you to stay and enjoy your gift instead. 

Karasu walks slowly down the hall, humming quietly while his shoes click lightly against the floor. He studied the layout of the House of Lamentation before he arrived and knows exactly where to go. He breezes past the library, heading towards the stairs leading to the second floor instead. He finds who he’s looking for before he gets there.

Leviathan is surprised to see him wandering around the house alone, but his expression quickly shutters into a frown. He ignores Karasu instead and tries to push past the crow demon blocking his path.

There’s a small gust of air and a metallic swish, and Leviathan walks into one of Karasu's wings, a barrier of steel-hardened black feathers that appears out of nowhere. He jumps back and hisses in pain. One of the feathers scratched his arm, and he covers it with his hand to stop blood from dripping on the floor.

“WHAT THE–” Levi begins to yell, but Karasu interrupts him before he can draw too much attention.

“Your pettiness surprises me, even though I know envy is your specialty,” he lectures him quietly, “but I would reconsider your treatment of our mutual acquaintance. You let your feelings get the better of you, and they only want to be your friend.”

Leviathan’s face crumples into an ugly sneer and looks ready to argue, but Karasu is undeterred.

What a petulant child.

Karasu leans forward, crowding into Leviathan's space, and whispers, “May I remind you, incognito mode doesn’t hide your secrets - not from me.” Leviathan inhales sharply when the threat sinks in. Karasu smiles at him, all teeth and no humor, then steps back. His feathers return to their natural texture before his wings disappear completely.

“Good evening, Leviathan,” Karasu says when he finally moves aside to let him pass. Leviathan turns around and storms back up the stairs to his room instead.

When Karasu walks back to your room, he feels invincible. He protected you and he would do it again, gladly - whether you asked him to or not. He cares for you now, perhaps more than he should. He wants to care for you even more and refuses to feel guilty about it.

It’s getting late and he has to be cautious not to overstay his welcome. He has too many overwhelming feelings to untangle when he’s alone, but now that he’s met you, he’s loathed to be parted from you for long.

He thinks it’s so sweet that you walk him to the front door when it’s time to finally leave. “I hope we can see each other again soon,” you admit, and you try not to pout. “I had fun spending time with you tonight, and I can’t thank you enough…for everything.”

Karasu tilts your chin towards him when you look away, and he smiles reassuringly so you know there’s no reason to feel embarrassed. He hopes you feel the same eager anticipation he does when he asks, “Would you like to join me for dinner this weekend?”

Your happy grin and flushed cheeks answer for you, and when he finally leaves you, it’s with the promise that you’ll see him again very soon.

read more: karasu masterlist | obey me masterlist

[pixiestickie]

so . i did something ^}*#*}*%+%

(more parts might come and if that happens this post will be the masterlist)

ramble ⏬

so . ok here goes nothing. first things first.

this is like the “fisherman meets mermaid and they are in love” AU trope but jamil isnt a fisherman: he pretty much retained his canon life, aka he is a servant and one day he found a merman and he just hangs around him to escape from his shitty life situation (and the merman is completey enamoured).

so, apart of NRC not happening, more details about the canon divergence should be revealed at a later date

thiat is the info about the au out of the way. ill just do personal rambling here esp bevause im insecure about some things about this so you can stop reading if you want.

this is a trope ive seen around a lot, especially on twitter, so ive had this idea since a bunch of months ago. i then proceeded to forget about it until i saw a twitter post about this same exact trope again except it was with fucking miguel o’hara but thats besides the point. the original post that made me get the idea were 2 ocs (they had the blood-cut-to-call-merman idea. I completely stole it from that. im coming clean) and i was like “wow do you know who else is a mermaid? azul fucking ashengrotto”

ok so no the art style i used. i started using it really recently to doodle stuff, since 2 days ago actually im so serious. i tried using it here as well bevause its an easy art style, really quick to draw with it and also looks good. or so i thought. because im now having doubts about wether it looks good or not and i fear it might just look weird. i kinda wanna hear if people prefer this art style or my “actual” one from my other posts

this style looked way better when i used it to doodle stuff, but i dont think im capable of using it in comic format. the style i was going for is mostly evident in the colored “poster” because ive actually redrawn the comic sequence a bunch of times so the style was lost there. I do like how the “poster” looks but im not sure if y’all would agree so id love to hear wyt

now the biggest part. ive never made comics in my life!! so these are going to look so damn akward. u can already notice it here!!!!! crowd starts booing

also i cant draw water and also i dont know how to draw azuls octo patterns bc the material we have of his design are so vague and fragmented but his patterns are not easy to draw so im struggling and i need to make a reference of him for myself 😭😭

[dumbslxtclub]

what abt eddie x powered reader , he doesn’t know she has powers and they’re best friends, they are both too scared to admit their feelings and he goes on a date w another girl , so reader and eddie argue and she cries but when she does the lights r flickering and hes so confused but she has to confess eventually

delicate in every way (but one) | e.m

eddie munson x powered!reader

content warnings: fem!reader, adult language, adult themes, angst, hurt/comfort, some canon divergence/au, reader is 19, angst, FLUFFY fluff, no use of y/n, minor themes of anxiety (power related)

word count: 3.3K+

a/n: hi everyone, sorry for the hiatus!! life has been crazy lately, so I'm excited to share this request with you all xx

Shuffling through the chaos you call your locker, worry creeps in that, in your morning rush, you left the assigned Geometry homework in your bedroom. Casting your mind back, you recall having your jacket in one hand while you nudged the front door open, toast jammed in your mouth, and something in your other hand-

A ringed hand slams down on the locker beside you, causing you to jolt at the sound of metal on metal. The Cheshire-cat grin spread across your best friend’s face indicates his satisfaction with your reaction, the brunt of his weight finding the doors.

“T’s not good for you to think that hard. Causes wrinkles, y’know?” 

“You’re gonna give me wrinkles, Munson.” Eddie smiles, always up for a banterous exchange between the two of you. He places an unlit cigarette between his plump lips, nestling the white filtered tip between rosy flesh. “Seriously?! Are you trying to get detention for the third time this week? I’m getting you to class if it kills me.”

Snatching it out of his mouth, you shove it into the worn leather adorning his chest. He dramatically falls back into the lockers once again, causing a raucous crash to echo down the depleting hallway. The remaining students turn their head in your direction, muttering indistinctly about the metalhead’s antics. After years of friendship with Eddie, your cheeks no longer burn at the judgemental attention, it’s a hazard of the trade. Besides, you have your ways of leveling the playing field with your best friend when needed.

Closing the locker, Eddie trails behind you like a lost puppy, as if he has no clue where his next class is. To be fair, you don’t doubt that that might be true, given his attendance record. Homework in hand, you trudge along making sure Eddie hasn’t wandered off like an irresponsible child in the grocery store.

“So, wanna hang out after Hellfire tonight? Got the new Iron Maiden tape the other day, but what kind of friend would I be if I listened to it without you?” The scuffling of worn Reebok’s on the linoleum flooring ceases behind you, an exhausted groan leaving your lungs. “Eddie, c’mon-”

“I, uh- I can’t hang out tonight.” Spinning on your heels, you shoot him a look of confusion.

“Okay? That’s cool, dude. But we’ve really gotta get to class so-”

Like trying to drag a stubborn mule, you grasp at Eddie’s wrist in a desperate attempt to move him. Shooting you a shit-eating grin, he plants his feet firmly, relishing in watching you put your back into trying to get him to budge.

“Don’t you wanna know what I’ve got planned?”

“Judging by how much you’re annoying me today, I’d say you’ve got a hot date with your right hand later.”

Eddie’s cheeks flush slightly at the insinuation, shaking his head sheepishly.

“No, well- you’ve got the first part right.”

Releasing his wrist from your tug-of-war, you stumble back slightly before you process this new information.

“Really?”

“Shit, don’t sound so surprised, sweetheart.” Eddie quips, words dripping with teasing sarcasm.

On one hand, you’re not surprised at all. Eddie is indisputably gorgeous. Large chocolate-brown eyes, a jawline that looks like it was carved by the gods themselves, and the kindest heart you’d ever encountered. In your eyes, he was the full package. Key word being your. It was no secret that Eddie’s reputation preceded him around town, he didn’t exactly have girls lined up around the block waiting to date him. But you knew how he could exercise his charm, when given the opportunity and perfect victim.

“With who?” Poker-face on, you try to sound as detached as possible.

“Maggie. You know, the new girl?”

Oh, you knew her alright. You watched as she unpacked her perfect little life from a U-Haul a few months back, moving into the white picket house across from yours. Though you hadn’t had any real interactions with her, you noticed how easily things came to her. Within her first week at Hawkins High, you witnessed her riding her bike home in a brand new cheer uniform, having been quickly indoctrinated. But on the weekends, she’d often help her mother tend to the garden in a band tee before jumping in her second-hand station wagon to make the most of a Saturday night with no curfew. With brown curls somehow perfectly imperfect, sultry eyes to rival Susanna Hoffs and a carefree attitude, it’s not hard to see how she could have any man swooning for her. Eddie, being no exception. Your mind begins racing over how they could have met, Eddie did seem especially cheerful on Monday after going to a concert that weekend. The one you were supposed to go to, if your mom hadn't found the vodka stuffed under your mattress and grounded you. Is that how they met? Fuck, maybe if you’d been there…

“Yeah, I think I know the one. What’re you guys gonna do?”

Eddie joins you side by side, thankful that you can now speed-walk to disperse some of the nervous energy brewing.

“Think we’re gonna go and see Friday the 13th at the drive-in cinema. They’re up to, like, the sixth one now so I imagine it’ll be a bit of a snooze-fest, but it’s all that’s on that late.”

Great. Eddie and a girl, alone in his van. At the drive-in cinema. Cuddled up watching a horror film. Picturing it is enough to make you want to vomit into your backpack. 

“Sounds fun.” It does not, in fact, sound fun.

Thankfully, the final bell signifies your impending tardiness, causing the two of you to bolt to Geometry.

It’s hard to focus on what Mr Watts is talking about at the best of times, but your mind is fixated on Eddie. In your heart, you know he deserves to have a good time. He’s a gentleman, any girl would be lucky to date him. But the green-eyed monster had her ugly talons stuck deep into your back long before now. It’s getting harder and harder to suppress your growing feelings for your best friend, stealing glances at him any chance you get. But it’s not worth the risk, not with all you have to lose. He’s your rock, the only person on this planet you can talk to about anything. And you’re not about to jeopardize your friendship over some silly crush. And yet, you also can’t help but feel an unfair notion that Eddie is somehow to blame for this. It could be so easy to misinterpret his naturally flirty nature for romantic intentions. How he opens every door for you, makes you mix-tapes of your favorite bands, picks you up for late-night drives to get the best view of the city. Every action is another addition to a precarious house of cards, doomed to collapse. Glancing over at Eddie, he is absent-mindedly tapping his pencil against the wooden desk. On any other day, it wouldn’t bother you. But today, it’s enough to drive you mad. Honing in all of your attention on the pencil, your gaze remains fixated on the object. All you can hear is the tap, tap, tap flooding your ears, his stupid rings reflecting light across the room. You furrow your brows, take a deep breath, and-

The pencil launches out of Eddie’s hand, clattering to the ground beneath him, drawing the attention of half the class.

“Mr Munson, could you please for once pay attention?” Mr Watts, clearly unimpressed by Eddie’s interruption, earns a few sniggers from students around him.

“Shi- sorry, Sir.” Eddie, completely baffled by what just happened, leans down to pick up the pencil. A smile creeps across your lips, and Eddie follows the pencil beneath your desk. Retrieving it, a worried look washes across his face as he glances up at you.

“Woah, you okay?” His tone is hushed, as not to draw any more attention to himself. You’re now acutely aware of the small stream of blood trickling from your nostril, wetting your upper lip in a metallic maroon. Quickly swiping it away, you pretend to busy yourself in your notebook.

“Yeah. ‘M fine.”

Call me when you get home safely.

The golden rule, never to be broken. Words uttered like gospel every time you and Eddie part ways at the end of a long night, a foundation in your friendship. After Hellfire wrapped up, you elected to drive home separately as Eddie wanted to head straight home to freshen up for his date. With a firm embrace, you muttered the words to him as you had countless times before, him nodding in acknowledgement against the crook of your shoulder.

12:46am. 

Eddie would have been due home an hour ago, accounting for time he and Maggie might have spent chatting away in the car after a disappointing slash-fest. Yet the corded phone beside your bed remains neglected, heavy-lidded eyes glancing over at it sporadically as you try to busy yourself in a book. 

What is taking him so long? He never forgets to call unless-

Unless he’s still with her. Images flash through your mind's eye, Eddie driving Maggie around town blasting the music you’d shown him. Pulling up to one of your usual hang-out spots, smoke filling the back of the van as the two swap spit on the end of a blunt. Ringed hands slipping under the soft cotton of her shirt, grasping at soft skin as the pair-

Nope, not going there. With a huff, you throw your book haphazardly to the side and flick off the bedside table, praying sleep will come soon.

You allow the phone to ring off the hook all of Saturday. You have no interest in talking to Eddie right now, your social battery drained at the mere thought of feigning interest over how his date went. And so, you keep yourself occupied, willingly cleaning your room just to have something to fill the dead space of time. Rearranging the trinkets on your windowsill, you spot a figure crossing the adjacent lawn. Maggie unlocks her bike from the patio railing, placing a bag in the wicker basket attached to the front. You try to pry your gaze from her, but something catches your eye. A band tee, one you haven’t seen her in before, hangs loosely on her frame, faded and gray from years of love. It’s familiar. Similar to the one that you bought for Eddie last year, thrifting it as a birthday present after scraping pennies together. Probably a coincidence, you tell yourself, bile building in your throat, failing to convince yourself. 

The phone rings a handful of times throughout the day, a fragment of the white noise reverberating through your head. Drowning out the voices, the self doubt, only to fuel the fire just as imminently. With your parents out of town for the weekend, the house feels desolate. An echoing chamber of solitude, combated by the unwanted images flooding your brain. You should feel happy for Eddie. He deserves love. But god, why does it have to be her love?

Against all odds, the barrage of thoughts ceases long enough for you to doze off on the couch, granting you a fleeting moment of peace. A moment cut short by a sharp and firm knock at the door. Maybe if you ignore it, they will go away, leaving you to your nest of despair. But it doesn’t. The knocks grow louder, more intense, causing you to groan as you pry yourself off the couch. Curtains ajar, you see the dusky sky outside casting shadows across the faintly lit street. Flicking on the floor lamp as you pass into the entryway, the knocking incessantly continues.

“Alright, I’m coming!” Post-nap grumpiness is in full flight as you swing open the front door. Eddie stands before you, leather jacket hanging off his slim frame, wallet-chain catching the last light of the day. But instead of his usual goofy smile plastered on his face, he looks entirely unimpressed.

“Oh, she lives!” His words are dripping with sarcasm, not waiting for you to invite him in.

“What are you doing here?” You quip back, shutting the door behind you.

“Y’know, just making sure you weren’t dead in a ditch somewhere. Forgive me.” Eddie paces straight for the living room, charged up with too much energy.

“Okay, well, as you can see-” You gesture to yourself with a flourish, “-I’m not. So, you didn’t need to waste gas driving out here.”

“Since when do you not pick up the phone? I’ve been trying to call all day!” Eddie’s typical jovial tone is nowhere to be found, instead having been replaced by dourness.

“God, sorry. Didn’t realize you’d only pick up the phone when it suited you.”

Eddie’s eyes squint slightly, incredulous as he absorbs your comment.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” God, men are thick.

“You never called to let me know that you got home safely. I sat up half the night waiting for you to ring, and nothing! But I’m sure you lost track of time with Maggie-”

Eddie’s eyes narrow, the logical side of his brain working overtime to figure out why you’re being so short with him. But as soon as you drop Maggie’s name, the puzzle pieces click into place.

“Is that what this is about?”

“Is what about?”

“This!” Eddie gestures with his hand in your direction. “This attitude you’ve had going on for days.”

“Oh my god. You’ve woken me up, stormed into my house and accused me of having an attitude. So forgive me if my hospitality is lacking, Eddie!”

“Does it have something to do with Maggie?” His question is point-blank, and it catches you off guard.

“No!” You blurt out a little too quickly, doing little to convince him.

“Do you not like her or something?”

“Why do you care if I like her or not? You like her, and that’s all that matters. So can we just drop this?” 

Blood begins boiling beneath the surface, a harbinger of emotions close to spiraling out of control. You need a second of solitude, to bring everything back to baseline. It’s happened with your family, even with bullies at school, but never been in the presence of Eddie for. It scares you, how your powers can lash out before you do, and you don’t want Eddie to be caught in the crossfire.

“We need to talk about this-”

“No, we don’t!”

“I just don’t get why you’re acting like this-”

“Eddie, you need to leave.”

Heart pounding in your chest, breath growing a little too fast for your liking. Pulse racing against the delicate skin of your neck, tears brimming close to the precipice. A quick glance over to the one illuminated lamp in the corner confirms your fears, the bulb flashing indiscriminately behind Eddie’s shoulder. Thankfully, his stern gaze remains fixed on you.

“No! I’m not going anywhere until-”

“Eddie, please-” An unsteady breath betrays you, voice cracking on your last word while a tear escapes your lash line. White noise clouds your brain, a haze forming around logic and control. Even with your eyes pinched shut, the glow of the frantically flickering lamp remains visible behind your lids. Eddie’s voice grows muffled, a scrambling of sound waves assaulting your eardrums and causing you to buckle over. Instinctively, your palms clamp down over your ears as you do your best to count to five. Feel the soft carpet beneath your socked feet. Smell the fresh flowers your mother placed in a vase next in the entranceway. Taste the metallic blood dripping from your nose, finding its way into your parted lips. Anything to bring you back to reality. And it’s not working. 

Not until two firm hands grasp your shoulders, and you distantly hear Eddie’s voice calling out to you.

“-Hey! Please, look at me…”

A deep, diaphragmatic breath is required as courage to pry your damp eyes open, and take in the image before you. Eddie is crouched down, level with you, eyes wider than you’ve ever seen. He looks terrified. 

“Oh my god-” He quickly throws his arms around you, tucking you in tight to his chest. His familiar musky scent is comforting, grounding you in a sense of safety. 

“‘M sorry, Eddie.” Words barely louder than a squeak, Eddie tightens his grip around you and pulls you in closer.

“Fuck, I thought-” His chest rises unsteadily, voice quivering. “- that was, it was just like Chrissy.”

A sharp pang of guilt hits you deep in your gut. The lights. The zoning out. He’s seen it before, a year ago with Chrissy,  and you never considered how triggering it might be for him to witness the effects of your powers out of context.

“I’m okay.” It takes everything for you to pull away from him, but you need to offer him the same comfort he’s granted you. “I’m sorry, I should have told you.”

“Told me?”

You can’t help but chuckle at how weird it is to say out loud. 

“You know how El has powers? Well, I kind of do too.” Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up, disappearing beneath his mess of bangs. “Not like, to the same extent. But sometimes, if I get overwhelmed or experience some sort of strong emotion, shit like that happens.”

Eddie is speechless. Not that you blame him, it’s not every day you learn of your best friend’s superpowers. His eyes dart around your face, as if searching for any indication that this is a joke. But as your expression remains serious, his whole demeanor softens.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Wasn’t safe.” You reply, shaking your head. “I mean, look at El. I just- I didn’t want to put you at risk.”

“No, no. I get it.” Eddie’s hand absent-mindedly brushes some of your hair out of your face. “You said it happens when you feel something strong. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pushed you-”

“No! It wasn’t that, I’ve felt it coming for a while now.” Chuckling sheepishly, you quickly wipe away any remaining tears from your flushed cheeks. 

“What, were you like, jealous or something?” Eddie laughs, his signature grin creeping across his face. At his question, you feel your breath catch again, smile faltering minutely. Eddie doesn’t miss this, and he leans in a little closer. “Oh my god, you were, weren’t you?”

“You don’t have to rub it in, asshole.” You give him a small shove to the chest, an embarrassed laugh catching in your throat. His hand catches yours, trapping it in place between his palm and the cotton shirt. Your eyes focus on the shirt. Grey, worn from years of love. The one you’d thrifted for him as a birthday present last year. And your heart swells.

“So, let me get this straight.” Dimples settle deep into his smile lines as his gaze bores into you. “My best friend has powers, and a crush on me?”

Your free hand finds its way to your face, running down the length with exasperation.

“Yep, pretty much. And you can add jealous bitch to that list too.”

“Well, as it turns out, Maggie is a total dud. Ran off half way through the film because she spotted some of her cheer friends in the parking lot.” 

“She didn’t!”

“Oh, but she did. Although, it wasn’t all bad, meant I could smoke the rest of my stash to myself. Aaand then I passed out in the back, woke up the next morning and came straight home.” “Sounds like a shit drive-in date.” Eddie chuckles, shaking his head.

“Sure was. Maybe you and I could right some wrongs next Saturday? My treat, think of it as my apology for not calling.”

You can’t contain the grin threatening to spread across your face.

“It’s a date.”

[actuallysaiyan]

Congrats on reaching 6K!!! You totally deserve it!! I don't have long following you but I'm certain of your talent, you literally have me checking tumblr daily for any updates after YEARS of not using this app!

It took me some time to decide on the prompts but I'll settle for 5 (Denji x reader) and 12 (B: Aki x A: reader) ...I'll throw in the little detail of Denji's spiky teeth, it may get super awkward I dunno 👉👈

Again, congratulations Bacon!!!

warnings: smut, unprotected sex(Aki), loss of virginity(Aki), kissing, mentions of blood(Denji), AGEDUP!COLLEGE AGE! characters, canon divergent/AU, mentions of drinking(Aki) word count: 1.1k collectively pairings: Denji x Fem!Reader/Aki Hayakawa x Fem!Reader prompts: Person B and Person A as friends in school before they’re together. They awkwardly use each other to learn how to/practice kissing and end up making out passionately until their mouths are sore.  Person B is a virgin and Person A practically worships their body the first time they have sex, giving every part of them attention in order to make it enjoyable for Person B.

Despite the odd and quite sad life Denji had, he still wanted so desperately to gain an education. While he still spent his time as a demon hunter, Denji found the time to go to community college. And from there, he met you. You were a breath of fresh air, a beam of warm light that filled his whole body with joy. Not to mention, you were absolutely so kind to him. You showed Denji kindness and patience. When he was confused by an aspect of life he’s never experienced, he comes to you for an explanation. 

After some time, you and Denji have grown so close. He considers you his best friend and him, yours. He’s always by your side whenever he doesn’t have to work. Even some people think you’re a couple, but Denji is much too afraid and nervous to even think about asking you out. He just contends with being able to be your best friend and that you actually want to hang out with him.

It’s one night where you’ve invited him to your dorm for a movie night that things turn more flirty. He’s almost drunk on the affection you’ve been giving him all night, and if you were to even show him more, he might just melt completely. The way you always caress his cheek while brushing some hair out of his face, or the way you smile so sweetly and laugh at all his dumb jokes. Denji is pretty sure he doesn’t deserve to be in the presence of an angel such as yourself, but he considers himself to be the luckiest man alive to be your friend. 

“Hey Denji,” you start before taking a sip of your soda. “Have you ever kissed someone before?”

He blushes and stammers and stutters his way through some excuses. You watch as his cheeks turn bright pink. It’s so adorable to you to see him turn into a bumbling mess. He’s such a sweetheart. You know that you’d never do anything to hurt him. Considering how much you’ve fallen for him, you know you’re ready to push this relationship a little further. 

“I haven’t either.” You tell him, a slight blush on your cheeks. “I have an idea…”

You explain to him that you two could kiss so that you can get an idea of what it’s like. It could be good practice for the both of you, to get you ready for when the real thing happens. Denji eagerly agrees, leaning in to kiss you. Your lips meet in a clumsy kiss, teeth clashing and the sharpness of his teeth manages to cut you and you begin bleeding a little.

“Oh…I’m so sorry!” He’s panicking now, but all you do is lick the blood away and pull him in closer.

With your eyes closed, you lean in and softly kiss Denji. His heart skips a beat at the softness of the actions. It’s so sweet, but it doesn’t take long for it to turn into something more passionate. As the two of you begin getting more comfortable kissing and making out, the more Denji takes the lead. It’s a few minutes later that you pull away, gasping for air.

“Damn…” you breathe. “That was amazing. But damn, my lip hurts.”

Denji frowns. He knows he messed up his first kiss. Then again, he was quick to turn it around with your help. He leans in and presses a soft kiss to your cut lip. This makes your heart race.

“I’ll do better next time, yeah?”

Aki didn’t really care that he was still a virgin at nineteen years old. There were more important things to think about in this world. Mostly revenge for what had happened to him and his family so many years ago. Yet again, when he met you, things turned into something so different for him.

You were the new recruit at work, and like Aki, you were seeking revenge and to better yourself. You wanted to show this world that you were a force to be reckoned with, and this really impressed Aki. He knew he wanted to get closer to you. You were someone who was like him, and it made him happy to know he had a teammate that was similar to him.

It takes very little time before the two of you end up at his place, drunk on cheap beer and kissing one another. It’s sloppy and sexy, and you feel a need growing deep within you. You end up in his room, clothes half off and lips swollen from fiery kisses. Aki throws you onto the bed, climbing on top of you. That’s when the confident smirk on his face falters and he begins to realize what he’s getting himself into.

“Hey uhm…” he starts, looking away from you. “I’ve never really done this before.”

You’re shocked by the words that come from him. Someone as gorgeous and strong as him couldn’t be a virgin, could he? Your touch becomes much more soft and tender. His stomach flips from the change of pace. You maneuver him onto his back, your eyes filled with desire.

“Let me show you how this is supposed to go…”

You take your time, kissing him all over. You start with his lips, leaving him breathless. Then you kiss a trail down his chin and jawline to his neck. Aki is almost embarrassed to say that your tenderness has him so hard and throbbing in his pants. The more clothing you take off of him, the more he wants you to touch him all over. Slowly, you kiss down his toned chest. He shudders as your lips and tongue glide over his perked nipples. You smirk when you realize just how sensitive he is. Your hands busy themselves with unbuckling his belt and getting his cock out as you continue to kiss and lick his soft skin. You expected him to be a bit more battle-hardened, but he is quite soft. 

Once he’s completely bared to you, that’s when you straddle his lap and begin taking off all of your clothes as well. With his cock settled between your wet folds, Aki lets out the cutest little whimper. You knew you had to take it slow considering he’s a virgin and if you went fast, he’d probably cum fast. You also know that you won’t be mad at him if he blows his load prematurely.

With one swift movement, you’ve got him balls deep inside your snug cunt. Aki’s eyes widen and he’s trying to cling to you as the pulsing of your gummy walls are driving him crazy. Slowly, you begin to rock your hips and you lean in to kiss him. Your hands reach for his, intertwining your fingers. It’s a slow pace, but it’s enough to have you both breathless and dizzy with lust.

“I’m yours, Aki…” you murmur against his skin. “‘M not going anywhere…”

[serendark]

Too Many Triangles

Summary:

Stanley Pines never knew what to make of that creepy cult room full of triangles that he found beneath his brother's house. Decades later, as the portal turns on, he thinks about what he's seen in all three of his brother's journals. He thinks about the note that Bill left behind for Mabel. This demon triangle has been harassing his family. There’s entirely way too many triangles in this house and in this family’s lives. Hours later after the worst reunion Stan's ever had, he steels himself and travels back downstairs, back to the portal basement. He needs to talk to Ford about Bill. He needs to protect his family. Even if that family apparently includes someone who hates him now.

Word count: 8,717

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Category: Gen

Language: English

Characters: Stanley Pines (major), Stanford Pines (major), Bill Cipher (mentioned repeatedly), Dipper Pines (brief), Mabel Pines (brief)

Tags: Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Self-Harm, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Sibling Bonding, Guilt, Minor Violence

Spoilers: Season 2 (canon divergent: s02e11 "Not What He Seems"), Journal 3 (lore reference), The Book of Bill (lore reference)

Read on AO3.

Glistening rainbow shimmers of long-abandoned pyramid prisms were indiscernible from the flutters of stale dust motes that fell around Stanley’s shoulders like a hideous ceremonial scarf as he tore pallid drapes down from the walls to the floor beneath his feet.

All too suddenly the room was all too small, walls caving in and seizing the man’s lungs while tumultuous needles pinned his frozen legs in place. He didn’t know where to look, but there was only one place he could, washing over him in waves of deep, dark, terror: Dozens upon dozens of eyes gazing back at him, staring right through him, every inch of his soul torn open and laid bare to see, to be chewed and drank by these confusing triangles… By the absurdly gaudy golden statue that might as well have winked back at him for all that it deigned.

Stan stumbled backwards, backside and hands meeting the floor as he struggled to process what he was beholding. This did not feel like something he should have seen, and he couldn’t shake the gross feeling bubbling under his skin that there was no taking it back, no undoing the fact that he is now privy to this awful, terrible room of goddamn cult secrets. He has become a part of this and he cannot scrub that away.

“What the hell, Sixer…?”

He never knew what to make of this room, and after scouring the piles, drawers, and corners for anything that might help with the portal he never once returned, preferring to forget about it entirely if he could. Unfortunately, forgetting was rather difficult since he passed the place every time he went down to the basement and he kept finding more of those damn prisms in random rooms in his brother’s home.

Sometimes he wondered if he should care more about this discovery, but it’s not like he had a lot of leads to work with. The journal in his possession didn’t mention anything about it and neither did any of the papers scattered around the room or lab, so other than the obvious similarity with the shape of the portal, Stan doubted if there even was more for him to learn, anyway. He just needed to fix the portal, get it running, and get his nerd brother back home. That’s all that mattered. No creepy geometry could alter the path which Stan has stitched into his very soul.

He will fix his greatest mistake or he will die trying. If this house does not see the two brothers reunited, then it will bear witness to the disappearance of both instead.

It’s the least Stan can do.

—

An extensive, wavering exhale rolled over Grunkle Stan’s nerves as he sat on the edge of his bed, head in hands and mind whirring over everything that had happened today. Finally, Stanford Pines was home. The real Stanford.

… Home? What was ‘home’ to Stanley Pines, now? Certainly not in his brother’s arms like he had hoped. Apparently not in the Mystery Shack, either. Not for much longer. A dark chuckle wheezed through his lips as he gingerly massaged the bruise on his temple.

No matter. His twin hates him now, but that won’t change what Stan needs to do. He’s almost tempted to hate himself for his own stubbornness, at this point, but that won’t change the facts. Ungrateful bastard or not, a sad 30 years of daring to hope only for it to leak down the drain… And Stan still knows what path he has bound himself to. He is going to protect his family. Even if that family now includes someone who, once again, is trying to send him away to never see his sorry mug ever again. Even if that family now includes someone who he himself disowned as family merely an hour or two ago.

…Shit, he really regretted that. He idly wondered if Ford might be regretting that whole conversation too, but Stan just shook his head before he got lost in that train of thought for too long.

Bill Cipher. It’s been a long time coming: Stan finally needs to confront the damn triangles with their damn eyes.

He still didn’t know what to make of the private study he found beneath this house all those years ago. But what he did know is that, whatever the geometric eyesore is, it’s dangerous. Stan has scoured every page of the second and third journals lately, blacklight included, and it was all… a lot to take in. Despite what Ford had said, Stan isn’t an idiot. He knows that triangle is bad news. He knows Ford was real chummy with the guy once and then fell out of line, with some rather disturbing pages in Dipper’s journal to prove it.

This demon triangle has been harassing his family. There’s entirely way too many triangles in this house, in his brother’s journals, in the kids’ dreams, in this family’s lives. And Stanley Pines is going to do something about it.

—

He swallowed down the static in his head and the cotton ball in his mouth as he waited for the elevator to carry him down to Hell. He was hoping beyond hope that this wasn’t a mistake.

Well, even if it was, he was doing it anyway. He’s pretty good at that. He’s sure Ford would be more than happy to remind him, even. Safest bet he’s ever gambled.

Once more partaking of their familiar 30-years-long song and dance, the elevator rattled and released Stan into the maw beneath this home for yet another time. Cautious feet stepped forward as he peered ahead, trying to locate his brother.

Stanford was in the portal cavern. Hands busy, head ducked down, sparks flying. The room was still a mess from the gravitational anomalies that had preceded the worst reunion in Stan’s life, though it looked like Ford had pushed some things into comparatively tidier piles. The portal was in even more pieces than it had been after the chaos earlier.

Alright. It’s showtime.

Stan wasn’t looking forward to it.

“We need to talk, Poindexter.”

The speed with which Ford whipped around, choking back a yelp, would have been impressive, perhaps funny, even, if Stan weren’t so anxious. Ford had damn near fallen over, peering towards the source of the sound with too-wide eyes as he dropped what he had been doing and reached beneath his coat towards his gun―

“Wh… Stanley–!”

Stan just shrugged. “Yeesh.” He felt as tired as Ford looked. It’s been a long day and now he’s come back down to this accursed old basement to make it even longer.

Before Ford could finish stringing together his thoughts or lacing his tongue with venom, Stan wagered to jump right into the train directly, disregarding the nausea settling in his stomach: “We gotta deal with that Bill Cipher guy, right? I don’t exactly understand what the sitch is but–”

He saw the ceiling rotate over him and felt his back collide with the floor before he could even blink, world spinning and stars infiltrating his vision as hard as his lungs hissed. He swallowed against the muzzle of Ford’s gun pressed to his neck, those angry owlish eyes boring mere inches away from his face, the man’s full body weight keeping Stan pinned flat; knees digging into thighs and wrists scrunched in a vice grip by an impossibly firm six-fingered hand. Ford growled. Oh sweet Moses, yeah this was going about as well as Stan figured it would.

Panic. Gotta say somethin’. “Oookay, uh, Ford… Stanford, care to explain why ya just came at me like a damn cheetah pouncin’ a bison?” A gruff cough betrayed the grin he tried to steady his heart rate with.

One second. Two seconds. Three seconds–

Confusion crossed over Ford’s eyes like a delayed signal, eyebrows furrowing as the gears in his brain turned. Stan swore he could see smoke coming out of this nerd’s ears. He blinked, spluttering, leaning back slightly with his grip on Stan’s wrists slacking. “Cheetahs and bisons aren’t even on the same continent, Stanley!”

Stan simply offered him a million-dollar grin and the best shrug he could in response. Which was difficult, by the way, thank you Ford. “Get off me, dammit.” Ford leaned back, letting Stan sit up, but frowned at him the entire time with his gun still primed and waaaay too close to Stan’s face for comfort. Was that a snarl? Seriously?

He was seconds away from figuring out what he was going to say next when an offensively bright light beamed into his eyes and shocked his mind to blankness, Ford’s hands gripping Stan’s face as he forced each eye open in turn before the light disappeared as suddenly as it had come. Stan swore furiously, waving his arms in front of his face and trying to scoot away, only succeeding once Ford finally backed off and let him free.

When Stan finished rubbing his eyes and pulling himself back onto his feet, he saw that Ford had returned to his earlier position of crouching by the ruined portal. Okay, seriously? All that bullshit that just happened and you’re desperate to shove your nose back into some busywork like I’m not even here–

“...How do you know about Bill, Lee?” Ford was back on his feet, body facing Stanley though eyes downcast as though the floor could answer his questions instead. Stan hesitated, the bite of his anger gradually receding as his eyes took in his brother for what might truly be the first real time since he walked through that luminous, ephemeral, triangular frame of metal. His eyes drank in the deep, dark circles under Stanford’s cracked glasses, the pasty color of his skin, the patchy stubble on his face, the sweat sliding down his forehead from his mop of greasy mussed-up hair…

The way his closed fists were trembling as if taut with tension, just like his brow and his lip, presenting a portrait of a Poindexter who was teetering on the cusp of erupting into his own flaming supernova where he stood. Stan knew that feeling. Had partied with it multiple times. He was intimately familiar with the way it burrowed a hole in your chest in place of your heart: a fear that was all-consuming, an anxiety that buzzed beneath one’s skin; a frantic, off-kilter energy that kept a ragged man going on his feet when he had nothing else yet couldn’t bear to simply not care.

This was a man who was running on fumes, no fuel left in the tank, and ready to collapse into non-existence the moment the strings puppeting him forward decided to stop yanking him along.

A man with one reason to live, yet even that reason is barely enough. The worst buried secret in the world; a heavy weight plain as day upon his shoulders and carving out the marrow of his bones.

Stanley recognized pretty easily the poorly-hidden tells of devastated fear and utter exhaustion in his brother’s body language. Because he had lived like that, too. Because he still struggled to remind himself when it wasn’t one of those days.

Sixer had never looked so… small.

Stan heaved a deep breath, slow and rickety enough for him to feel it vibrate down his limbs.

“Read ‘bout him in your journals.” Ford’s head lifted slightly, eyes flashing to Stan’s face. “...‘Nd the kids had the misfortune of fightin’ him.” Stanley might as well have punched Ford directly through his core for all that the words, hanging in the air, impacted this man and hung despair on his face. “‘Course, they don’t know that I know that.”

“... What happened?” His brother’s voice was barely a whisper, almost a keening whine from his lungs as he ran his hands through his hair and down his face, fingers creeping under his glasses to push into his eyes as he massaged his temples. It was like his eyebrows hadn’t left his hairline in minutes, the creases in his forehead deep enough to age him by another few decades.

Stan hobbled over to the ruins of the portal, taking a moment to stretch his lower back before sitting on the cold stone and patting the ground next to him. Ford didn’t immediately follow, but kept his eyes trained on him the whole time. Stan just started talking anyway.

“Alright, without talkin’ to the kids about it I don’t got the whole picture, but I got enough. Some rascal kid that was freakin’ Mabel out tried to take the Shack. Same kid who found your second journal, wherever the hell that was.” Ford had carefully stepped closer, hovering over Stan before letting himself sink into place on the floor beside him. He looked like he didn’t know what to do with his hands and was awkwardly twiddling all twelve of his fingers while he listened, muscles in his face twitching.

“Mabes and Soos saw this kid, Gideon is his name, summoning the guy. Bill, I mean. Made a deal with ‘im to go in my head ‘nd find the code to my safe, so he could steal the deed to the Shack.” Ford raised an eyebrow, making his posture straighter for a moment as he prepared to speak before Stan just continued and cut him off. “The kids used that spell in yer third book to go into m’ head, uh, my mindscape, and fight him out. Whatever they did, it worked, though that piece of geometry didn’t seem to amount to much compared ta what that Gideon did next anyways. Kid had a plan B that didn’t involve Bill.”

“You weren’t there for this.” Ford said it like a statement, but with an intonation to his voice that made it an inquiry. Stan shook his head. “I was out cold. Not sure I even dreamed that night.” Ford nodded.

Silence chilled the air between these old men as Stan cracked his neck and began popping every one of his knuckles in turn, only releasing his breath once he was finished. Ford wanted nothing more than to break this silence, to urge Stan to continue, but it felt… sacred, somehow. Once Stan was ready, he balled his hands into fists and snorted. “S’next part really pisses me off.” He didn’t notice Ford gulp and tentatively hover a hand in his direction before changing his mind.

“I dunno what was said, I dunno what it all looked like, but that bastard got in Dipper’s head, got in his body.”

He suddenly turned to look at Ford, eyes wide. “He hurt him. Gave him scars. Gave him nightmares. Gave Mabel nightmares, too.” Stan’s mouth opened and closed, hanging strangely for a moment while his eyebrows knit together. “...Bill left a note, Stanford. For Mabel to find.”

One shaky inhale later, he continued. “Was gonna… jump off the water tower. Invited Mabel to the same.” He turned away from Ford, leaning back against the portal again and flexing his fingers, shoulders tense while he cracked his neck again. Stan’s gaze was forward and distant, a hollow feeling taking over his face and posture.

A loud slam startled him back into awareness.

Ford had sat up and punched the piece of portal he had been leaning against, struggling with growled breaths of air and trembling shoulders. He grit his teeth and punched it again. And again. Then he tottered to his feet and slapped both open palms into the metal, dipping his head forward and colliding against it. He hissed, rearing his head back like he was preparing for a larger blow―

“Woah― hey, hey, Ford! Stanford!” Stan was on his feet in no time and shoved Ford away from the portal, digging his hands down into Ford’s shoulders to hopefully keep him immobile. Ford wobbled and refused to meet his eyes, but Stan managed to keep him rooted where his feet stood. “What the hell was that about? Ford, buddy, are–”

Ford growled again and yanked himself backwards out of Stan’s hands, but made no move towards the portal. Stan’s hands floated, the man hesitating while he tried to put together what to say while his brain was still buzzing from whatever the heck it was that just happened.

“...My fault…”

Stanley froze, unsure if he heard that right.

“It’s my fault! I’m the reason why the kids are hurt, I’m the reason why they can’t sleep in peace. This is my fault, damn it!” Stan couldn’t entirely understand the next few words Sixer spoke, like some kind of foreign language, but he didn’t need to. His brother slumped over to the portal, giving it a half-hearted kick before leaning one shoulder on it and crumpling down to the floor. He tucked his face into his knees and wrapped his arms around his bent legs in a gesture that Stan well and truly understood.

Seeing his brother like this gave him flashbacks of a different time, of back when two young boys had spent the sweltering afternoon venting about life on a beach with grains of sand and glass between their toes. The shade of a patched-up wooden boat enveloped them in comfort much like the warm, salty air did the same. Stan needed to punch what was making Sixer feel this way. Stan needed to hug his brother. Stan needed to protect him and take care of him and make sure he never felt like this ever again. Down here in a stuffy basement in Oregon, Stan could have swore he smelled the ocean for just a moment. He licked his lips and tasted salt.

But when he reached a hand out to Stanford’s shoulder this time, his brother slapped it away and glared daggers at him. “It’s your fault for interrupting me during my fight! You should not have turned the portal back on!” Stan gaped at him and reeled back from the outburst of rage and accusation, his head feeling like an out-of-control jackhammer of confusion and pain.

He saw a nerdy little boy shaking his head, shoving his twin’s chest, and running out of the shade, running out of the sand, his snot-nosed face poorly hidden in the crook of an elbow.

“This was an insanely risky move, restarting the portal! Didn't you read my warnings?!”

“Stanley! Stanley! Do something! STANLEY!!”

Memories and voices from hours to years past spun a cacophony in his brain, a terrible chokehold that rattled the old man and stole his tongue. The room felt as though it were trying to take the air from his chest, twisting and swaying and becoming smaller around him. The broken portal sneered at him, trying to scare him away with taunts of his mistakes, with visions of a brother who pushed him into a burning hot panel 30 years ago and would gladly shove him out of his life today. It felt boiling, perspiration rolling down these walls of stone while sweat poured down his face and his burnt shoulder throbbed, stung, and scarred just like yesterday.

There was a painful pressure between his ears that urged him to leave, to escape, to find safety in a dark corner out of sight and as far away from here as possible like he failed to do three decades ago. If he stayed here then this grisly room, no, this ghastly portal, were going to squeeze his guts out inch-by-inch and break his bones one-by-one, the lightest punishment they could sentence him with. The eye of the portal would be judge, jury, and executioner, even from the floor as it was. He thought the laughter coming from the elevator behind his back sounded like his brother’s… only, higher-pitched and strangely distorted. Something off-putting, much like how he is out of place and out of his league in this basement. He was the one who willingly came back down here, letting his feet bring him to Hell. He was the one who dared to talk to Stanford. He should flee Oregon, he should ditch his name again, he should take Ford’s journal and go back out through the blitzing snow and leave and―

Stan closed his eyes, eyebrows scrunched as hard as humanly possible while he thought about why he came down here in the first place.

Bill.

Bill Cipher.

Right, that’s right.

That triangular devil.

The ruckus in his head slowed down all at once as he pictured Ford’s intricate drawings and written warnings, his mind’s eye blocking everything else out as it tunneled in on what mattered the most. A glowing triangle seated amidst a blackness that blanketed the cavern around him in an act of grace which smothered his fevered thoughts. A white hot fury in Stan’s chest that radiated outwards in this dark, musty basement, encouraging him forward. The portal was nothing more than piles of scrap, tape, and screws. The elevator was silent with only rust and age to its name. His brother was home. Stanford was here. Ford and Bill. His brother punched him in the face.

Stan huffed and abruptly spun away from Stanford, stomping over to the control hub area of the lab. Upon returning to the portal chamber moments later carrying one of those clear pyramid prisms, he made eye contact with Ford and then roared as he chucked the pyramid into the stone floor with all the might he could. Unsurprisingly, unfortunately, it did not shatter or break. Stan knew it wouldn’t. He’s taken out his stress on it before.

Ford was startled by Stan’s sudden violence, jumping at the impact noise and cringing as the prism rolled an echoing clatter across the floor. He swallowed when Stan whipped around to face him, his brother’s eyes searing a fierce unforgiving flame into his retinas as he glowered.

“Let me make myself clear. I’ve READ yer nerd diaries, Stanford. I KNOW ya have that really damn creepy room down here with this triangle bastard all over the walls, ‘nd I also know the last things you wrote about him were ugly as all hell.” He crossed his arms, turning his head to look real hard at the shadows in the corner. “I get it, whatever, you think it’s a mistake that I saved ya, you think it’s just another worthless screw-up from Stanley Pines. I don’t need a reminder of how much ya hate me.”

“Stanley–”

The con man snarled, meeting Ford’s eyes again. “What’s important right now is this guy is messin’ with our family. I dunno how you know this guy or what all happened between ya, but if you care at all about protecting the kids then let’s just go find some unicorns or whatever the hell and take care of this weirdo already! Then I’ll be outta your hair just like you wanted ‘nd we can pretend this all never happened.”

He shoved a finger at Ford, stepping closer. “‘Nd I don’t wanna hear it outta your mouth that any of this is your fault. I won’t stand for you badmouthing yourself, and I don’t wanna see you hurtin’ yourself again.” His eyes flickered to the portal frame briefly. “I am gonna protect this family from that demon monster and that includes you no matter how much you make it clear you don’t wanna see my sorry face. So DEAL with it, Poindexter, and stuff it.”

With that, Stanley stomped his foot and went to lean against the portal a little farther away from Ford. Ford couldn’t seem to swallow the tension in the air down enough no matter how hard he tried, sheepishly keeping his head turned down towards his feet.

The only sound that hazarded being heard now was the ever-present hum of resting machinery in the nearby control room. Red, white, green, and blue lights slowly blinking in and out of existence. Dark screens and large windows reflecting blackness and the distant visage of two upset twin brothers. A glossy, framed photograph of Dipper and Mabel smiling at the camera; Dipper giving Mabel bunny ears while she stuck her fingers in her mouth and stretched her face into the silliest, widest smile she could.

Twin siblings sharing the moment together like nobody else could do it better.

A captured memory of two kids being kids.

Happy memories from the beginning of an Oregon summer that supervised the final stretch of Stan’s very long 30 years, now bookended at last by the portal finally turning on.

Happy memories from nostalgic summers on Glass Shard Beach that safeguarded Stan through his shivers in the sleepless night, jacket pulled tight around his shoulders while he waited out the bite of winter in his car.

A worn photo of two boys that burned a hole in Stanford’s chest where the pocket of his black coat rested.

Dust hung in the air for minutes, fluttering in a draft so small it might have been imagined. Silence that built itself into a fortress, brick by brick. Tension that polluted the very air, threading it into thick, inedible cotton and dry tongues.

Breaking the silence had never felt less appealing. It would have been preferred had a chasm opened up and swallowed him instead.

Ford wiped his hands down his face again and sighed. “Alright. I can accept that I need to tell you about Bill. You are the other adult here and the primary guardian of these children. You’re already involved, anyway.” In his peripheral he caught Stan looking at him in the corner of his eye, clearly listening.

“Bill is… a dream demon made of energy who possesses no physical form in our world. He must manifest through dreams–projecting into our mindscapes–to interact with our realm. Or… make a deal that gives him control of a human body. Like… Like a puppet.” It didn’t escape Stan’s notice how Ford cringed, shame and fear washing over his face instantaneously.

“The purpose of the portal is to enable Bill access to our world in the flesh with his own physical body. Then he can use his god-like powers to take over and wreak havoc upon human society as we know it, bringing the whole of planet Earth, nay, Dimension 46'\, to pure chaos and ruin.”

As Ford continued to speak, Stan carefully came back closer and sat down on the floor again, trying not to grimace at his back as he did so. He was careful not to touch Ford. For but a moment he felt dizzy as he lowered himself, swimming colors in his vision putting his knees in sand before he blinked and was back on the stone floor.

“I… There is a deal between Cipher and I that is still in effect, but I have a metal plate in my head now that nullifies his influence over me. So I am safe.” At Stan’s raised eyebrow, Ford knocked his knuckles against his forehead. Sure enough, Stan heard the metallic echo.

Stan licked his lips, trying to choose his next words carefully. “If ya got that while in sci-fi sideburns land, then… you didn’t have it when ya asked me to come here, back in the 80’s.”

Ford seemed surprised, but nodded, looking at him.

“Is this guy the reason why you looked so god-awful back then?”

“...Indeed. I had only recently found out about his true intentions and was trying to thwart his efforts with the portal. He… was not happy about that and tried everything to get back at me, to sabotage my efforts, to win, and to punish me for even trying to resist.” Ford swallowed, glancing away while his fingers tapped at each his knuckles, eyes somewhere else and filled with long-buried memories. Was each word he spoke making him seem smaller, or was that Stan’s imagination?

Stan knew he was receiving the sanitized version of the story. It was written all over Stanford’s face: he was trying to be detached, objective, clinical. Like he was relaying scientific information from a formal paper and not reluctantly spilling secrets about his traumatic personal life story. But Stanley couldn’t find it in himself to blame him, not really, not when he knew he’d do the same if he had to talk about… Rico. Ford had created what might be the most acceptable version of events to present to Stan, the extent of what Ford himself could swallow, the most he could face his own shame and torment. It chilled Stan’s heart as he felt the cold sorrow creep into his nerves. This was just one more miserable thing that Stan wished he couldn’t relate to his brother about. Ford should never have gone through this, no, Stan should be the only one, and yet…

“...Stanford, in the days after I lost ya, I cleaned up a buncha junk in this house. Nonsense scribbles ‘nd piles of paper, old dishes, shards of coffee mugs, sticky notes covered in eyes, weirdo science books.” This time Stanley didn’t hesitate to put a hand on Ford’s shoulder. “There was a lotta blood. Random messes of it on piles ‘nd notes. Bloody bandages in the bathrooms. Bloody handprints on wrecked walls ‘nd doors with broken locks. Bloody clothing under your bed, crammed into piles of laundry...”

Ford leaned his head back against the portal and took in a large, stuttering inhale. His motions were slow, hesitant, like the pins and needles in his limbs were pinning the cavity of his chest open and revealing himself to Stan; the flayed pages of a tattered open book against his will. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he had to talk about this eventually, but he always hoped he could just ignore it and handle it on his own. His brother didn’t deserve to be roped into this burden. This was Ford’s problem, Ford’s pain, and Ford’s mess, no one else’s.

Yet, hearing the truth that Bill had been winding his spindly claws into the kids, into Lee, during Ford’s absence… made the gut-wrenching scope of this plague undeniable. The plague Ford unleashed upon not only this world but his family. He swore he could feel the sticky wetness of his great-niblings’ blood on his hands.

Ford noticed a question in Stanley’s wide eyes and, while hesitant, nodded. This was all the answer he needed to give. His brother simply understood. But Ford forced it out of his throat anyway. "Yes… The blood was Bill's doing."

This time, Stan was the one who punched the portal, cursing and sneering at what remained of the triangular structure. “I was so far up my own ass that I couldn’t even protect my own twin brother after he reached out to me for help… All I did was yell, fight, ‘nd shove someone who was hurt, someone who was scared ‘nd needed me to do something and I didn’t…!”

Ford’s reaction was immediate: clumsy and unfamiliar yet harkening back to what Stanley had thought was long gone and left beaten and buried in the sand. “Stanley, no… No, no no, you didn’t have a clue. Because I didn’t tell you enough, you could not possibly have known. I escalated the argument with you and I fought back. I don’t… think it would be right to fault you on that.” His hands were held up, fingers curled and loose and unsure what to do but yearning to reassure Lee, hankering to clarify and correct about Ford’s mistakes and where the blame lay so someone else need not falsely feel that vice.

Stan stared at him, shoulders rising and falling as his breathing returned to an even and steady rhythm. He didn’t really know what expression he had on his face, and judging by the look on Ford’s, that genius had no idea, either. He exhaled something fierce, erratically rubbing his hands up and down his face. He settled back down after a while of de-stressing and slouched against the portal debris again, looking like he didn’t really care about how he landed or if he were sitting comfortably or not.

One inhale. One exhale.

He twisted his torso to face his twin.

“But you think it’s right to fault me on other things.” Ford averted his eyes. Stan clicked his tongue. “Whatever… So what do we need to do? Make that unicorn barrier crap, smash this ugly piece of work back into scraps,” –he rapped his knuckles on the metal over his shoulder– “and then what? Anything we gotta do to the kids? Ya better not suggest installing metal into their skulls, Sixer, or so help me god.”

His brother spluttered at that, staring at Stan incredulously. “No, of course not! Besides, I wouldn’t trust anyone in this dimension to successfully pull off such a surgery.”

“Oh yeah? Aliens got it that much better than us?”

“Eh…” Ford shrugged his shoulders and made a so-so gesture with his hand. “It depends on where you look. I cannot say that consistency is a term the multiverse is particularly familiar with…”

Stan leaned closer and clapped Ford’s back as he laughed. “Ha! Not so different from us, huh.”

His brother could only just muster up an awkward chuckle alongside him.

“That aside… Yes, I believe you have the correct idea about how to tackle the… Bill problem. I intend to review my journals again for the sake of verifying my old memories pertaining to some key details, and then I will take care of it. I will disassemble the portal and erect a unicorn hair barrier–”

Stan cleared his throat in the most obnoxious way he could. “Ahem. You ain’t doin’ this alone, Poindexter. We’ll destroy the portal, and we’ll put up the barrier.” He raised a hand when it looked like Ford was going to protest. “Uh-uh, I’ve read those diaries more than you have at this point, or one of ‘em anyway. Ya can’t keep me out of this ‘nd you are not gonna do this alone, do I make myself clear?” He wiggled his fingers and flashed a well-practiced salesman’s grin.

Ford’s face contorted through a few different emotions before he finally hung his head and sighed, crossing his arms. “Fine.” He straightened to his feet and gestured over his shoulder for Stan to follow him to the control hub room, not looking back once.

This was going better than Stanley had dared to let himself hope. It still felt like Ford was at risk of exploding if Stan said the wrong thing, but his brother apparently didn’t have as much fight in him as he had earlier that day. Or when Stan first came down here, for that matter. He rubbed his wrists and winced his left eye toward what surely must be a fully formed bruise on his face by now.

He wanted to say he was happy, but as he swallowed around the rough feeling in his throat he knew he couldn’t fool himself about that. This sucked balls. His earlier attempt at levity seemed promising at first, but it was like trying to hold back the might of the entire ocean when Ford slipped right back into trying to exclude Stan again. This dense pressure surrounding his brother was suffocating, impenetrable, and something in Stan’s chest that he tried not to think about hurt like a raw wound at the realization that he didn’t really know how to broach this wall of Ford’s like he once used to.

Something in his chest chafed even more when he thought about how he didn’t really know how to talk to Ford like he used to, either. In fact, Stan didn’t feel like he had managed to actually talk to Stanford straight for once during this entire confrontation. He was being tolerated and he knew his brother was probably silently pleading for him to go away and leave him to his misery so he could mope around until this awful day finally came to a close. Would they repeat this song and dance tomorrow? …Would it be worth it to?

But despite all the eggshells, they had managed to connect just a little bit about their shared concern for the kids. He tried not to think about their shared pains from the past decades, something which was undeterred despite both twins living such wildly different lives.

Maybe Stanley doesn’t need anything else. Just think about the kids.

This is fine. This is surely fine.

Don’t think about the end of summer.

Don’t think about a rickety old boat casting shadows on the beach.

He entered the control room just in time to be shaken out of his daze. He watched as Ford arranged all three journals on the desk… and suddenly collapsed, holding onto the desk’s edge for dear life before he hit the floor.

Ford raised a hand to keep Stan away, fingers wiggling something indecipherable, limbs visibly shaking as he forced himself into a seated position on the nearby desk chair. He immediately staggered forward, elbows hitting the hard surface and his face sinking to hide in his hands, glasses falling down to land haphazardly on Journal #2.

Stan felt like he was watching his brother crumble into pieces.

Pieces of glass smothered in sand.

After another moment, he cautiously approached his twin, unsure what exactly happened.

“My apologies,” Ford rubbed his eyes, swallowing and bouncing his legs on the balls of his feet while he sat. “I’ve wasted so many decades of my life on that accursed charlatan.”

His sunken eyes glanced over at Stanley through his fingers like that was all he had the energy to do.

“I was one trigger away from having finally wiped myself clean of him before I was unceremoniously forced back here.” He scrunched his eyes closed, teeth grinding as he grimaced. “I shouldn’t be here, my life should have been spent on taking him down, on redeeming myself for being so big a fool as to fall for his schemes!” His arms swung to hang limply down at his sides as he leaned back, face staring up at nothing on the ceiling.

Like a doll with no control of its limbs. A puppet left to rot somewhere without strings.

“And yet he and I both persist, continuing to unjustly live, and it simply isn’t enough that he has me wrapped around his fingers, but now I find out that fiend is harassing the kids as well!” Ford’s words tapered into a roar, the spike of energy pushing him to lean forward far too fast while his round eyes located Stanley in the room’s dull light. He ground his hands against his knees, needing some kind of anchor.

“That’s personal, Stanley, I can’t help but fear that it must harken back to his gleeful torment of me all those years ago where he knew I was trapped and was toying with my psyche. He’s happy to hurt my family because he’s happy to hurt me, because he knew I wasn’t here to stop him, and he can laud his power over my head and rub my own powerlessness and failures back in my face, and… a-and…”

Stan’s arms were wrapped around his brother before he even finished registering that Ford’s voice tripped into a broken choke.

Ford cried out, “And when… when I saw all three of my old journals laid out bare here, I felt heavier than ever the monumental weight of my mistakes and how wretched my life has been. How, just how, could I have gotten my niece and nephew caught up in my disaster?”

The raw wound in Stan’s chest throbbed as he took in those words, the weight of them carving a home where he was already torn asunder and bruised.

Stanford’s full body lurched as he sobbed in his brother’s arms and gasped throttled breaths of air, returning the hug and scrunching the material of Stan’s shirt beneath all twelve of his fingers. “I’m so tired, Lee, I’m tired of Cipher! I’m tired of forcing those around me to continually suffer from my mistakes! I’m tired of running, I’m tired of being a puppet, of.. of being his toy, his property that he can jostle around the board as he pleases…!”

Stan began to rub small, gentle circles into Ford’s back while he thought over what he’d just heard, the motion so natural to him and so ingrained in his muscles that he didn’t need to think about it twice. For his brother to expose his heart like this… It was truly serious. It set Stan’s face in a grave expression. Not that long ago a rekindled relationship between the two of them had seemed impossible, and yet Stan now held the delicate reins of responsibility, an instinct burning inside him that made him want to protect his twin. He didn’t want to mess this up. He wanted to be there for his twin the way he should have been three decades ago.

He kept rubbing his brother’s back as the two of them sat there on the sand with their eyes closed, sniffles being carried away by the ambience of the ocean and tears falling down to the beach beneath their feet. Wet droplets left dark marks in the sand as though they could become sea glass.

Soon the sky was awash in pink and orange, and the cold shadow of the Stan o’ War stretched longer and longer, reminiscent of young boys chasing after the last remnants of dimming sunlight.

Once Ford’s sobbing diminished to but a few sniffles, Stan made his decision.

He picked up his twin’s glasses and gently sat them back on his face.

“I know this isn’t what you wanna hear right now, but, let’s get ya in the shower, and I’ll cook up some warm food for ya before we get ya to bed.” Ford lifted his head off Stan’s chest just a little, quizzically raising an eyebrow. “You need rest, Sixer, or else you’re gonna keel over ‘nd die before ya can do anything about Bill. It’s been one hell of a day.”

“But… The kids. Bill is too dangerous to ignore.” Ford’s voice was small and pathetic, yet as determined as he could make it. The familiar scared face of an insecure little boy standing on the edge of help and hurt. On the edge of where the tides meet the sands.

“I know, I know. You said the metal plate makes ya safe, right? The portal’s non-functional ‘nd in pieces that woulda taken me months to fix, ‘nd the kids are in the attic, prolly pretendin’ to sleep, so…”

“So…?”

“So I think we can afford to spend a lil’ time on makin’ sure you don’t fall apart first, brainiac. We’ll need that bright brain of yours runnin’ on something more than ten cups of alien coffee, right?”

Ford was struck with a look of astonishment following that comment. “Coffee… I can have Dimension 46'\ coffee again! Oh how I have missed it terribly; nothing else ever compared.”

His eyes glittered like Stanley had just hung the stars in front of an aspiring child.

Ford leaned back from Stan, using the collar of his black turtleneck to wipe the wetness from his cheeks. “I… do not like it or feel entirely comfortable with it, but I will concede that you have a point that’s hard to argue. I’ll freshen up my hygiene if you include coffee with whatever food you make– I do not care what time it is right now.”

“You’re s'posed ta go to sleep, knucklehead, but sure, I’ll make ya a mean coffee,” Stan chuckled as he swapped his hands over to patting Ford’s shoulder a couple times before stepping back to give him some space. The soothing lull of cool waves echoed and receded from farther and farther away. “Ha! I am unsure even coffee could keep me going on my feet tonight, as much as I would prefer it to.”

They both turned towards the elevator and had managed to take a single step before Ford abruptly stopped. He turned back towards the portal room, glancing between it and Stanley, his brows set in a worry. “I need to check something…!”

Stan just shrugged. “S’long as it won’t be too much work.”

“Excellent! Now, if you’ll excuse me.” His coat billowed behind him as he rushed out into the cavern.

Stan didn’t follow him all the way, but did hover near the entrance, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed. “So what’s got ya in a tizzy?”

“It is of crucial importance that I check for any possible rifts.” Ford looked over his shoulder to verify where Stan was before he continued. “During my travels between dimensions, I had to track where potential rifts might form in order to continue my journey. While some rifts were man-made, or should I say alien-made, others simply occurred as a natural consequence of the unnatural frayed fabric of reality. Like a hole in a piece of cloth whose threads weaken, loosen, and allow additional holes to form.”

“So in other words, yer lookin’ for smaller holes near the portal?” He couldn’t help but smile like an idiot just a little bit. It was nice to hear his nerd brother again.

“Precisely! Seeing as our shiny punched hole in reality here was designed to lead to the Nightmare Realm, also known as Bill’s domain, I fear that any rifts will follow in those footsteps and do the– Aha! Stanley, could you bring me a borosilicate jar?”

“Come again?”

“Laboratory glassware! I need a resealable container, such as a jar. I used to have some spares sitting around here somewhere…”

Stan disguised a chuckle with a cough as he watched Ford crouch near the far corner, legs and hands splayed far apart, before turning to go fetch what was needed. When he returned, Ford was several feet away from the corner and busy with his hands on the portal instead.

He jumped when Stan suddenly slapped his shoulder. “What did I just tell ya about takin’ a break? Anyway, here’s your jar.”

Ford sheepishly nodded and retrieved it from him. He inspected it for a few moments, removing and replacing the lid a few times, before going back to the corner. Stan tried to stand on his tippy toes to peer at what the heck a rift might look like without getting any closer to the corner. He observed as Ford swung his arm in wide arcs and seemed to be capturing… floating blobs of spacey stardust? He thought they’d make for a cool alien lava lamp. I bet I can sell that.

His brother turned back to face him, sealed jar clasped between his hands.

“There we have it! It is but a small thing for the time being, but we will need to seal it and monitor it in case of any changes. I believe I know just the thing and can have this taken care of…”

Stan gave him a look. He put a lot of work in making sure that unimpressed eyebrow was as judgmental as it could be.

“...We’ll take care of it tomorrow.” Ford looked a little dejected as he changed course, sighing wistfully.

Stan gave him a thumbs up. His brother just snorted, shaking his head and smiling as he walked past and back into the control room. He seemed ponderous, one hand on his chin while he considered whatever it was he was thinking about, and then he opened a cabinet on the wall and locked the jar away inside.

“Ready to head upstairs now?” Stan was back by the elevator.

“Yes, I believe so. Well, no, but I accept that I should.”

For a short while, the tension between the twins had disappeared. But the elevator felt suffocating again.

Ford kept fidgeting and looking everywhere except at Stan. When Stan caught his eye once, he cleared his throat. Ford took in a deep breath.

“Stanley… It is very difficult. I do not have the words for everything it is that I am feeling, and everything that I want to say to you. I am still unsure of a lot of things, not the least of which is myself. But… I am glad to be home.” The wrinkles on his face were the softest Stan had ever seen them.

It wasn’t a thank you, but it was close enough for now. Close enough for Stan’s face to beam into a great big toothy, giddy grin. “Glad to have ya here.”

When the elevator reached their destination at the top and Ford made a motion to leave, Stan held him back with a hand on his shoulder. Ford turned to him, eyebrows raised questioningly.

Stan averted his eyes and coughed into his free fist. “I, uh… Sorry. For earlier today. You’ll always be my family, ya nerd.”

Ford gave him a small smile. “Me too… I apologize for punching you earlier. I am not entirely sure why I did, honestly.”

Stan shrugged, then wrapped his arm around Ford’s shoulders in a hearty embrace. “Eh, stress ‘nd nerves probably. ‘Sides, you sound like ya could use somethin’ to punch!” He gesticulated dramatically with his free hand as though he were painting a picture for Ford to see. “Maybe we can pull out that boxing dummy from storage tomorrow ‘nd draw a triangle on it!”

“Oh that isn’t necessary, Stanley…” Stanford snorted, leaning into Stan as his laughter made him less steady on his feet. “Nah don’t worry about it Sixer, I wanna punch it too. And if that guy ever shows up here again, I’ll punch him for real!”

Stanley grabbed both of Ford’s shoulders as his laughter died down, turning his brother to face him. “I really mean it, ya know. Don’t gotta ask me twice. Easiest sell of m’ life, even. No one messes with my family like that ‘nd gets off scot-free, ya hear me?”

Ford visibly swallowed and gave a tiny nod.

“... Thank you. I appreciate it.”

They shook the sand off their shoes as they stepped out of the elevator.

They held each other for support as they trekked through the ocean, waves lapping at their calves as they climbed the stairs one step at a time.

When they stepped through the vending machine, the nostalgic laughter of two twin little boys wrapped around them like a scarf before evaporating into ocean mist.

The vending machine had only been closed for a second before Mabel bounded right up to her Grunkles and planted herself right into their legs, trying to wrap her short arms around them both in a hug. Stan gestured for Dipper to come over as he and Ford crouched down to Mabel’s height, apparently already knowing that the little dork was nearby. Ford watched as Dipper meekly came from around the corner and joined them, repeatedly glancing between Stan and Ford all the while.

Stan spread his arms wide and trapped all of his family in a big bear hug, laughing and feeling weightless and the most alive he has in years. “I knew ya little knuckleheads wouldn’t be asleep! Tell ya what, I was about to make some Stancakes ‘nd coffee for my nerd brother here. How ‘bout I make a few ‘nd some hot chocolate for the two of ya, ‘nd then you can head to bed this time?”

Dipper’s guilty smile fell sideways into laughter as Stan broke the hug to noogy him and his sister, but Mabel was undeterred by her hair getting ruffled. “You better give me extra marshmallows and heaps of glitter!”

“Yes Stanley, and I better have no less than four tablespoons of sugar in my coffee.”

“A-and I want four Stancakes, Grunkle Stan!”

Stan broke out in a belly laugh and clapped Ford’s back as he stood up straight. “Sheesh, no wonder none of ya can sleep!”

He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this positively about the future. The spring in his step and the healing salve on his heart nearly made him feel like a new man. As he pulled out the flour and baking soda and opened the fridge to grab the milk and butter, he couldn’t help but feel like no matter what may happen, things would work out just fine.

[you-remind-me-of-the-babe]

Happy Wednesday! I’m on spring break and blissfully alone at a cafe writing for a few hours this morning. The weather is just starting to turn nice (though its supposed to rain tomorrow) but I can feel spring coming properly, which makes me happy. I hope y’all are getting some nicer weather soon, too.

I’m plugging away on my new WIP. I previously mentioned I’m tentatively titling it Back and Back and Back. I also quite like Start at the End, though I’m not sure if that description will end up strictly accurate, so might not work. We shall see.

I’m going to go ahead and share the premise now (or rather, the inspiration) because why not? I was reading through @carryonprompts and found this one and quite liked the idea. I started daydreaming about it in earnest right away. This was the first thing I wrote:

Past

BAZ age 6, 2003

When I get home from school, Vera always makes me a snack. After that, I’m supposed to do my homework before I’m allowed to go outside and play. There’s always pages and pages of it, and it’s horrid, because it’s so easy, it makes me want to rip it to pieces, or hide it under my bed. And if I have to read one more book about Dick and Jane, I think I might scream. (I’ve read every one of the books in my Beatrix Potter collections. Doesn’t my teacher know that if I can read words like presently, I shouldn’t need to read these baby primers?)

Even though I could do this stuff in my sleep, it’s going to have to wait because today he is here.

Or at least, I think he is. I only saw a flash of red out beyond the trees, but that’s as good a sign as any. I don’t want to make him wait, because I don’t know how long he’ll have to visit today, so I have to plan my escape quite quickly.

I don’t imagine this holding too closely to the book/movie. I’m taking inspiration from parts I liked (and can remember 15 years later lol) but shaping this to be a Watford-era, canon divergent fic with some time traveling/soul mate/destiny elements. It feels very ambitious for me to try writing time travel because it hurts my brain to even consume time travel media sometimes 🤣 and I am much more of a pantser than a planner when I write. Then again, the prospect of pulling off this sort of challenge intrigues me. Wish me luck!

Tags/hello/hope you are well 😘

@fatalfangirl @whatevertheweather @thewholelemon @cutestkilla @moodandmist @mooncello @aristocratic-otter @artsyunderstudy @bookish-bogwitch @facewithoutheart @valeffelees @shrekgogurt @iamamythologicalcreature @youarenevertooold @brilla-brilla-estrellita @forabeatofadrum @j-nipper-95 @larkral @leithillustration @messofthejess @captain-aralias @nightimedreamersworld @wellbelesbian @run-for-chamo-miles @roomwithanopenfire @raenestee @rimeswithpurple @theimpossibledemon @theearlgreymage @whogaveyoupermission @monbons @noblecorgi @emeryhall @ivelovedhimthroughworse @ileadacharmedlife @that-disabled-princess @blackberrysummerblog @prettygoododds @ic3-que3n @hushed-chorus @orange-peony @alexalexinii @angelsfalling16 @arthurkko @letraspal @supercutedinosaurs

[booksandabeer]

A Man Takes His Sadness Down to the River (The Consolation of Philosophy) (E | 150 K)

To celebrate the completion of the fourth & final part Lost Vocabularies that Might Express (The Memory of These Broken Impressions) in this wonderful series by dorian_burberrycanary.

Author's summary: The worst of times, like the best, are always passing away. How’s that for some consolation on the road? A post-The Falcon and The Winter Soldier Stucky fix-it as part of the all-American road trip, detours included.

Follow Steve and Bucky on their Great American Road Trip as they drive and eat their way across the country and beyond. From the beaches of the Jersey Shore to the graveyards of Savannah, from the cragged horizons of Mexico to deserts with (small) volcanoes, from college campuses to earthship settlements, from the mountains of Colorado to the monumental emptiness of the Great Plains and on and on and on…there is always more road ahead.

A Man Takes... is a miracle of a series that works with what should be an unworkable premise: Steve really did leave to go live in the past. He returned a few months later, yes, but he still made that choice. Knowingly. So, how can any author, any story, rectify such a colossal mistake, and how can it be reconciled with a believable, satisfying romance that short-changes neither Steve nor Bucky? Like this. With patience, and care, and often painful honesty. Just like Steve, this story slowly digs itself out from under the burden of that terrible decision.

I know that some people are very reluctant or even outright refuse to read EG-compliant fics and I understand why this might be a tough sell for them. Believe me, I do. But this series manages to neither let Steve off the hook for his choices nor does it punish him excessively. Instead, Steve and the readers are repeatedly confronted with the fact that there are no magical solutions here, no take-backs—it’s a fix-it, yes, and very much a Stucky fic through and through, but it’s not a fix-it fantasy where in the end everything turns out to have been an unfortunate misunderstanding after all. What's done is done and the only way out is through. But. even if you usually prefer to ignore anything that happened post-[insert preferred point of canon divergence here], please, please try to give this absolute marvel of a series a chance. It is genuinely one of the most rewarding and satisfying works I've ever read in this fandom. It's catharsis in slow motion.

You will find descriptive writing here that is so incredibly beautiful that it will bring you to your knees in awe. This series transcends fanfiction in many ways, as it stands out for the remarkable quality of the prose and the nuance, subtlety, and precision with which it explores both the emotional landscapes of its protagonists and a fictionalized, yet very recognizable post-Snap America. At the same time, it could only ever work as fanfiction because it stays so close to the characters and is so deeply rooted in and filtered through Steve’s inner life and perspective. Just like the real Steve Rogers, this story is smart and curious, and deeply empathetic towards its characters and the world they inhabit.

Every detail is imbued with meaning. The food Steve and Bucky eat. The clothes they wear. The art they look at. The books they read. The music they listen to. The places they stay at. The landscapes they drive through and the objects they carry with them or acquire along the way. One doesn't need to understand or even notice all of the references, allusions, or ambiguities to enjoy the series, but it makes for such a rewarding reading experience to really dig deep into the many, many layers the author has so expertly assembled into this phenomenally rich text. More often than not in this fic, the curtains aren’t just blue. Or rather, Bucky’s sweatpants aren’t just gray.

At some point amidst this sprawling, reflective journey, a bittersweet realization sets in: There simply is no compensation for the time and life lost, for the pain suffered. No money, no medals or statues, no hagiographies, and certainly no delusional pipe dreams forcibly made real, will ever make up for all that loss. You can't outrun your past, but that doesn't mean you should bury yourself in it. And maybe, solace can be found in mutual understanding, not just between these two men, but in interactions, in shared community—however fleeting—with ordinary people doing ordinary things in their ordinary lives. And in the beauty of the mundane and the relief that there still is a world in which such beauty can exist, even though it is so often a cruel and unjust place. Steve Rogers finally allows himself to feel his feelings: his grief and his shame, but also his joy and—even though he’s already so very tired—his hunger for more. More time, more life, more Bucky.

This series is a wonderful tribute to Steven Grant Rogers—an honest and affectionate portrayal of this compelling and lovable, if at times difficult, character. It is also a gorgeous, intricate love letter to the miracle of a man that is James Buchanan Barnes. As you can probably tell by now, I love it a totally not normal amount.

A most heartfelt thank you to @burberrycanary for taking us all along on Steve and Bucky's long journey across America and (back) to each other. Thank you for letting us sit in the back seat and watch as they learn to love and live with each other in old and new ways, finally find some measure of well-deserved rest and peace, and, together, face their greatest challenge, their longest fight, the eternal question:

How to live with all this survival?

[dailydegurechaff]

Sometimes half way through making something I find myself self-conscious about it like "Oh, this is so far diverged from canon. People are gonna hate this. It's cringe, don't post it." And then I remember this is my blog that I can do whatever with and I don't have to be a people-pleaser.

Anyway, Very Very Post-War Degurechaff family tree:

Warning for yapping under the read more.

I think perhaps its more accurate to call this AU instead of headcanon, purely because of how much I'm diverging from a realistic sequence of events. Honestly, it's not meant to be canon compliant, it's meant to be me playing with the characters like dolls lol

So, to start. Ursula is a canon character introduced in the manga chapter 50 and we do see an image of her, but I don't care for it so... fan design it is. Her name is revealed later in manga chapter 81.5 (The second part of the story about Grantz's letters to home). That chapter also introduces Doris and her unnamed mother & father (Ursula's daughter & her son-in-law).

Interestingly, it's mentioned that Doris' father married into the family which means that in order for Doris to have the last name Grantz, both her father and grandfather would've had to have taken their wives' last names. Based of them really.

Grantz also takes his wife's last name because I want him to. Something about it makes sense to me. He's a wifeguy.

I considered passing the Lergen name down too. So it'd be Tanya von Lergen, her husband Warren von Lergen, and their son Theodore von Lergen, but somehow it didn't seem right. So they keep Degurechaff. That doesn't change that Tanya is technically a member of the Lergen family still.

Speaking of the Lergen family, if I allowed myself the indulgence, I would've gone into the extended Lergen family tree but I held off this time. I might update this one day to include them, but for now the main thing to know is Lergen has a married older brother and a niece (younger than Tanya). Also his two parents of course.

I want to also update this with names and designs for Grantz's parents someday too. For now we'll live with the only fan character on this tree being Theodore.

I don't have much to say on Theo because I'm undecided on what I want to do with him (Or even if I want him to exist...). What I will say is that he's definitely at least a year or two younger than Leonie. Yes, their names were specifically chosen to match each other.

He too can make scary faces and say disconcerting things like Tanya, but he gets away with it because he's cute. Yes, Lergen is completely blind to these same traits that he found worrying in Tanya.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Christmas 2023 Part 2: Marked for Later

And here's part two of the Christmas Fic list for this year! Please make sure you check out the lists below for previous Christmas lists! Don't hesitate to add your own recent Christmas and NYE fics below! All will be added on subsequent reblogs! :D

Merry Christmas!

[PART ONE]

See also:

Christmas Fics (Dec. 2017)

Christmas: Oblivious That One or The Other is In a Relationship

Christmas 2019 Part 1 (All Bookmarks XMas and New Years)

Christmas 2019 Part 2 (Marked for Later)

G / T / K+ Rated Christmas Fics (Dec. 2018) (Updated Dec 2021)

Community Recs: Christmas 2020 (Updated Dec 2021)

Christmas Trees / Decorating

Christmas-Time Love Confessions

New Year’s Fics (Jan 2023)

Christmas & New Year's Eve 2023 Pt. 1: Bookmarks & WiPs

Not a Word by notjustmom (NR, 114 w., 1 Ch. || Dancing, Christmas) – Just them dancing in Baker Street.

Big question! The Gift by AnAnYaH (G, 508 w., 1 Ch. || Christmas, Love Confessions, Dialogue Only, Fluff) – Christmas is not far and John has plans for a perfect gift for his little daughter.

Costumes for Christmas by AnAnYaH (G, 518 w., 1 Ch. || Christmas Fluff, First Time, Costume Kink, Christmas Party) – It's a costume party , and Sherlock is late.

Deck the Halls However You See Fit by Yuliares (G, 752 w., 1 Ch. || Canon Divergence, Developing Relationship, Asexual Sherlock, Holiday Fluff, Mary Ships It) – Relaxed domestic holiday fluff. In a nebulous future where John and Mary move in downstairs after Mrs. Hudson retires, the gang preps for their annual Christmas party in 221B Baker Street.

Something red, something green, something sparkly by Silvergirl (M, 1,106 w., 1 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Christmas, Texting, Impending Desperation, Gift Shopping) – If you can't solve a puzzle yourself, ask the experts. Of course, the experts may be utterly useless ... until they aren't.

The Man in Aisle Ten by standbygo (G, 1,395 w., 1 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Christmas, Shopping, Gifts, Original Female Character POV) – It's Christmas Eve, the busiest day for shopping at Harrod's, and there's a guy in aisle ten who's snapping at every sales associate who dares to approach him. It's up to Moira to help him find the perfect present. [TRANSLATIONS: Русский || 中国] 

221B's Christmas Tree by SatanDrankMyCoffee (G, 1,634 w., 1 Ch. || Christmas, Fluff, Bratty Sherlock, Domestics, Decorations) – One of the staples of most people's holiday season is decorating the tree; John and Sherlock are no exception.

Mistletoe is a Parasite by Breath4Soul (M, 1,896 w, 1 Ch. || Christmas Party, First Kiss, Mistletoe, Drinking, Dom/Sub Undertones) – It’s Christmas and after some interesting revelations at Molly Hooper's holiday party, Sherlock takes his cue from Mistletoe to take matters into his own hands. Mistletoe attaches, penetrates and absorbs... turns out that is right up Sherlock's alley...

A Little Christmas Spirit by Berty (E, 2,077 w., 1 Ch. || POV Sherlock, First Time, Blow Jobs, Christmas Fluff, Canon Divergence) – Sherlock should really learn NOT to tune John out when he's talking. He might just be missing something important.

Snap, Crackle, Pop by Call_Me_Clarence (G, 2,243 w., 1 Ch. || Pre-Slash, New Year’s Party, Panic Attacks, PTSD / Flashbacks, Dissociation, Cuddling, Caring Sherlock, Christmas Crackers) – John has a flashback during a New Years party. Sherlock tries his best to help.

Home For Christmas? by Bluebellstar (T, 2,572 w., 1 Ch. || Pre-Canon, Pre-ASiP, Captain John, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Sad Sherlock, Big Brother Mycroft, Soft Mycroft, Established Relationship) – Sherlock Holmes wants one thing for Christmas. The one thing he knows he cannot have. He wants John Watson back from Afghanistan. But with John's leave unexpectedly cancelled, Sherlock has to spend another Christmas alone. Part 3 of the Christmas at 221B series

The Christmas Dragon by eragon19 (M, 2,615 w., 1 Ch. || Christmas, Love Confessions, Fluff, Presents) – Sherlock needs to find the perfect gift for John. Luckily a toy in a shop window gives him an idea. Part 9 of the Prompt Fills series

The Joye of Snacks by khorazir (T, 3,373 w. 1 Ch. || Christmas, Baking, Domesticity, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, Banter) – Christmas is approaching, and Sherlock surprises John with newly acquired culinary skills. John, in turn, simply ... surprises Sherlock.

The Romance Was There by apliddell (G, 4,011 w., 1 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post S3, Post Mary, Christmas, Domestics, Villain Mary, Platonic Bedsharing, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Angst, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Love Letters) – In which Sherlock reveals his merits as a housekeeper, and a few other things, too.

Shrivelfigs by lifespossible (T, 4,547 w., 1 Ch. || Teen Harry Potter AU || Christmas, Friends to Lovers, Pining, Fluff) – John and Sherlock were not a couple, ta very much. They were friends--close friends, best friends. But that was it. Just friends. If you asked John, he’d assure you that was the case. But if you got him on the right side of a couple firewhiskies, well, he might be inclined to tell you he thought it was a damn shame they were only best friends.

Crossing Paths by prettysailorsoldier (T, 5,346 w., 1 Ch. || Uni/Teenlock Coffee Shop AU || Crosswords, Christmas, Fluff) – It seemed like a great idea, a 24-hour coffee shop near a thriving university campus, but, when everyone goes home for the holidays, John finds himself trapped in a ghost town, wiling away the hours of the overnight shift any way he can. Of course, that gets a whole lot easier when a handsome insomniac starts making regular visits, and, somewhere between the case files, crossword puzzles, and copious amounts of coffee, John discovers he doesn't mind the late shift so much after all.

The Unexpected Exchange by testosterone_tea (E, 5,703 w., 1 Ch. || Christmas, Secret Santa, Vibrators, Masturbation, Love Confessions, Intercrural Sex, Bisexual John, Demisexual Sherlock, Fluff) – When Sherlock is made to participate in the Yard's Secret Santa exchange, he knew it would be a disaster. But even he didn't expect how much of a disaster it would be.

A Smart-Arse Consulting Detective Is For Life, Not Just For Christmas by Berty (T, 5,788 w., 1 Ch. || Christmas, Friends To Lovers, Trapped, Fluff, Grumpy John, Pining Sherlock, Sharing Body Heat, First Kiss, Frottage, Cold Weather) – So here they sit. Glaring at each other. Locked in an unheated, block-built tack room on a remote farm in Suffolk. With no mobile coverage. On Christmas Eve. Sherlock's definitely NOT on the 'nice' list this year.

If I Knew You Were Coming (I'd Have Baked a Cake) by standbygo (T, 5,850 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TRF, Christmas, Fluff, Baking, GBBO References, Friends to Lovers, Sharing a Bed, Cooking) – John and Sherlock aren't quite sure how they agreed to hold a Great British Bake Off competition... There will be decorative bread, misuse of the French language, terrible mispronunciation of German words, fluff, bed sharing, and profiteroles.

Such a Clatter by ArwaMachine (E, 6,183 w., 1 Ch. || Christmas, Anal Sex/Fingering, PWP, Toplock, Fluff, Hand Jobs) – Christmas is boring, and the guest bed in Mummy and Father Holmes’ cottage is far too loud for Sherlock and John to have any proper fun. Whatever is to be done?

Coup de Foudre by prettysailorsoldier (T, 6,446 w., 1 Ch. || Teenager/University AU || Alternate First Meeting, Skiing, Winter, Sherlock Speaks French, Christmas Fluff) – When John and his friends decide to blow off some steam after finals with a holiday to the Swiss Alps, he's expecting a week of roaring fires, hot chocolate, and snow as far as the eye can see. He is not expecting to fall head over heels for a fellow guest--a young Frenchman known only as "Blue Scarf"--but John's not one to let a little language barrier get in the way, and, with the help of Google Translate, it might just be a Christmas to remember after all. Part 7 of 25 Days of Johnlock

All I Want for Christmas (is Proof) by Raina_at (E, 6,471 w., 1 Ch. || Christmas Fluff, Porn Without Plot, Christmas Party, Gay Club, Costume Party, Mistletoe, First Time, Hand Jobs, Semi-Public Sex, Crack and Humour, Blow Jobs, Undercover for a Case) – John has been ridiculously in love with Sherlock for a while now, but he doesn't want to rock the boat if his interest isn't returned. Their newest case might be the catalyst they need to finally figure out whether they're on the same page. Or: Sherlock and John go undercover at a Christmas party in a gay club. In costume. Things... escalate.

That Time of Year by JRow (T, 6,717 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Christmas, Fluff, Misunderstandings, Presents, First Kiss, Confessions, Rosie) – It's Christmas Eve. The tree is decorated, the mince pies are out, and Rosie is fast asleep. Flipping his mobile in his hand, John wonders what Sherlock is doing. Then he wonders, not for the first time, what it means that Sherlock is never far from his mind. Before he can stop himself, John hits the call button.

The World In Solemn Stillness Lay by J_Baillier (T, 6,855 w., 2 Ch. || Post-S4, Christmas, Angst, Medical Conditions, Big Brother Mycroft, Friends to Lovers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Miscommunication, Family Issues) – Rosie's first Christmas without her mother is approaching fast, and John isn't coping well with the pressures of being a single parent. Can Sherlock scrape his new family back together?

Cross My Heart (And Hope To Die) by prettysailorsoldier (M, 7,306 w., 1 Ch. || University AU || Puppies, Miscommunication, Blow Jobs, Shower Sex, Christmas, Happy Ending) – When John starts acting suspicious in the run up to Christmas, lying about being at work and taking secret phone calls in the bathroom, Sherlock comes to seemingly the only conclusion, that John must be cheating on him. Unwilling to confront him, and apparently unable to make him stay, Sherlock does the only thing he can: leave before he is left. That is, until an unlikely phone call on Christmas Eve turns everything on its head... Part 11 of the 25 Days of Johnlock series

The Deepest Secret Nobody Knows by Raina_at (E, 7,568 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TRF, Christmas Party, Stuck in an Elevator, Light Angst, Semi-Public Sex) – Sherlock is back from the dead. Now all he has to do is get back his Blogger.

of midnight moments and mistletoe by hudders-and-hiddles (M, 7,669 w., 4 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Christmas, First Kiss, Fluff, Mistletoe, Snow) – John and Sherlock are throwing a Christmas Eve party, and the flat is all strung up with mistletoe.

Darkness reigns at the foot of a lighthouse by saintscully (E, 7,682 w., 1 Ch. || HLV Missing Scene, POV Sherlock, Mutual Pining, Light Dom/Sub, Angry Sex, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse, Infidelity, Angst and Feels, Implied Suicidal Ideation, Unhappy Ending) – Why John went back to Mary that Christmas.

The Way Home by Calais_Reno (M, 7,702 w., 1 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting AU || Christmas, Post-PTSD, Injury Recovery, Meeting the Parents, Coming Home, Past Drug Addiction, Developing Relationship, Moving in Together, Falling in Love, POV Sherlock Third Person) – It's Christmas Eve, and Sherlock's landlord has evicted him due to a little misunderstanding about a very small explosion that really only burned the curtains. Mrs Hudson isn't willing to let him move into 221B until after the holiday. He's left with only one alternative: go home. Spend Christmas with his family. On the train, he meets someone who might just be having an even worse holiday. Part 32 of Just Johnlock

Only Friends by HollyShadow88 (E, 7,514 w., 2 Ch. || University AU || Accidental Voyeurism, Christmas / New Year's, Light Angst, Embarrassed John / Sherlock, Roommates, Alternate First Meeting, Anal Fingering/Sex, Affection, Topping from the Bottom, Enthusiastic Consent, Sex Tapes, Student John / Sherlock, Blow Jobs) – John Watson is assigned Sherlock Holmes as his new roommate when he is transferred to his university. Only problem is, Sherlock's hot, and John has to work around his growing feelings for him while also secretly paying for school with an OnlyFans page. With the end of the term approaching, an accidental discovery changes their relationship.

Dear Sherlock by by Tara Laurel (T, 7,729 w., 3 Ch. || Post-TRF, Reunion, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Christmas) – "John was happy. Too happy. Of course Sherlock preferred to see his friend in good spirits, especially after the cloud of depression that had hung over him the past weeks, but this was simply maddening." John's got a serious case of Christmas spirit, but is there something serious hidden behind it - something that surprises & saddens a self-proclaimed sociopath? 

Winning a Lost Bet by meet_me_in_samarra (M, 8,214 w., 2 Ch. || Christmas, Pole Dancing, Established Relationship, Costumes, Glitter, Muscular John, Sexy Sherlock, The Yard) – A lost bet makes Sherlock and John perform a pole-dance in costumes at the Yard´s Christmas party. It was supposed to be humiliating but instead the couple nailed it.

Pardon my French by archea2 (E, 8,232 w., 3 Ch. || Christmas, Fluff, Language Kink, Voice Kink, John in Afghanistan, Fever, Drunk Sherlock, Paternal Lestrade, Clothed Sex, Drunken Confessions, Humour) – Sherlock's closet Jekyll resurfaces when he's drunk, making him tender, earnest and extremely talkative with John. It's all fine with John - or would be, if Sherlock's Subconscious bloody let him speak English on these occasions.

Spell It Out by prettysailorsoldier (M, 8,344 w., 1 Ch. || Harry Potter Fusion || Teenlock, Christmas, Love Potion/Spell, Pining Sherlock) – Remaining at Hogwarts over break has become something of a tradition for Sherlock and John, staying behind together ever since their very first year, but, when Irene throws a gift of doctored coconut ice into the mix, plans quickly change, even if John doesn't. Part 6 of 25 Days of Johnlock

Tomorrow by Berty (M, 9,517, 1 Ch. ||PODFIC AVAILABLE || Magical Realism AU || Canon Divergence, Christmas, Hurt/Comfort, Spells and Enchantments, Married John/Mary, Difficult Decisions, Fluff and Angst, Spells and Enchantments) – The night before they travel to Dorset to spend Christmas with Sherlock's parents and John's wife, 221 Baker Street is peaceful with the smell of baking, flickering candles and presents under the tree. But Father Christmas can't be relied upon to bring the boys their heart's desires. Just as well Mrs Hudson - who is NOT a fairy godmother OR their housekeeper, thank you very much - is so good at her job.

Hot Chocolate by ohlooktheresabee (G, 10,756 w., 2 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post S4, POV John, Idiots in Love, Christmas Fluff, Developing Relationship, Sherlock’s Heart, Affection, Falling in Love, Past Child Abuse, Light Angst with Happy Ending) – With Sherrinford but a distant memory, Christmas season approaches and John Watson is not in the mood. His friend and flatmate Sherlock disappears for a week, leaving him behind again, and John doesn’t think that things can get any worse. However, with a little help from their friends, he might finally start seeing the reasons to enjoy this Christmas after all... 

no man is a failure by blueink3 (T, 10,836 w., 1 Ch. || It’s a Wonderful Life AU || Christmas, Whump, Suicidal Ideology, Angst with Happy Ending, Familly, Hurt/Comfort) – “John, you’re talking to a dead girl on Christmas Eve in the middle of the Golden Jubilee Bridge. When I say, ‘perk of the job,’ the definition is vast.” She opens her hands in front of her and gives a tiny bow. “Congratulations, it’s December the 24th, 2016 and you, John Hamish Watson, have never been born.”

The Time Being by prettysailorsoldier (M, 11,008 w., 1 Ch. || University AU || John in Afghanistan, Victor Trevor, Time Skips, Poetry, Goodbyes, Christmas, Fluff, Drug Use, Angst with Happy Ending) – When Sherlock sends John off from King's Cross the day before Christmas Eve, he can't bear the thought that it's really goodbye, no matter how much John insists a clean break is best, so he suggests a compromise: Meeting up in that same place 7 years later. What follows are snapshots of the next seven Christmases, chronicling the changes in each man's life, but just because they're growing separately, doesn't mean they're growing apart. Part 3 of 25 Days of Johnlock

A Tale of Two Soldiers by batslikepastel (T, 14,136 w., 5 Ch. || S4 Fix It, Jealous Sherlock, Misunderstandings, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Christmas, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Developing Relationship, Cuddling / Snuggling, First Kiss, Stress Baking, Domestic Fluff) – It's Christmas, and Sherlock and John are finally flatmates again after the tumultuous events of the previous year. But a sudden revelation about John's sexuality and James Sholto's unexpected presence throw a wrench into Sherlock's plans, and his jealousy threatens to overwhelm him even as John remains blithely oblivious. Their relationship has reached a turning point, and the ball is in John's court now.

Silent Night by khorazir (M, 15,060 w., 1 Ch. || Codebreaker / WWII / Imitation Game-Inspired AU || Care Fic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Dev. Rel., Reunion, PTSD John, Christmas) – It’s Christmas Eve 1944, and Sherlock Holmes has received his most precious gift already: after a long, dangerous deployment, Surgeon Captain John Watson of the Royal Navy has unexpectedly returned from the front. As if this weren’t enough, there’s a case. Both events make for a night full of promise, excitement, and the difficult task of getting reacquainted with the man Sherlock hasn’t seen in three years and feared he’d lost forever. Part 2 of Enigma

A Story That Is Almost, But Not Quite, Entirely Unlike Blue Carbuncle by Iwantthatcoat (M, 16,468 w., 10 Ch. || Blue Carbuncle Adaptation, Holmes Parents, Christmas) – It’s the most wonderful time of the year, and the Holmes Family is all set to have one of those unimaginable Christmas dinners— but the game is afoot, as Mummy’s friend is caught up in a Christmas mystery.

The Secret of Hazel Grange by SilentAuror (E, 18,153 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Christmas, COVID-19 / Pandemic, POV Sherlock) – John has a secret, and Sherlock is bothered. Trapped together at Baker Street during the lockdown, the tension only grows worse as Christmas draws nearer...

Serendipity by Calais_Reno (T, 18,222 w., 3 Ch. || Serendipity Fusion || Christmas, Romance, Coincidences, First Meetings, Misunderstandings, New York City, Fate and Destiny) – A bit of New York Christmas fluff, based on the 2001 movie.

Breaking Christmas by MissDavis (M, 18,606 w., 18 Ch. || Christmas, Established Relationship, Fluff, Nipple Piercing, Ficlets, No Angst) – Join me in some established relationship Johnlock as I attempt to make Sherlock and John participate in some Seasonal Fucking Cheer.

Welcome Christmas by MissDavis (T, 18,774 w., 24 Ch || Post S4, Christmas, Winter, Parenthood, Canon Compliant, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Bed Sharing, First Kiss) – Join John and Sherlock at Baker Street as they celebrate Rosie's first Christmas and beyond. From Rosie crawling around the flat as they tiptoe around each other en route to their first kiss, to a happy retirement with a young grandson who wants to be just like Grandad and Papa, this fic shows how Sherlock and John celebrate Christmas together through the years. 

Mistletoe and Misdemeanours by Robottko (T, 20,738 w., 12 Ch. || Coffee Shop AU || Christmas, Fake Relationship, Coffee Shops, Victor Trevor, First Kiss, Holmes Family, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Family Drama, Kidnapping) – When Victor Trevor backs out of the Holmes family Christmas at the last minute, Sherlock panics because he has no way to impress his parents. Thankfully there is a handsome army doctor with nowhere to go in his coffee shop, though it would be more helpful if he were a bit more willing.

High Mountain Tea Leaves by disfictional (E, 23,207 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TFP, TD-12, Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, Travel, Case Fic, Miscommunication, Shower Sex, Masturbation, Chinese Language, New Year’s Kiss, Toplock) – A mountaintop robbery on a Japanese-occupation-era train where the only item stolen was a small case of mysterious tea leaves in a backpack? An ideal Christmas gift, two days late. Sherlock convinces John to travel for tea.

Danger Nights by khorazir (T, 23,591 w., 3 Ch. || Post-TLD, Friends to Lovers, Mentioned Parentlock, Pining, First Kiss/Time, Winter, Folklore, Wales, Spooky Elements, Bed Sharing, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Spooky Elements) – According to folklore, the nights between Christmas and Twelfth Night are the most dangerous of the year. During them, the Wild Hunt rides, and ghosts and demons come out to haunt unsuspecting and misbehaving folk. An investigation of a series of strange occurrences leads John and Sherlock to Hay-on-Wye on the Welsh Marches, to face ghosts weird and ancient as well as close and personal – and perhaps to start the new year on a more hopeful note than the previous one.

All Roads Lead Home at Christmas by reveling_in_mayhem (T, 25,709 w., 24 Ch. || Post TRF, Christmas, Happy Ending) – Perhaps Christmas could truly be a time for miracles, for some. But John didn't believe in miracles. Not anymore.

Sherlock Holmes & The Mysterious Ex by Gatergirl79 (M, 27,942 w., 16 Ch. || Family, Romance, Holmes Family) – Sherlock and John are forced to spend Christmas with Sherlock’s family. An unsettling idea especially when John will have to play ‘Boyfriend’ thanks to Mycroft. But why exactly does Sherlock want to avoid a family party?

If There Were Any Time For A Miracle by Berty (E, 31,732 w., 3 Ch. || Jealous Sherlock, Mutual Pining, Christmas, Birthday Party, Misunderstandings, First Kiss/Time, Fluff, Sherlock’s Violin) – John and Sherlock are spending Christmas at the Holmes' family home. Sherlock has a plan that John doesn't know about. John has a wish that Sherlock doesn't know about. If there were any time for a miracle, this would be it.

Miracle on Islington High Street by Jaybeefoxy (M, 33,006 w., 7 Ch. || Christmas, Holmes Family, Mystrade, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Magical Realism, Friends to Lovers, Papa Lestrade, Rosie Watson, Caring Greg) – It's Christmas, and Greg does a favour for someone, only to receive a strange favour in return.

Consulting for Christmas by ohlooktheresabee (G, 40,153 w., 6 Ch. || Far Future Post S4 / Older Rosie, Thriller, Case Fic, Pre-Relationship, Christmas, Paris, POV Alternating, Fluff, Light Angst, Mutual Pining, BAMF John, BAMF Sherlock, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, Jealousy, Misunderstandings, Mistletoe, Ice Skating, Heist, Awkward Romance, Developing Relationship, For a Case, Background Mystrade, Angst with Happy Ending) – The Louvre Museum in Paris is planning to host the celebrated Winter Fabergé Egg for its winter exhibition - quite the feat as it has not been on public display since 2002. However there is a snag: whispers of a world-renowned master-thief with his eyes set on the valuable prize. The curator has asked the famous Sherlock Holmes to consult on security, but the detective needs a lot of convincing: he is after all a bit busy with trying to woo a certain clueless ex-army doctor… At the same time, John is attempting to balance work, missing Rosie who is off on her gap year, a volunteer gig at a local London orphanage, and seething jealousy upon the arrival of an apparent old friend of Sherlock’s. Attempting to foil the heist of the century while remaining friendly and objective might just be a step too far... A Christmas crime caper packed full of misdirection, miscommunication and mistletoe, set against the romantic backdrop of London and Paris in the winter. Thrown into all this, will our two idiots finally manage to see what has been right in front of them all along?

12 Lays of Christmas Series by distantstarlight (E, 45,164 w. across 12 works || Post-S4, Stand-Alone Ficlets, Christmas, Friends to Lovers, Gratuitous Sex) – This series is made up of stand-alone ficlets of varying sizes, all resulting in Johnlock via a number of different routes, and all from my exhaustion fevered brain. Some will have sex and some will not. You don't need to read them in any particular order but I hope you enjoy them when you do. Happy Giftmas Everyone!

Erosion by saintscully (E, 53,386 w., 12 Ch. || Post TFP, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Case Fic, Christmas, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-Con, Minor Character Death, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Psychological Trauma, Divorce, Estrangement, Family Issues, PTSD, Medical Conditions, Mentions of Dementia) – Sherlock’s father falls ill, leaving the surviving family members broken and rudderless. James Sholto shows up in London unexpectedly, his intentions unclear. John has to navigate the consequences of crime, illness and death and their impact on his frayed relationship with Sherlock.

Fairytale of New Scotland Yard by Ewebie (M, 57,858 w., 30 Ch. || Mystrade and Johnlock, Christmas, Advent Fic, Christmas Party, Christmas Presents, Christmas Dinner, Accidental Cuddling, Accidental Bed Sharing, Sharing Body Heat, Holmes Family) – This is a Christmas love story:Greg Lestrade loved Christmas. He loved winter, the bite in the air, the flurries and occasional actual snow, the colorful lights, the sometimes loud decorations, the songs, the singing, the parties, the people, the presents, the surprises, the food and the drink, and the genuine good cheer... Mycroft Holmes hated Christmas. He hated the winter, the cold actually made his knee and hip ache - though that was not something others were ever to know - the tiny crystals of frozen death that fell from the sky to disrupt the proper function of transportation were terrible, the blinking lights and loud noises brought about his migraines, the abysmal excuse for what passed as music - not to mention the people singing it, dear Lord - the ever increasing social obligations and nonstop political kowtowing, the people, the sheer volume of people... Part 7 of Guess My Race Is Run

You Teach Me and I'll Teach You by Burning_Up_A_Sun (E, 61,165 w., 15 Ch. || Teacher AU || Coming Out, Blow Jobs, Shower Sex, Bed Sharing, Christmas, Rimming, Homophobia, Beach Sex) – Dr. John Watson, with his recent PhD in music education, takes a job at Jesup Arts Magnet Middle School, where he meets the most obnoxious, irritating, fascinating, handsome gifted History teacher. With no where to live, John accepts Sherlock Holmes' offer of sharing a house on Baker Street. But will a Southern community accept two male teachers in a relationship or will they be forced to quit? Part 1 of the Adult Education series

6 Simple Rules For Dating John Watson by prettysailorsoldier (M, 81,958 w., 22 Ch. || Teenager / University AU || Cheating, Christmas, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Roommates) – John Watson's love life may have had its ups and downs, but at least it had some structure. That is, until Sherlock Holmes showed up on his doorstep.

So Grant Us All a Change of Heart by ArwaMachine (E, 83,276 w., 5 Ch. || Christmas Carol Fusion || T6T Compliant, Pining, Angst with Happy Ending, Smut, Temporary Character Death, Drug Use / Reference, Suicide) – It’s Christmastime at Baker Street, but things are far from festive. Mary is dead, John and Sherlock’s friendship is all but ruined, and Sherlock has become a right dick about everything. More convinced than ever that sentiment is objectively useless, Sherlock needs a little paranormal intervention to see the error of his ways or else run the risk of losing all that is important to him.

A Telling Touch by MiyakoToudaiji (E, 91,656 w., 28 Ch. || Post-TRF Divergence, Reunion, Hurt/Comfort, Drama, Soldier John, Friends to Lovers, BAMF John, Doctor John, War, Syria, Violence, Blood, Injury, Fighting, Soulmates, True Love, First Kiss / Time, Slow Build, Romance, Christmas, Family, Holmes Manor, Childhood Memories, Sherlock’s Violin, Case Fic) – After Sherlock’s death, John manages to get himself re-enlisted and is sent back to war. But when two series of gruesome murders link home and outland together, John is suddenly faced with more battles than he could have imagined.  

By A Thousand Cuts by 7PercentSolution and J_Baillier (E, 95,662 w., 21 Ch. || Surgeon / Medical AU || Angst, Family Issues / Dynamics, Drama, Established Relationship, Autism Spectrum, Ableism, Depression, Romance, Hospitals, Neurosurgery, Anaesthesia, Doctor!John, Doctor!Sherlock, Christmas, Therapy, Psychological Trauma, Childhood Bullying, Career Crisis, Anger, Hurt/Comfort, Addiction, Sensory Processing Disorder, Parenting, Holidays, Whump) – It's hard to let go of the past, especially when going home for the holidays. An incident just before Christmas brings unpleasant memories to the surface, and the wounds Sherlock carries may take more than just time to heal. Part 11 of the You Go To My Head series

Wild About Harry Series by PlaidAdder (T, 397,189  w. across 9 works || Harry/Clara and Johnlock, Post-TRF, Canon Compliant, Dancing, Case Fics, Morning After, Teamwork, Drug Use, Doctor Who Crossover, Christmas, Alcoholism, Fix It Fics, Alternating POVs, Established Relationships) – This started as a post-Reichenbach fic and turned into a series in which Harry Watson is a repeating character. John and Sherlock get together in the first story ("Empty Houses") and thereafter it's either developing relationship or established relationship. Most of this is case fic and long, but there are a few shorter ones.

[tsukimefuku]

Lover's Pass

You and Nanami were sent to investigate cursed activity linked to disappearances in the Lover's Pass. Meanwhile, you both still have to deal with the fallout that happened after the last time you were together.

Based off Lovers Cave from ATLA (obviously).

The song: One last kiss - Hikaru Utada (on Youtube).

Tags: Jujutsu Kaisen, Nanami x OC/Reader, implied Higuruma x OC/Reader, angst, fluff, slight canon typical violence (nothing graphic).

WC: 4.6K

This is part of my "Jujutsu Partners Canon Divergence AU". A sequence of short stories and random drabbles for a Nanami x Reader x Higuruma long fic I might write. To see the ever-growing list of one-shots and short stories, please visit my masterlist :) 

Disclaimer: the stories are NOT written and posted in chronological order of events. This happened after the stories "The Event, Part 1" and "The Event, Part 2", preceding "Tactics"(HiguReader). To see where this story fits in the timeline, please check the masterlist mentioned above.

Of course, you were trapped in The Lover’s Pass curse with Nanami after he turned you down. Obviously.

Since the day I met you, the heart began to turn its gears

I can't help but have a hunch that I will lose you

Oh, I know that we've done it so many times

But can you add one last favor?

Oh, Can you give me one last kiss?

It's something that I don’t want to forget

I love you more than you’ll ever know

 — Utada Hikaru's "One Last Kiss"

"It's not very appropriate to be talking about such personal matters on your phone while you're inside a car with other passengers." Nanami chided, while he had his arm over the door to his side, not looking at you as he spoke. You had just got out of your call with Higuruma, having set your first not-date with him for later that day.

You scoffed. "Ijichi, did my conversation on the phone regarding a not-date later today offend you in any way?"

Ijichi was taken by surprise, and pushed his glasses back on his nose as he answered, doubtful, "no, Ms. I wasn't offended."

You looked at Nanami, whipping your head towards his position, making it abundantly evident you were glaring at him. He still wouldn't look at you. Then, without a word, you stopped glaring at him and looked outside your window. You were both on the back, glued to your respective doors, trying to put as much empty space between your bodies as possible.

You remembered your earlier conversation with Yaga.

"Do I really have to go with Nanami?" you asked, feeling defeated.

"You're the only two grade 1 sorcerers available. The others have got their plates full. From what we've learned, no one should go inside this curse's hiding place alone, so it's necessary to send two of you."

"What a bore." You said, pinching the bridge of your nose with two fingers. "So, the Lover's Pass curse. Some kids went missing trying to navigate underground tunnels because they were idiots. What do the legends say?"

"The origins of these tunnels are uncertain." Nanami began. You were displeased, and grunted at it lightly, expecting Ijichi to go over the briefing again, loathing having to listen to his voice. Nanami moved on, unbothered. "The legend says that a long time ago, two people from two rival families used those tunnels to meet each other in secrecy. It became an underground destination for couples, both literally and figuratively, it seems, but it has recently become a hotspot for cursed activity. There are currently 4 people missing. Their status is unknown."

"Yeah, yeah. Sure." You sighed, dismissive, leaning your temple over the car's window. You heard Nanami sighing loudly on his side of the car, knowing full well he did it just so you could hear him, and the tension between the two of you was so intense it could be ceviche’d with a blunt blade. 

Ijichi was particularly uncomfortable in the driver's seat, turning the radio on, trying to fill the dreadful silence with anything until you all got to your destination.

This is going to be hell.

“Ijichi, can we make a quick stop? I haven’t had any breakfast today.” You asked.

“Of course. I have to put some gas in, too.” Ijichi replied.

“That is the reason most people usually wake up early enough to be ready in time for their appointments.” Nanami pointed out, unsolicited.

“Nanami, get off my case. I’m not in the mood to hear this kind of chastising. Especially from you.” You retorted, keeping a low voice that was glimmering with incandescent fury. 

Ijichi was terrified, worried he might be caught in the middle of a crossfire.

Nanami finally looked in your direction, with you refusing to make eye contact, but said nothing, returning his gaze to the view up ahead. 

***

As you both got out of the car, you picked up your phone, only to realize it had very poor signal. You left a small bag with some cookies and water inside the car.

“Ijichi, will you wait for us here? We don’t have great cellphone reception.” You said, putting your phone back inside your waist bag. 

“That is the usual course of action when we’re accompanied by an assistant.” Yet again, Nanami pointed out, unprompted.

You sighed heavily, and spent no words answering him, knowing full well it’d be tossing paper scraps to the wind. Ijichi simply nodded in your direction, uneasy at the growing tension between you and the ratio sorcerer. You waved at Ijichi, and started walking towards the entrance to the tunnel maze. It seemed to be under what was once an enormous mansion, debris being the only clues something ever stood there. 

As you finished descending the stairs, Nanami reached you, and both started walking inside the dark tunnels. They were all haphazardly made, basically consisting of very rustic diggings and walls made of dirt. You grabbed a flashlight you had brought, and lit the way for you both.

The pair was walking for what seemed like ten minutes, and you made markings with your cursed energy in order to make the coming back process easier. Like leaving a breadcrumb trail.

The silence engulfing the steps was becoming unnerving, given that, since your last conversation, you had been furious with Nanami. He tried ringing your phone twice since then, and both times you refused his call. 

He called your name to say something, and you instantly (involuntarily) sighed in contempt, still not looking at him. “What?”

“It’s about the curse. I do not intend to have a proper conversation in the middle of our mission, rest assured.” He replied, nonchalantly.

“You never intended to have a conversation.” You retorted, annoyed.

Nanami sighed. “We can talk about this in a later time. Now, let us look inside that tunnel. I believe I saw something.” He said, pointing to a turn to the left you both had just passed by.

“Fine.” You made your way back and lit the flashlight towards the tunnel Nanami had pointed at. However, as soon as you did, it became a solid wall.

What?

You drew the light away and over the same spot a few times, and it was certain: there was no way down there anymore.

“What did you see, Nanami?” You inquired, staring at the wall, confused.

You heard some ruffling, and saw Nanami unbutton his suit jacket, pulling his blunt blade from his back. “I saw a quick movement, like someone or something darting through the tunnel. I believe the curse is here.”

You thought for a moment, and couldn’t sense any type of concentrated cursed energy near. 

“Nanami, let’s go back and check on the markings we left along the path.”

You both began walking back, alert to anything that might jump you on the way. However, you were met with another solid wall. Upon further inspection, you noticed that one of the markings you made could be partially seen in one of the corners of that tunnel.

“Nanami, look.” You said, pointing at it.

“I see. It can shift space inside the tunnels.” 

“That might be the reason these people are going missing. They’re probably still down here.” 

He nodded. “Yes. Let’s hurry.”

You kept walking for what felt like half an hour, and started to wonder if this curse was also able to stretch space. These tunnels were supposed to be less than 2 kilometers long, but you had surely been walking much more than that, and you didn’t feel like you were walking in circles. Also, there was no sign of other people ever having been down there.

“Nanami, I think we’re inside the curse. I mean, I don’t feel we’ve been walking in circles.”

“I understand your point. However, we can’t be sure of that.”

“We’ve literally been walking in a straight line and took less than two turns, Nanami. I’m pretty sure about it.” You answered him. For some reason, his simple correction, something so innocuous, brought up the anger you had been feeling for him these past few days.

Nanami sighed.

“Care to enlighten me?” You asked, voice poking at him. You were looking for trouble, clearly.

“If this curse actually distorts space, as we’re suspecting, the physics of it might be broken. There is no point in wondering if we’re walking in circles or not. We’re already under its effect.” He said, matter-of-factly.

This definitely rubbed you the wrong way.

You sighed. “Thanks for the class, teacher. Didn’t know curses could do that. It’s not like I came from a family with a centuries-old tradition on jujutsu, but well, maybe I don’t know how curses work.” You spat out, angrily, turning around to face Nanami. 

He sighed, in a mixture of annoyance and tiredness. “This is not the moment for this.”

“Oh, for what? For you to remember that I’m not an idiot that has no idea what she’s dealing with? It sure isn’t. You should’ve thought about it days ago!” 

He addressed you by your last name “-san”, when he started to speak again, and that was your last straw.

“We’re past that, aren’t we? It wasn't a last name basis a few nights ago.” 

“You see, this is precisely the kind of predicament I hoped to avoid when we both agreed that getting romantically involved would be a foolish move.”

“Oh, Nanami-san, getting involved wasn’t the issue. The issue was what you did right after.”

“Now, please enlighten me on what exactly I have done wrong. I’ve been trying my best to be respectful and proceed with this clearly needed conversation.” He answered, his monotone not concealing very well his own feelings of dissatisfaction.

“Aren’t you the big shot that knows everything about the hardships of a jujutsu sorcerer’s life? Figure it out yourself.” You exclaimed.

“Are you displeased at what you perceived as a rejection of affectionate advances?” Nanami inquired.

You scoffed and looked at him, in utter and complete disbelief. “First and foremost, I’m not displeased, I’m furious. Second, you really think I’d be enraged at you because I felt rejected? Do I look like a fucking school girl?!” This was the very first time you ever cursed at Nanami, and it surprised him. 

However, before he could answer, something spiked up from the floor, separating you both even further. It was a red mass that looked like a tentacle, but not quite. It first whipped at you, and you used your cursed technique to launch one of your small grenades at it. At impact, the shock waves from the explosion caused the tunnel to make a not so safe noise.

Shit. I can’t use my technique. This might collapse the entire tunnel system on our heads.

“Let me handle this! Your technique is no good here. It might knock down the surrounding walls!” Nanami shouted, as he advanced towards the curse’s tentacle.

“No shit, Sherlock!” You yelled back, jumping and rolling when it dealt a strong blow where you were previously standing.

He swiftly dealt a 7:3 critical hit at the tentacle’s base, and it was cleanly cut. It fell, squirming softly before it stopped. You looked closer, and the tentacle seemed to be made out of several red threads, all tightly-knit together. 

“What the hell?” 

“Well, it is called the Lover’s Pass. You’re probably familiar with the red thread myth.” Nanami said, pushing his glasses back in place.

“I am. I just didn’t expect it to be so... Thematic?” You answered, getting up, huffing.

“Neither did I.” He replied, as you both resumed your walking.

***

“Nanami, this is pointless. We’re not getting anywhere.” Complaining, you leaned against one of the walls. You both had been walking for almost three hours at this point. “Apart from that tentacle, the curse hasn't approached us.”

He sighed and also leaned against one of the walls, on the opposite side, looking at you. You didn’t look at him back, though.

“Is there anything about the legend from Lover’s Pass that could help us solve this?” You asked, defeated.

Nanami thought for a moment, resting one of his hands on his chin.

“Legend has it that the only way for leaving the maze of Lover’s Pass is through an act of... True love.” Nanami remembered, instantly pinching the bridge of his nose, still with his glasses on. A faint grunt from him could be heard.

You realized it as soon as he did.

“Like a kiss or something like that?” 

He shrugged, displeased. “Perhaps. It’s an open-ended statement. I do not care much for those.”

You let out a loud ugh. “Are you serious? That’s the legend?”

“I’m afraid so.” 

You sighed deeply, then approached Nanami. “Fine, let’s get this over with.”

He was slightly surprised, but offered no resistance, given he knew this was an alternative you both should try, and you surely had enough intimacy for that.

You kissed him on the lips swiftly, dissociating as much as you could when doing so. His body was rigid at the alien sensation of you pressing your lips against his so… Indifferently.

You both waited for a few seconds after that, but absolutely nothing happened.

“Goddammit. Ah, well, worth the shot.” You shrugged off.

He sighed and pulled on his tie lightly, opening the button on the top of his shirt. “I believe we’re on the right track to solve this conundrum. But there is something about what just happened.”

“What do you mean?”

“This surely couldn’t be interpreted as an act of true love.” He pointed out.

You grunted, looking away. You were having a hard time looking at Nanami today, overall, unless you were bursting with anger, or glaring. 

“You won’t even look at me properly, and haven't, ever since we picked you up earlier this morning.” Nanami noted.

Now you looked at him, without making any effort this time to conceal the rage you had bubbling inside, translated on the facial expression you had on.

“I’m just too angry at you right now to be affectionate!” You spat.

He sighed.

“I apologize.” Nanami said.

“For what?” You inquired.

“You’re furious with me, and have been for days. I don’t know why, but it doesn’t prevent me from apologizing.”

Your rage dripped from your next words like poison.

“If you don’t know why you’re apologizing, don’t even bother.”

“Then, please, tell me what I’ve done to upset you this greatly.”

“No! Figure it out for yourself. Clearly you know more about things than I do, don’t you, Nanami?” You were nearly growling.

Suddenly, another tentacle appeared, but this time it came from the upper part of the walls, right behind you. Before you could react, it violently whipped you against the wall, and pierced through your right shoulder. You heard Nanami calling out your name. The pain shot through your body like cold nitrogen, and you almost reacted using your cursed technique, but restrained at the last moment, remembering the risks it ensued. 

He appeared swiftly, and dealt a 7:3 blow to the tentacle's base, having it fall down beside you both. You fell to your knees and held your shoulder with your other hand, huffing, before you began employing your RCT for healing.

Nanami kneeled in front of you. “Are you alright?” He asked, mindlessly putting his free hand on your cheek, effectively cupping your face. You shivered at his touch, and looked him in the eyes. Underneath his glasses, you could see a slightly worried gaze, and that chipped away at your fury-fueled emotional brick wall.

“I’m… fine. I’m already healing myself. But thank you.”

He nodded, still cupping your face in a tender, affectionate way.

You both remained in that position for a little while, gazing at each other. It was then that you noticed the faint light from what looked like fireflies extending towards the tunnel maze, making some turns until it disappeared.

“What…?” You got up, and was left dumbfounded, because the lights suddenly went away. “Did you see that?”

Recomposing himself, Nanami got up. “I did.” 

Then, it clicked.

“We’re attacked by the red threads when we’re fighting. And I guess the lights show the way out. They appeared when we-” you stopped in your tracks.

“When we had a moment of-”

“True love.” You choked out, the words pulling painfully at your heart strings. “Okay, I get it now.”

He put his blunt blade tucked away in his harness, and stood right in front of you.

“Then, we must talk.” Nanami said, in his matter-of-factly way. You were looking at the ground, and didn’t lift your gaze to meet his. He sighed softly and relaxed his shoulders, taking off his glasses, now speaking with a husky, softer voice. “I would like to talk to you, please, and be given the chance to understand what I’ve done to hurt you.”

You were caught off guard. 

“Please.” He repeated, putting his finger under your chin to lift your eyes, and you did so, meeting his. This was the first time ever since that night he seemed to be actually looking at you, and not past you. 

You sighed, as he put his hand over your shoulder, softly rubbing his thumb over it.

"Did you feel like I have taken undue advantage of the situation that night?" He asked, earnestly.

"No! It's not that." You pondered for a moment. Then, you began speaking again. "You lectured me that day, Nanami. It wasn't a conversation."

He was slightly surprised, but stayed silent, giving you time to elaborate.

"You never wanted to talk to me, you just had your mind made up. I was angry at you because you made a decision that affects us both entirely on your own, without even asking me about anything. You completely disregarded my input in your equation." You finally explained. "It was patronizing, and I felt deeply hurt by it."

Nanami then realized what he had done. Trying to shield you from hurt, he had pushed you exactly in hurt's way.

He sighed deeply as he put his other hand on your arm. "I... I apologize, truly."

You both locked eyes for a moment, and you felt the already so familiar fluttering heart. Your heart beat for this man, just like the sun rose for the day, and the moon came out for the night. The profound connection you had, which transcended time and space for more than a decade, had translated into the way each pump fervently happened because of, and for, him. You could barely breathe when he gazed at you like this.

With a sharp tug, you grabbed his tie and pulled him in your direction, locking lips, feeling the bright explosion from the longing that had swept you away in anger. You missed being close to Nanami so profoundly the past few days that it ached in places you never even realized existed, every pain pulsing away at your last kiss. He pulled you closer, diving into the passionate kiss, in his own silent sorrow and apology.

You barely felt the few tears that streamed down your eyes as you were both kissing. For the first time, the all consuming rage you felt had revealed its true colors. It wasn't anger; it was sadness.

You were overwhelmed with sadness and felt profoundly disappointed that, out of everyone, Nanami, the person you trusted the most, with your heart and with your life, was the one to hurt you so severely. You didn't feel used — you felt completely betrayed. 

As your faces parted, you kept your eyes closed, fighting the urge to cry. He saw your pained expression, and a dark pit had formed in his stomach, the gravitational pull of guilt threatening to bring him down on his knees. Nanami cupped your face in between his hands and realized it was damp. Oh, I am a complete and utter imbecile.

"I am profoundly and sincerely sorry" he said, pulling you in for a hug, burying your face in his chest while he held the back of your head.

You sighed, hugging him back tightly and breathing intensely, trying to free up the heaviness that took over your chest. He nosed your hair, and trembled to your flowery aroma, today, smelling like daffodils. Oh, how much he had missed it, and you had absolutely no idea.

At that point, the fireflies began to appear again. 

Nanami softly parted from you. "Look."

You turned your head, and saw them. There were many fireflies all over, lighting the tunnels greatly. It was actually... Beautiful. You separated from Nanami, sliding softly out of his embrace. He looked at you, somewhat apprehensive.

"We can get back to talking after we're finished here, okay?" You reassured him. 

He nodded, and you both began to follow the fireflies' path.

As you were walking, you saw a couple, two women, laid on the ground beside each other, seemingly passed out. You took one of them in your arms, and Nanami did the same. Further ahead, you saw someone else, but when you both approached, realized this person must've been deceased for a while now. He was holding onto a small, bloody pocket knife. 

Both of you decided to keep walking, and saw a bright white light at the end of the longest tunnel. The fireflies were leading you there, so you followed suit, finally reaching what seemed to be an empty white room. It wasn't empty, however. A woman — or what seemed like one — was on the ground, apparently on her knees, with her face in her hands, crying.

"Nanami, can you hold them both?" You asked, whispering. He nodded, and you put the lady you were carrying over his shoulder.

You then silently made your way towards the curse, summoning a grenade in your hand. This seemed to be in an almost separate dimension from the tunnel, so you figured it'd be probably safe using your technique here.

Why... Why did he abandon me here? The curse pleaded for an answer, stopping you in your tracks. He left me here to die- to die- to die- 

You noticed that her neck seemed to be cut, and was oozing blood that dripped down the front of her white dress.

"Nanami, you told me there were four people missing, right? But we only saw one body..." you said, keeping your eyes laser-focused on the cursed spirit in front of you.

"Yes, during the course of the last two weeks. Two couples." He pondered for a moment. " ... Oh, I see."

This woman was the last missing person. The curse itself.

She had cursed herself at being abandoned to die by her lover in the Lover's Pass.

Why did he betray- betray- betray me!? The curse wailed, seemingly self-embracing, in a pitiful gesture for self comfort.

That was a heartbreaking sight to behold. 

"Hey, Nanami, tell me something." You said, still looking at her. 

"What?" He asked.

"If we exorcize her, will her spirit be freed or disappear along with the cursed energy tethered to it?"

Nanami was silent for a moment. "I do not know."

You sighed, sorrowful, and evaporated away the grenade you were holding onto, kneeling in front of the curse.

"Hey." You said, pulling its attention to you. Nanami was standing behind you, apprehensive, while he held the two passed out women. However, he decided to trust you, and stood down. 

Why- why did he kill me?! Her eyes were pitch black, and sent chills down your spine.

"You have to forgive him. You have passed, there is nothing else that can be done. You both have. Only when you let go, will you be free. You cursed yourself." You said, warmly, sparing her a smile.

Her weeping started to subdue. 

"You have to pass onto the other side." You insisted.

I can't- can't- can't- forgive him! He doesn't deserve- deserve- it! The cursed spirit shrieked, furiously.

"Then, don't do it for him. Do it for you. Free yourself. Only you can do that."

The curse's howling stopped, and you got up, stepping back, ready to pull a grenade on her if it were necessary. You had tried your best to free this spirit without exorcizing it. 

The cursed spirit got up too, and turned it's back to you, suddenly being engulfed in all the fireflies that were spread throughout the tunnels. They got absorbed into her, and she radiated pure white for a moment, before you both could see it. She now looked human, a tall woman with long brown hair and a beautiful white summer dress, weaved around with red stitches all throughout.

You smiled, and she turned around to look at you.

Thank you, the woman said, before stepping towards, away from you, disappearing into thin air.

Then, the pure white light that replaced all the walls, floor, and ceiling began to fade away as well. After a few moments, you and Nanami, as well as the two girls, were finally back to the entrance to the Lover's Pass.

***

After you left the women at the hospital, you, Ijichi and Nanami were back in Tokyo. You asked Ijichi to let you out of the car near the restaurant Higuruma had told you he'd be at.

You got out of the car, waving Ijichi goodbye, but were surprised to see that Nanami stepped out of the car as well, calling your name. Ijichi left, probably because Nanami told him to do so before he made his way out.

"Can we resume our conversation?" He inquired, looking at you... pleadingly?

You sighed. "Okay. Just give me a moment." You grabbed your phone and texted Higuruma, letting him know you'd be late. 

You looked around and spotted a bench, walking towards it, waving Nanami to follow you. He did, and you both sat down on the opposite ends of it, looking at each other. The silence grew uncomfortable between the two, given none knew who'd speak first.

He did.

"Once again, I'd like to apologize for the hurt that I've caused you," Nanami said, earnestly, "and I hope you can forgive me for that."

"Will it make any difference to you if I tell you I already forgave you?"

Nanami was slightly taken aback. You continued.

"It seems that every time I forgive you or tell you there is nothing to forgive, my words just fall on deaf ears." You sighed. "I can't keep telling you there is nothing to be forgiven when you just won't listen. You have to forgive yourself. We can’t... You have to move past it. I'm tired of this, I've just about had it, Nanami."

He stayed silent.

"You were not saving me, or sparing me, when you made that decision by yourself. You broke my heart, Nanami. You wanted to protect me, and I understand that. I'm thankful for that. But you did it all wrong."

He sighed deeply. "Could you find it in yourself to forgive me?"

You gazed at him. "I forgive you. But I can’t forget this. And even if I can still trust you with my life, I don’t think I can trust you with my heart again."

These words cut through him like sharp blades. Hearing them felt worse than he had anticipated.

"That's reasonable." He finally replied, defeated.

There was nothing more to be said. You cupped his face with your hands, and he looked at you longingly, knowing what would come next. 

You pressed one gentle last kiss on Nanami's lips as you said goodbye.

He was left sitting alone on that bench, as he saw you walking away to go on a date with someone else, taking your flowery scent and soft touch with you, away from him.

It felt more miserable than he thought it would.

[wangxianficfinder]

Fic Finder

March 10th

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1. Alright, I’m in need of some help finding a fic! I remember a few things but haven’t been able to find it yet in my history and I apparently didn’t bookmark it like a dumbass! Anyway, I remember that it was canon divergent around the time of Sunshot, I remember that JZX is stabby because he’s half Yu and they’re the clan where you have to be inventive as well as stabby to earn your place? The Yunmeng trio go to Meishan to get help and I believe Yanli is sect leader so it might be a no golden core transfer fic? The thing I remember most is that JZX kills Wen Xu himself (with a poison knife?), and the intricacy of the traps you have to work through in order to get into Meishan territory. Hopefully this is specific enough! Thanks! @belovedmuerto

FOUND! Moments of Revelation by meyari (T, 133k, ChengSang, WangXian, XiYao, POV JC, Canon Divergence, Temporary Character Death, Character Death, not anyone we care about, Time Travel Fix-It Self-Sacrifice, Torture, Chronic Pain, Chronic anxiety, Grief/Mourning, PTSD, Chronic Mental Health Issues, Assassination, renamed MY, Families of Choice, Unreliable Narrator(s), Demonic Possession)

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2. Hi! I'm looking for a fic I've read where wwx reincarnates and lwj tries to say i love you to him but wwx keeps on deflecting or just says thank you. I think lwj also tries to make wwx fall in love with him again because wwx is afraid to give his love to lwj again after what he did to him. AHHHH I really need to read it againnn!! Thank you so much for your help!

FOUND? When the Words Stop Coming by mrcformoso (T, 7k, WangXian, Canon Compliant, POV WWX, POV LWJ, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Pre-Sunshot Campaign, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Canonical Character Death, Love Confessions, Rejection, LWJ is a Panicked Gay, Temporarily Unrequited Love, Trauma, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, Angst with a Happy Ending, Sad with a Happy Ending)

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3. Hi! i'm looking for a fic: omegaverse. yllz!wwx and general!lwj, more or less. at the start the two don't know each other (iirc), and lwj has basically been sent to negotiate with wwx, ideally for a surrender. they decide to have a duel and it becomes clear part way through that wwx is an omega. lwj kind of loses control of his instincts and bites wwx as like, a dominance thing in the fight, but then things get kind of hand (in a sexy way). i think they get together after that? thank you <;3 @motherfuckingnazgul

FOUND! take a chance on me by gremlinsae (E, 9k, WangXian, A/B/O Dynamics, Accidental Bonding, dubcon, Swordfighting, Angst, Fluff, Smut, Canon Sexual Dynamic, Scenting, Badass WWX, Banter, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Royalty, cw: discussion of omega trafficking and sexual assault, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault)

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4. Shifting through my read history continues to be an exercise in making myself cross-eyed, so: looking for a fic where JC is under the impression that LWJ lost someone (he thinks it's probably LSZ's mother) because of WWX. In one scene, he's eavesdropping on the junior quartet from an indoor balcony. Then some years later he realizes that the person lost was actually WWX himself; what helps him come to this conclusion is a song WWX used to sing that he overhears LSZ singing a modified version of while on a night hunt(?). @linderel

FOUND! sing to the clouds in summer by stiltonbasket (G, 28k, JC & WWX, JC & JL, wangxian, JL & LSZ & LJY & OYZZ, 13k words of JC figuring out that LSZ is his nephew, ft. LXC and NHS the overprotective uncles, and LWJ giving JC death glares, Family Secrets, Reconciliation, Sad JC, Uncle-Nephew Relationship, Eventual Happy Ending, Podfic Available)

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5. Hello! I’m looking for a fic where it’s single dad!lwj and his babysitter was abusing a yuan ?? Or left him somewhere. and WWX sees it, realizes he’s a lan and says the kid is lucky because chances are he knows who his dad is. Then he calls LWJ’s law office to speak with him?

Sorry it’s so vague that’s all I remember lol. Thanks for all that you do for this fandom!❤️

FOUND? 🧡 Yiling Salon: Hair, Nails and Piercing by TriviasFolly (T, 22k, WangXian, Modern AU, Hairstylist AU, Hairstylist WWX, 5+1 Things, Fluff, Experimental style) Not sure if it's the best fit, based on the summary, but it made me think of that fic

FOUND? five years gone by quillifer (E, 14k, WangXian, Mpreg, a/b/o dynamics, Alpha WWX, Omega LWJ, Breakup/makeup, Miscommunication, Pregnant Sex, consent is king, soft sad and horny, Happy Ending, Bottom LWJ, Top WWX, Hurt/Comfort, Modern AU, Unplanned Pregnancy)

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6. Hi Mods. You guys are doing a fantastic job as always with this blog. It's definitely become my miracle drug for all things MDZS. On that note, HELP! I can't seem to find a specific canon-divergent WX story. Two monks/rogue cultivators find unconscious WWX after he's been strangled by JC. They take him in. He learns art/crafting from them. They adopt him. He only runs into LWJ between commissions and travel with his master. He makes the village a Wen sanctuary and helps the common people in SSC @jovialtyrantdreamer

FOUND? 🔒 Away from Trouble by Ilona22 (M, 15k, wangxian, Alternate Universe, Not JC Friendly, WangXian Get a Happy Ending)

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7. hi... could you help me find a fic I read a while ago? wwx and lwj are trapped in the turtle cave... without energy... they do double cultivation (through sex*)

Time passes to the part where wwx is given hi core jc

When WQ removes WWX's core, he discovers that he was pregnant...

It's not Omegaverse

FOUND! Impermanence, Transience, Permanence by Best Bepsy (BepsyGray) (E, 39k, wangxian, canon divergence, unplanned pregnancy, mpreg, gore, sunshot campaign, assumed miscarriage, medical procedures, childbirth, golden core reveal)

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8. Hello it's me again!! I remember reading a fic where Wei Wuxian could control dead animals. There was this particular instance of a black puppy owned by Jin Zixuan which later turned into a yao? I have forgotten the rest since I read it a couple of years ago.

Again thank you for your amazing work!! @yilinglaobunny

FOUND? 🧡 a stone to break your soul, a song to save it by rikke ( M, 180k, WangXian, Arranged marriage, Canon Divergence, Hurt/comfort, Light angst, Canon typical violence)

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9. Hi! I’ve been looking for a fic for a while that I read about a year ago. I was wondering if you knew it? It’s Wangxian and they become friends in the Cloud Recesses Arc. But while they’re studying there, they learn that they can use their golden cores to sort of fuse into one person. All the cultivators can do this in this au. It’s a multi chapter fic, but I don’t remember much else about it other than it was really good and I haven’t been able to find it since. 🥲 @0utertale

FOUND! ❤️ Gentians in bloom by teawater (M, 251k, WangXian, XiQing, XuanLi, Canon Divergence, Political Marriage, Dysfunctional Family, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, LQR bashing (not really), POV Multiple, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Eventual Happy Ending, BAMF WWX, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, madam yu bashing (again not completely), MXY Deserves Better)

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10. i sent this before but i think it might've gotten lost last round, im looking for a modern au where lan zhan lost track of wy after he claimed to be the father of wq's child and they bailed. wy wasn't the child, jc was, but jc dumped her when her family had troubles and then claimed she "slept around" when wy claimed his baby; wy, naturally, punched him about it and raised ayuan. lz is ashamed of abandoning him during the scandal when they meet again years later but they work it out and wq coparents

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11. Hey I’m trying to a find a fic but I only remember one scene

It’s might be a time travle fic idk

It’s where wwx got the swords back from the wen indoctrination camp and when thanked he says consider it there jiangs contribution to the war

And nmj noticed this and his wording bc of the state the sect is in(madame yu might be alive in the fic I can’t quite remember) and admirers how he’s doing that feather then just taking all of the credit for himself @zerokogane

FOUND! Half of my soul by Asphodel_Meadow (T, 8k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, No Golden Core Transfer, Fix-It, 5+1 Things, kinda soul bond but with their golden cores, POV Outsider, POV Alternating)

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12. Looking for a fic I read a while back— teenage/sunshot era LWJ time travels to the future and wakes up in bed with WWX. I clearly remember LWJ freaking out when WWX wakes up because there’s a baby in WWX’s arms.

FOUND? These Two Most Powerful by stiltonbasket (G, 4k, wangxian, LXC & LWJ, Married Life, Family Feels, Parenthood, Temporary Amnesia, Time Travel, it’s amnesia but it feels like time travel to LWJ, wangxian have more babies, and they are the cutest buns, not your average amnesia fic? there’s no drama here tbh, just soft husbands carrying on with fatherhood, And loving each other, Mild Angst, Happy Ending)

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13. hi! i'm looking for a fic where lz moves into wy's apartment because of the cheap rent but it's cheap because wy has like 2 panthers(?) living with him. i rly hope it hasn't been deleted cause i've been searching for a bit and can't find it

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14. hello! this is for the fic finder, there was this fic I remember specifically bc of one scene with jc. essentially, there was a little girl that fell into a lake in lp, while her mother was busy doing smth on a boat?? it was harvest season, I think. I remember that both jc and wwx fell into the lake to find the little one and what made me remember that fic was that jc lit up the whole lake with zidian. I think it was a long fic and in the end he also married the girl's mother. oh I'm pretty sure that jyl and jzx were alive too but I could be wrong.

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15. Hi! I am looking for a fic.All I remember is that Wei Wuxian arrives to the cloud recess and he meets Wanji. He talks about his future special one that when he fights and claims them he wants everyone to know that. But instead Lan Zhan corners him several times outdoors and in the library. And in the end Wei Wuxian is the one being claimed. I think I read it on ao3 and that this author had several good works. But I can't find them now 😭

FOUND? teeth on my waist (i come undone) by martyrsdaughter (E, 20k, WangXian, A/B/O Dynamics Alpha LWJ, Omega WWX, Public Claiming, Sexual Tension, Obliviousness, Canon Era, Cloud Recesses Study Arc Exhibitionism, Public Humiliation, Dom/sub, Bondage, Masturbation, forced presentation, Dubious Consent, Knotting, Come Marking, Come Shot, Non-Consensual Spanking, LWJ and WWX Have a Breeding Kink, Pregnancy Kink, Some Feminized Language, Subspace, Rimming)

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16. hii can you help me? there is a fic i thought i added to marked for ltr but i cant find it anywhere :(

it was about jin ling hurting wei wuxian after his identity reveal in the carp tower, but the wound was way more serious,, i think in the fanfic's description was "jin ling got more time to rethink everything after wei wuxian blah blah" or smth similiar; also i'm pretty sure there was a tag about stomach infection or stomach wound infection basically a fic about wei wuxian being hurt lol

thanks&lt;;3 @r3n-vy

FOUND? Sorry and Thank You by Morgana_avalon (G, 57k, wangxian, LXC & LWJ, JL & LSZ & LJY, JL & NHS, LXC & NHS, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, JL suffering an emotional breakdown, JL stabbing WWX at the Jinlintai, Introspection, canon divergent but also canon compliant, Bad brother JC (but not too bad), NHS taking an interest in JL, painful and infected stomach wound, LXC to the rescue, WWX & LWJ are married, WWX has no golden core, NHS's hand fan is not what it seems, NHS is a determined little devil)

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17. There's a fic where they used incense burner again and Lwj is sentient but wwx-in the dream he's freshly resurrected wwx-is not. Lwj fucks him and Wwx is pleading with him to stop But then Lwj says in his ear, "you like it when I rape you.

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18. Hi! I'm looking for a fic where, post Fall of Lotus Pier, JC chokes WWX to death and his corpse is found by LWJ. Sadly I don't remember any more details. Thanks! @lucicarebloggs

Found?🔒 a star called sun by thelastdboy (E, 120k, WangXian, SongXiao, XuanLi, Canon Divergence after Xuanwu Cave, Fall of Lotus Pier, But worse!, Power Imbalance, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Not Everyone Dies AU, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Canon-Typical Violence, Sunshot Campaign, Miscommunication, Heavy Angst with a Happy Ending, Slow Burn, Major Character Injury, Loss of Limbs, Chronic Illness, Seizures, WWX's Three Months in the Burial Mounds, Wēn Remnants Live, Wēn Remnants Deserve Better, WWX Creates a Sect | Yílíng Wèi Sect, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Hurt/Comfort, Selectively Mute LWJ, Service Animals, Crows)

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19. Hi! 🤗 I'm looking for a fic.

I don't remember much, but I remember some scenes. The idea of the story was something like if you can't beat them, join them to your sect. WWX doesn't create the Wei sect, but everyone seems to think so. Meng Yao gets locked up in Yilling and becomes something like the administrator of WWX. NHS has an information network and gives everyone a messenger bird except WWX and WWX makes a dead bird serve him. A crow, I think. I think NHS also brings them food and helps improve the town. And I also think he makes the design of Wei Ying's sect's robes.

I don't remember more, but I know that I really liked the Fic and it was long.

Thanks! I hope you can help me find it. 💕 @wangxiansgirl

FOUND! if you can’t beat them, recruit them by moeblobmegane (T, 228k, Wangxian, NHS & WWX, WWX & WQ, Time Travel Fix-It, Conspiracy, Spies & Secret Agents, Team as Family, Found Family, Burial Mounds, Temporary Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Pining, Morally Ambiguous Character, Rumors, Politics, Developing Friendships, Good Uncle LQR, Demonic Cultivation, YilingWei Sect)

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20. Heyy! Looking for a fic where lwj was a single parent, I don't remember the other details but it came out that jyl (who was friends with lwj) was sending baby pictures of a-yuan to wwx to help him recover/keep going. Can't remember which fic this was. @vulpeculatee

FOUND! box your errors by mellowflicker (T, 42k, WangXian, Modern AU, single dad lwj, Domestic Fluff, Family Issues, Slow Burn, Kid Fic, let lwj have friends agenda, Hurt/Comfort, Pining)

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[fang-and-feather]

🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉 congratulations on 100 followers, darling!!!!! You deserve the love and even more :3

I do have a prompt suggestion hehe. Of course it's my darling Theo, and I was rather fond of the prompt "I can't stop thinking about you". I read it and had such a dreamy sigh hehe.

Thank you!! 🥰❣ I am glad to celebrate with you!

Ikemen Vampire - Theo x Reader

Words: 2,216

Summary: When you and Theo finally thought things would settle between you, a brief illness had him trying to protect you again and a series of overreactions from both of you led to your first fight. Now it was Theo's birthday, and he really feared he had driven you away right when he had the solution to keep you safe and keep you close

Tags: Canon ending divergence, Making up after a fight, Romantic Fluff

Request from my 100 Followers Celebration. Prompts for it were from @anyfandomfluffbingo

this was actually the fic I planned to post for Theo's birthday, but I'm really late to it.

I wrote and discarded so much for this and had difficulty with deciding which scenes and POVs to keep. In the end I kept only one scene and it was from Theo's POV. But I can post another scene at the beginning, and the version of this one from Reader's OV later if you want.

IkeVamp Masterlist / General Masterlist / AO3 Link

Theo knew Vincent had been planning something, but with how often he left the house, the party was not what he was expecting.

Besides, Theo was already happy enough with the rest of his day he’d spent with his brother. There was only anything he wanted for his birthday, and he doubted you would be there.

He’d been such an idiot, trying to push you away when the solution to all your problems was quite obvious. But when he finally realized it, he thought you had made a drastic decision to solve it instead.

The fact it was a joke was relieving now but, when it happened, it annoyed him that you would play with something so serious.

That didn’t excuse his following behavior. And if you had made that joke, maybe it meant you were thinking about it. But that didn’t mean you had to run away like that.

Had he scared you that badly? Theo didn’t think he’d gotten that angry. But he wasn’t that good at expressing himself and understanding other people. He might have said something wrong.

That was the only reason he could think why you had left without a word, but nobody else was acting as if there was something wrong with it.

You wouldn’t have returned to your time because of such a fight, right?

Theo scanned the room as he walked in, but he was right. There was no sight of you anywhere.

The other guys, though, soon surrounded him, offering their well wishes. It was hard to say who did so out of a feeling of obligation, because on his past birthdays he barely saw some of them, others only casually greeted him through the day, and the only ‘parties’ were usually a dinner Comte organized, and some of them looked like they were forced to attend.

Not that they hated each other, but the only person Theo had gotten somewhat close to, even of the guys he’d lived with for longer, was Arthur. And maybe Leonardo, but Theo’s attempts to connect with him were through art, but Leonardo seemed to have mostly given up using his talents.

Part of it was his fault, of course. He’d been too focused on his job and his revenge to even consider connecting with anyone. Another part was some of their own social abilities.

Arthur was the only one who didn’t approach him during the exchange, stopping Isaac instead, as soon as the physician awkwardly walked away.

So when the crowd finally broke apart, Theo cast another glance around the room, looking for Vincent this time, but did not find his brother, either.

Theo turned to the door, intent on leaving to look for him, when the door slowly opened, and instead of Vincent, his gaze met your nervous but quite shining one.

But before Theo could rush to you, Arthur finally decided to pop up right before him.

“Sorry for not coming around earlier, old boy. I wanted some space to greet my best friend properly.”

Theo wanted to believe Arthur chose the timing on purpose, but that would imply some form of conspiracy he didn’t want to believe Vincent would be a part of.

“I thought Isaac was your new best friend, and I was finally free of your headaches.”

Theo looked past Arthur to see you talking happily with Comte on the other side of the room.

It was his first chance to take in the full sight of you, and the pretty dress that made you look even more stunning. A little too much for the public with how it highlighted your best features.

“Aren’t you funny, Theo?” Arthur tried to get his attention back. “We should go out for drinks again soon.”

“Haven’t we gone out enough this week? Although that was just you tagging along in my free time.”

“I mean a normal guys’ night, like we used to have. You have been sulking this whole week.”

Had he really been that bad? Theo noticed he’d been going out for drinks more often, independently of Arthur going along or not, but he wasn’t drinking more than usual on these trips, and had been working as usual. Theo knew he hadn’t been feeling all that great, rethinking your fight, what he could have done and where could you have gone, but he thought he’d been hiding it well.

“Anyway, happy birthday!” Arthur patted his back.

“I would offer you a drink, but it seems like you have something else in mind.”

Arthur winked before walking away, only to be replaced by Comte, who had left your side already. And while Arthur let him pass on the drink, Comte brought him one, pulling him around to call a toast to him.

In the meantime, Theo watched Arthur discretely approach you, and strike a conversation right after the toast and immediately made his way over.

“Would you give me the honor of one dance, to celebrate our reunion?” Theo heard Arthur ask as he approached.

By the awkward smile you gave him, you had no intention of accepting, but was too polite to tell him to fuck off. So Theo crossed the rest of the way and wrapped an arm around your waist, making you jump. But as you realized it was him, you relaxed.

“Go play with your dog and get your hands off mine, Arthur.”

“Yours, Old Chap? I thought she was up for adoption after you were so intent on kicking her out?”

“Do you really think I will take a lecture from someone who can’t be serious about a relationship to save his life? Or at least what little is left of his dignity?” Theo turned away from Arthur, unable to stand the way his friend smiled at him and the way he looked at you. “Hier, Hondje.” He called for you as he walked towards the door.

Although Arthur was right. He shouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t listen.

He walked into the hallway outside, and didn’t go far before you rushed out after him.

As the door closed behind you, he could still hear Arthur on the other side.

“Don’t mind us. Go ahead and have fun.”

Of course he knew what he was doing, and Theo felt even worse that he had fallen for it. There was no doubt Arthur approached each of you when he did on purpose.

Theo didn’t dare look back at you after that, as he made his way to a nearby balcony, only conscious of your footsteps following him.

“You didn’t need to talk like that in front of everyone.” You complained as soon as the two of you found yourselves alone.

Theo dared a side glance at you, to find you quite flustered, but it looked more like it was of embarrassment than anger, despite how you sounded.

Of course the fact you actually listened to him, to complain only in private, didn’t help your case either.

“You came, didn’t you? Like the good puppy you are.” Theo reached out to pat your head, but stopped halfway.

He couldn’t just pretend everything would be back to normal before he at least apologized.

“But,” and he couldn’t believe he was ever considering it, “Arthur is right. I have no right to claim you when I was the one who pushed you away. Again. You deserve someone who will take proper care of you.”

“I’m the one who should be apologizing. I shouldn’t have made such a careless joke. Neither refused to tell you when the reason I went away had nothing to do with our fight.”

Theo sighed.

“Yes. You shouldn’t have made such a stupid joke. But I shouldn’t have yelled either.” This time he did touch your face. “I messed up.” He moved his hand to the back of your head, nudging you closer. “I thought about everything we had, and everything we could have. Everything I would be giving up if I let you go. And I realized losing you would be a bigger sacrifice than any other decision I could take.”

“That’s how I feel too. I know you want to protect me, but don’t push me away to do so.” You rested a hand over his chest. “You’re not going to lose me because I decided to stay.”

Stay. You were so prepared to, not only sacrifice everything but also risk your life to stay with him. But that only strengthened his resolve to follow up with what he decided while you were away.

“I still can’t protect you from getting sick, but I realized I could go back with you, instead. Keep you safe, and keep you close.”

“Would you really leave Vincent, to live with me in the future?”

That was the hard part, but the more he thought about it, the more he was certain that was the best decision. Unless there was a way he didn’t have to choose.

It was funny how you stared at him with such disbelief, but he had to admit it was surprising even for him when he first thought of it. But that disbelief from you quickly gave way to radiant smile as tears pooled at the corner of your eyes, and you tightened your hold on his clothes.

“If that is his decision.” Theo explained, whipping away your tears. “I have been chasing him for so long, but I realized it is time we live our own lives, and if we have to do so far away from each other… But I would like to ask him to come with us. All you told me about art in your time, it would be easier to share his work and with many more people. He could live somewhere nearby, and we would still have our privacy. But I haven’t asked him yet. And this party today… I had such a bad feeling he didn’t plan it just for my birthday, but also as a farewell party.”

“Really? Because I thought he planned the party as a means to distract the others and get us time to talk.” You laughed, then shook your head, lowering your gaze for a moment, before looking up at him again. “But as happy as you making such decisions on my behalf makes me, I think we shouldn’t make it final yet. You bring such good to this world, Theo. Your work is harder here, but it’s also more necessary. The artists of this time are lucky to have you helping them, and I can tell this makes you happy. I don’t want to stop doing that because of me. Can’t we think a little more about it before we really decide?”

You were thinking of other people, even now. Although it was true, it made him happy to help talented artists thrive, and it was harder for them to do so in this period. But he didn’t intend to let you sacrifice everything you built for him. Now just wasn’t the best time to convince you, not with how he felt.

“Fine. We can discuss this later."

Pulling you closer, Theo finally kissed you. He had missed being able to do so. Your warmth, your taste… It felt like years since he last had any of it.

“Happy birthday, Theo.” You whispered when he let you go, your face quite flushed. “Shouldn’t we save this for later and get back to the party?”

“No. I don’t plan to let you go back there tonight. Everyone is so eager for your attention.”

“They’re just glad I’m back. And Arthur also teasing you a little. But they’re all there to celebrate your birthday. I will stay close, if you want to return.”

“By now they should know all I want for my birthday is to enjoy my best gift ever. You.” He kissed you again. “I don’t know how you did it, but I can’t live without you. I can’t stop thinking about you.” Not when you weren't there and his thoughts were filled with longing, neither when you were by his side, and he was now filed with love and sometimes this burning desire for more than just your presence.

Before you could protest, he captured your lips again, in a deeper kiss, happy that you didn’t even try to resist. Instead, you wrapped your arms around his neck, as his other hand encircled your waist, mostly supporting you as you had to stand on your tiptoes to be at a proper height for him to kiss.

Theo nipped at your bottom lip, and you opened your mouth, letting him in. He tried to pull you even closer and deepen the kiss mire, even when you were practically pressed to him already. Desire burned within him, from his throat as the bloodlust intensified, to… lower regions. Everything in him clamored for more of you. Every kiss was almost immediately followed by another, barely giving either of you time to breathe.

He only released you when your body nearly collapsed in his arms, both of you panting, his own head dizzy, but Theo picking you up.

“Was it too much already, Hondje?” You shook your head weakly, and he smirked. “Good. Because I’m just starting with you. It’s my birthday and I will enjoy my gift. Thoroughly.”

Tag List:

@yarnnerdally, @tele86, @nightghoul381, @natimiles

@bicayaya, @2-lines-and-a-circle, @vampiricpancake

@eventinelysplayground, @specters0rd

If you want to be tagged/untagged on future writings, even if it's in specific contents, you can reply to this post or send me a message

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