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megalony · 5 months

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Home Invasion- Part 2

This is the follow up of my Eddie x Evan x Deaf! Reader imagine, thank you all for the lovely feedback and a lovely anon for this idea. I hope you will all like it.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem@sj-thefanthefan@hellsdragon@im-an-adult-ish@crazylittlethingg@allauraleigh@onceuponadetectivedemigod@ceres27@avyannadawn@noonenuts@sleepylunarwolf@coverupps@justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @topguncultleader @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyjen @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream

911 Masterlist

Part 1

Summary: When Eddie and Evan are at work, someone breaks into their home and (Y/n) ends up being attacked.

Enjoy.

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Reaching her arms out in front of her, (Y/n) curled her hands down around Eddie's biceps and gave him a light shake to make him jump and catch his attention. She rose a brow when he turned his head to the side to look down at her with his lips curved up on one side.

When he leaned forward to try and press a kiss to her temple, (Y/n) pulled back and shook her head, feeling her stomach flip when he frowned.

Holding her hands out flat, (Y/n) pressed them together then parted them to the sides. Then she held her hands out in front of her with her fingers curled into her palms and her index finger and thumb pressed together. She moved her hands back and forth in front of her, crooking her index finger while her lips pursed and she watched the way Eddie's frown curved back into a grin.

Stop running.

"Sorry, Bobby puts us on a timer. In and out," Eddie checked another item off the shopping list held tightly in his fist before he leaned over and pecked her lips before she could pull away again.

He was so used to going shopping with Bobby and Hen for the station, he was always on shopping duty almost every week. Mainly because he was efficient enough to finish the shop in less than twenty minutes. Eddie was used to Bobby giving them each a list and sending them in the shop like they were doing drill exercises.

It was hard to snap out of that routine when he went shopping for his own family rather than for the station house.

Eddie smiled when (Y/n) reached out and curled her hands around his bicep, standing so close she was almost sitting on his hip. He leaned over, pressing his forearms down into the trolley while he looked over the list and bit down on the pen in his other hand.

He liked the way (Y/n) perched her chin on his shoulder and nuzzled her nose against his neck because it sent shivers tingling through his blood and made his body quake.

His eyes followed (Y/n)'s hand as she pointed at her chest, then curled her fingers and crooked her index finger. She curled and uncurled her finger whilst moving her hand in a slow line towards Eddie. Cereal. She was going to go and get the cereal.

Unravelling herself from Eddie's arm, (Y/n) stood a step to the side and jutted her hip out to the side so it bumped into the trolley. Her lips curved into a rather sassy grin which made Eddie tilt his head up to pay attention to what she was about to sign. Her hands crossed in front of her chest then uncrossed and moved down near her hips before she curled her index finger and thumb and moved her hands in front of her again.

But when she finally held her hand up straight and curled her wrist to circle her hand in a clockwise motion, she saw Eddie grin brightly.

Don't run away.

He straightened up so he was back to towering over her and took a step closer so he could reach out and press a finger beneath her chin. He jutted her head back so she was looking up at him, suddenly thankful no one else was in the aisle to witness them.

"I wouldn't dare." He murmured quietly, slow enough for her to read his lips before he leaned in and stole a kiss.

His thumb brushed across (Y/n)'s chin and he nipped at her bottom lip before he pulled back and made a point of walking very slowly down the aisle to show he wasn't about to race off. He couldn't always help speeding around the shop, he had been trained by Bobby to be swift and not to daudle or hang around for anything.

Whereas (Y/n) didn't like to run around the shop, grabbing everything and moving like they were doing some sort of hit and run robbery.

And it was usually Evan who did the weekly shop, he was the only one out of the three of them who actually enjoyed shopping. He was like a child in a toy shop because Evan made the weekly food menu for the house and he and (Y/n) were the ones who did the cooking. They didn't let Eddie near the kitchen unless he was making cereal; that was the only thing he could make properly.

Evan had taken Chris out to the cinema today. He had a thing for all the animated movies and whenever a new kid's movie came out in the cinema, Evan was the first one in the cinema to see them. Eddie wasn't so keen and was very happy for Evan to take Chris for the afternoon.

(Y/n) didn't go to the cinema very often. They didn't show many films with subtitles and they only put subtitles on movies in the evenings so she didn't have many opportunities to take Chris to the cinema. It was easier to wait and watch the movies at home when they came out on the tv.

Rather than stay at home, alone, (Y/n) joined Eddie to do the shopping. It had been almost two weeks since someone broke in and (Y/n) hadn't been alone in the house yet. If both the boys were at work, (Y/n) either went round to see Maddie or she waited at the station because Bobby had graciously told her she could come round whenever she liked and stay as long as she wanted.

And if she was home alone with Chris, they ended up at the park or on an evening drive to get out the house.

(Y/n) was waiting for the day one of the boys told her to stop being silly and brave being alone. She was anxiously waiting for them to snap or sit her down and kindly tell her they couldn't hold her hand and make sure one of them was always by her side twenty four seven.

But neither of them were ever going to do that.

Eddie and Evan had agreed that for as long as they could and in whatever way they could, one of them would be home or be around (Y/n) until she told them she was fine being alone. They would do whatever they could to make her feel safe.

A quiet hum vibrated at the back of (Y/n)'s throat and she pressed her lips together tightly to try and make sure she wasn't accidentally humming very loudly in the middle of the shop and drawing attention to herself.

Her fingers skimmed across the shelves as she turned the corner and moved into the next aisle.

When a sudden tightening feeling started to creep into her chest, (Y/n) glanced around the aisle and turned her head to look back over her shoulder.

There was nothing there.

Unease rattled down her spine and spread through her arms down to her fingertips as she looked ahead and moved just a little bit quicker to get to the end of the aisle. She used to pride herself on being so self aware and having a good gage of her surroundings. (Y/n) could sense and feel when people were near, the boys could never sneak up on her or give her a jumpscare when she was in a certain mood.

Now, every little shift in temperature, every soft breeze or hazy movement out the corner of her eye had her spinning around in circles, barely breathing as she tried to find the source of her panic.

Every touch, every movement and every glimpse became threatening when she didn't feel safe.

(Y/n) turned back around and moved ahead into the next aisle, speeding up to get near the end so she could grab Chris's usual rainbow hoops and the cornflakes for Evan. She grabbed the biggest box she could see for Chris and darted her eyes around for Evan's box.

Her teeth sank down into her lower lip and she coiled the box closer against her chest before she looked down and slowly stood on the empty crate on the floor. Why did they have to put cornflakes on the top shelf? Didn't they know it was one of the most commonly bought items?

Just as her fingers scraped the box, a sudden chill crept up the back of (Y/n)'s neck and a horrible sense of dread built up in the pit of her stomach. Her hand clenched around the cardboard box like claws piercing into prey and she went against every instinct she had and turned her head towards the left as slowly as she could.

Oh God.

She lost her balance and stumbled off the crate and onto the marble floor, watching the cereal box tumble down the corner of her eye in slow motion but it didn't make her wince or jump or react like it should have.

Her body stayed as still as a picture, frozen in time as her eyes locked onto a figure walking past the end of the aisle.

She had seen that awful, shaggy brown haircut before with greasy locks that flopped around his ears. She remembered those dark green eyes. Eyes that had been full of anger and blown wide with panic when she crashed down into the coffee table. Those eyes were the last thing (Y/n) had seen before she collided with the table and subsequently passed out.

Terror ransacked (Y/n)'s blood and made her body tremble as she stood, frozen to the spot. Unable to look away even after the man walked out of sight towards a different aisle.

He hadn't seen her. Would he recognise her if he had? Would he have tried to approach her or just carry on walking as if she meant nothing at all to him? Would he have come over to taunt her, maybe ask how she was after her fall? Maybe he had forgotten what she looked like.

(Y/n) hadn't forgotten him. She didn't forget how he hurt her and how he had gotten away before anyone even knew something was amiss.

With Chris's box of cereal now crushed between her arm and her chest, dinted right down the middle and most likely with half a bag of broken pieces, (Y/n) managed to turn around.

She couldn't feel her feet when they thundered against the floor and carried her in a sprint around the corner. Her body turned and twisted to the side, somehow still agile and graceful while she avoided colliding into someone's trolley and bolted. Her head twisted to the left, furiously glancing down each aisle until she locked her eyes on her partner.

Eddie was stood in an empty aisle, hands on his hips, one knee jutted forward, the pen tucked behind his ear and their shopping list pinned neatly between his lips. He was looking for the specific brand of protein drinks he and Evan had been taking to work with them recently.

(Y/n) wasn't sure if she made a noise that caught his attention or if he heard her panting madly to try and catch back her stolen breath. But either way, his body turned to the right just as she stormed down the aisle towards him. Her arm moved and dropped the box of cereal on the floor a few feet away from the trolley.

There was barely any time for Eddie to move or process the sight ahead of him before (Y/n) barrelled into him and knocked him back three feet into the trolley. Her arms bound around his middle, deadlocking him against her while her forehead pushed forward and buried into the middle of his chest right against his sternum.

Panic was the first thing that Eddie felt when she grabbed him.

His arms froze in mid-air and his eyes bulged in their sockets when he felt that she was pressing herself against him so tightly her nose was becoming squashed into his chest and he could feel each hot breath she panted into his shirt. Her body trembled against his in a way that made Eddie jutter back and forth and he didn't know what to do.

"Woah, baby." He pulled the piece of paper from his lips and tossed it limply into the trolley behind him before he coiled his arms cautiously around her.

His hand cradled the back of her head while his other arm deadlocked around her waist just in case she was about to collapse or her knees were going to giveway. Eddie pressed his lips against the top of her head and tried humming into her hair to calm her down but he couldn't help but dart his eyes around for any sign of a threat or a problem.

He could see a few passers-by giving them odd looks and one old lady even smiled at him as if it was totally normal to have a display of intimacy in the middle of a shop.

But he couldn't see anything that would class as a problem or any sign of a threat.

With a deep breath, Eddie leaned his upper chest back and moved his hands to cup (Y/n)'s face in his palms. His thumbs brushed beneath her eyes, catching a stray tear while he moved her head so her chin was pressing into his chest but she was finally looking up at him.

Eddie kept one hand cupping the side of (Y/n)'s face while he moved his right hand and curled his fingers into his palm. Leaving his thumb and pinky sticking out, he moved his curled fingers to press into his chin before he pulled his hand down.

"What's wrong?"

(Y/n) dug her fingers into Eddie's back, scratching her nails into his shirt as she tried to pull her head from his hold and smother her face back into his chest again. She felt better when she darkened her senses and the only thing she could comprehend was the feel of his chest and she smell of his cologne flooding through her nose.

What was she supposed to tell him? How could she explain she had seen a split second glimpse of someone and she thought, only thought, that it might be the man who attacked her?

How stupid was that going to make her seem?

He looked so familiar. She was so sure it was him, but he walked away. (Y/n) saw him from a distance and for all she knew, he could have been a figment of her imagination. She might have imagined and overreacted to something very plain and simple.

It couldn't have been him, though. It was highly unlikely that after two weeks, (Y/n) would see the same man in the same shop she was in, just by coincidence.

But what if it was him?

Her attention was forced back to Eddie when he gripped her chin and lifted her head from his chest, forcing her to look up at him while he moved his free hand to rub circles over his chest.

Breathe.

Eddie let go of her and took one slow, cautious step back so he could try and sign because she wasn't paying enough attention to read his lips. But as soon as he stepped back, she moved forward and deadlocked her arms around his chest again, too afraid to let him go. Something bad had clearly gone on while he had left her for less than five minutes in another aisle.

He leaned back but allowed (Y/n)'s arms to stay around his middle and he did his best to sign around her. He clenched his hands into fists and held them near his chest before he pulled them down and pointed his index fingers out. Then he turned his palms facing upwards and shook his hands around like he was pretending to juggle.

"Baby, what's happened?"

(Y/n) uncurled her arms from Eddie enough to hover her hands in front of her and shake them around her chest before she stuck her thumb up and pointed it at her chest.

"Scared of what?" Eddie didn't understand. How had she scared herself? They were in a store, what could she have done to scare herself other than almost collide with someone or fall over?

(Y/n) raised a hand towards her eye and moved her finger back and forth for a second before she curled her fingers and pinched her index finger and thumb together, rotating her hand in a circle. It was easier to say she thought she saw something than trying to explain to Eddie that she might have seen her attacker. She didn't want to panic him more than she already had and if she was wrong she was going to look a fool.

Eddie swallowed down a sigh and pressed his lips together in a thin line when (Y/n) repeated the sign for 'scared myself'. She was trying to calm him down and although her words weren't working, her actions were because Eddie could see she was breathing more rationally and evenly now and her eyes weren't watering or fuelled with panic.

"Are you sure?" He pointed at her then held his index finger and thumb out, pressed his finger to his chin and motioned his hand towards her.

His eyes widened when (Y/n) reached forward and curled both her hands around his bicep so she could reel his arm into her chest and cling to him like a monkey to a tree. The action unsettled him because he could see she was still rattled and he didn't know why. But she wasn't in floods of tears or spiralling into a panic attack and Eddie didn't want to push her into one by continuing the conversation.

He reached down with his free hand and grabbed the cereal box she dropped and tossed it into the trolley. His eyes remained on (Y/n) for a while as they walked. Eddie didn't like the way she tightened her fingers into his arm when someone passed them by.

Her nose and lips pressed just below his shoulder over his shirt and (Y/n) kept her eyes on the trolley to stop herself from overthinking and panicking too much.

It couldn't have been the same person. She was just becoming paranoid.

***

Venom swirled in (Y/n)'s pupils that were turning into black holes the longer she stared down at the coffee table.

Wood. The new coffee table was made of wood. No metal frame to scrape into (Y/n)'s skin and give her bruises that still hadn't faded away and scratch marks that cut deep enough to leave little scars. No glass top that could easily shatter if she were to be thrown onto it again. No chance of another accident that led to a four hour stay in the emergency room picking glass out of her hair and arm.

They shouldn't have needed to buy a new coffee table. (Y/n) liked the old one, there was nothing wrong with it until she literally fell through it.

Eddie and Evan couldn't stomach the thought of another glass table and they had been more than relieved that the dining table was made of oak or that would have been switched as well. They didn't want any reminders of the fact their girl had been forcefully smashed through a pane of glass.

The small discoloured mark on the wood floor from her blood stain was more than enough of a reminder about what happened.

Tears dripped down (Y/n)'s face and her nails scratched so deeply into her upper arms that she was beginning to draw blood. Her elbows pinned into her chest as her upper body slowly rocked back and forth on the sofa.

The tv was playing an old re-run of one of Eddie's favoured Spanish tella-novella shows. (Y/n) couldn't find the will to try and watch something new and actually focus on the tv; it was on as background stimulation rather than entertainment.

"No."

The word fell from her lips on a constant loop, sometimes loud, sometimes deathly quiet and inaudible. But it was the only thing she could say and comprehend as she pushed up from the sofa and launched the remote on the floor near to the tv.

She couldn't even last an hour alone in the house. Maddie had gone home just over half an hour ago and (Y/n) couldn't handle it. Both the boys were on shift together and (Y/n) knew deep in her heart that the station was where she was going to go. Since Maddie walked out the door, the thought of the station had lodged itself in the back of her mind.

She couldn't bare to go into the dining room alone. She didn't want to bring her crafts into the living room or the bedroom. She didn't want to be in the house when no one else was here and if her back was turned to the door, she was making herself easy prey. Again.

With her bag slung on her shoulder, (Y/n) coiled her arms around her chest and hurried out the front door. She barely managed to lock it before she was speeding down the path and around the block.

Home wasn't safe if one of her boys weren't with her.

How was (Y/n) supposed to protect herself when she failed last time? She didn't know she was supposed to be protecting herself from anyone before the stranger broke in. She couldn't hear anything. A burglar could be as loud as he wanted, breaking the door frame, picking the locks and the windows, he could crash into anything and break as many ornaments in the house as he wanted and (Y/n) wouldn't know unless she saw some movement.

With her back turned, she was making herself a target and (Y/n) couldn't constantly be spinning around in circles to check behind her and make sure she was safe. At least with Eddie or Evan by her side, they could hear the things she didn't and she wouldn't get hurt if someone broke in when one of the boys was home.

Walking the streets didn't feel safe anymore.

(Y/n) had plucked up the courage to take Chris to school for the past two days and even he had noticed the way (Y/n) was constantly looking over her shoulder and gripping his hand tighter and tighter the further away from home they walked.

It didn't help that (Y/n) felt sure she was seeing a familiar figure whenever she left the house. She could see a tall, looming figure somewhere on her walk when she left the house. Leaning against a lamp post, walking twenty feet behind her and Chris. Hovering near a car but not actually moving or getting anything in or out of the car. And she couldn't see the figure's face which didn't help when she felt like she was being watched. She couldn't even describe who was watching her.

(Y/n) rubbed her arm against her chest, itching the stitches through her bandage that she had scratched enough to make it come loose and hang near her elbow. She wanted to tear out each stitch, no matter if it meant she would bleed out or not. They were itching and when she was panicked, her arm started to ache and feel heavy.

Panic bubbled up in her chest and made the tears fall faster down her face when she felt the incessant urge to turn her head and look over her shoulder.

The figure.

Looming far back down the road in the direction she had just come from. It had to be a coincidence, that had to be a different person from the figure she thought she was seeing around her almost every day.

Look forward. Keep moving. Don't run.

Mantra after mantra circled around in (Y/n)'s head as she tried not to bolt into a run. She was too far away from the station to run all the way there and not stumble or be caught- if indeed she was being chased at all.

After five paces, (Y/n) crossed the road and rounded the corner, veering off to the right, coming out of the culdesac they lived in. She knew she shouldn't, but she looked back again. He was following her. He had crossed the road and sped up so there was less than the width of a car between them.

She was being followed.

Her fingers rummaged around in her bag and shakily curled around her phone. She needed to message one of the boys and tell them she was coming down to the station. If she didn't get there within ten minutes and she told them she was coming over, they would know something was wrong. Just in case her 'friend' got her before she got there.

Not Safe!! Coming to the station. Need help!

It happened to be Evan that she clicked on. His was the first contact that popped up on her screen. And he was a worrier. She was going to panic him, but if she sent him something calm and serene and she didn't turn up he wouldn't panic as much as he would if she let him knonw something wasn't right.

For a few seconds, she thought about holding her phone to her ear and pretending to be on a call. But she couldn't. The man was close behind her, close enough that he would be able to hear that she wasn't actually talking. And if she did talk and pretend to have a conversation, he would notice right away that she was hearing impaired. She didn't need to give him more motivation to hurt her.

She could feel her panic rising the further away from home she got because she was halfway between home and the station. Halfway to nowhere if he caught up with her soon.

(Y/n) crossed three more roads and got onto the main street in half the time it would usually have taken her to get this close to the station. Sweat was pouring off of her in buckets from a combination of exhersion and panic. Her shirt was clinging to her chest and back and her legs were aching from speed walking and doing her best not to burst out into a run.

I want my boys. I want my boys!

Something like a squeak burned in the back of (Y/n)'s throat when she glanced her eyes at the car next to her on her left.

She could see his reflection in the window. He was close.

Run!

It didn't matter if she bolted down the street anymore. It didn't matter that people were going to see her fleeing down the street and wonder what on Earth she was doing. It didn't matter that he would know she knew she was being followed and that she was in danger. All that mattered was reaching the station before she was grabbed. Again.

Her bag flung into her side and whacked against her back as she ran as fast as her pounding feet and burning legs would carry her. Her right hand clutched her bag to keep it on her shoulder, she needed it as a weapon in case he caught her.

Her free arm waved madly at her side to give extra momentum and push her further as her lungs started to burn and deflate and a stitch tore through her stomach like she had been shot. She needed to keep going. (Y/n) had to round the next corner, cross the road and get into the fire house where she would be safe. He might be stupid enough to chase her in broad daylight, but he couldn't try and attack or snatch her from a fire house where dozens of people would be working and in plain view of him.

A daring glance over her shoulder made (Y/n) scream and she knew the sound was loud because her lips vibrated and her throat burned. He was running after her. She really was being chased down the street.

Her feet skidded as she pounded round the corner and bumped into the wall when her balance was thrown off. Her hip burned and a feeble cry left her lips when the bandage around her arm scraped against the brick wall and took a stitch off with it. But she couldn't stop. The blood would have to trickle down her arm and leave a trail in her wake. She had to keep going.

In her blind panic, (Y/n) didn't bother to look, she stumbled off the pavement and onto the road.

The firehouse. The big, burning red building was right there across from her. It was within her reach. All she had to do was cross the road.

Her body shuddered and her arms coiled into her chest when a flash of dark silver caught the corner of her left eye. A car. Her mind screamed, malfunctioning with the panic of whether to stop dead in the middle of the road or run faster.

She ran faster. She had more chance of getting away from the car and her attacker if she ran rather than if she stopped and missed the car but got caught by the man.

Tears streamed down her burning face and her hands scraped the gravel road, cutting her palms and imbedding grit into the skin when she narrowly missed the car that screeched to a halt two feet away from her as she went down on her knees on the other side of the road. Her hands burned, her arm was shaking in agony and she could barely feel her hands or feet from the numb panic that was making all the blood go to her head and her stomach.

(Y/n) couldn't work out what the driver was saying. He had his head stuck out the car window and his arms were waving at her like mad.

She pushed up to her feet and curled one burning, scraped hand into a fist which she frantically rubbed over her chest as she tried to shout "I'm sorry!" as loud as she could in case he didn't know sign language. She didn't mean to panic him and ruin his day.

She stumbled over her feet and fell backwards, landing harshly on her bum on the edge of the pavement when her eyes locked on her attacker. He was running towards her at full speed. She felt caught between putting her arms up in defence and trying to keep moving. (Y/n) settled for turning and laying her stomach on the pavement to try and push herself up to her feet again.

"No!" Her hands clenched into fists, bashing into his chest when his rough hands grabbed her shoulders.

It was the same touch. The same fingers that bruised her two weeks ago. The same calloused hands that pushed her into the coffee table. The same green eyes that burned into her with a rage (Y/n) had seen very few times in her life. She wasn't being hurt again. She wasn't becoming a victim again.

(Y/n) tried to make whatever noise she could, as loud as she seemed to be able to. Without hearing, it was impossible to determine whether she was whispering or shouting, screaming or murmuring but she did whatever she could. Her fists smashed into his nose and near his eyes, she wanted his eyes to water so he was blinded with pain and had no choice but to let her go.

Her body stumbled backwards when his rough touch let her go and she jolted around and bolted across the pavement and stumbled through the open doors of the fire house.

A shrill scream left (Y/n)'s lips when fingers curled in the scruff of her ponytail and yanked her head backwards with force.

Power (Y/n) didn't know she had jolted through her like electricity and in one swift motion, she spun on her heels and launched her bag out. Her fingers dug into the leather strap of her handbag deep enough to start cutting through the material and she whacked it down roughly on the side of the man's head.

With her phone, purse, keys and a lot of other loose items in her bag, it became a very useful, heavy weapon and (Y/n) slammed it down against the man's shoulder and then into his chest until he stumbled down to his knees. She wished there was a glass door nearby that she could have thrown him into to show him what it felt like to be sliced to ribbons and knocked unconscious by brute force.

She coiled her arm back, ready to send another devastating blow against her attacker's head before a body moved in front of him and hands were being held out towards her.

Bobby.

She stopped in her tracks, chest heaving and tears pouring down her face when Bobby shook his head and kept his arms out towards her to stop her. He had no idea what was going on or why she was suddenly fighting with someone, but he needed her to stop. He could see the state she was in and he had seen the strange man grab her so he knew (Y/n) had every right to defend herself, but she was safe now.

They would take care of whoever this person was.

Panic ransacked Bobby's entire being when (Y/n) finally stopped screaming and instead moved her hand. He only knew the basic signs for sign language, he was still trying to learn more to communicate with her. Evan was like a son to him and therefore Bobby wanted to get to know (Y/n) as well.

"I need some help down here!"

(Y/n)'s hand started to move but Bobby didn't know what she was doing. She pushed her palm away from her, pulling her hand back and forth like she was pushing an invisible door. Before she pointed her index finger and tilted her hand back and forth rapidly. It was the only thing she was signing and Bobby didn't understand.

"(Y/n)?! (Y/n) what's wrong? Jesus baby what are you doing?!" Words flew past Evan's lips and his hand repeatedly pressed against his chin with his thumb and pinky stuck out, trying to ask what was wrong. He heard her screams from upstairs and her text had scared the living daylights out of him.

Evan held both arms out and as swift as anything, he clamped his arms around (Y/n)'s waist and lifted her off her feet before she could swing her bag down on the stranger again. His hands dug into her waist and her arm got pinned against his chest when he swiftly carried her a few feet away towards the middle of the station floor.

He could feel her nails piercing down into his exposed arm and he pressed his lips to the top of her head. His eyes frantically looked over at Bobby, wide and full of panic as he leaned over, pressing his chest into (Y/n)'s side and back to stop her fighting to get out of his hold.

Evan jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder but relief burned in his eyes when he realised it was only Eddie.

"What the fuck's going on?"

Eddie clamped one hand down on Evan's shoulder and moved the other to grip (Y/n)'s arm when she finally stopped writhing around in Evan's grip so he could let her go. He moved to stand in front of her but anger burned bright in Evan's eyes when he looked down at (Y/n)'s hand to see what she was trying to sign.

It's him.

A sudden breathlessness came over (Y/n) and she found herself latching her hands onto Eddie's forearm as her knees caved. Her back fell into his chest and his arms swooped around her middle, coiling her into him as he lowered them both down to the floor. Eddie knelt behind her, pulling (Y/n) flush into his chest as he kissed the top of her head, unsure what was going on.

But he started to piece everything together when he noticed Evan's hands were curled up into tight fists at his sides and his whole body was trembling.

"Buck, no-"

"I'll kill him! I'll kill the fucker he's attacked her again!"

(Y/n) shuddered in Eddie's arms when Evan bolted from their side. Her head turned to the side and she pushed herself further into Eddie's embrace, burying her face against his arm so she didn't have to watch. She could feel his lips smothering the back of her head and his hand started to flutter up and down her arm to try and calm her down but he too was starting to tremble.

"Buck don't! It's not worth it," Hen and Chimney rushed forward, both of them struggling to hold Evan back while Bobby kept hold of the man so he didn't manage an escape trick.

"Buck you're not helping." Eddie spoke through gritted teeth and he glared up at his partner before motioning to their girl wrapped up in his arms.

Evan wasn't doing (Y/n) any favours by attacking the man in broad daylight because he would get himself into trouble and they didn't need to give the man any reasons to get away with what he'd done.

Anger continued to bubble up through the pit of Evan's stomach and rattle throughout his body. But he wrenched his arms free from Hen and Chimney's hold, shaking them off so he could collapse down on his knees in front of his partners. His hands smoothed up and down (Y/n)'s thighs before he gingerly reached for her hand and gently uncurled her hand from Eddie's arm so he could lay her arm stretched out over his lap.

Two stitches had been torn from her arm and blood was trickling down towards her elbow and a few splatters were dribbled near her wrist and her hand. The bandage was hanging loosely around her elbow so Evan carefully started to wind it back around her arm. The continuous, slow motion calmed down one of the many nerves raging free within Evan and he pinned the bandage back in place. It would do until they could get her to hospital to redo the stitches again and check the wound was alright.

Evan gently brushed his thumb over the back of (Y/n)'s hand while he inspected her palm that was bloody and covered in scrapes and grit and specks of dirt.

"He's not getting away with this." He kept his head tilted down so (Y/n) couldn't see what he was saying just in case he spoke again before he could think better of it. But he knew Eddie heard him when Eddie started to sway (Y/n) back and forth with his lips still pressed against her head and his arms tense around her frame.

If Eddie didn't continue to hold (Y/n) like this, the team would be pinning him to the floor so he didn't go and attack whoever it was that was going to be arrested in a few minutes.

They were going to make sure he regretted everything he had done to their girl.

#evan buckley #911 imagine #evan buckley x reader #eddie diaz x reader #evan buckley imagine #buck x reader #buck imagine #eddie x buck #eddie diaz imagine #buck x eddie #eddie x reader #imagine

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yinorathedragontamer · 25 days

Text

Wings? [Charles Rowland x fem! alive! supernatural! reader]

a/n: this is quite the long oneshot, longer than expected, but i really enjoyed writing this! i hope you guys enjoy, and feel free to request fics such as these whenever you'd like <3

word count: around 2k.

"Here, this will be your room, rent is weekly and that is your roommate [name]" Jenny says as she hands Crystal the keys to the room, and gestures a little vaguely at the girl standing infront of them both. "hey Jenny, i thought you said i'd get one roommate, not three?" you ask as you glance at the two boys standing behind who you now know as Crystal, one of them looking intrigued and the other mainly just confused, and Crystal tilts her head a little as if she just made a new discovery "did you forget to take your meds again [name]? there's just Crystal" Jenny rolls her eyes and turns around to leave, saying something about why she even lets you stay here as she walks back to the front of the shop. "so, uh, you can see us?" one of the boys asks, and you take a step back from the sudden startle "oh, sorry mate, didn't mean to startle you, i'm Charles, and this is Edwin" he gives you a charming smile, and you quickly look at Crystal, who, hopefully gently, jabs him in the ribs with her elbow. "Sorry about that, don't worry, i see them too, as you heard from Jenny, my name's Crystal" she holds out a hand to shake, which you slightly hesitantly take "i'm [name]..." "so, are you a psychic like Crystal or have you had a near-death experience?" the one who you heard was called Edwin asks as he takes out a notebook and a pen to write down your answer, and you notice Charles giving him a look that says 'really dude?'. "uh, well, i'm not really sure? strange things have been happening since i was a child, doctors gave me meds for it but they didn't exactly work" you answer. "hm, what kind of strange things? we're the dead boy detectives, me and Charles, i suppose Crystal here joined us recently, but we solve supernatural cases" "yeah, my demon ex-boyfriend stole my memories so, yeah, i'm trying to get them back" Crystal adds. "dead boy detectives? are you two ghosts?" you ask. "yeah, you got that right" Charles says with a bright smile, the type that you would instantly think about if you had to think about him. "right, okay, in that case..." you start to tell your story. "for as long as i can remember, i've been seeing things that others never seemed to notice, the earliest memory i have was that i went to a museum, i was quite young, and i saw someone staring at a wall, and when i got closer i saw that his entire face was cut up, like, something had mauled him, i ran away crying, but my mom said it was all in my head" you continue. "another time was a few years later, i was on the school playground, and since people said i was weird, other kids refused to play with me. i saw this dog, a real sweetheart, and started playing with it, it was only when a teacher came to ask me what i was doing that i was told there was nothing there, and when i looked back at the dog, it dissappeared". "any more recent things? something that doesn't include seeing ghosts? because that would indicate you probably just had a near death experience that you didn't realize, such as getting run over by a, what was it called Charles? a car?" Edwin asks, "jeez, when did you die?" you say with clear disbelief that he forgot what exactly a car was for a second. "he died in the edwardian era, then spent like, 70 years in hell before he got out, i died in the 80's, and stuck around with him" Charles says with a slight shrug. "oh shit, okay, so to answer your question, it was like, eight months ago, i woke up, and i had this" you take off your shirt, Edwin instantly averts his eyes to the floor, meanwhile Charles looks at Edwin instead. you turn around, and show them the tattoo of two bug-like wings going from your shoulderblades down your back. "damn, those are.... really cool"

Crystal says with a nod, and Edwin quickly writes it down. "and what's so strange about that? isn't it just a cool tattoo?" he inquires, not quite getting the strange thing about them yet. "well, i never got a tattoo before in my life, i never got these willingly, and sometimes, i have this nearly painful ache on my back, and when i do it's the worst where the tattoo begins, on my shoulder blades" you answer as you put your shirt back on, much to Edwin's relief as he really wasn't used to seeing stuff like that out of nowhere.

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

that first meeting? that was a few weeks ago, and you have become close friends with all of them.

Crystal has become like a sister to you, Niko has joined the team now too after you guys saved her, and even Edwin has been more kind to you, he has his charms sometimes.

and Charles? oh, where to begin.

you two are like two peas in a pod, and at first, Edwin did NOT like that, but he's been more than kind about it now.

at this point, he practically ALWAYS tells you two to go together for cases, and as close as you two are, you hate it.

why? you've fallen, and not even a little.

those smiles he gives you, the way his first concern was you when he got out of that loop in the haunted house, the way he always offers to put your stuff in his infinite bag, the accent, the looks he gives you sometimes, and it's terrible!

you swear its unnatural, to fall for a person who's been dead for decades, to have fallen for someone who probably doesn't love you that way.

nah, you're reading into things, atleast, thats what you tell yourself.

he however? he's the exact same.

the reason why Edwin keeps pairing you two up is because he figured out that Charles likes you, a lot, to the point where Charles had to make a deal with Niko for her to shut up about it too, before you found out.

no way you'd like a person who's already dead right?

when he thought of you, he thought about you making fun of his accent, your wing tattoos, the way you tried to keep his focus on solving the case and on you instead of the murderous scene when you guys were in that house, the way your grin was to die for as you asked about what the 80's were like, the way you hugged him and told him to never do that again as soon as he was out of that dreaded loop, he could swear he saw tears of relief in those gorgeous eyes of yours.

"hey Edwin, i saw 12 cats in total outside, just so you know" you say as you walk in with the groceries for the week, since you and Crystal did still have to eat. Edwin nods and quietly thanks you for helping him count all the cats, Charles walks through the wall into your bedroom before you can say anything, he wanted to tell you how he feels but, was it worth the risk? it would be rather awkward since you'd still have to talk to eachother nearly constantly.

you notice it, though, and you quickly take off your jacket before going into your room too.

"hey Charles, i need to talk to you about something" you say a little nervously, were you really going to do this? really?

"ofcourse mate, what's up?" he tries to sound relaxed, but you don't seem to notice as you quickly ramble on about something he only understands half of.

"yeahsoireallylikeyoulikemorethanafriendandicantreallyhandlehidingitanymoreandireallyloveyoursmileandialwaysendupthinkingaboutyouwhenevericantsleepandihadtopayNikooffusingmanga'stoconvincehertokeepquietbutyeahthatsallpleasedonthateme-" Charles looks at you with confusion, and you take a deep breath.

"okay, so, long story short, summery of that ramble, i really like you, i don't know how, since like, i'm alive and you're dead- wait was that rude? i didn't mean-" before you can finish, you feel his hands on your cheeks as he kisses you, and ofcourse you kiss back.

he pulls away, and look you in the eyes with a loving smile, one you have never seen before "i like you too, so don't even worry about it"

"we'll figure everything out together, yeah?" all you can do is nod as a grin finds its way on you face.

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

you woke up with a scream.

your back hurts like hell, and you can feel blood coming down onto the sheets.

in a panic, you quickly go to the bathroom, rushing right past a just woken up Crystal who looks worried.

once in the bathroom, you take off your shirt, though not without struggle as the pain on your back makes it extremely painful to lift your arms so high.

as you take off your shirt, your eyes widen in even more panic as you see the blood that seeped onto it, and you turn around infront of the mirror, seeing blood trickling down your back from your shoulder blades, and... two wings, covered in that same blood, they look exactly like the tattoo you had, but then real.

before you can do any more panicking you hear a knock on the door.

"[name]? you in there? what's wrong?" it's Crystal, though before you can say anything you hear more voices.

"Love? you alright? i'm coming in there if you don't answer, you sounded like you were in pain" Charles. oh no.

he can't see this?! what would he think? you look disgusting, with a bedhead and a bloody back.

"no! no, please just let Edwin in, i can't let you two see me like this.." you say as a few tears roll down your face, apparently your voice sounded like it too as Charles was ready to barge in through the wall anyway if Crystal didn't keep a hold on his arm.

less than a minute later, Edwin comes in, and his eyes widen as he sees the state you are in, and he quickly leaves again.

you stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror as he comes back with a book on... fairy's?

"it's not just about fairy's, it's also about fairy type blessings that they might give to people who went through a lot of negetivity in their life, and what type of blessings they give, clearly we need to figure out yours." he explains before you can question him.

"here it says it's a blessing of the ignored, given to someone who got ignored and waved away whenever they tried to say or convince someone of anything, and the wings were bound to sprout when you feel like you're ready for it, even though you aren't aware of what you're ready for" he explains, and he takes a good look at the 'instructions' of how to atleast clean them up.

"right, i'd say, take a hot shower, put on something like a... backless top or dress? i believe you have those? and we can show Charles, Crystal and Niko and we'll figure out what to do"

all you can do it nod as he leaves again, and you hear some light arguing between him and Charles before you hear Crystal interrupting them and convincing Charles to just sit down at the table and wait.

you took a good, warm shower, though you could instantly tell your wings were sensitive, but tough at the same time.

you put a towel around yourself, and luckily you have a door straight to your bedroom, which Crystal uses aswell, as then she doesn't have to walk past Charles and Edwin when she has showered.

you put on a backless top that you got a year back, but never got to wear as it's usually too cold for it, and some simple jeans and shoes.

you walk out, and see Charles instantly looking relieved as he gets up, though he can tell there's something going on as it's much too cold for that top, and Crystal walks past you in awe as she comes out of her room too, Niko also just walked in from the door with Edwin, and he nods to you to turn around.

and you do.

at first your'e nervous, but then you hear the gasps of awe and you feel Charles gently touch one of them, which makes it twitch a little.

"i did more research when you were showering, turns out the first times are most painful, but you can control wether or not they are as a tattoo or as usable wings, though obviously you must train to do anything with them at all, such as flying. i reccomend that you get more backless tops or tanktops that leave the shoulderblades free, so if we're on a case you could simply take off your shirt and free those wings incase it's needed"

you nod, and before you do anything else, you turn back around, and you spread them.

you look at the floor, but Charles lifts your head back up to meet his eyes, full of wonder. "those are awesome, yeah? we'll help you figure everything out, as always"

"i believe we've gotten a new case, huh?" Crystal says with a slight smile, and you smile back.

you let your wings relax, and without even thinking too much of it, they go back to their tattoo form.

"i suppose we do" Edwin replies.

#charles rowland x reader #dead boy detectives #crystal palace #edwin payne #charles rowland #jenny the butcher #dbd #dbd charles rowland x reader #charles rowland x fem! reader #platonic! edwin payne x reader #platonic! crystal palace x reader

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ultram0th · 23 days

Text

Wolfe Glick's New Career

Part 1 │ Part 2

"Damn it!” Blue, working in his home office, heard Kevin groan from the front door.

He pushed himself away from his desk and walked downstairs, trying to figure out what was wrong. In the entryway of their home, he saw his shirtless, hairy boyfriend clad in nothing but a skimpy jockstrap that struggled to contain his massive bulge. He was frowning as he glanced at the porch, the door swinging wide open so that the whole neighborhood could see his buff frame.

“What is it?” Blue asked, placing a tender hand on Kevin’s hairy pec, trying to fight back a smile as the other man shuddered at the touch, his jockstrap-clad bulge twitching.

Kevin tried to focus on the issue at hand, even as he leaned further into Blue’s touch. “Someone stole our package,” he whined. “Again!”

At the sound of the ruckus downstairs, Nick made his way down and over to the other two. He was still naked from his interrupted stream, his hard cock bobbing out in front of him with every step he took. The only thing he wore was a cowboy hat— something that was a permanent fixture of his wardrobe. “What’s goin’ on?” he asked, his thick country boy accent as prominent as ever.

Blue crossed his arms in front of himself. “It seems that there’s been some porch pirates in the area,” he mused, trying to think up a solution.

Kevin snorted, “Maybe if we had a guard dog to scare the thieves away.”

Nick nodded in agreement. “Some big fella who would scare any of them robbers away. That’d do the trick.”

An idea started to form in Blue’s mind and he began to smirk to himself. “A big, strong guard dog?” he hummed. “That’s a pretty good idea…”

— — —

“…so make sure you like and subscribe for more Pokémon content,” Wolfe Glick said into his webcam, giving his usual sign off for his next video. He clicked on the red circle icon, stopping his recording.

He glanced at the time on his computer, and shot out of his seat once he realized that he was running late for his appointment. The World Champion Pokémon player was an avid streamer, and with Worlds coming up, he was starting to feel the pressure a little bit. It wasn’t anything too terrible, but Wolfe figured that the smartest thing to do would be to talk to a professional before any of his anxieties grew.

After doing some Internet searching, Wolfe had stumbled upon the homepage of a certain hypnotherapist named Blue, who claimed to specialize in work-related anxiety. After one phone call, he’d made an appointment with the hypnotherapist, hoping that he could use his expertise to help him dominate at Worlds and maintain his top position as the World’s Greatest Pokémon Master.

After leaving his place, Wolfe made it to the hypnotherapist’s home office just in time. He parked his car in back and made his way up to the front door.

He barely had time to knock before the front door swung open, revealing the doctor. “Welcome, Wolfe,” Blue grinned. “I’ve been expecting you. Please come in.”

The streamer followed Blue inside the home, noting how cozy it was. There was the faint smell of musk, as if there was an at-home gym on the premises. Plus, he could see a variety of consoles and gaming memorabilia.

“You game?” Wolfe asked, finding playing video games a safe way to form a connection with a new person.

Blue nodded as he led the other man into his office, gesturing towards the sofa for him to relax on. “From time to time,” he said. “My boyfriends play a lot more than I do. They actually stream for a living.”

Wolfe nodded to himself as he took the offered seat.

“But you didn’t come all the way here to discuss gaming with me, did you?” Blue asked, grabbing his notebook and pen. “Tell me, Wolfe, what’s on your mind?”

The streamer shrugged his broad shoulders, and the bottom of his polo lifted with the action, giving Blue a sneak peek of his happy trail. “I’ve just been feeling a little stress and anxiety over this competition that’s coming up,” he admitted. “It’s nothing too much, but I just wanted to talk to someone to make sure I stay grounded.”

Blue nodded, humming to himself in thought. “You know,” he finally said, “there are some hypnosis treatments that I can offer you to help keep your stress levels down.”

“Sure, let’s try it,” he said, leaning back into the sofa.

The hypnotherapist fought to hide his mischievous smirk as he grabbed his pocket watch out of his coat. “Now, just focus your attention on the watch and listen to the sound of my voice,” he said in a smooth tone.

Wolfe did as instructed, and he instantly felt relaxed as he watched the pocket watch swing left and right. The sounds of the Blue’s melodic words lulled him into a deep sleep, and eventually his eyes glazed over and his jaw was slack as he fell under Blue’s control.

A wide grin stretched out Blue’s face. “Now Wolfe, I want you to listen to every command I give you,” he said, his voice slow and deep. “Tell me if you understand.”

“I understand,” Wolfe repeated in a monotone, his eyes still fixated on the swinging pocket watch.

“Now, Wolfe, you may continue your streaming career, but you’re also going to take up another passion: Bodybuilding.”

“I will take up bodybuilding,” Wolfe repeated.

“You will look into bodybuilding and you will grow consumed with the thought of getting bigger. And you won’t listen to anyone who questions this new desire of yours.”

“I want to get bigger.”

Snap! Blue snapped his fingers, jolting Wolfe out of his daze.

Wolfe jerked back in his seat, rubbing at his temples in confusion. The last thing he’d been able to vividly recall was arriving at the doctor’s home. Yet, after that, everything was fuzzy. He struggled to recall anything during the hypnosis session, but a thick fog seemed to solidify in his brain, effectively blocking it out.

The streamer continued to massage his foggy head as he tried to piece together anything. However, he soon realized that the mild panic he’d felt earlier in the morning was gone. Whereas, he’d felt a little apprehension about the upcoming Pokémon tournaments, he didn’t feel worried in the slightest now as he sat in front of Blue.

The man perked up. “It worked!” he gasped in surprised. “Holy crap, it actually worked!”

Blue smiled to himself. “Of course it did,” he chuckled. “Now, let’s go ahead an schedule you a follow-up…”

After scheduling another session, Wolfe left the doctor’s office with his head held high. The cute streamer was in awe that the hypnotherapy actually worked, and he was planning on telling all of his friends about the miracle worker that Dr. Blue was. However, all of his elation fell down to the ground when he saw his reflection in the tinted windows of his car.

Wolfe deeply frowned when he examined his body.

He’d worn a simple polo and some shorts for his session, so his limbs were easily visible. However, the man grew self-conscious when he saw how stick thin and tiny his arms looked. He flexed one arm, feeling immense disappointment when his bicep barely created a lump. Looking down at himself, his chest seemed embarrassingly flat, showing absolutely zero traces of muscle whatsoever. And his legs were like toothpicks: thin and simple.

Never before had Wolfe ever felt self-conscious about his body. Being a streamer, he tended to not get as much exercise as he’d preferred to; however, all he seemed to be able to think about as he stared at his slender reflection was that he was so small and tiny.

Without a second thought, Wolfe got into his car and sped down the road to one of the local gyms in the area. He hurried inside and paid for a membership, immediately heading towards the weight pile…

— — —

There was a knock on the door, and Dr. Blue left his office to go answer it. He swung it open widely, his eyes nearly popping out of his skull as he saw his altered client.

“Good morning, Dr. Blue,” Wolfe smiled as he entered the house for his follow-up appointment.

It’d been about two months since his last visit, and although he’d known that the results would be drastic, Blue still wasn’t fully prepared for what he saw.

Whereas before, Wolfe had been rather slender and toned, this new hunk was packed with solid muscle. Still wearing the same sized clothes as before, Wolfe’s new muscles stretched every fabric to the limit. His arms had grown, making the tight sleeves of his polo bunch up near his rounding shoulders. The bottom of his shirt was lifted a little bit due to his growing pecs that were now so big that the streamer couldn’t button up the polo at the top. His legs had grown a bit too, forcing his usual strut to take on a little bit of a waddle.

“Wow, Wolfe, you’ve been working out, haven’t you?” Blue mused, quite literally drooling over the growing gamer.

Wolfe blushed a little bit. “Yeah, a little bit,” he said, flexing a sizable bicep, causing the fabric around his arms to rip a little bit. “I’m still nowhere near as big as I’d like to be though.”

Blue smirked a little as an idea formed in his head. “Well, I can help you out with that too,” he offered. “If you’d like, of course.”

Wolfe eagerly agreed and nearly threw himself down onto the couch, sitting up straight as he readied himself for another hypnotherapy session. His stress levels were already at an all time low, so if Blue could help him out with his workouts, then he’d feel one-hundred percent at peace. Over the past few months, Wolfe still streamed and prepared for Worlds; however, whenever he wasn’t playing Pokémon, the stud was in the gym. He worked out religiously all in attempt to bulk up. Although he was gaining some impressive muscles in such a short amount of time (and he’d already gained about twenty pounds of pure muscle), he was nowhere near feeling big enough. He still felt tiny, despite having outgrown all of his clothes that were now plastered against his growing frame.

“Just pay attention to the pocket watch,” Blue ordered, swinging it to and fro.

Again, it didn’t take long before Wolfe was lost in a trance, his jaw slacked as the growing muscle stud was put under.

“Wolfe,” Blue smiled, “you’re making some nice progress, but we can speed things up a bit. You’re now going to feel an urge to take steroids so that you can get as inhumanly big as possible.”

“I will take steroids,” Wolfe repeated, his voice robotic and slow.

“And once you’re all big and bulky like a bodybuilder, you’ll come move in here to be our good guard dog.”

“I will be a big guard dog…”

— — —

Over the next few months, Wolfe practically lived in the gym. He still focused on his streaming career, and even won Worlds. However, now that that was out of the way, the growing hunk was able to devote all of his time to working out and growing his muscles.

At his gym, he’d managed to make some connections to get a hold of some fast-acting steroids that were guaranteed to bring about drastic results. At first, Wolfe noticed the side effects more than anything. His body hair grew in thicker with all of the extra testosterone in his system, leading to his chest hair growing in at a faster rate and covering up all of his budding muscles. And his libido was in hyperdrive. The streamer was constantly horny, and after each workout session, he had to excuse himself to the locker room to take care of his throbbing member.

Whereas Wolfe had started out his hypnotherapy sessions weighing in a regular 180 pounds, the stud was now topping the scales at 320 pounds of pure, solid muscle. His arms had packed on so much size that he had trouble bending them past a ninety degree angle, and whenever they were relaxed, they rested atop his new flaring lats. His pecs had inflated to large proportions, looking cumbersome and heavy as they jutted off his torso. The hairy mounds were so large that they forced his nipples to point downward; and his large pecs and arms kept pushing against each other whenever he tried to told a game controller for his streams which led to a lot of his videos showing him struggling to get comfortable in his tiny chair with such a large bulky body. His legs were so large now that the streamer waddled everywhere he went, his massive thighs rolling over each other with each step. Thanks to his steroid usage, his stomach pushed out slightly, giving him the beginnings of what would eventually turn into a large, round roidgut.

Wolfe was huge! His large hairy muscles were professional bodybuilder size, and the stud still wanted to get bigger. He had trouble finding clothes that would fit over his enormous bulk, resulting in his wardrobe consisting of numerous tanks and loose shorts. Still, at their largest size, his shorts appeared shrink wrapped around his big quads, and his pecs constantly spilled out over the tops of his tanks.

It was dressed like this that Wolfe made his way back to Blue’s place for what was supposed to be their final session. Although Wolfe felt as if his anxiety was under control, he still felt compelled to venture back to the hypnotherapist’s office.

When he entered, he felt an odd surge of pride when he saw how wide Blue’s eyes got when looking at his muscles.

“Wow, Wolfey,” Blue genuinely mused. “You’re huge!”

Wolfe felt his face stretch out into a joyful smile at being called huge, and he couldn’t resist forming a double biceps pose on the spot. His mountainous biceps flexed with power, and since he’d come straight to the doctor’s after his workout, his hairy pits were all sweaty and musky, filling the small office with a locker room aroma.

Blue ran an admiring hand over one of Wolfe’s large muscletits, giving the round muscle a playful squeeze. “You must’ve been working out a lot,” he teased. “Such a big, strong guy you are!”

Wolfe couldn’t help but preen at the compliments he was getting. For some strange reason, they seemed to bring about a joyous sensation deep within him, and he felt himself growing more and more excited by the second. His hard cock started to tent out his workout shorts, and he moved to another pose. This time, forming a side chest pose to illustrate just how much work he’d put into building up his massive body.

“Is that him?” Wolfe heard a deep voice with a country accent ask.

Still posing, he looked over to the stairs to see two men descend. One was wearing cowboy hat while the other had grown out what looked like a porn stache. Both were hairy and left their impressive (yet way smaller than his) chests on full display.

Instead of being self-conscious at being caught showing off his muscles for another guy, Wolfe loved having more guys look at him. The streamer leaned forward to form a most muscular pose, loving every second that the three guys were gawking at his humongous muscles.

“Yep,” Blue said, clapping Wolfe on the back. “This is Wolfey, our new guard dog. With muscles as big as his, no one will dare to steal our packages anymore. Watch…”

The hypnotherapist pressed a button on his phone, making the doorbell ring.

Something inside of Wolfe clicked and the large bodybuilder streamer felt a fierce protectiveness grow inside of himself. Looking at Blue, Nick, and Kevin, Wolfe started to view the men in a different light. Suddenly, instead of strangers, the three of them were the most handsome men in the world to Wolfe, and he could feel an almost animalistic instinct form in the pit of his gut.

At the thought of someone being at the door, Wolfe dropped onto all fours with a loud thud. The large bodybuilder crawled over the door, his massive muscular arms slamming onto the floor intimidatingly as he moved. He felt himself bare his teeth, letting out a low, bellowing growl.

“Grrr…” Wolfey growled as he protected his new home like a guard dog. He puffed out his hairy, muscular chest with power. Had someone really been at the door, then no doubt, they would’ve been scared away by the sight of the growling bodybuilder.

Blue smirked and walked up to Wolfey. He fastened a leather collar with spikes adorning it around his neck. Attached to it was a metallic tag in the shape of a dog bone that read out: WOLFEY.

Wolfey flinched at the feeling and for a moment, something inside of his foggy brain screamed at him that something was wrong. It said that he shouldn’t be on the floor of the hypnotherapist’s office, and that he shouldn’t be this big. However, as he looked up into Blue’s eyes, he felt the panic quickly evaporate and he flexed his large muscles with pride.

“Who’s my good boy?” Blue teasingly asked, patting Wolfey on the head.

The bodybuilder streamer straightened his posture and flexed his large arms again. “Me,” he beamed widely. “I’m a good boy!”

Over the next few days, Wolfey blended into the new dynamic at Blue’s household seamlessly. In the morning, he would wake up and stream some Pokémon, showing off his massive muscles for his viewers and flexing whenever they tipped him. Then he’d start to work out in the home gym, grunting loudly as he lifted heavy weights like they were nothing. He also proved to be quite the guard dog too, fiercely protecting his new house and its inhabitants. There were no more porch pirate incidents, especially after Wolfey came bounding out the front door, barking and displaying his massive muscles to scare the would-be robber away.

The massive bodybuilder guard dog loved his new life with Blue, Kevin, and Nick. He was such a good boy.

#muscle #musclegrowth #bodybuilder #pecs #straight-to-gay #hypnosis #Wolfe Glick #Puppification #Good Boy #Nick Jonas #Kevin Jonas #the jonas brothers #Unaware

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x-aefx · 1 year

Text

Back to you - Ellie Williams

Pairing: Ellie Williams x female reader

Modern au!

Summary: college!ellie au. Having once been close friends, Ellie and you begin to talk again while new feelings bloom and old ones return.

Part one

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Fuck!” You whisper yelled as you stared at your clock on your messy desk, internally wishing the hour would go back two hours so you wouldn’t be late for your first class since spring break.

Throwing an envious glance at your roommate, Lily, who didn’t have class until the afternoon, you climbed out of bed still half asleep. Walking to your dresser you pulled out the first thing your cold hands touched, your ‘Queen’ band t-shirt and black cuffed jeans. Brushing your hair quickly and spraying perfume you had no memory of buying, you awkwardly put on your shoes whilst trying to maintain balance in your standing position. Turning to your desk you grabbed the textbooks stacked on top of each other and your bag that was on the ground. You stole a quick glance in the mirror and said a mental ‘thank goodness’ for your somewhat decent appearance.

Grabbing the tin of mints on the edge of the desk you made your way out of the dorm and across the campus to your class.

Any other day and you would’ve taken your time seeing as you were already going to be late, but you wanted to get a good seat in class. Sure there was technically nothing stopping you from taking somebody else’s seat tomorrow when you would hopefully arrive on time, but you didn’t want to be that person.

Trying to hide your disappointment and annoyance as you walked into the class seeing you were probably the last to arrive, you looked to where your usual seat at the back beside the classroom wall was, now occupied by a girl who had the brightest blue eyes and straightest hair you had ever seen sat laughing loudly to her friend who looked nearly the same.

‘my fault for being late’ you thought bitterly to yourself.

Your eyes scanned the classroom for an empty seat. Finding one in the middle row you made your way towards it. Dropping your books on the desk and your bag on the floor you sat down. Not a moment later you felt someone kicking the back of your chair.

“what the fuc-“

“language’”

“seriously Dina?”

“someone's in a mood”

“Shut it Jesse”

“Hey!”

“You’re going to the party this Friday aren’t you? The one for Stacey’s birthday?” Dina asked smiling enthusiastically, seemingly not paying attention to Jesse’s angry mumbling about how rude people were.

“I can’t promise anything Dina” you sighed. “I could really use some time for myself”

“You had plenty time for yourself over spring break!” Dina pointed out.

“Yeah and I miss it already”

Jesse snorted at the comment earning a hit to the arm from Dina.

“Ow! Christ woman I’m fragile!”

“Oh I know” Dina rolled her dark eyes, “what about you Ellie? Your going right?”

You turned to the side slightly surprised having not noticed Ellie sat beside you. Hair tied in a half up- half down style, the sleeve of her blue flannel rolled up her forearms revealing her tattoo, legs stretched out to their full length under the table, Ellie Williams screamed confidence. Her attention focused entirely on what she was drawing in her sketchbook, Ellie didn’t notice her friend mention her name.

You doubted she even noticed you sat beside her if it weren’t for Jesse nudging her arm with his leg causing her pen to trail a messy line on the page

“hey what the fuck!”

“language! Honestly you two have the most foul mouths” Dina’s eyes glanced in your direction before looking back at Ellie. That’s when Ellie’s green eyes met yours. It was a quick glance but it was enough for you to look into those familiar green eyes.

“what’s up” Ellie ignored Dina’s comment. She placed her pencil on her desk and turned her body to face Dina and Jesse who sat behind her.

“will you be at the party on Friday?” Dina wasted no time in asking her friend.

“Eh-well, I was just planning on staying in.” Ellie looked at Dina with a guilty smile.

“Ellie!” Dina pleaded pouting her lips to really persuade the girl.

“Dina-“

“it will be so much fun I promise! And Y/N is going and everything!”

“wait no-Dina I never actually-!”

“please Ellie! You’ll have a good night, I swear!” Dina made her best puppy dog eyes. Ellie found herself accepting the invitation before she could really comprehend what she was doing. She never fell for Dina’s pleading looks yet she said yes.

Dina made a triumphant noise, her smile wide as she thought about the upcoming party she and her closest friends will be attending. Jesse smiled at his girlfriend, shaking his head with a chuckle at her antics.

Turning back around in your chair you opened your textbook to the page written on the whiteboard by your professor who was only now arriving. You never had a hard time concentrating in class, yet today you did. You couldn’t make your eyes move from word to word instead staring blankly at the white page.

“Ethan hasn’t quit staring at you since you walked in. It’s quite annoying.” A voice muttered.

Your head snapped to the side making eye contact with Ellie. Her brows furrowed as if in deep thought.

If you looked over to the other side of the classroom you would of noticed the captain of the basketball team, Ethan Gilbert, making heart eyes at you. But you didn’t break the eye contact between you and Ellie.

You didn’t think she had noticed you. Sure you and Ellie were close once, at the very start of college. You considered her your best friend but you two became distant with each other over time for reasons you were unsure of. Ever since then you presumed Ellie Williams had erased you from her life, that was how it felt for you anyway. To hear her say something to you at all was a change after all this time.

“What can I say Williams? I’m a total catch.” You shrugged your shoulders sending her a wink.

Ellie only scoffed before turning back to her drawing, a beautiful farmhouse you recognized as her home from the picture you had seen in her dorm. You noticed her smiling but said nothing.

#ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie tlou #ellie williams #the last of us #ellie williams x y/n #the last of us ellie #tlou ellie #tlou2 #college!au #ellie williams x you #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams imagine #the last of us 2 #ellie x reader

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blues824 · 10 months

Note

Oooh, how about Jack x Little Red Riding Hood!Reader where she meets him in the woods surrounding Ramshackle on her way to deliver baked goods to Ace and Deuce who are sick, please?

Female reader, not Yuu! You are in the Pomefiore dorm because I said so.

Jack Howl

Once you heard that the idiots were sick after being kicked out of Heartslabyul once again in the rain, you knew that you had to make them a warm meal. With permission from Vil, you whipped a few things up in the kitchen and you texted Yuu about you going to Ramshackle before you set off to deliver the goods.

It wouldn’t be that long of a journey, but you decided that since it was a bit chilly outside, you would bring your red cape that your grandmother had made for you when you were a young girl. You threw it on, grabbed your basket, bid your dorm-members farewell, and then you set out to Ramshackle, where Ace and Deuce were. Yuu really was too kind for their own good.

The only thing that you hadn’t considered was you hadn’t been to the dilapidated dormitory on your own. Usually, Trappola would lead you, and you wouldn’t be paying attention. So, as a result, once you went through the mirror, you ended up getting lost. You decided to stick to the path within the woods, but you had to admit that you had no idea where you were. Worst part was that there was no reception.

Your imagination started to run wild, and the dark forest was starting to creep you out. You were alone, but it didn’t feel like it. It felt like there was someone in the trees, watching you. Every noise you heard made you jump. You were cursing as you stepped on a branch on the path, and you whipped your head in every direction. The branches looked like they were reaching out to you, the pattern of the bark of the trees looking like malevolent faces.

Maybe, the worst part about this was being alone and that you were conjuring all of this up. Your grandmother created your red cape so as to protect you from harm, so you had nothing to worry about. The fabric was imbued with a protective charm, and your family swears by it. To be fair, you weren’t dead yet so it must account for something… right?

Suddenly, you heard footsteps behind you. You had your hand on your pen, ready to draw and use your magic, when you turned around. Turns out, it was one of your classmates, Jack Howl. You let out a huge breath of relief before laughing at your ridiculously overactive imagination. To be fair, you didn’t know him very well, so your guard was still up.

“Oh, I didn’t expect you to be here, Howl!”

“I didn’t expect you to be here either, L/N.”

“Are you going to Ramshackle to visit Ace and Deuce as well?”

“Yeah. I can’t believe those idiots managed to get sick. What do you think they got in trouble for?” You both started walking down the path, side-by-side. It did not escape either of you that this was the longest conversation you ever had with each other, but neither of you thought it valuable to mention.

“I’m pretty sure Deuce was dragged into it, but Ace probably stole a tart. Either that, or they failed Professor Crewel’s test.” The exam was incredibly difficult, but you didn’t have the opportunity to offer tutoring. You were the top of the class, mostly due to being under Vil Schoenheit’s tutelage, with Jack being above average in that class. You’ve noticed him sitting across from you, and you admired how focused he looked in class.

What could you say? He was hot, and you just so happened to notice!

“What’s that smell? It smells… nice?” You were confused as to what the wolf-man was inquiring about, until you remembered the baked goods that were in your basket as well as the containers of soup.

“They’re treats that I baked for Ace and Deuce! I felt bad when I heard they got sick, so I decided to bring them something to make sure that they get better!”

You were so cute, was what Jack thought once you said that. He also noticed you in class, and he knew that you were clever and incredibly smart, and you looked absolutely beautiful with your red cape. And apparently you made really good food because the smell of the treats within your basket could have made him drool. It smelled absolutely delicious.

It was unfortunate that he hadn’t talked to you much before, but to be fair your paths don't cross too often. You both were kept busy with your Housewardens as well as your classes and extracurricular clubs. Plus, Jack thinks that any free moment could be spent productively, and you seemed to use that philosophy as well. Even if you don’t, neither of you go out of your way to speak to each other.

Well, no time like the present.

“So…” You both spoke at the same time, making you giggle. Hearing the angelic sound made the wolf’s ears perk up and his tail wag, subconsciously happy that he made you smile. It took all of his willpower to get it to stop, but you noticed and thought it was absolutely adorable. You decided not to mention that either.

“You go first,” he quietly offered.

“Why, thank you! Anyways, I thought I was lost until you got here. If you could, would you please show me which way is the correct way to go?”

“It’s down this path. Would you like me to carry your basket for you?”

“I’m fine!” Again, you didn’t know him very well. From what Yuu had told you, he did help with sabotaging Savanaclaw’s plans to cheat, as well as assisting with both Leona’s and Azul’s overblots. Your instincts told you that you could trust him, but you didn’t want to take any chances. It wasn’t the first time where your instincts told you that a wolf was trustworthy.

This little adventure of yours actually caused you and Jack to get closer to each other, sparking a wonderful friendship, and eventually a relationship.

#twst #twst x reader #twst wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #jack #jack howl x reader #jack x reader #jack howl #disney twst #twst jack x reader #twst jack howl x reader #twst jack howl #twst jack

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tickle-bugs · 11 months

Text

But You Were Mine

Summary: Still hung up on the fit of Bruce’s body against his, Clark attempts the oldest possible ritual: getting to know his pseudo-sweetheart. Too bad Bruce Wayne is the most unknowable man on Earth. Sequel to Chase the Memory of it Still.

Yet again, blame @fickle-tiction for this. Doing a midnight post and run so I don’t have to look at this in the morning lol. Also warning for mild barely even lukewarm makeouts. Probably tamer than Part 1 lol.

Also also: the beginning scene with Clark and Lois works best if you imagine that Lois doesn’t know that Bruce is Batman but suspects him, all while thinking Clark doesn’t know that Bruce is Batman. So she’s trying to protect him from being lied to and Clark is like ‘but Lois I love him’

“Clark Joseph Kent, you’re a grade-A idiot.” Lois thwaps the back of his head with a rolled-up newspaper.

“I know,” Clark groans into the surface of Lois’s desk. She thwaps him again.

“So, let me get this straight.” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “You somehow conned your way into a fake relationship with Bruce Wayne of all people, and now you have feelings for him?”

“I’ve always had feelings for him,” He mumbles, suddenly feeling very small in his seat. When he looks up at her, she’s glaring at him. Ah, he’s in trouble.

“You don’t know him.” She spreads her hands on the surface of her desk, knocking aside a few Daily Planet pens. He picks them up and puts them back.

“Yes I do.” Clark frowns.

“He’s an airhead playboy with zero priorities. You deserve someone who’ll be honest—“

“Oh? Like Selina?”

Lois gets very quiet. Her stare pierces like a fine needle through his throat. A few battered emotions flicker over her face, leaving in their wake a rare and unguarded Lois. Then, quicker than the cat that stole her heart, her face resigns into something sharp and deadly.

“I’m sorry.” He circles the desk and pulls her into a hug. After a begrudging glare, she tips her head into his chest. They inhale and exhale together—a routine they’ve shared for years. She relaxes into him.

“No, you’re right.” She chuckles. “I fell for a thief. That’s on me.”

“And I spent the night with the one guy I shouldn’t have. We can’t all be perfect.” Clark elbows her, looking for a smile. Lois’s eyes blow wide and she starts spluttering.

“You hooked up with him?” She thankfully keeps to a hissing whisper, but he can tell she wants to shout. He contemplates flying around the Earth fast enough to undo the moment, but she’s gripping his shirt tight enough to stop him.

“Well, okay, we kissed a bunch but it didn’t go further—“

“Oh god, we’re both hopeless.” She groans into her hands.

“No, not hopeless. We can both have what we want. I’ll call Bruce if, and only if, you call Selina.” He pulls her hands away from her face. She huffs and smiles.

“This optimism thing is going to bite you in the ass. How do you think you’re gonna maintain a relationship with someone who doesn’t know that you, uh, work two jobs?” She casts a weary glance towards the office door and drops her voice even lower.

“He gets me, Lois.” It’s all he can say. It’s the truth.

“Alright.” She brushes a thumb over his cheek. “Then get to know him at least. Find out if he’s the kind of guy worth being around.”

“I know he's worth it. That’s not ever in question.” Clark can’t help but smile a little as he thinks of Bruce. “It’s an internal thing. He sees me. I see him. We don’t have to pretend with each other. It’s…just us.”

Her keen eyes scan every inch of his face, even as he trails off.

“You should tell him.” She squeezes his arm.

“What? No. Absolutely not. I only said that because I know you won’t call her. C’mon, you’re supposed to be the voice of reason here.” He squints at her. She flicks him in the forehead.

“Okay, well the ‘voice of reason’ thinks you should say something before you lose this…somehow healthy-sounding relationship you have. With Bruce Wayne, of all people,” She mutters that last part, but Clark both hears and ignores it.

“We’re friends and it’s good. Really good. He trusts me at least a little. I don’t want him to think I have ulterior motives. If I could read him at all, figure out what he wants…but I can’t. I can’t lose him.”

“This isn’t the healthiest advice, but…start a list. Treat him like a case. What are some things that draw you to him? Things he hides? Things he shows only to you? If it makes you do that dopey giggle thing you do, he’s probably worth it.” She leans against the edge of her desk and crosses her arm.

“I don’t do a giggle…thing,” he mumbles, but his face is already heating up an incriminating amount.

“It’s cute. He’ll probably like it.” She tweaks his nose. He swats her hand away, but his spirits are far lighter.

His phone buzzes and he checks it as discreetly as possible.

B: Free this afternoon?

Clark smiles.

C: On my way. :)

“I’ve gotta go.” He stands and shrugs on his suit jacket.

“Boyfriend awaits?” She wiggles her eyebrows.

“Bye, Lois.” He rolls his eyes.

“Tell him I’d love to do an exclusive with him.” She snickers.

“I’ll tell him that when you call Selina.” He smirks. She gasps her way into laughter, her face blooming pink. Her hand comes up to play with a diamond necklace sitting on her collarbone--a cat-shaped pendant he’s never seen her wear before--and shakes her head fondly.

“I will after you kiss your playboy. Again.” She raises her eyebrow. Checkmate.

“Bye, Lois,” He says a little louder. She playfully shoos him from her office. He kisses her cheek.

Clark can only smile when he hears her phone ringing and the faint “Hey, kitty” through the glass.

….

It’s apt that Gotham is as dark and segmented as its protector, Clark thinks, because he’s never in his life met anyone as fragmented as Bruce Wayne. Everyone in the League is broken in some way, battered by traumas that still threaten to crush them, but Bruce is markedly...different. He covers the cracks in his soul with masks. For every unveiling, six more facades lay below it.

The reporter in him finds a dark fascination with it. The lost Kryptonian in him finds it…depressing. The human in him is currently bouncing on his heels in the lobby of Wayne Tower until Bruce finally meets him downstairs.

Bruce glides off of one of the elevators and nods at a few hushed executives who scurry in behind him. He must come off so effortless to them—not a hair out of place, a new suit and coat every day, but Clark can see the exhaustion clouding his eyes. Bruce Wayne is put together. Bruce is tired.

“You seem eager.” Bruce gives him a practiced small smile as they fall into step.

“I’m having the slowest of slow days. This was a much needed adventure.” Clark stretches his spine. It gives a loud, much needed crack. He’s just a little too big for his chair at the Planet and it’s starting to take its toll.

“We’re just walking down the street,” Bruce chuckles. He bumps the doors to the building open and Clark darts out. A light flurry of snow twirls through the air as they start their walk. He catches a snowflake on his tongue before he can think better of it. Bruce’s smile grows a little wider.

“So? Every trip away from my desk is an adventure. C’mon, I know a spot.” Clark nods to the side and they hang a left, passing under a train overpass.

“You know a spot in Gotham?” Bruce raises a brow.

“I get around.” Clark grins.

………………………………………………………………………………………….

They end up at a patisserie on the East side, a small family-run shop that deserves far more business than it gets. Clark can smell the wonders within from a good mile away.

Months ago, when he was helping Lois write a scathing exposé on Wayne Enterprises, this spot had served him well. Nothing better than a building full of sweets and a decent wifi connection to get you through betraying a good friend. Shredding that article was easily the best decision of Clark’s life, especially since Lois’s pivot towards flaying Lexcorp alive won her an award.

He buys them both coffee—black for Bruce, vanilla for himself—and sets about the intricate ritual of sweetening his coffee to perfection. This is normalcy. Normalcy is good.

“This is the only part of Gotham I like.” Clark steals little peeks at Bruce, waiting for him to inevitably make fun of him, but his eyes are elsewhere.

A refrigerated display tower of macarons stands proudly next to the register, boasting all sorts of delicious surprises. The splash of color is welcome among the somewhat dreary day outside.

“Hm?” Bruce’s gaze struggles to find its way back to Clark.

“You seem distracted.” Clark pops the stirring straw into his mouth and pulls the remaining coffee out with a little slurp. He pops the lid onto his cup much slower than necessary. The first time you crush a cup of boiling liquid in public tends to change you, after all. He’s grown since then.

“Heavy work day.” For a man so difficult to read, Bruce has never clearly been more full of shit. He doesn’t even try to look away from the cookie display.

“Do you…want a macaron?” Clark doesn’t bother trying to stifle his amusement.

“What? No.” Bruce withdraws slightly.

“What’s your favorite? My treat.” Clark jerks a thumb towards the display.

“Money isn’t the problem.” Bruce scoffs, but not unkindly. He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. Clark tries to ignore the still-fading lovebite on Bruce’s neck that he left.

“Then what is?” Clark leans forward on his elbows. Surprise flickers across Bruce’s face for the slightest of moments.

“…I’ve never had one,” Bruce mumbles, shuffling a bit in his seat. Clark beams.

“First time for everything. C’mon.” Clark vigorously beckons him over to the line. Bruce trails behind with an endearing awkwardness that he’s learned to identify: slow steps, shifty eyes, and silence.

Clark takes his time to point out his favorite flavors and make a few recommendations, but he feels like he’s stumbling around in the dark. His sweet tooth is only rivaled by Diana’s—even then, their tastes match so closely that he’s a little lost with someone like Bruce.

Bruce stares deeply at him. Clark’s rambling stutters to a halt. He pulls on his collar a bit. Adjusts his glasses.

Bruce’s eyes seem so warm. Must be the light.

“If today was my last day to live and you had to give me a macaron, what would you choose?” Bruce leans close. His eyes are on the display, thank god, because Clark doesn’t know that he can handle more of that eye contact right about now.

“It amazes me that you’re so committed to the dark and brooding thing.” Clark rolls his eyes, and after some thought: “Raspberry.”

“Hm. Okay.” And that’s that. Bruce orders quickly and walks away with his prize, leaving Clark to scramble after him. They sit back down in their quiet little corner, the naturally-frosted window fogging slightly at their presence.

Bruce opens his box of macarons clinically, like he’s stripping it for parts. He takes one out and admires the color, gives it a little test squish, sniffs it. Clark watches the process with vested interest until Bruce pulls out another box and slides it towards him.

“What’s this?” Clark pulls the box close.

“Strawberry Cheesecake macarons. I saw you eyeing them when we came in.” Bruce pokes the box again, sliding them just a little more forward.

“I’m not subtle, am I?” Clark pushes his glasses up again. He cracks the box open and pops a cookie in his mouth. His eyelids flutter shut and he does a little dance in his chair.

“It’s one of your more endearing qualities.” Bruce quirks a small, smug smile.

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” Clark fake sniffles. The resulting eyeroll is incredibly satisfying.

Bruce takes a mouse-like nibble of the macaron, catching maybe an atom of cookie and filling between his teeth. He chews thoughtfully.

“So? Do we have a winner?” Clark rests his chin on his hand.

“I think so. You have good taste,” Bruce hums, taking another tentative bite of the macaron. A gentle, genuine smile peaks on his lips like a glimpse of the sun through storm clouds.

“That’s the second nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” Clark swipes a macaron from Bruce’s box fast enough to send a small breeze fluttering between them.

“And it will never happen again.” Bruce peeks open one eye as he finishes his macaron.

Okay, bumping shredding that Wayne Enterprises article down to number two. This, Clark thinks, watching Bruce smile to himself, this is easily top of the list.

1 ) He likes raspberries.

It takes later in the week until they have a moment to truly spend a bit of time together. Criminal roundups never leave much personal time, and Clark’s hearing has him near-constantly running to save lives. But, on a quiet Wednesday night, he has a moment.

He loves visiting Wayne Manor. It’s been a while since he last swung by, but he adores the place. He could spend hours swooning over the architecture alone. It’s a beautiful place to disappear for a while, and he’s been doing that more and more lately.

He gets buzzed into the gates easy enough with a lie about taking the bus, and then he’s standing in the massive foyer and hanging up his coat by the door. The manor smells of old wood and citrus. Clark draws in a big breath of it.

He turns and jumps a bit when a flock of people are suddenly staring at him atop the stairs. Bruce’s kids, right. He knows Dick, Tim, and Jason. The others are still a bit fuzzy to him. They all leer from the landing like royalty watching a gladiator in the pit.

“Hey there.” He waves at the smallest and angriest of the bunch. This is Damien, he’s pretty sure.

“So you’re the new guy.” A blonde—Steph, he remembers her from the Christmas card—leans on the railing with her forearms.

“I wouldn’t mess with him, Steph. He’s tougher than he looks,” Dick murmurs out of the corner of his mouth, trying his best to be subtle. Clark gives him a friendly wave. He returns it.

“He looks like he wears a pocket protector. I could take him,” Steph whispers to Dick. Clark tries to rein in his expression so he doesn’t give himself away.

“I’m not sure we’ve met. I’m Clark. You’re all Bruce’s kids, right? It’s nice to meet you.” He tries to make himself look as friendly as possible. He gets a few waves, but mostly owlish stares. He sees where they get it from.

“Is your father home?” Clark sticks his hands in his pockets and tries to kill the silence.

“Bruce! Your boyfriend’s here!” Jason bellows. Clark bites his lip to hide his smile.

“Clark?” Bruce peeks around the corner, then shuffles quickly down the stairs.

“Hey. I, uh, had a few minutes. Just came by to see you before I went home.” Clark rubs the back of his neck with a smile, trying to kill the flutter in his chest.

“Bruce, say something,” Tim hisses, crouching behind the banister as if Clark can’t see him. Bruce startles, glares at him, and then gestures for Clark to follow him. As they pass, all of the kids watch him go, whispering in a building flurry that he doesn’t bother dissecting. He tells himself it’s because they deserve their privacy, but really…he’s nervous. Severely.

“I hope they didn’t make you uncomfortable. They can be a bit…eager.” Bruce’s smile is warm beneath the lights of the old manor.

“They’re wonderful. Terrifying, but wonderful.” Clark chuckles and bumps their shoulders together while they walk.

It’s these precious minutes that define their friendship more than anything. Clark tells Bruce all about his day, about his Lex Luthor exposé making the front page, about everything and nothing at all. He talks and Bruce listens, egging him on with gentle tilts of the head when he shyly falls into silence.

By the time they reach the gardens, it’s Clark’s turn to listen. Bruce tells him about the kids, occasionally stopping whenever he notices one lurking. He asks for his opinion on random scenarios. Clark can’t tell if they’re hypotheticals but he answers as truthfully as he can, chasing the little noises of appreciation that Bruce makes as he talks.

Not only are Bruce’s masks interchangeable, taking him from Bruce to Batman to Bruce Wayne, they’re also removable. Clark doesn’t know when he was bestowed with the honor of being with Just Bruce, but he’s immensely grateful for it.

“Good evening, Mr. Kent.” Alfred nods respectfully in his direction. “Master Bruce, you have a call from Mr. Fox. Line three, sir.”

“Thank you, Alfred.” Bruce squeezes Clark’s shoulder. “You can wait here, if you’d like.”

“Am I allowed to touch anything?” Clark teases.

“Anything you want.” Bruce winks at him, completely straight-faced, and disappears into the corridors of the manor. Clark’s face grows embarrassingly hot and he reclines against the lip of the fountain.

He birdwatches as he waits, counting which of Bruce’s kids make normal, completely non-suspicious trips through his personal space. Dick’s the least sneaky of the bunch, but it lends him a genuine quality. He sits and chats with Clark for a few minutes, asking him about work and the like. He asks about his relationship with Bruce and Clark mumbles something non-committal, cheeks warm.

Bruce, uh, never put out that statement about them breaking up. Clark thinks he might be alright if it never gets published.

As the hours draw on, he catalogs where the other Robins like to hide. Tim and Damien have an affinity for hiding in the massive hedges surrounding the gardens, while Steph takes to watching from the windows. Cass is the hardest to spot but he catches her on the roof a few times, perched and enjoying the warm dusk breeze. He sees Jason with her once too.

If he’s learned anything from their father, it’s that staring is caring. Probably.

When Alfred fetches him hours later, he arrives at a scene he wants to burn permanently into his memory.

Bruce is seated at the beautiful. obnoxiously long table in the dining room. He’s got a knee hiked up on the chair, picking idly at the fabric of his pants. On the table, a black kitten rolls around and bats at a toy. It’s sweet and oddly domestic.

“Hey.” Bruce doesn’t turn.

“Hi. Who’s this?” Clark holds a hand out to the kitten and it drops its paw on top of his palm, mewing softly. The squeaky, deflating noise that leaves him is not one he’s proud of. It’s so sweet and small.

“Nyx. She’s a stray. I give her food when I can.” Bruce scratches her head gently. Nyx purrs and lays down on the table, tucking her head into the attention. She’s a precious baby, is what she is. Clark has half a mind to take her home.

That is, until Bruce sneezes loud enough to send poor Nyx running. She flings herself off the table and into one of the manor’s seemingly endless corridors.

“Bless you.” Clark chuckles. Bruce pulls a face.

“Master Bruce.” Alfred hands him a box of tissues.

“I can hear you laughing, Alfred,” he sniffles, hair a bit ruffled from the sneeze. Clark purposefully averts his eyes.

“I would never, sir. Goodnight, Mr. Kent.” Alfred bows his head, sharing that mischievous glint in his eye.

“Goodnight, Alfred.” Clark grins, settling into the oversized chair beside Bruce.

2 ) He’s got a cat allergy, but he feeds the strays anyway. Bruce = cat person?

“Stop it.” Hearing the Batman voice and knowing it’s mostly because Bruce is annoyed is truly golden.

“Stop what?” Clark floats leisurely alongside Bruce, arms behind his head. Keeping pace with him isn’t hard--he’s fast for human standards, but not by Clark’s. He’s made it a habit anyways not to zip too far ahead as they’ve grown closer. It kills the banter.

“Look, all I’m saying is that if Batman started flying, criminals would absolutely take the week off. If I was a criminal and I thought Batman had suddenly gotten superpowers, I’d simply leave Gotham.” Clark flips upside down and hangs in front of Bruce, still drifting backwards in pace with him.

He can sense Bruce trying not to smile, but when he opens his mouth to tease, karma speaks instead. Clark smacks his head into the side of a building just as Bruce slips through a narrow space between it and its neighbor. Clark flies up over the building and catches up with Bruce again, scowling.

“I know you’re laughing.” Clark crosses his arms.

“Me? Never. Just thinking about how great it is to be grounded.” Bruce allows himself the tiniest of smirks, just enough to be infuriating, and it’s Clark’s turn to roll his eyes.

3 ) He restrains his emotions. Even the good ones.

Roaming the Hall of Justice late at night is a cultivated hobby of Clark’s. The best snacks hide in the dark, after all, and he knows that no one’s gonna come bother him about a missing bag of chips at this hour. He needs time to think and food to think with.

Clark’s feelings for Bruce could both span and fill an ocean. He doesn’t know when this happened. As far as he can remember, there’s always been this beacon of warmth in his chest guiding him to Bruce. Through every late night and early morning, through hopelessness and joy, Bruce is a constant. It’s too much to put on one person. Too risky.

The ‘l word’ pops into his head like a dark omen, and he skids to a halt. He glances around, listening for any league members skulking around. All he hears is his own thundering heartbeat.

Fuck. Fuck.

He makes his way into the kitchen past a snoring Arthur, pausing to snatch the jumbo bag of cheese puffs from his limp grasp. He slips quietly out into the hall, passing by the lounge, where Bruce and Diana are laughing—

Clark backpedals, nearly tripping over his own feet, but god it’s worth it. Bruce is clutching Diana’s shoulder and giggling, stuck in the loop of overwhelming laughter that follows an unyielding barrage of jokes.

They’re still suited up, probably fresh off a patrol, and Clark wonders how long they’ve been sitting here. A mountain of chocolates, the fancy ones, cover the surface of the table. Diana delicately sorts through and plucks the ones she wants from the pile as Bruce watches.

“Diana’s the new team comedian. None of you are funny.” Bruce recovers from his laughter, but the smile stays, and Clark makes an active effort to be normal about it. The delirium of another late night in a row must have gotten to him. That’s the only explanation.

“Barry will be devastated.” Clark chuckles. He leans in the doorframe and catches a cheese puff in his mouth.

“He will survive.” The sparkle in Diana’s eye has him wishing he had tuned into their conversation.

“If I had known y’all were partying in here, I would’ve come to hang out.” Clark crunches on another cheese puff, mostly to distract himself from the way Bruce’s eyes are sparkling. He didn’t know they could do that.

“There’s no reason you can’t party with us now.” Diana gestures to the seat next to Bruce.

Aw, what the hell? Eating junk food together couldn’t be much worse than doing it alone.

4 ) Bruce can laugh--he just has to be caught off-guard. He likes to laugh (?) (who doesn’t?)

“When you said you needed help, I thought you meant with translating.” Clark wanders into the room. The concrete is irritatingly cold on his feet.

Bruce types away wildly at a computer station with too many monitors. A pair of giant goggles on his head pull his hair out of his face. Clark leans over his shoulder to see what he’s doing, but the code flying across the screen is a nightmare.

At the opposite end of the room, a mechanical rig sits primed on a set of rails. In the center, a gnarly looking gun barrel stares out into an empty expanse.

“I’m trying to test new ammunition for the Batmobile, but my target system is down. Can’t reboot it.” Bruce clicks something else and the gun starts calibrating. A pathetic clicking sound picks up as targets struggle to ascend from the floor, twitching lifelessly in their compartments.

“Do you want help?”

“With coding?” Bruce turns with an expression just shy of condescending.

“God no. I am bulletproof, if you remember.” Clark sticks his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants.

“Doesn’t help. I need to study the impacts afterwards.” Bruce gestures to a massive chunk of concrete on a stand nearby. Clark hefts it into his arms with a quiet grunt.

“Just...keep up with the gun. I prefer my walls without bullet holes.” Bruce quickly turns away from him. Clark can hear his heartbeat pounding. He starts to ask, but the gun rig starts warming up and he sacrifices his curiosity.

“Alright. Whenever you’re ready.” Clark adjusts his stance to prep for the recoil. The machine whirrs and clicks as it loads itself with rounds. Bruce types in a few things on a nearby control panel and pulls the goggles down over his eyes.

The gun barrel spins and whines as it gains force. Clark hovers a few inches off the ground and tenses. He lines the concrete up with his chest, his eyes just clearing over top of it.

The machine fires quicker and lower than he anticipates.

A sharp zing zips up Clark’s side, then another, then another, and he drops the concrete, instead covering his smile while forcing himself to stay still. That’s certainly not his best idea--no block means no cover, which subsequently means getting pelted with another wave of bullets.

Clark crumples into a flurry of giggles before he can stop himself. He curls up as much as he can—partly to stop any new onslaughts, mostly to hide his reddening face. He’s been shot more than anything and it’s never bothered him. He didn’t know he could be ticklish to touch, let alone to goddamn bullets.

“Clark! Are you okay?” Bruce leaps over the gun rig and pulls the safety goggles up onto his head.

“Y-Yes. I’m fine. Your machine…thing packs a punch.” Clark clears his throat to stop the rogue snickers forming a conga line in his throat.

“I thought you were supposed to be bulletproof.” Bruce huffs, kicking the pieces of shattered brick out of the way. He swipes at Clark’s torso, probably trying to brush away the dust on him. Clark flinches under the touch and coughs over a laugh.

“I am. It just…felt…weird.” Clark snatches Bruce’s wrist a little too quickly. Bruce’s brow furrows and he leans close, eyes glued to Clark’s stomach with sheer worry. His face resolves into tense understanding. Clark lets his hand go.

“What? What?” He tries to catch Bruce’s gaze. There shouldn’t be anything wrong. He feels fine. Nothing pierced. Definitely not bleeding—he learned what that feels like and he hates it. But Bruce has an eye for things that Clark could never dream of noticing, and right now he’s staring like Clark already has a foot in the grave.

“Can’t believe you fell for that.” Bruce smirks. He pulls Clark close—hello—and kneads unhurried fingers into his stomach.

No one will ever believe him. Bruce Wayne is tickling him and no one will ever believe him.

“B-Bruce!” Clark strains out of Bruce’s grip as best as he can, trying not to break any useful bones, but his joints keep turning to jelly. His forehead collides with Bruce’s shoulder and he shimmies rather uselessly.

“This is very entertaining, in case you were wondering.” Bruce hums and starts pinching up Clark’s sides. His warm breath sends goosebumps flaring over his throat.

“I wasn’t!” It’s more of a squeak than words. Evil fingers manage to squeeze beneath his arms and Clark jumps directly into the air.

“Did you just fly away?” A genuine laugh floats out of Bruce, warm and a bit scratchy. Clark wishes he could hear more of that instead of his own dorky laughter ringing in his ears.

“Not on purpose—shut up!” Clark aims a half-hearted kick at Bruce’s shoulder. His face burns hotter than the sun and he hides in his hands.

Bruce grabs his ankle and tries to reel him in like a lost balloon. Clark almost falls for it until suddenly calloused hands are scritching along the bottom of his foot. He giggle-snorts. Kryptonite through the chest would be a mercy, at this point.

A hush falls over the room. Clark dares to peek through his fingers.

“Oh.” Bruce blinks, then the most wicked grin overtakes his face. “Do that again.”

“You’re the worst!” Clark pulls his leg towards his body and accidentally takes Bruce with it--who doesn’t seem the least bit bothered, by the way. Every time he lowers his leg, Bruce doesn’t let go.

“I don’t want to drop you!” Clark shrieks as if a bug is crawling on him, rather than a person.

“Then don’t.” Bruce squeezes his calf and Clark whines his way into a fit of cackles. His body trembles with the effort to not fly directly through the ceiling. The illusion of escape makes it so much worse, especially with Bruce’s fingers worming behind his knee.

“You coming down or am I gonna have to call the fire department?” Jesus, Bruce has a real talent for smirking out loud. Clark tries to shake him off without throwing him across the room. Bruce digs his fingers into Clark’s thigh like he’s climbing a tree and the resulting yelp has Clark resolving to flee the country.

“Y-You’re not building a great case as to why I should!” He flinches after a flurry of giggles and slams his head into the ceiling. Plaster and dust rain down on the two of them. Clark tries to cover the crater he left behind with his hands and a bashful smile.

“Alright, I’m done. I’d like to keep my ceiling in one piece.” Bruce pulls him down to Earth, only letting go when he’s sure that Clark won’t float away again.

“Ticklish Superman. Who knew?” Bruce scritches beneath Clark’s chin, just like at the gala all those weeks ago, and Clark shoves his chin down with a snort.

“No one, and I prefer it that way. Keep it quiet.” He can’t muster any severity in his voice and he’s not sure it would help if he could. The thought of Lois finding out--or worse, Diana--starts an inescapable loop of nervous smiles and a light fluttering in his chest.

“No promises.” Bruce smirks. “I hear Lois wants an exclusive. Maybe I’ll give her a call.”

“Don’t you dare. Bruce—“

He dials her office line, jogging towards the stairs. Clark shrieks and chases after him.

5 ) He’s mischievous. Deathly so.

…

After a long while of staring at his pitiful little list, Clark still finds himself restless. He has naught more than a skeleton, clinging scraps of Bruce’s infinite depths. The paper isn’t suited to contain him. He might actually know less than before.

Even as Bruce beats the shit out of him, he can’t think of anything else.

“Why don’t you let anyone get to know you?” Clark frowns at Bruce across the sparring mats. Bruce runs and leaps onto his shoulders, executing a flawless scissor grip. Clark raises his hand to support his back and Bruce swats him away.

“What?” Bruce grunts, bringing his elbows down onto Clark’s head. He barely notices.

“You’re always so stoic. You never let anyone see you happy.” Clark flips Bruce off his shoulders and down onto his back. He puts his hands on his hips and stares down at him.

“No, I never let anyone see me vulnerable. There’s a difference.” Bruce wraps his legs around Clark’s and takes him down, quickly rolling atop him. Within a second, Bruce unleashes a flurry of blows that, if Clark could feel more than dull impacts, he probably would fear.

“You’re allowed to be vulnerable in front of your friends, Bruce. That’s what makes them friends, not coworkers.” Clark catches his fists and holds them.

“I’ll pass along your suggestion. Are you going to fight back or should I go get Diana?” Bruce raises an eyebrow, breathing hard. Clark flips them both and pins Bruce down.

“I just think—stop wiggling—we should bond more, y’know? Know thy enemy, and all that.” Clark keeps pressing down until Bruce sighs and goes still in his grip. He knows he’s defeated. Smart man.

“That tends to apply to actual enemies, not coworkers.” Bruce sighs.

“Well, we’re more than that, aren’t we?” Clark presses, searching Bruce’s eyes. Bruce nods, looking all for the world like he might bolt from the room.

“Sooo, what’s your favorite color?” When Bruce is silent, Clark rolls his eyes and sits back. “Mine is yellow. Your turn.”

“…lavender.” Bruce eyes him warily. Clark helps him to his feet and they start the cycle again. The minute they stop fighting each other’s rhythm, they find a flawless sync.

“Nice! Okay, uh…favorite food?” Clark ducks under Bruce’s left hook and shoves him back.

“Alfred’s chicken noodle.” Bruce kicks Clark across the face and he lets himself go down. He brushes some of the dust off.

“That sounds nice.” He grins up at Bruce from the mat. The light haloes behind his head so beautifully.

“Yeah.” Bruce clears his throat. “And you…?” He pulls Clark to his feet and resets his stance.

“Can’t go wrong with a slice of fresh apple pie.” Clark sweeps forward with a wink.

Bruce shakes his head and snickers, then punches Clark hard enough in the ribs to crack his own knuckles.

…

Two sharp knocks on the doorframe announce Bruce before his voice does. Clark looks up from the dull light of his laptop.

“Got a second?” Bruce leans in the doorframe, cloaked in slight shadow. He’s dressed comfortably, surprisingly, in a soft t-shirt and sweatpants that hug him well. It makes Clark wanna pull him close.

“Always, yeah.” Clark sets his computer aside and sits up. Bruce leans against the edge of his desk and fishes something out of his pocket.

“Found some intel. I could use a fresh set of eyes on it.” The moon casts loving light across his eyes and jaw.

“Of course.” Clark sits up more.

“Found this nearby. I was hoping you could decipher it.” Bruce hands over a scrap of folded paper. Clark furrows his brow as he takes it, gingerly opening it up. He casts a curious glance at Bruce before he starts to read.

It’s his notes. His notes on Bruce. Shit.

He looks up slowly, horrified. Bruce smirks in full force, oozing mischief that Clark now knows is very much in character.

“Normally, I’m not a fan of being watched. Try to avoid it as much as I can.”

“You’re a hard man to read.” Clark clears his throat and folds the paper down to hide its contents further.

“Yet it seems you’ve cracked the code,” Bruce hums. Clark catches the faint glimmer of that old playboy spark. Bruce’s lips tilt into a devilish smirk.

“So, I’m right then? It’s important…for the record.” Clark scoots up against the headboard in an attempt to look casual. Bruce sits at the foot of the bed. Voluntarily. Clark stops breathing.

“I would say that parts are accurate.”

“Parts?” He clears his throat. Bruce snatches the paper from his grip. He starts murmuring as he skims the list.

“Let’s see…I like raspberries but I’m allergic.”

“You’re what?” The color drains from Clark’s face. Bruce shrugs.

“What else? Oh—I’m a dog person. I have a soft spot for cats.”

“Huh.”

“I am physically capable of laughter.” Bruce rolls his eyes.

“Proved that one already.” Clark smiles. Bruce scowls, then turns back to the paper. Clark remembers, in a terrible flash, the looping doodles of ‘Clark Kent-Wayne’ at the bottom of the page and chokes out a strangled scream.

He disintegrates the paper with a precise blast of heat vision. He feels a little bad for scorching the wall, but not that bad. The evidence is gone. Plausible deniability.

“Seriously?” He brushes the ash off his hands.

“I gotta keep my secrets.” Clark shrugs, but his face is incandescent with heat.

“What about that paper was so bad that it made Superman blush?” Bruce smirks.

“There is nothing on God’s green earth that you could do to make me tell you.” Clark grins from atop the high ground.

Bruce plucks his glasses off of his nose and sets them aside, careful not to touch the lenses. It’s a tender gesture for what is essentially a costume, but something in his heart flutters at the delicate care.

“Are you sure?” He leans close—close enough for Clark to catch a whiff of cologne and the intoxicating sparkle in his eye, close enough for Clark to lean in on instinct, and close enough for Bruce to wrap his hands around Clark’s waist like he’d been wishing he would since that stupid gala. Clark’s lips part.

“Okay, there might be a couple thi—“ Clark cuts himself off with a squeal, slamming his head into the headboard—the resulting crack speaks to a later promise of duct tape. As Bruce shoves his hands under his arms, Clark’s laughter bowls him over quicker than he can apologize.

“You are such a kid!” He throws his head back and cackles, curling into the tightest possible ball that his hulking form could take. Bruce leans over him.

“You have no grounds to call me that. You’re giggling.” Bruce raises an eyebrow,

“Because you’re t-tickling—” Clark regretfully finishes his sentence with a snort. Bruce lights up and chases the sound, relentlessly working his fingers into the grooves of his ribs. Clark hits his head again--there goes the rest of the headboard. And part of the wall.

Between the buzz of being touched by Bruce and being unused to this kind of touch, Clark melts into a haphazard pile of Superman with embarrassing speed. Bruce manages to work his fingers up further, right into his top rib, and he punches a hole directly into the nightstand, sending the lamp toppling over. Bruce relents then, passively assessing the damage while Clark drags in a deep breath.

“You really think it’s a good idea to tickle someone who could throw you into the sun?” Clark huffs, wobbling on a smile. Bruce smirks.

“Never said it was a good idea. Just an alluring one.”

“You find me alluring? Scandalous, Mr. Wayne.” Clark offers a teasing grin. Bruce’s brow crinkles with concern. He goes from fiddling with Clark’s waist to fiddling with his hands.

Bruce gets tactile when he’s stressed. Or when something’s on his mind.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Clark asks softly. He scoots just a bit closer.

“The day after the gala, I had Vicki write up a piece about you and I splitting. Like I promised. It was never published.”

“I noticed,” Clark says carefully, tracking every detail of Bruce’s face.

“I asked her not to.”

“Why?”

“I knew if the article went live, you would stop with the affection and the dates. I know it was only for appearances, but…I really enjoyed it. I wasn’t ready to let it go. I…care about you.” Bruce looks up at him, worry entrenched in the dips of his face. It slips to something resigned and neutral, a blank mask.

Clark smiles like a lunatic, covering his mouth to hide it. He contains the desperate urge to take a lap around the manor. Months, years, of pining bloom into sweet possibility within him. The weight of guilt sloughs off his shoulders. Bruce likes him.

“Y’know, for the smartest man in Gotham, you miss quite a lot.” Clark leans in and waits. Bruce’s eyes flick to Clark’s lips, and in a Batman-esque flash of motion, he swoops down and kisses him. Their bodies slot together almost magnetically. Clark flips them over and bears back down, swallowing Bruce’s gasp of surprise in his mouth.

In an insane way, kissing Bruce is like coming home.

He flings his arms around Clark’s neck, pulling him impossibly closer. Clark immediately, greedily, lets his lips travel along Bruce’s pulse point. He chases the memory of the gala, littering desperate bruises along the cologne-tinged skin. His hand lingers at the base of his throat, brushing reverent fingers as he marks every inch available to him.

Bruce yelps into a giggle, breaking them apart. Clark blinks, processing, then grins with unbridled power.

“This feels…counter-productive.” Bruce swallows, bobbing Clark’s hand. His skin is hot and red to the touch.

“Nice try. You already enabled me—that was your first mistake.” Clark tickles him everywhere he can reach, dodging elbows and headbutts. Bruce cackles from his core, stumbling through a few high-pitched syllables of protest as he twists. He works so hard to force his voice back into its usual octave that it cracks. Clark snickers.

“I am going to kill you,” Bruce growls, reaching back to return the favor. Clark slams his arm down on the mattress, caressing the back of his hand with immovable fingertips.

“Then this is a wonderful last night on Earth.” Clark nibbles on his earlobe. Bruce’s giggly scream and the ensuing threats on his life are music to Clark’s ears.

#my fics #ticklish!bruce wayne #ticklish!clark kent #bruce wayne #clark kent #superbat #dc #ALRIGHT the lois/selina thing came from somewhere ok bc i know its a teeny ship #tbh im not sure it even exists #but my lois is inspired by lena luthor from the cw supergirl series bc lesbianism + superman makes me happy #but i felt like if lois was into kara (which originally she was) clark would be working around the clock to get them together #which derailed the scene. so i put lois and selina together #wlw mlm solidarity clark and lois both being head over heels for their respective creatures of the night speaks to me #they're besties your honor #sorry this is not what i said i would post next but its what i finished off my pile so #also titles from better love by hozier bc that song is superbat to me

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angellayercake · 6 months

Text

He is

Vampire Terzo x FReader | NSFW

Art by the wonderful @tasty-ribz

For @ghostchems on her birthday! To be a little bit soppy as much as I love ghost for being ghost it has also brought me some incredible friends. We bonded over loving terzo and love island and now you are my favourite person to scream about awful men with every day. I hope everyone is making you feel a special as Terzo would today because as far as we are concerned yours is the only important birthday happening this month 💜

Now a best selling author thanks to your experience at Crowley Manor you find yourself struggling to muster up inspiration for the sequel. Will returning to the place it all began help you? Or just confirm the none of it was real? A sequel to Cirice Warnings: blood, rough sex, hints of mind control, pinv sex, cunnilingus, lots of dust hehe

With a huff of frustration you scratch out the poor excuse for a sentence and drop your pen. There were more scribbles across the page then there were words and you needed a break or you might end up throwing your note pad across the room. Abandoning your desk you wander over to the window for a distraction from your writer's block. The evening was drawing in, street lights flickering on one by one as people hurried home from their day whether it be work or leisure it was still an unwelcome reminder of your lack of productivity. Turning from the view you scan across the room, your home office, hoping for something to spark your inspiration but your mind remains unhelpfully blank. You ponder just giving up for the day, shutting the door and giving yourself over to your evening but deadlines are approaching and there is still so much to do. With a reluctant determination, you turn to your inspiration board and will it to do its job.

When you had decided to write a follow up to your best selling debut novel, you had carefully gathered all the things you knew you would need to refer to to build the story. There were your photographs from Crowley Manor, newspaper clippings about the house and the area, quotes and key plot points from the original story, a couple of photos of bela lugosi, the closest you can find to how you remember him looking - although you have sketched what you recall of the facepaint he wore over the top with a marker - and in the centre, the note; the only thing you have that proves that it was real. Well, that and the two small scars on your neck. You rub your fingers over them absentmindedly as you try to remember anything more but even as the scars faded, so did your memories to the point where you are not entirely sure any of it was real. Reading over the words again.

A candle casting a faint glow

You and I see eye to eye

Can you hear the thunder?

How can you hear the thunder that's breaking?

Now there is nothing between us

From now our merge is eternal

Can't you see that you're lost?

Can't you see that you're lost without me?

-iii

You hum the tune to yourself, the melody you had only heard once and yet it plays through your dreams so frequently you have never been able to forget it, always accompanied by a dark shadow and the sense that you are being watched. Your experience at Crowley Manor - whether a true encounter with a dashing vampire or a figment of your imagination - had changed your life. You were a writer now; a successful published writer. Your vampire romance novel had been an instant best seller, ‘the mysterious vampire luring in unsuspecting victims until one stole his heart’ earned a loyal fanbase and quickly. In interview after interview you were asked if you had based him on someone real, probably assuming he was an older man you had a crush on, but you always answered no because how could you explain that he was a man you had most likely conjured up in a dream.

But that had all brought you to where you were now; attempting to write the much anticipated sequel. The heroine of your story had left the manor in a similar way to you but after having spent much longer with her vampire lover, and as much as you wanted to see them reunited you were struggling to find the narrative. Unlike you she had been offered forever with him and had chosen to return to her normal life, so without a justified reason, why would she return? Your thought process hits a brick wall once again as you rub your tired eyes. There is only one thing left to try before you may be forced to give up. The familiar pull in your gut that you had been resisting since the day you left was finally winning. You had to go back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The gate is rusted and stiff, so you have to push hard to create enough space for you to slip through and even then you almost trip on the piles of rubbish littering the driveway. You step over the buckled historical society sign with a sigh - even they had given up on the place and for some time by the looks of things. Tall weeds were growing through the now sparse gravel, even more windows had been boarded up and there were layers of faded graffiti covering the front door. It is already ajar but you have to shove it open, pushing it past the built up leaves and dust trying to wedge it closed. Although the state of the outside had saddened you, it is the interior that makes your heart sink - it was never nice to see a beautiful old house fall into ruin.

The floorboards still gave their familiar creak under your soft footsteps, but that was about the only similarity. The sconces, once filled with dripping candles were now empty and shrouded in cobwebs, and dust motes thick enough to choke you floated in what little beams of light that made it through the windows. Without the soft piano luring you further into the house you took your time to properly look around, cautiously walking through room after room. What little furniture that hadn’t been stolen or vandalised was covered in dust sheets. The shelving sits almost empty in every room; you pass only a few odd books and trinkets still in place but almost unrecognisable underneath all the grime.

Towards the back of the house you come to what looks like a music room and a feeling of deja vu washes over you. The grand piano still dominates the room, but when you run your fingers across what little keys are left it only lets out reluctant, discordant notes as neglected and decaying as the rest of your surroundings. The fireplace is a yawning chasm on the back wall without the welcoming fire filling it, but you remember laying on the soft rug before it where he had given and taken unimaginable pleasure from you, well at least you thought. Because it was seeming more and more likely you had imagined it. You pull yourself from your thoughts and that is when the portrait catches your eye. How you never noticed it before you don’t understand, but it hangs perfectly above the mantel and crushes the last shreds of hope you were clinging onto.

It is him. His distinctive face paint, his perfectly styled hair and his intense mismatched eyes. At least now you know what really happened on your last visit to this place. Before you had fallen asleep you must have seen this portrait on your last visit, striking as he was and then your mind had concocted the whole fantasy. You are not sure exactly what you had been expecting returning to Crowley Manor, but you couldn’t avoid the cutting disappointment that was slicing through you. All that was here was an empty old house and a painting of a man. With one last longing look you take your leave as you fight the knot of feelings solidifying in your chest. There was nothing else for you here. You reach the foyer where the light of dusk shines around the edges of the open door, illuminating your exit from this house and your return to reality, when you hear it…

We're standing here by the abyss…

That voice. The words were different and even the tune was different, but that voice. There was nothing else it could be but him. The alluring sound drifts down from the upper floor to where you stand and you don’t even try to resist his siren call as your feet carry you towards the grand staircase.

And the world is in flames…

Your footprints disturb the thick layers of dust covering the once grand carpet that leads the way up, but you continue unconcerned by the trail you are leaving in your wake, your only thought finding your way to the source of that beautiful sound.

Two star-crossed lovers reaching out…

It gets clearer as you reach the upper level, but you still haven't quite found him yet. Along the landing are multiple doors that you consider as you walk, but once your eyes land on the ornate double doors at the furthest end you know inherently; that is your destination.

To the beast with many names…

The floorboards creak as you get closer and closer even as you attempt to keep your steps measured and even, but if that didn’t give you away then you are sure your laboured breathing and thundering heartbeat would.

He is. He's the shining and the light without whom I cannot see…

The singing stops when you reach the doors and with barely a brush of your fingertips,they swing open revealing only a dark room within. Your eyes struggle to adjust to the gloom, but even that doesn’t make you hesitate to enter. It is as abandoned as the rest of this cursed house. All the anticipation you had felt soured inside you and tears pricked at your eyes as you circled in the centre of the room taking in the dusty bed and empty fireplace. Your back is turned when a sudden bang startles you, the doors slamming shut. You cry out in fear, turning in an instant and rushing towards them. Pushing and pulling is futile and they will not budge. The knowledge that you are trapped fills you with a shiver as a chill falls over the room.

“My little lamb returns,” he growls in your ear, appearing as if from nowhere. His arms box you in against the door, his white gloves the only part of him you can see. You try to turn, to see him but his body presses close, cold and unyielding as stone behind you. You should do something, anything but fear and lust paralyse you as they tear through you in equal measure.

“You are real,” you barely whisper before his fangs sink into your neck, the sharp shock of pain stealing your consciousness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

When your eyes flutter open you find it hard to believe you are even in the same room. You are lying in the centre of a four poster bed, propped up against a mountain of airy pillows and as you shift the sheets feel unbelievably soft against your fingers. The heavy drapes are tied to the frame on one side giving you a clear view of the fireplace and the figure silhouetted against it. His back is to you, seemingly unaware that you are now awake so you take your time admiring him.

It is undoubtedly him. His hair is slicked back, familiar in both your memory and in his portrait you had not long discovered. This time he wears a white suit with gold trim that glimmers in the firelight and it is certainly one you have never seen before. He turns in your direction giving you a glimpse of his striking profile still covered in his unusual skull-like face paint. He clears his throat glancing at you and you realise he is also holding a book up to the fire light. Not just any book. That is your book. The one you had written about him. You sit bolt upright but a wave of dizziness stops you from acting any further.

“His touch feels like nothing you’ve ever experienced before. It scares you how much you crave it; how much you want him to keep touching you and to never stop. Your heart feels like it’s beating out of your chest, despite the overwhelming feeling of comfort that has fallen over you.” He smirks as he reads your words back to you with an arrogance that can only come from knowing it was written about him.

“How did you get that?” you hiss at him, the mortification you are experiencing seems to break some of the spell he has over you. He chuckles darkly in response, snapping the book shut and placing it on the nightstand so you can see the very suggestive illustration you had commissioned for the cover clearly.

“You have a way with words, agnellino.” He leans against the bedpost, running his eyes over you and watching how you react just to his presence. “Do you still crave my touch as much as you wrote?” His elongated teeth peek out of his mouth with how wide his smile is, clearly enjoying having this additional power over you. You almost miss not so long ago when you believed he had been a figment of your imagination.

“It’s called creative licence,” you snap back breathlessly, trying your damnedest to keep your composure but you make the mistake of meeting his mismatched eyes and you are pulled under all over again. It’s like he can worm his way into your very soul and convince you of anything he desires.

“Why did you come back?” He looms over you at the end of the bed as he waits for you to answer him. As subtly as you can, you try to sit yourself up to make yourself feel less vulnerable but your limbs are weak and uncooperative.

“I’m writing again,” you start. It is the truth - or at least part of the truth - but you can tell he doesn't believe you, fixing you with his intense stare, waiting for you to be more forthcoming. “Last time I was here it was very… inspiring.”

“I see, I see.” He starts to pace next to the bed, giving you a reprieve and a chance to breathe but you sense it is by no means the end of your interrogation. “Just ‘professional interest’ then?”

“Yes, that is all. I should go.” You try again to sit up and ease yourself off the bed but before your feet can touch the ground he kneels in front of you, blocking you from moving any further.

“Ah ah ah,” he scolds, wagging his finger at you like he was disciplining a wayward child. “You come into my home uninvited - again, I might add.” He leans close enough you can feel the cold radiating from him, his teeth bared threateningly. “I need the truth.” Fear makes you tense but somehow you know he would never really hurt you - at least not in a way you wouldn't enjoy. You start to think his irritation is more directed at your refusal to admit how much you want him rather than the fact you broke into his house. Again.

“You lured me up here! You could have just let me leave.” That thought boosts your confidence just enough to push back. Just a little. He didn't have to reveal himself to you everytime you were here, and yet he did.

“No I couldn't, little lamb,” he whispers, a softness falling over his face. “I could never resist a chance to taste you again.” His attention drops to your feet, helping you out of your shoes before he stands again before you. “Tell me why you are really here.” He had given you your chance to tell him of your own volition, but now you could feel his will influencing you and bringing forth the truth. He eases his jacket from his shoulders, leaving it on the floor where it falls. He makes quick work of his bow tie adding it to the pile of clothes at his feet.

His cuff links go next, freeing him to turn up his sleeves and then his collar sliding one button free at a time until it hangs open. His toned chest is covered in thick dark hair and it's all you can do not to reach out and bury your fingers in it. Even without his vampiric lure, you would struggle to resist him. He crawls over you, forcing you to scoot back onto the bed to make room for him and you find yourself unable to speak as you get lost in his eyes.

“Tell me…” He is intoxicating and you find you no longer have the willpower to resist him. You had forgotten how powerful he was, his presence alone narrowing your mind until all you can think of is him. The words are on the tip of your tongue, but somehow they still won't come.

“Why are you here agnellino, eh?” He holds himself over you, the only thing touching you are the open tails of his shirt, denying you any more until you obey him. “Did you miss me?”

“I wasn’t sure if you were real any more,” you admit reluctantly and his eyes alight at your delayed admission.

“Shall I remind you how real I am?” There is a voice in your mind somewhere telling you to say no, but with every other part of you screaming a resounding yes it is easy to tune out - though you still can’t quite bring yourself to say it. So you nod and he wastes no more time. His dexterous fingers make quick work of your trousers and your underwear, pulling them off you in one swift motion and then he is on you. His strong hand grasps your ankle, pulling you even closer so he can press his lips to your bare skin.

He starts at the sole of your foot, lavishing you with open mouthed kisses and grazes of his dangerous teeth. He seeks out parts of your body you had never even known were sensitive before, whether it was his plush mouth sucking at them or tracing them with his tongue. The curve of your calf, the dip behind your knee and the crease of your inner thigh. His cool breath raises goosebumps across your skin and he chases them with his mouth, only pausing to suck on the beads of blood that bloom where he allows his fangs to nick your skin. The contrasts make you needy for more of his touch, the warm and the cold, the pleasure and the pain. When he eventually reaches your core he ceases all his teasing and devours you, his groans of pleasure vibrating through you as he laps at your entrance and sucks on your clit.

“Every part of you tastes exquisite,” he moans again at your skin as he pulls at the hem of your shirt, allowing himself access to even more of your skin. Your bra is pulled roughly aside so he can latch onto your nipples one after the other. Losing himself in his lust, he pinches them roughly as his teeth make deliberate shallow slices in your cleavage. He suckles at them harshly, milking all the blood he can from such a surface cut.

Eventually he reaches your neck pressing a deceptively gentle kiss to your scar from your last encounter before seeking out the fresher puncture wounds from earlier in the evening. He probes them harshly with his tongue disturbing the newly formed clots enabling him to drink freely from you until he is positively drunk on you.

“You are so warm agnellino,” he moans, reluctantly pulling away from you only to tear off his loose shirt and rip off his trousers. He fits himself back on top of you, desperate to be as close as possible and ruts his aching length against your hip, his mouth latching back onto your neck. He rears back giving you the opportunity to see him for the hunger ridden monster he is, but it only makes you want him more. His face paint is smudged across his face, the once precise lines blurring and blending with what remains of your blood and your juices, and his eyes sparkle with something dangerous that you can't resist. With a snarl he forces your legs wide so he can see all of you, his fingers digging a bruising grip into your soft thighs.

“After tonight you will never again doubt my existence,” he growls as he fucks into you in one long, hard stroke. There is no waiting for you to grow accustomed to him filling you; he just takes you hard, pushing the air from your lungs every time he fills you. He is rough and demanding and you crave every part of this more animalistic side to him. Your blood loss and his body worship have pushed you outside your own body, the pleasure and the pain meeting and blending and pushing you into a euphoria you had never experienced before.

Even as his control was slipping even further away, his cock aimed perfectly, fucking into you in exactly the right place over and over while the drag of him inside your tight heat forced sobs and gasps from both of you. In the state he had you, you knew you would do anything and everything he wanted and if you hadn’t been so light headed, you might have realised that that was exactly what he wanted. He grunts as he pulls you closer, angling your hips just so that he can fuck into you even deeper, your moans of satisfaction harmonising as somehow your pleasure grows stronger than you ever thought possible.

“Has anyone fucked you like this since me, little lamb?” He is panting, hardly able to get his words out, somehow seeming more human even in the midst of his monstrous lust.

“No,” you whine. There is no use denying it, because who could possibly compare to him?

“Bene,” he snarls, a possessive sneer crossing his face. “No one will ever, ever fuck you like me.’ You sob in agreement as the burn in your core grows, bringing you so close. Babbled nonsense falls from your lips. You can only hope he understands how little you need to push you over the edge.

Thankfully something you said must have made sense, because in the next moment his thumb is stroking your clit in time with his ever more frantic thrusts and the wave of your climax begins to crash, sweeping you along in its powerful tide. Your vision greys at the edges and vaguely, somewhere amidst the buzz, you feel him reach his peak just behind you as his thrusts stutter before stilling as he fills you.

Inelegantly he pulls away, landing beside you on the bed. He pulls you to him stroking your hair and dotting your forehead with sweet kisses. Contentment surges through you as you rest against his chest, his lack of heartbeat barely registering.

“You are so very sleepy, little lamb,” he breathes into your hair, and you can only spare a thought to agree as you succumb to the overwhelming pull of sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The cold and stale morning air lures you from your sleep this time, a much less pleasant awakening than your last. Your whole body aches as you shift and try to take in your surroundings. You are alone. The dawn light spilling through the drapes allows you to see, and the bedroom appears dusty and abandoned, not the cosy boudoir you had experienced last night.

The dusty sheets cling to your clothes as you try to stand but every movement reveals a new bite mark or bruise until you are on your feet. The worst pain though, is the ache in your heart. This should have been expected and yet the fact that he isn't here hurts. Rather than satisfying you, this second encounter only made you yearn more for this terrible, mysterious man. Your only consolation was that now at least, you will have plenty more to write about.

You don't try to call out to him, already knowing how futile that would be, so you look once more around the room, trying hard to commit it all to memory when the night stand catches your attention. A single white rose sits atop a folded piece of paper. You pick them both up, carefully making sure to avoid the sharp thorns and unfold the paper to see that unmistakable handwriting.

We’re standing here by the abyss

And the world is in flames

Two star-crossed lovers reaching out

To the beast with many names

He is

He’s the shining and the light without whom I cannot see

-iii

His words were cryptic as ever but you let it fill you with uncertain hope. Maybe you were the star-crossed lovers? Or maybe not. All you knew for now at least, was that you felt you were still at the very beginning of this story…

…and you couldn't wait to see where it would take you.

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asirensrage · 4 months

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The Road to Hell

Title: The Road to Hell Fandom: Tokyo Revengers Rating: Explicit Pairing: Sanzu Haruchiyo x Unnamed!Undescribed!FemaleOC Word count: 2306 Warnings: Dark!fic. Dub-con. Drug overdose. Non-con drug use. Obsession. Forced Relationship. Sex. Coercion. Forced Relationship. Unbeta'd. *warnings are not exhaustive* Summary: It's pure luck that she stumbles across him alone in the middle of an overdose. He thinks it's fate.

MANGA SPOILER WARNING! This fic mentions events in the manga that have not yet been shown in the anime. You have been warned.

Notes: okay, I don't completely love how this came out with the pov change, but I can't figure out how to improve it yet. If I do, I'll rewrite/repost it like I dd the Ran oneshot. It is a dark fic. Consider yourself warned. It was inspired by my mother talking about kids accidentally overdosing in parks and how I should pick up one of these kits. The POV change shifts in the middle and there's a bit of timeshifting in it, but I hope it makes sense. (please tell me if it doesn't so i can fix it. I've looked at it too much myself and I don't have a beta for my TR fics) I hope you enjoy it. Please let me know what you think.

“Ha–Haru–” she tries to say his name, unable to catch her breath from the way he’s thrusting into her.

“Yeah, baby?” he asks, grinning down at her.

Her arms are tied above her, making her arch her chest up towards him a little more. She’s so fucking pretty like this, tears in her eyes as she begs him for more. He leans down and kisses her, letting her taste the remnants of herself on his tongue.

God, he wants more.

He didn’t think there was ever a woman who would drive him to madness, but here he has her under him. His angel. His fucking saviour who’s too good for him but Sanzu doesn’t give a shit. Tasting her is better than any of the drugs he’s been on. She makes him fucking crazy.

“Come on, baby. Lemme see you come for me again.”

She whines, shifting as though she can resist him. He knows better. He leans down, kissing her neck as he adjusts the angle of her hips. She feels so fucking good. If he hadn’t looked into her, researched everything about her, he’d think she was a virgin with the way she was squeezing him this tight.

She cries out as he picks up his pace and it’s music to his ears.

“Fuck!” he groans against her skin, kissing her hard again. “Gotta come for me, baby. Come with me. Show me how fucking pretty you look.”

Her eyes are closed, lost in the feeling of him. She’s fucking glowing with sweat from how long they’ve been fucking. “Open your eyes, baby. Look at me.” When she doesn’t move fast enough, lost in how good he’s making her feel, he grabs her neck forcing her attention back on his face. “Look at me.”

Her eyes open, glaring at him for the distraction. As if he’s going to deny her the pleasure only he can bring.

He grins at her. “There’s my angel.”

🩹

Some time ago…

He doesn’t mean to do it. He doesn’t. It’s not like he takes more than he usually does. He’s slipped something by one of his usual suppliers but something is wrong. He knows something is wrong and he’s trying to get some air, shoving his way outside as he grabs his phone to call someone for help and he drops. The world is spinning around him and he laughs. He can’t move.

“Hey, are you okay? Hey, look–”

A face appears over him but he can’t make out the features. Things are blurring. They’re saying something else but he can’t make it out. He calls for Mikey, reaching for his phone but his vision goes black and he passes out.

🩹

Being sober fucking sucks.

It makes him more irritable than normal. He wants to succumb to the feeling of weightlessness, of drifting away from the world just enough that he can actually do his work. But since he was fucking poisoned and nearly died because of the pills, Mikey’s ordered him off of them. Even if he already killed the dealer who gave it to him.

He’s fiddling with one of the pens that he stole from the purse of the girl who saved him. At least, that’s what he had been told. Whatever she gave him kept him alive long enough for the doctor they have on staff to drag him back from the edge.

He doesn’t remember more than the sound of her panicked voice and the way the light in the alley acted like a halo framing her head. He’s seen her license, but photos never really do someone justice. He just wants to know…why did she save him?

He tries to shove it out of his mind. He doesn’t have time to wonder about a stranger, not when he has traitors to dig out and Mikey to protect. He’s number two, after all. He has work to do.

🩹

He can’t stop fucking thinking about her. Why did she save him? Why him? Of all the people he could have stumbled across…it was the one woman probably in the whole country who didn’t fear him, who had something in her bag that kept him alive.

He’s always felt justified in his choices, in his decisions to follow Mikey. He was certain he wouldn’t let that old timeline come to pass, he’d do what Shinchiro set out to do and keep Mikey alive. But her? She was like an angel in his time of need…the thought stops him.

He didn’t believe in religious junk, but something brought Shinchiro back, something saved Mikey…and something sent this woman into his path. Maybe there was more to it than just saving him…maybe it was Shinchiro sending his thanks for looking after Mikey. He snorts at the idea but the more he ruminates on it, the more it makes sense. Clearly, she’s meant for him. Otherwise, why would she have saved him? Why would she have been there?

🩹 🩹 🩹

Honestly, it’s a lot of luck on his part that she happened to be walking by. She doesn’t usually like to get involved in the affairs of strangers, but it’s easy to see with one look at him that he’s blissed out. Until he falls and she can see the way his breathing catches, the way he’s struggling.

When he drops, she’s moving without thinking. She kneels, praying he doesn’t throw up on her and calls out to him.

“Hey! Are you okay? Hey! Look at me!” His eyes can’t focus, pupils nearly erasing the irises.

“Mik–” his voice slurs and he passes out in front of her. At first, she’s just going to turn him over to make sure if he does throw up, he won’t choke. Then he fully stops breathing.

He’s lucky because she’s trained in first aid. Because her mother had been watching the news about children accidentally overdosing on drugs somehow left on playgrounds and strongly recommended that she carry the drug meant to help keep someone alive if they overdose on her person. So she digs it out of her bag, yelling for help as she unzips the pack and shoves the first one into one of his nostrils and presses it. She calls 911 and puts it on speaker since no one is coming to help and starts CPR.

She talks to the operator, trying to tell them where she is but she’s not from this district and she’s trying to get this man to start breathing. She pauses and instead of putting her mouth against his, she shoves the second dose of it into his other nostril and sprays it in.

He coughs and throws up. She jolts back, turning him towards her so that he can get it out and not choke. The operator is asking her what’s happening but he’s finally breathing that it takes her attention until she has him in a recovery position.

She grabs her phone but before she can actually confirm that he’s alive and ask where the ambulance is, someone knocks it out of her hand. She looks to get it but someone steps on it, fully shattering the screen and making it go black.

“HEY!”

The click of a gun, the cool metal touching her temple stops her from reaming them out.

“What the fuck did you do to him?”

“Saved his life!” she snaps back. “He needs a hospital and you just broke my call that the operator was probably tracking!”

“What’s this shit?” another voice asks and she sees a foot kick the pack that the naloxone was in.

“It’s Naloxone. When used fast enough, it can save someone from overdosing. Now instead of interrogating me, call an ambulance!”

They refuse, instead dragging the man off and leaving her in the alley, covered in his sick after they threaten her if she says anything to anyone. It’s not until she’s home and locked out that she realizes that they took her purse.

It all goes to shit after that.

🩹

It all goes to shit after that.

Getting all of her IDs, cards and papers replaced takes longer than she wants. She does, however, tell her mother that she was right and she did help someone. Even if it wasn’t a child like her mother feared. Honestly, she didn’t know where her mother thought they lived but it was clearly somewhere more dangerous than they did.

She expected that to be the worst of it.

Until she runs into him by accident.

She’s leaving a convenience store and putting her wallet away when she accidentally stumbles into him. He grabs her by the shoulders, steadying her. She looks up, an apology on her lips when she realizes who it is.

“Oh my god, you’re alive!”

He looks a little startled at her reaction before he smiles. “It’s you.”

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. I didn’t think you made it,” she admits before remembering the rest of the night. “You stole my purse.”

“Me? I was dying,” he says clearly. “I couldn’t have.”

“Your friends then,” she replies. Now that he’s alive and seemingly healthy, she can finally stop thinking about the incident.

“Let me make it up to you.” He stares down at her and she shifts under the sudden intensity of his gaze. His pink hair falls to his shoulders and his suit looks finely pressed. The scars on the edge of his mouth make him look intimidating. It’s a huge change from the last time she saw him.

“You don’t need to,” she says. She doesn’t need to get involved with anyone who overdoses and has friends ready to murder her in retribution for causing his death. “I appreciate the offer but it’s fine. I’m just glad I could help.”

He steps forward. “You did. They said I wouldn’t have made it without you. Come on,” he grins at her. “I want to say thank you.”

“You just did,” she points out.

“Properly.”

🩹

She doesn’t think much of it at first.

Sanzu Haruchiyo, as he properly introduced himself as, is persistent in his determination to say thank you. She expects dinner and refused, not wanting to get more involved with the man than she already was.

He sends her flowers with a card that holds a number. When she doesn’t call it, choosing to dispose of it instead, her work receives an anonymous donation for upgrades and her class is the first chosen. She refuses the upgrades but then her vacation days are suddenly increased. He pays her rent for the next six months.

It’s enough to make her track him down so she can get him to stop. She knows the feeling of a gun against her head because of him. She doesn’t want anything else.

It’s not an easy thing, but she tracks him down to a club. In the process, she learns the name of the criminal organization he’s involved with: Bonten. It’s enough to make her second guess finding him, the criminals more serious than she ever anticipated. She watches the news. She knows the reports of just what they do and how often bodies are found with them as the main suspects.

It makes her more determined to find him, to get him to stop. It leads to her eventually arguing with the bouncer of the VIP area of the club she waited in line for over an hour to get in. She just wants this to be over.

She doesn’t know when he spots her, but he approaches with a grin, waving off the guard and leaning in towards her. His pink hair falls between them, brushing her bare shoulders. She’s forced herself into a borrowed skimpy dress to get into this club but she’s more uncomfortable now with him so close.

“What have I done to earn seeing your face again, angel?”

He doesn’t look high but she doesn’t have enough experience with drugs to confirm it.

“Why did you pay my rent? Or send that donation to my work. That was you, wasn’t it?”

He reaches out, brushing her hair back out of her face. “You never called. Wouldn’t let me take you to dinner.”

“And that’s your response?” She stares at him incredulously. It was more than a little overkill.

He grins at her. “Let me make it up to you?” he asks again, almost a parody of the last time. She stares at him for a long moment. If she says no, there’s no telling what else he’ll do. So she accepts.

🩹

Sanzu keeps her.

It was an accident, pure chance that she saved him, and he has not let her forget it since. Her attempts to tell him no fail every time. He slowly takes over her life and any attempts to make him stop has him increasing his actions until there’s nothing left except him.

She gave one small thing. He takes everything in return.

Every attempt she makes at pulling away has him digging himself deeper under her skin. Before she knows it, there’s a bodyguard outside her work. He moves her into his apartment with claims that it’s safer for her. He breaks down every protest, every action, with cool logic, soft touches and warm promises. He distracts her with orgasms and pretty trinkets, burying her until the only things she has are reminders of him.

And now they’re here.

🩹

He’s slipped her something.

“Just to help you relax, baby. Let me lead you back to heaven,” he says, murmuring it into her skin. It makes her head spin.

“Haru…” She breathes before he kisses her. It’s not the first time they’ve kissed, not the first time they’ve tasted each other, but it feels ten times more intense than before.

“I got you.”

He whispers promises into her skin. He brings her to her peak with ease, content in devouring her bit by bit until all she can say is his name. He’s breaking her apart every time she cums under his mouth or fingers or cock.

If she wasn’t bound, stars in her eyes and lost in the feelings he was creating, she’d kill him for this. He’d probably enjoy the attempt, tell her it’s more proof they’re meant to be. If she could feel anything except the constant ebb and flow of pleasure, lighting coursing down her spine, she’d–

“Come on, baby. Lemme see you come for me again.”

She whines, trying to shift away because it’s too much. She’s overstimulated to the point she feels like crying. He kisses her neck, forcing another mark into her skin and adjusts them until she can barely speak from the way it feels.

He kisses her again and she can taste herself on his tongue. “Gotta come for me, baby. Come with me. Show me how fucking pretty you look.”

Her eyes are closed because she can barely keep them open, because she doesn’t want to look at the man who’s stolen her life.

“Open your eyes, baby. Look at me.” She doesn’t want to, but his hand moves to her throat and she feels the pressure he puts as he forces her to face him. “Look at me.”

She glares at him, eyes brimming with tears and anger at the way he won’t let her escape even just as far as the distance of an eyelid.

He grins at her. “There’s my angel.”

She’ll give him this. Let him grow comfortable enough that she has space to make her move. She’ll be free of him. One way or another.

taglist: @raith-way @zeleniafic @veetlegeuse @chickensarentcheap @residentdormouse @themaradwrites @kingsmakers @far-shores

#sanzu x oc #sanzu x fem!reader #sanzu haruchiyo x oc #bonten sanzu #tokyo revengers fic #tokyo rev x oc #my writing #tokyo revengers spoilers in this #sanzu smut

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heckling-hydrena · 4 months

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when it comes to trans dragons I literally don't know where to start because I just assign genders to these things based on vibes alone and like half of them end up nonbinary, but I present you with these 6 Beasts because their strong transgender power stood out to me as I scoured through my lair.

names + little lore snippets under the cut! content warning for internalized ableism (in regards to a fantasy illness) in the second to last one.

first we have Magdalene! she was a dream dragon for a long time and I was so happy when I finally got her. she was my avatar dragon for a good while. again I decided she was trans based on vibes alone but also the name of her skin is a SOPHIE reference (rest in peace legend ❤️) so like I couldn't not make her trans. she's a minor goddess of life in the most traditional sense. spring and flowers, that type of deal.

then there's Luci(fer) (yes she named herself that. people who hear her full name get confused when they find out that she's not associated with the deviltown demons.) she's a member of the blastpowder bandits and Monty's right hand. she's perceived as the Normalest of the group but that's mostly her inexpressive fae nature working in her favor for once. she loves bombs and explosions just as much as the rest of them, she just prefers making the bombs and then watching other people use them from the sidelines. she enjoys planning and organizing and just generally writing shit down. the type to always walk around with a notebook and pen in her hands like a little nerd.

Odessa... doesn't have much going for her lore-wise right now but she's in a shitty band with Bremen and Sandwaste called "Vengeful Desert Spirits Calling Your Name in the Night" (the like. 3 people who actually enjoy their music simply refer to them as Desert Spirits.) Odessa here plays the drums! in her enthusiasim she has accidentally launched multiple drumsticks at people (mostly Sandwaste.)

Omen is the world's Wettest Most-Depressedest private investigator. jazz noir music inexplicably starts playing when he's around. he has the ability to spontaneously manifest a glass of whiskey in his hand even though he doesn't drink. utterly incapable of solving any case that isn't some convoluted unsolvable 30 year old triple murder cold-case. weird charged energy with every suspect he talks to. permanent face of disinterest and a fucked right knee. a romantic at heart.

Cessair... is a very unhappy dragon. his mother is a very powerful combat mage who wanted a mini-me and someone to pass her knowledge down to. but Cessair couldn't be her daughter, and they couldn't be her successor. around when they were 15 they started showing the first sings of an illness that would end up rendering any attempts to externalize their magic very, very dangerous. he refuses to give up on magic, though. he thinks doing so would cement him as a failure and a disappointment to his family. they see their limitations as a personal failing and a weakness to be overcome, no matter the means or the cost, and leave their home at 19 in search of said means. he deeply craves community and companionship but his self-loathing and general dissatisfaction with his life make him snappy and standoffish. they will, eventually, find their happy ending, and learn not to push themself so far over their limits. but the road to get there will not be easy.

moving on from that downer, our final dragon(??) is:

One. well the guy this thing killed and stole the body of was trans and the shade doesn't really have gender so. diversity win!

#I had a period of time when I first got Cessair where I was thinking about him A Lot and I tried to reign it in so hard lol #flight rising #dragon share #fr trans

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noellawrites · 2 years

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Master Plan - Yandere!Carl Gallagher x reader

summary: when Carl traps you in the van in his backyard, you become desperate for a chance to escape.

warnings: kidnapping, insinuation of sex, physical assault, handcuffing

You hated it. You hated the feeling of being locked inside the Gallagher’s shabby van in the backyard. Not only was it cold at night in the fall months, but it was the tiny space and general discomfort you felt.

He visited you every day, bringing you food and gifts and more. Sometimes he even brought condoms, much to your dismay.

You woke up to condensation on the windows, quickly grabbing a pen and crossing a tally on the fabric wall. Today marked two months since Carl had locked you inside.

After you marked your daily tally and reached for a book, you were stunned with a knock on the van. Carl again.

He unlocked the padlock with his key, swinging open the back doors of the van. He had your favorite takeout food in-hand as he jumped onto the mattress placed in the back where you were sitting.

“Hey, babe. I brought your favorite,” he grinned, passing the paper bag to you. He was still in his police uniform, but his chest camera and intercom had been removed.

“Thanks,” you sighed, grabbing your food and beginning to devour it. Carl had worked a graveyard shift to make overtime, so you hadn’t eaten anything since last night.

“So, how are you?” He asked, cluelessly. Of course you weren’t doing great, you were being held captive in a van!

“Carl, can you please just tell me what your master plan is? Because I’m tired of waking up every morning in this stupid metal death cage! If you wanted to hold me captive, why couldn’t you just keep me in your family’s house?” you cried.

Carl frowned, looking down at his own sandwich. After not only being his neighbor all of your childhood but now being his captive, you knew his expressions well. He was conflicted.

“All I’ve ever wanted for us was to be a family. I didn’t want my siblings to know I had to take you away like this, but I’ve been saving up for a down payment on an apartment for us. There’s a place not too far away that I’ve been looking at—“ he begins.

Carl makes it sound like he really loves you. He almost makes you forget that he stole you from your house, your family, your life. He left you in a van and made you feel hopeless and alone.

Before you could even realize what you were doing, you dropped your food and shoved Carl’s head against the metal part of the van, to which he let out a yelp.

As he was blinking in and out of consciousness, you took the opportunity and ran. You darted out the back of the van and ran around towards the gate facing the road. Your legs carried you across the front of the Gallagher house, then Kev and V’s. You looked back to see Carl sprinting down the sidewalk only about a quarter mile behind you.

Shit! Shit! Shit! you thought, running even faster. This was your only chance at escape. You knew you couldn’t return to your own house, you were worried about what Carl was capable of doing to your family. You darted into an alley and through to the other side, realizing how close you were to the L train.

One of your friends lived just past Downtown in the Loyola dorms. If you could only get on the train and borrow someone’s phone to call her, you would be okay.

Calling Chicago PD was obviously not an option, at least not on the south side. You were already distrustful of the police, and you would not want to accidentally tell one of Carl’s co-workers where you are.

You entered the station, jumping the turnstile since you didn’t have any money. You looked behind you and still didn’t see Carl, so you walked up to the platform where the train would be coming. The cool breeze raised goosebumps on your skin as you stood in waiting. No one was around, so you knew you’d have to wait to ask for help.

Taking a deep breath, you looked around and noticed the sound of work boots pounding on the platform. No. You knew who it was almost immediately.

You stood straight ahead, only able to watch as Carl got closer and closer to you. He tackled you down to the dirty metal grates of the train platform.

You gasped and sobbed as Carl flipped you, sitting on top of you and grabbing your wrists. He slapped the metal cuffs on you and locked them tight as you squirmed in protest, facd smushed into the cool metal.

“Please, you can’t do this! You can’t drag me back there! This is against the law!” you screamed. There were more people now, gasping and watching as Carl hauled you down the steps.

“You are under arrest for evading a police officer. I have no choice but to lock you up for a long time,” he sighed, pushing you along roughly. You should’ve known better. You would never be able to escape Carl, not fully.

#carl gallagher x reader #yandere carl gallagher #carl gallagher imagine #shameless us x reader #yandere shameless us #shameless us imagine

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theflyindutchwoman · 8 months

Text

If I'm gonna work undercover, the best move is to become a detective in some division, like intelligence or narcotics, right? Right. So you got the tap. Harper and Lopez are backing me. All I have to do is score in the top 12, which-- Which you will.

| ANATOMY OF A SCENE - CHENFORD EDITION 5.19 - A Hole in the World

The way this scene just epitomises softness… It's in the lighting, with this very soft and warm glow… It's in how they're dressed, all comfy, Lucy in a shirt that could easily pass off as one she stole from Tim's for extra coziness… And it's how domestic these two are… With Lucy taking over the kitchen counter for studying, her mug nearby, and pens in her hair (and how naturally gorgeous she looks!)… With Tim still half-asleep, all scruffy and snuggly, going straight for the coffee pot… The fact that he doesn't even know what day of the week it is, is so relatable… Been there! This is a side of them we rarely ever see.

They're just so at ease and comfortable. So much so that Tim doesn't even hesitate before showing off his last battle wound. This is the same man who used to shrug off his injuries, acting like they were minor inconvenience… Back after his shooting or the quarantine house, it was easy to assume that it was because he was on his own. But even with Ashley, he was trying to pretend that his bullet wound was no big deal. And look at him now, enjoying Lucy's attention and being in her care. It's something that he has definitely learned to appreciate with time. And her calling him 'babe' and immediately fussing over him is something so simple, but so intimate at the same time. Just like how she grabs his stool to bring him closer to her or how they're looking at each other… So soft! They're both so smitten and basking in each other's presence. Again, it's very simple but combined with the detail that Lucy stayed up late waiting for him to come home, it feels like a luxury as well. They both know it and they revel in that little moment they have together. They just want to be around the other.

And it's easy to understand why they seem to cherish moments like these so much : the way Tim is surprised and unaware of Lucy preparing for the detective's exam just emphasises how they've barely spent time together lately. Her little tap though - affectionate violence is apparently a love language now! But again, the fact that she was convinced she'd already told him is so relatable. It's not that she was trying to keep this a secret, it's simply a sign that with their long hours and different schedule, they haven't been able to share as much as usual. This is brand new for them. Not just the relationship part, but also the fact that for years, they worked together, all day every day, talking about everything in the shop and this is no longer the case… It's an adjustment. What doesn't change is the pride on Tim's face when he hears she got the tap for detective and his absolute faith that she will be in the top 12. She's 'a natural born test-taker' after all. And this parallels so beautifully her belief and pride in him for the sergeant's exam. I love how she instantly kisses him after this. For all their physical touches, words of affirmation are really important to her. Especially from him. Having someone who believes unconditionally in her is still new to her. And that kiss… Here's that word again : soft… There's something immensely sweet in the fact that they always go for one more, for one more little peck… It's almost instinctual by now. Tim looks so besotted after that kiss… And it never gets old.

Besides all that softness, this scene is also introducing in a subtle way the change in their relationship… slowly moving away from their honeymoon period towards the more serious stage. Where they are going to start to deal with the hardships. And one of them is how they're going to see less of each other with their new careers and their more demanding hours. They spent years working together, all day every day, and now they're no longer even in the same department. This is something real and I really appreciate that we get to see them adjust to this part of life. They both look worried and a bit upset once Tim addresses the issue of their hours… Tim's little wink and his parting words "We'll figure it out" are meant to be reassuring, but the fact that he walks away from the conversation and the room just indicates how deep down, he is scared himself. He simply doesn't want Lucy to see it. It's clear that they're committed to this relationship but this also illustrates what their next challenge is going to be : to fight and advocate for themselves and their relationship. They both used to go with the flow with their exes, not always standing up for themselves. But this is different : this is worth the effort. We see them taking that first step in the right direction in Going Under, when they open up about some of their fears… And this opens the door for an easy solution for spending more time : moving together.

#the rookie #chenford #chenfordedit #lucy chen #tim bradford #5.19 #Anatomy of a scene - Chenford Edition

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niceboyeds · 1 year

Text

surprise (e.m)

Eddie Munson x reader

summary: Eddie tries to pry out some information you've been hiding from him, but he makes up for all of the years you've missed out on something very important.

contains: very brief mentions of family trauma, comfort, fluff, poorly edited

word count: 1.9K

a/n: AAAHHH I finally wrote something again after over a month of not having any motivation or desire to do so. i didn't edit it and i have no idea if its any good but i missed my Eddie-time and i’m very happy to have it back.

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“Eds! have you seen my earrings? the black studs-” you find your boyfriend flipping through the notes you have scattered on your desk. seeming to be searching for something, though you’re not sure what for. “need help looking for something?”

he drops a small journal, startled, and it lands on the desk with a thud. “I uh… I was just looking for…” his eyes wander and continue to browse the messy space. “ah, for this pen!”

“uh huh... right. because you weren’t just reading through my planner, clearly snooping?” you smirk, knowing he’s trying to cover his tracks but you still don’t know what he could be looking for.

“okay, you caught me. I might’ve been snooping a teeny bit, but I have my reasons.” he holds his hands up, sighing as he talks with defeat.

“care to elaborate on that?” you walk over to your dresser, finally spotting the black stud earrings you were looking for minutes ago. you begin putting them in while nodding in his direction, urging him to explain himself.

“well, we’ve been together for almost a year now…” you nod, knowing this isn’t new information. “and it’s just, you threw me that amazing birthday party a few months ago. but it made me realize you never told me when your birthday was.”

“so you were looking for what, exactly?” perhaps you can still squeeze past this without confessing something you’d been avoiding for the entirety of your relationship.

“I don’t know, something that would tell me your birthday I guess. m’sorry for snooping.”

“why didn’t just you ask me?” you feel your chest get heavy, your heart dropping into your stomach making you feel a little nauseous.

you had been avoiding this, but you knew you couldn’t do it forever. it’s not necessarily that you didn’t want to celebrate your birthday, you just didn’t know how- it was something unnatural to you. and how embarrassing would it be to explain that to someone? even to Eddie.

“that’s the thing! I remember asking several times, but somehow you’d change the subject or distract me, then I guess i’d forget.” he’s trying to meet your eyes, you know he is. but you do everything you can to avoid his gaze.

turning to face the mirror leaning against your bedroom wall while you check over your outfit of the evening, smoothing over the corroded coffin tee you stole that melted Eddie’s heart the first time you wore it.

“we don’t want to be late, Gareth will have a fit if you aren’t there on time again.” you sigh and turn to grab your purse, bumping into him. when had he walked over to you?

“baby. when’s your birthday?”

you simply grab his hand and lead him out of your small apartment, snatching his van keys on the way. you both climb into the messy van, something you’ve grown to love despite the trash scattered on the floor and the old water bottles in the cup holders.

you know he won’t let it die this time, you’ll have to tell him. why did you think you could continue on with never telling him your fucking birthday of all things?

his eyes are burning into your head while he drives to the Hide Out. your gaze locked on the road ahead until you turn to face him.

it’s no use in avoiding it any longer. he’s just as stubborn as you, he’d pester you relentlessly about it and hiding it now will only raise concerns.

you say it with a sigh, turning back to look out the windshield. he repeats the date, trying to confirm it and you nod in response.

“we started dating a few months before your birthday.”

“and?” the nauseous feeling seems to be growing while he pokes around for more answers.

“why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve thrown you the best party!!” you wince at his words, “what was that?”

“what?” this is becoming embarrassing.

“you know what! you’re hiding something from me!” he’s getting worked up now, his voice becoming almost whiney and louder. this is the last thing you wanted to happen. after parking in front of the bar he immediately turns off the van and turns to face you completely.

“what’s wrong with wanting to throw you a birthday party? why are you being so weird about it??” that kind of stung, you were being avoidant but weird? was it really that odd to not celebrate yourself after all these years?

“i’ve never had one, okay?” you snap, not meaning to come across as harsh in the slightest but you can’t help but feel bitter about your childhood.

“never had what?”

“a birthday party.”

“like as an adult? sure, lots of people don’t really have parties as an adult but we’re still young. there’s no reason not to—.” he’s rambling a bit, so you cut him off.

“no, Eddie. I’ve never had one. ever.”

sure the conversations of both of your childhood traumas have come up in the almost year you’ve been together. like how his uncle raised him and his dad was in jail. and how you didn’t get along with any of your family members which was ultimately the reason you moved far away until you stumbled along Hawkins.

but for some reason this bit of information always hurt you the most. growing up and never being celebrated. clearly something silly to be upset about which is naturally why you shoved it deep down and locked it away.

“why? did you not want one or something?” his questions never seem to end.

“no, I believe the words my parents used were ‘you don’t deserve to be celebrated’ or something like that. after a while I just stopped asking.” the words coming out in a rude and bitter tone. you’re not mad at him, but the feelings you repressed for so long are starting to come out, and you don’t like it at all.

the two of you sit in silence for a minute before he decides to talk again. his voice is soft, sincere, and full of pity. “baby, I—”

“it’s fine, really. let’s get inside. don’t need anyone coming out here to get you.” you turn your head to wipe the single tear you let slip out and open the door to hop out of the van. he meets you at the back, where you wait to help unload the band’s equipment.

he doesn’t open the doors like he normally does. and he doesn’t have the giddy pep in his step that he does before a gig. he looks upset and you feed off of his energy.

his arms wrap around you, one hand cradling your head, and he holds tightly you for a minute. “i’m so sorry baby, you do deserve to be celebrated. you deserve the world.”

you can’t help it anymore, softly crying into his shirt as he rubs your back. you are not a crier, at least around others, you hate being emotional and vulnerable.

after another minute and you calm down, you pull away from your sweet boyfriend who tries his best to give you a smile.

“ew,” you chuckle, sniffling one last time and wiping your tears. “that was embarrassing.”

“nothing embarrassing, doll. people have emotions, you are allowed to feel them.”

“your shirt’s all wet now.”

“that’s your take away from this?” he can’t help but laugh a little, lightening the mood and making you feel better quickly.

you smile at him and he gives you a quick peck on the lips before finally opening the back door of the van. the conversation never being brought back up, and you were beyond thankful for that.

~~~~~~

you knew he was planning something for your birthday, it was obvious despite his efforts to keep it a surprise. you didn’t want to ruin his fun though, so you always played it off whenever something would slip.

this year’s birthday will be the first one that you’ll be celebrating. it’s weird to think about, but you’d be lying if you hadn’t been secretly excited about it all month.

the day before your birthday rolls around and Eddie “randomly” suggests taking a drive. it was almost like he was trying too hard to keep whatever it was he had planned for tomorrow a secret, and it gave you endless butterflies.

you figured he wrangled the kids into decorating the new apartment the two of you got together before the start of the new year, maybe he wanted to surprise you right at midnight. whatever the case, you played his little game and did so willingly.

the drive was fairly short as he pulled into a random restaurant in town and said “actually I’m kinda hungry” before jumping out and going around to open your door for you.

“someone’s being extremely chivalrous tonight.” you giggle as he holds out his hand to help you hop out of the van.

“oh, am I not always chivalrous?”

“do you really want me to answer that?” you tease him as he wraps an arm around your torso, leading you inside.

he walks to the hostess stand and speaks to her, but you can’t hear what he’s saying, she nods and asks you two to follow her. she leads you through the maze of the dining tables and towards a back room.

“this is fancy.” you whisper to him, holding his hand a little nervously. you weren’t exactly wearing something that one might deem appropriate for the setting you were now in. “we’re underdressed for this place.” he simply squeezes your hand, silently trying to tell you not to worry about it.

“alright, here you are. enjoy.” the hostess smiles. a rather weird smile that makes you curious, still clutching Eddie’s hand in yours tightly. she moves out of the way and you see she led you into what appears to be a private room.

maybe she put you back here to hide you away from all the expensive looking people.

following him through the door, you enter a dark room. you’re very confused but before you can ask him what’s going on the lights flick on and the sight in front of you brings tears to your eyes.

“surprise!!”

every single member of your friend group is there, gathered into the room filled with decorations and their smiles.

“happy birthday, baby.” Eddie whispers into your ear while you softly cry into his embrace, hugging him and feeling endless love.

once you pull away from him, you look at his face and see pure happiness. he’s proud of himself for pulling this off, planning it the night before your actual birthday was the perfect way to make sure you were surprised.

you definitely were. and a bit overwhelmed, but in a good way.

“thanks you guys.” you sniffle, wiping the tears away from your face and mumbling an “ew” which makes Eddie roll his eyes with a smile.

you noticed the table had quite an array of cakes and you looked at it confused, why was it necessary to have so many?

“one for each year, we gotta celebrate them all.” Eddie finds you again, wrapping his arms around your waist from the back and pulling you against his chest.

“what is happening to me.” you groan, covering your wet face with your hands.

“can we get this party started or are you gonna keep crying over there?” Erica pipes up, making you laugh but earning a nudge and scolding look from Lucas.

“whaddya say, baby? shall we get this party started?” Eddie whispers in your ear, and you realize in that moment just how truly luck you are to be his. unconditionally loved and celebrated.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson comfort #eddie munson fluff #stranger things #stranger things x reader

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