#this made me weepy this morning

[lesbienneanarchiste]

We went to pick up my Nana's ashes so made a day of it like she would have liked and bought sweater yarn and quilt fabric. And everyone at the yarn shop raved about my sweater which made me feel really nice 💕

[amhrosina]

Ok what about Franks reaction when you come home crying? Idk why, could be anything at all. I’m just imagining Frank excited for you to get home, only for you to come through the door with tear tracks down your face

a/n: ooooooooooo yes! i made frank so soft here i think i need comfort lmfao not quite as angsty as i wanted, but i like how it ended up! also, said this would be a drabble, ended up writing a 1.2k ficlet sooooo enjoy!

warnings: implied violence, implied smut at end, reader gets mugged (off page), f!reader, no use of y/n, frank comforting reader, reader gets a little weepy

masterlist // join my taglist

You never thought you’d reach this point, but you were praying Frank hadn’t made it home from work yet. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to see him - you always wanted to see him - but the sight of your swollen, tear-filled eyes would probably send him into a frenzy, and really, all you wanted to do was curl up in his lap and forget about the entire encounter that had left you in tears. 

Luck, it seemed, was not on your side, however, because as soon as you stepped into your apartment, Frank’s overwhelming presence was immediately apparent to you. His work boots, neatly lined next to the door, were in the place he always left them when they were too dirty to store in your shared closet. His coat, the one he’d insisted he didn’t need but wore every single day in the winter, was hung in the corner, next to the empty hook that normally held your jacket, scarf, and hat. The most obvious indicator, though, was the irregular clatter of dishes being moved around, used, and discarded in the kitchen.

“Sweetheart?” He called, eagerness clear in his voice. “That you?”

Shit. Suddenly, the guilt of praying he wasn’t home moments before threatened to consume you.

“Sweetheart?”

His voice was closer now, much closer, and you hurriedly swiped the tears away from your cheeks, hoping he wouldn’t notice your blotchy cheeks, or the fact that your eyelids were more swollen than you’d ever seen them. You cleared your throat and tried your best to sound normal.

“Hey, Frankie.”

You turned around to meet him, smiling in an attempt to hide your sorrow, and suddenly felt extremely stupid. Frank wasn’t an idiot, and the look on his face when you finally looked at him told you he was seeing right through the facade. 

“What happened?” 

“It’s nothing. I’m fine.” You shrugged, blinking away the fresh wave of tears building in your lash line.

“Did someone hurt you?” 

His voice was oddly calm, but there was a bite in his tone that he was clearly trying to suppress. 

“No.” You shook your head, stepping closer to him. “I’m fine.”

He blinked down at you, cupping your damp cheeks in his warm palms.

“You’re lying to me. Why are you lying to me, sweetheart?” 

“I’m not.” You denied instantly, resolve growing weaker with every pass of his thumb over your cheekbones. He was silent for a moment, eyeing your quivering bottom lip. He took in your appearance, the word ‘disheveled’ coming to mind as he looked you over, before finally pinpointing what was missing from your usual attire.

“Where’s your bag?” He queried, tilting his head slightly. 

You huffed, finally allowing the tears to spill onto your cheeks. “I was on the subway and this asshole was crowding me when I got off and before I could even try and get away from him, he took off with my bag.”

“Okay, shh shh shh shh, baby. It’s okay.” 

You were, embarrassingly, blubbering at this point. You hadn’t even gotten to the worst part yet. 

“The necklace you got me for Christmas was in there, Frank.” You sobbed, trying not to think too hard about the lost gift. It had been your most prized possession since the moment you’d put it on. Until this morning, you’d never taken it off. You cursed yourself for thinking it would be safe in your bag. “I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, honey, it’s going to be okay. I’m not mad, baby. Don’t apologize.” Frank cooed, pressing gentle kisses across your face. He was all too aware of how much that necklace meant to you. “I’m going to make a call, okay?”

“You think you can get it back?” You knitted your brows together in confusion. “I didn’t even get a good look at his face. I have no idea who he is.”

“I know, sweetheart. I’m just glad you’re safe.” He pulled you into his chest and began dialing his phone.

“Who’re you calling?” You questioned further, nuzzling into his warmth.

“Lieberman. If anyone can find the guy, it’s him.”

You listened as Frank relayed the information to Micro, occasionally giving him additional information. Frank’s free hand cupped the back of your head, absent-mindedly running his fingers along the nape of your neck while Micro searched through camera footage and DMV records. You knew the second they’d figured out who did it, so tuned into Frank’s body that you physically felt the tension build in his shoulders. 

“You gonna kill him?” You asked, eyes focused on Frank's jaw, which hadn’t unclenched since his conversation with Micro.

“I should.” He mumbled, eyeing your reaction carefully. “He could’ve hurt you.”

“He didn’t, though.” You shrugged, “Maybe he needed food or something.”

Frank’s eyes softened. “Are you really trying to find the good in the man who stole your favorite thing from you?” 

“Maybe.” You shrugged again, grinning when Frank huffed in annoyance. 

“You’re too nice.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Good thing I’m not.”

“I thought you’d be more mad.”

“Oh, trust me. I’m pissed that he even looked at you.” His jaw clenched impossibly harder. “But I’m just glad you’re safe. If he’d hurt you, though…,” he trailed off, shaking his head, “I don’t know what I’d do. Something illegal. That’s a given.”

You nodded, understanding his desire to protect you. If the roles were reversed, you’d do the same. You sniffed, eyes flicking to the kitchen, where something was definitely burning.

“What were you cooking before I came home?”

Frank stiffened before taking off toward the kitchen. “Holy shit, I forgot I had something in the oven.”

You giggled and followed him through the apartment, the entire encounter on the subway a distant memory already. Frank would take care of it. He always did.

Later, hours after falling asleep on Frank’s chest, the distinct sound of your fire escape window closing woke you from your slumber. Frank was no longer beneath you, and hadn’t been for some time you realized, sliding your fingers over the cool sheets where he’d been earlier.

“Frankie?” You softly called, slightly lifting your head from the pillow.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He gently crawled into bed, hovering over your still mostly-asleep figure and kissing the tip of your nose. “I have something for you.”

He lifted his arm, and you nearly shrieked when you realized what was dangling from between his swollen and slightly bruised fingers.

“You found it?” You gasped.

“I said I would, didn’t I?” He smiled, kissing you again.

“Frank Castle, you absolute fucking gentleman.”

He chuckled at your crude language. “That’s high praise coming from a princess like you.”

You smiled, kissing him deeper. He groaned when you slid your tongue into his mouth. 

“Let me show you how grateful I am.” You teased, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer.

“Baby, you won’t hear any complaints from me. Your wish is my command, princess.”

Tag List:

@alexxavicry @hallecarey1 @km-ffluv @chiaraxtargaryen @trulylavandedarling @D0wnbad @deliciousfestsalad @lilyevans1 @imagineadream @22carolina08 @definitelynotsugar @casualchaoticdevil @peachy-flxwr @nashja @xshewayout @blep--bloop @kpopgirlbtssvt @aynsleywalker @queenofthenoobs @ostricx @horrorflix @xleiaorgana @mukbee @dilfs5678 @kokoterainonago666 @blackwidownat2814 @minervadashwood @emiemiemiii @h4rrys @messymissy @mylifeispainandiloveit @mossexe @fightmilk @spikedhe4rt @fictional-hooman @merleisapartygod @babyslyth @legocity2 @quackson03 @certifiedhunter @dumb-fawkin-bitch @americaarse @thatgirljayy @hiyabyeyababy @theesexystallion @scoliobean @myguiltypleasures21 @fxlsealarm @evyiione @gpenguin666 @desert-fern @day-dreaming-goddess @rayray787 @ginnysculture @ryebreadsworld @laaundromat @coacaiyne @niki-is-a-thing @deactivating-this-blog @bxmaaa @kentdreamingspam

[xoxoemynn]

Feeling a little emotional because HOW FREAKING WONDERFUL is it that Stede spent his entire life made to feel weak and inadequate just because he liked flowers and fine fabrics and was so earnest, and everyone just mocked him and treated him with scorn and derision like “get a load of THIS fucking guy,” meanwhile Ed walks in and says “yes I WOULD like to get a load of this fucking guy, oh shit, yes, I’m in love with him and everything that he is.”

And then the corollary of HOW FREAKING WONDERFUL it is that Ed spent his life being revered as this violent untouchable legend, and he always wears this protective mask so nobody can see that underneath he’s so deeply human, that he’s lonely and craving connection, and that he spent his life thinking he doesn’t deserve nice things but every so often he allows himself to dream, and then Stede walks in and peeks through that mask and says “hey I see you and you deserve the world and, oh shit, I’m in love with you and everything you are.”

Just the fact that these two people found each other and saw/respected/appreciated each other in a way nobody else could and that feeling quickly blossomed into a deep, genuine love is making me a bit weepy this fine morning and I cannot wait to see where their journey takes them.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Bad Reputation 1

Warnings: dark elements, noncon, abuse, gaslighting, manipulation, cheating, other dark elements. Proceed with caution.

Note: Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

“I can’t tell you how much I need this,” Maria sighs as you put down the cocktail before her.

“Yeah, me too,” you sit back and twirl the straw in your drink.

“You sure about this place?” She looks around as she lifts the glass filled to the brim with a pink and purple ombre, topped with a wedge of bright lime. “Seems a bit young for us.”

“Uh, well, Google Maps isn’t exactly intuitive, I guess. You said drinks and I didn’t think you’d wanna go down to some dive.”

“Mm, yeah, I might run into my husband,” she scoffs, setting down her drink and rubbing her temples, “I can’t explain to you how intense it’s been. I don’t know what’s going on with him.”

“Sounds like he wants to be your father, not your husband,” you roll your eyes.

“No, no ‘I told you so’s’,” she crosses her arms, “because I know. You were right. He’s controlling. I just… I didn’t think he’d get this bad.”

You nod. You don’t want to be right. You care for your friend. You want her to be okay.

“Where does he think you are right now?”

“With the kids,” she says guiltily, “I told him I was taking them to my parents’ place. Which I did, he just thinks I’m there too.”

“Jeez,” you rub your chin, “so, what do you think? Talking to a therapist or a lawyer?”

She looks at you, a dire spark in her eyes, “I don’t know. I’m trying to figure it out. Either one is going to be like pulling teeth.”

“Yeah, I can only imagine.”

“God, I wish I was you,” she lifts her glass again, “single, childfree, alive.”

“Oh, Mar, don’t say that. You just need to get through this. And you can. The both of you just need to figure it out. You need to adjust. You never did, really. He kept on doing the same things, meanwhile you gave up everything to be with the kids. You deserve to get some of you back.”

“Please,” she wiggles her nose, “you know I get weepy when I drink.”

“And look at me getting sentimental,” you chuckle, “alright, that’s it.” You pick up your cocktail and chug it, trickling a little down the corner of your mouth. You wipe away the excess and slam the glass down, “you’re going to finish that. Then we’re going to get another and we’re going to dance.”

“Dance? College ended a long time ago–”

“We’re still wild, Mar, you’ll see. Down it and lets do a double to get in the mood. I’m not letting you go until your leaning.”

She huffs and shakes her head, hovering her drink before her lips, “you really are a bad influence.”

“Oh, you can be sure to tell Frank he was right about me,” you wink.

🎶

You come out onto the pavement as the buzzing of the music sticks in your ears. You made it to last call but Maria is barely holding on as she clings to your shoulder. You giggle and search for a cab among the rabble of clubbers dispersing in pairs and larger groups. 

You see the Golden Arches just behind the row of buildings across the street, “how about some Mickey D’s, huh? Suck up some of that vodka?”

“No, I gotta get home,” she babbles into a belch.

“You know you want a McChicken? Oh, how about nuggets? You know the sweet and sour sauce is your fave.”

“Stop!” She nearly shouts in your ear.

“I’m not going home till I have a juicy Big Mac in these paws,” you drag her down the sidewalk.

“Ugh, I can’t believe it’s after two,” she manages to bobble beside you, swaying slightly as she keeps a hold of your arm, “I’m a mother! My kids–”

“Are well taken care of,” you assure her, “this is girls’ night and it’s not over yet.”

You turn the corner, a few others ahead of you seem to have the same destination in sight. In the back of your mind, you know you’ll regret it in the morning but right now, your mouth is watering for over processed meat and cheese. Maria hiccups and hums.

“I’m gonna feel like shit,” she voices your inner monologue.

“We can feel like shit together,” you laugh, “just like college–”

Suddenly she slips away from you. At first you think she tripped but then you see the shadow dragging her back down the pavement. You know that gait, that lumbering rhythm, shoulders squared, nostrils puffing like a bull. Really? That jackass.

“Frank,” you shuffle to catch Maria’s other arm as she stumbles senselessly behind him, whimpering, “let her go.”

“Let my wife go,” he marches but you cling to Maria, drawing him back, “stay out of my marriage.”

“This isn’t about you, we’re having fun–”

“You need to grow up,” he keeps one hand on Maria as he rears on you, wagging his thick finger in your face, “mind your fucking business and stay away from my goddamn wife.”

“She’s an adult. She can do what she wants–”

“I know your bullshit. You get her all worked up then talk her into your dumb shit. Because you can’t hold onto a man of your own–”

“Pfft, whatever, I don’t need some asshole like you, Frank Castle–”

You stagger back as his fist cracks across your cheek. You taste blood as you fall backwards onto your ass, crying out at the pain that zips through your hip, ankle thrumming as you manage to unhook your heel from a crack in the sidewalk. You whine and cradle your head.

“Oh my god, are you o–” Maria reaches for you, hanging from Frank’s grasp.

“Come on. Home,” he snarls and jerks her away, “where you belong.”

“Hey,” you get to your knees, head swirling as you try to plant a foot.

“You follow me and I’ll leave you in the gutter,” he stops and points at you again, “fucking trash.”

You spit out blood into your hand, frozen in fear and dizziness. You can barely believe he hit you. He really hit you. You just hope he doesn’t do worse to Maria.

[courtingchaos]

Strong fingers dig into supple flesh and you let out a groan that goes for a solid thirty seconds.

“Right there?” He asks while his thumb is dug into the muscle of your butt, right up against the joint of your hip. “It feels like it’s right here.” He rubs a deep circle and you cough out a laugh. “You okay?”

“It hurts so much it almost tickles.”

“Want me to stop?” He pauses but doesn’t move his hands. You roll your face against the cushion in some version of a ‘no’ and keep yourself draped over his lap, the two of you looking like some kind of off brand pieta. Your hip had finally taken its quarterly breakdown and you’d buckled earlier in the day. A weepy phone call on your way home from work to Eddie and he’d made sure to push all the laundry off the couch onto the floor.

His fingers start up tentatively again and he finds that spot that makes you groan again into the cushion. He asks you to rotate your foot so he can get a better angle and when you don’t do exactly what he imagined he moves you gently to his will, digging that stupid thick thumb into your malformed joint to release the tension. It’s never just your hip, it’s always connected to your back and then your thigh, your sciatica deciding to flare up in the morning after getting your hip realigned. Eddie knows this though by now and you know that in the microwave is that cherry pit heating pad Wayne told him to buy and in the fridge is the tiger balm that you hate and in the freezer sits that metal roller ball that helps sooth all the blood flow he’s attracted to you’re ass.

You can feel the muscles relax and the joint stiffness starting to melt and you mumble a thank you. “You’re too good to me Ed.” If it sounds a little sniffly he doesn’t mention it, just gives your thigh a squeeze and waits for you to flip right side up so he can go heat up the first round of post care treatments.

“No I’m not.” He smiles down at you and pushes some hair splayed over your face back, this finger soft in its trail across your face. “You’d do the same for me.”

“Rub your ass?”

“Exactly.”

[nanamimizz]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐄

warnings: 18+ minors dni, fingering, nipple sucking, mating press, creampie, unprotected sex, size kink, big cock toji, fem reader, sub reader, toji is kinda soft in this but still a tease, cervix fucking (1 mention) clit smacking (1 mention) dacryphilia,,,,let me know if i missed anything. 3.7k words

sum: Be like the love that discovered the sin, that freed the first man, would do so again, and lover be good to me. 

You’re so sweet to him - gentle and doting. He remembers the time he came home, covered in sweat and some bloodstains on his knuckles. You just sighed and shook your head - you took him to the bathroom and took care of the scrapes on his skin, pressed a kiss to the scabbed skin, and mumbled to be more careful. You wash his clothes, even if it’s to steal his shirts that are too big for your compared smaller frame to his. You make his - your bed when he comes back from errands, make his favorite on Saturday movie nights.

He remembers the time you made him a sweater for his birthday, a cold December evening, and he remembers going to the bathroom while you slept, tears dripping from his eyes into the yarn that smelled like you. Of you, of vanilla and cashmere and oak.

You were too good for him, the truth of the statement feels natural like the cycle of the sun and the moon.

He could see it in every motion, in every smile you gave him. He was a shitty man, with a foul temper, who spent his life chasing a grudge born and festered in his childhood.

Your gentleness soothes him, he thinks. Makes him calmer and tempered. Gentle even. It scares him how much you change him, mold him and tame him into this soft and dotted and coddled boyfriend who holds your hand till you get to the bottom step of the stairs to make sure you don’t fall and hurt yourself. The other part of him feels seen by your unconditional love, the small shadow that hides at the corners of his outer persona - the desire to be seen by another pair of eyes that aren’t the green of his own.

The conflict makes him grumpy. Makes him frown at how you awake the two innermost sides of himself all by giving him a smile and a kiss on the cheek when he has morning breath and a bird’s nest for hair. He hears you huff a laugh at the grunt he gives, and he thinks about how he wants to squish your cheeks together in one big palm til you get teary-eyed, and give him a muffled whine to let you go.  

 It’s a Saturday night - movie night aforementioned and Toji is barely paying attention to the movie, which he feels kinda bad about really. It’s a favorite one from your childhood you told him as you changed into your pajamas for the night, one you watched when you were weepy and sad from being sick. He feels his eyes trailing your figure, you’re wearing these tiny black shorts - he can see the bit of your ass peek from underneath and this little cropped shirt. It’s warmer now, spring seeping in early than previously.  You’re talking, going on about childhood memories and he’s staring at every one of your movements, the way your chest expands and your shoulders slope, and how the flesh of your thighs squish against each other as you sit next to him.

“Sit on me,” he mumbles, bumping his head to yours - cutting you off mid-sentence as you laugh at how much of a cat he is like. You tease him, calling him your big baby which he grunts at but you climb into his lap all the same - you kiss his cheek and coo at him - “Is this better, my baby?” Toji rolls his eyes and presses close, kissing your neck and grumbling as you laugh. Even the way you tease is soft, you poke at his cheek and grin at him, call him an assortment of pet names that an earlier version of him would scoff and laugh at, but the present him only bears it and tries to keep the pink of his cheeks at bay.

You look cute like this, he thinks. Your skin is shiny from your skincare routine he watches you do every night from his seat on the toilet cover, lips tainted a reddish-pink from your cherry-scented lip balm, and eyes warm from your happiness. Your form is dwarfed by him - his height and build make you feel smaller than anyone has ever before. He blinks and takes you in as you keep prattling on about something or another. He hears you laugh and he blinks from his trance,

“Are you having fun there handsome?” You tease him and he grunts, realizing you’ve been staring at him staring at you and he burrows his face in your neck feeling your shoulders shake as you giggle at him.

“Quit laughin’ at me, I’ll push you off.” He grumbles, gripping your hips with his hands as if to take you off his lap. You squirm and whine, wrapping your arms around his neck and pleading not to.

“Noooo I was just teasing!” You pout and you giggle softly at the way his lips start to quirk up. You feel his right hand come up to your face and he squishes your cheeks together, his left-hand stays at your hips, thumb rubbing at the sliver of skin between your shirt and shorts.

“Keeping laughin’ at me ‘n I’ll give ya something to pout about.” He laughs out a breathy, entertained huff at the ends of his words making your face warm. You blink once, then twice, and then you make that face that makes Toji laugh. Your eyes get wide and you bite your bottom lip that trembles and you can’t hold eye contact.

“Are you trying to fuck me?” You ask, eyes narrowed but your tone is timid. He huffs in amusement again - making you feel shy is his favorite pastime and Toji likes how most often than not you are still shy when presented with the simple fact that Toji likes you enough to want to ram his cock in you. More than even he would like to admit it to your face.

“Took you long enough. Was beginnin’ to think you got even denser than when we first met.” He teases you and he grins, teeth sharp and a bit hungry at the memory of the night you both met - a club with you dressed in a tight black get up and looking alone without your friends, how you blinked doe-eyed and demure when he made you the offer of stepping out.

Morning came with cum stained thighs and wrapped up in a tall, dark, and handsome stranger’s bedsheets. He remembers that morning clearly as morning rain. You blinked up at him while he offered you the choice of staying or calling a cab. With a timid look on your face, you gave him your answer - you stayed and he laughed at how you stumbled out of bed and joined him for breakfast.  He wonders if you know how endeared you are to him. How much he loves you - loved you since that morning, when you scrunch your nose at his charred eggs and burnt toast. He stares at you fondly now, in the present moment as you puff and hide your face into his shoulder.

He laughs at your frustrated whine as your let out a small “hmmph!” into his form and he coos at you. His hands rub at your exposed skin, your rump, and your hips. Big, hardened hands covered in calluses and scars and crooked fingers digging into the giving, plushness of your form and he grins at you. He likes that you’re quiet and shy when he gives you this kind of attention - the tremble in your lips and the way your gaze goes downward means you are a tad uncomfortable as you are flattered by it,

“You’re fucking cute ya know that? S’what makes me want to fuck you.” He tells you, voice dark and sinful, and he watches with lidded, entertained as you squirm in his lap. He hisses when the swell of your mound meets and sits on the stiffness of his sweats - you think if you got up you’d see the print of it, heavy with length and girth that takes you time to prepare for it. Even now despite all the experience you’ve had with it, it always feels like it’s the first time.

Toji knows that too, and he likes that. He likes that he’s too big, too much for you and that little oasis in between your legs. He likes how it feels to go through the process - the action of making you cum twice on his fingers, then on his tongue, and then on his cock, until he has his pleasure and you’re teary-eyed and dumb for him. He likes how you clutch at him - a lifeline in the ocean of pleasure he drowns you in, pushing your head under the rocking waters but somehow your lungs fill with more air than salty seawater.

You have no reason to be as adorable as you are now, he can hear your pants for breath and whines tugging to be let out of your lips as he drags your hips over his. He can feel you soak the seam of your shorts, Toji is a gambling man through and through and he’d give good money to bet you're dripping and blood is going to that cute little clit of yours that always pulses for him - begging for his fingers and tongue just as much as you do through bated breath and flushed cheeks.

“T-toji, please..take em’ off.” You murmur him, mirroring him as you nudge at his chin with the crown of your head, lips in a pout and shuddering when you hear his rumbling laugh. Toji is kind to you, gentle in some ways but he is nowhere near nice, especially in bed. Begging and pleading does it for him, always has, and always will. The sweetness in your unsure, flustered voice makes his dick twitch and your weak, defeated tone makes his balls swell in his baggy pants that somehow never really hid the print of his cock from prying eyes. 

“Yeah? Should I? That’s all ya want sweetheart - just for me to strip ya? Nah,” He mimics you, tone light and teasing, snark dancing at the edge of your plea like a ballet dancer. Your face feels hot and your head spins as you shake at his words. You can hear him in your ear as a big finger hooks into the waistband of your shorts and tugs them down, your panties half sliding down with them till the hem gets stuck at the fat of your thigh.

“You want more huh? Greedy girl, always wanting  more n always ready to beg for it too - you’ve got no pride when it comes to me don’t you.”

 He says it like a question but you know he means it like an observation - he’s correct of course, you would abandon everything for the demon of Toji. If only you knew he’d do the same and more for you - which is why he slips his fingers, big and thick past the sticky gusset of your panties and brushes past the petals of your cunt to meet your clit. You twitch and gasp - high and sweet like birdsong and he grins, scar stretching across his lips as he takes in the first crumbling of your demure resolve to show the wanton whore inside you. 

He keeps his fingers there, the rough and sturdy pads of his fingers make your hips jut out and roll, chasing the trail of a pleasure shaped in a white rabbit dressed in coattails and the sticky tapping of your slick against his fingers is the ticking of his clock. You sigh his name again when his fingers slide past your clit and follow the seam of your folds. Your head goes down the slope of the invisible thread of motion that pulls you closer to Toji - the earth tugs the moon close as effortlessly as Toji does. Your head rests in between his neck and jaw and you dig your fingers into the material of his shirt as not one but two fingers press against your fluttering hole.

He’s impatient.

 You realize as the brain-numbing sting of his fingers push inside you - tentatively and slowly, you gasp and whine into his neck, drool beginning to gather and drip out the corner of your lips. He shushes you and chuckles at the defeated slump in your shoulders, he presses you closer to his lap, your breasts flush against his and he grins at your loss and his victory.

Grunting at the incessant clutching of your walls you hear him chide you - “This cunt’s so fuckin’ tight, don’t I fuck you enough to loosen you up?” You feel him curl his fingers deep inside you, they fit in snugly and you win when he presses the tips of his pads against the spongy part hidden in the walls. You cry, your shoulders shake and your thighs tremble; you half hate, half love your sensitivity as Toji’s voice leers over your shoulder - “Found something, didn’t I?”

You nod your head, eyes scrunched up and watery as he keeps the pace; curling, pumping, fucking you to pieces and you almost cry at how your cunt only gives you the weakest of pulses to signal that you’re frayed rope is on it’s last, dwindling thread until it snaps and your body locks up and your hips twitch as your walls suck, milking at Toji’s fingers for cum they can’t produce.

Your tongue hangs out of your mouth, your jaw feels limp at how he keeps his fingers in you, pushing you back a bit so he can see the look on your face when he keeps fucking your sopping cunt open. Your brows scrunched and your mouth twists as you jump when his retreating fingers brush past your clit. You breathe his name - “Toji, please.” and you’re too blinded by your teary eyes you fail to see how he flushes by how reverently you call his name.

He takes your hips in his hands, you faintly register your slickness on his fingers when your back touches the plushness of your shared bed. 

“I got ya sweetheart - I’ll give ya what you want.” He mumbled from above you, his mass being the only thing you can see, feel or smell; the scent of your cunt and sweat and his natural musk sticks to him and you wonder how lucky you are to have him. You reach out and tug at your shirt, the soft material pulled under the swell of your tits and you reach out for his face. Toji, who nuzzles and kisses your palm laughs - rough and cracked at how you’ve served yourself on a platter for him.

His hand comes to one of your tits and squeezes, fingers digging into your malleable flesh, and laughs at your squeak. His thumb rubs at your hardened nipple (you did always run cold) He bends his head down and presses a kiss to the hardened pebble, teasing you with the slightest bit of tongue. When you gasp and arch your back he lets his lips surround your teet and suck, hard. 

Gasping, your arms shoot around his head and press your chest out further, groaning at how he presses his weight further down on you and lets his tongue trace, flick at your sensitive nipple before letting go - strings of spit following his grinning mouth. You look wrecked, jaw lax and drool at the corner of your lips and eyes foggy with pleasure - your tits and cunt shine in the low light in the room, and when he asks if you want him to fuck you no, he grins like a wolf at your hurried nod. Blinking out of your stupor you sniffle a little pathetically and you tug him closer by the waistband of his pants - he coos at your neediness, clearly the buzz from cumming did nothing but work you up, you really are nothing but his greedy girl.

His sweats are pulled down and you gasp at how heavy his cock is, as it bobs and droops down on it’s own, Subconsciously you press your legs together, your thighs sticky with slick as your cunt pulses at that going inside you. Toji grins, the gasp and look on your face each time you see his 8 inches hard makes his back stand a little straighter as he looms over you. Big hands go to your thighs and part them, spreading them up and away from the other till your knees brush against your tits. You gulp at this position, you know it all too well, you know how much Toji loves it and how deeply it lets him go - it lets him hit.

“C’mon baby whatcha lookin’ all scared for? You’ve seen it before, yeah? Told me you love my cock even,” He coos, grabbing his cock with one hand, fingers barely managing to touch when wrapped around the circumference of his girth.You moan when he draws near, a globe of pre drips on your puffy clit. His head nudges your cunt, the suckling hole of your cunt flutters as he presses it closer, strong arms keeping himself upright by gripping on the backs of your thighs - sore spots in the same shape of his fingers will pulse and throb as evidence from how Toji fucks the one he loves.

He can faintly see the indents of his nails in your flesh when he pushes forwards and grunt through clenched teeth at how your walls struggle to take the mushroom head of his cock - out of desperation and in tune with your pained gasp of his name he spits - the clear, tacky substance drips down your folds to the spear of his cock and grants him another inch. Your thighs quake in his grip and feel them twitch from the sting your poor cunt leaks for.

“Toji, toji - nngh, it’s big -” you pause your babbling as you hiccup, chest going up and down as tears gather in your delicate waterline, you throw your head back in defeat and squirm against him, “ Why are you so big?” You half ask half squeal, sobs racking through your chest to your stomach as the last inch of Toji’s monster of a cock presses flush to the buzzing lips of your cunt.

Balls to your ass he pulls back only to surge forward, the pat, pat, pat of your slicked and hot thighs meeting the swell of his balls fills the room, as Toji grunts from the tight, hot, sopping heat of your cunt suckles around his cock - begging to be filled. He tears his gaze from how your too small cunt takes his too big cock to your face only to find you’ve covered your face with your hands, lips curl back to a snarl he almost growls at you,

“Take your fuckin’ hands off.” It's a threat, one hand lets go of your thigh and taps at your clit - it makes you jump and shift and you sob at how it lets his cock go in deeper, bumping against the wall of your cervix. Your hands are curled at your chest as your mouth is left hanging and you sob when he barks at you - “Cover up again n I’ll use ya like damn sleeve n leave you here, got it?” You can see the veins in his neck and you nod, hands coming to the backs of your knees, holding up one and the other resting above Toji’s own.

He blinks away sweat in his eyes and nods, gaze going back to your cunt, “Good girl,” He licks the thumb of his free hand and takes it back to your clit - strums at it and keeps his pace even as you squeal - teetering on going over the edge, the sea of pleasure once again laps at your ankles, caressing your skin; asking to bring you under.

You say yes. You always say yes with hearts in your eyes and your thighs spread.

“Toji- Toji, baby m cumming, m gonna cum!” Your cry, voice rocky and shrill as you sob through your climax and your hand that rests on his clutches the knuckles of his hand, fingers breaking skin in red lines. He grunts and rolls out a rough, deep, “Fuck..” as he feels your release drip to his balls and down the fat of your ass. He nods and picks up the pace - focusing on his pleasure, he bites down on his tongue as you squeak and cry at his fast and deep thrusts. Your bedsheets are a mess - when Toji cums, he spills the white of his cum into your puffy cunt only for it to drip out the seams, landing on your soft white sheets. 

Toji lets your thighs drop to his waist and he lets you pull him closer. He gently scoops you from under him, so he rests on his back and you lay on top of him - sweaty and covered from tears to drool. He lets himself rest, hand on top of your head soothing your hair as you press soft kisses to his chest in between your shakiness and sniffles.

He hums at your affirmations, letting you melt into his skin as soft - “I love you”s fall from your bitten lips. He repeats them back to you, eyes dropping from the come down till you murmur that you need to get clean. He blinks at you like a cat before smiling and nodding.

“Five minutes though, just like having ya to myself like this.” He mutters, you can see the lines below his eyes, and you smile fondly. Nodding you press another kiss to his chest before scooting off and rolling to his side.

“I love you.” You say, and you mean it. You mean it as much as your thighs burn and your body aches. He looks at you and takes you in before he nods, bringing one big arm around to hold you close.

“Love ya too. '' he means it, even though it's hard for him to admit you take it with a smile and a nuzzle to his chin. You really are too good for him, no one sticks to him like you do, but maybe, if a good person likes you chooses him that must be in someway he really is good too.

[sugar-omi]

had to type this whole thing here from my screenshots... dont say i dont love yall ANYWOOZIES i had to flip a coin between tails- fuck baxter in suspension, or heads... well head. n i got heads 3x in a row so you're getting head tonight!!! thats amazing

DAY FIVE — SHIBARI

*kinktober masterlist | *ao3

tags : NSFW, gn reader, soft dom/top reader, shibari suspension, overstim, multiple orgasms, praise, oral (reader receiving)

synopsis : baxter lets you have control and suspend his body in the air,

you coo, petting your boyfriends hair back. "you look so ethereal like this, my love."

baxter pants, trying to squirm but its fruitless since his body is suspended in the air.

you feel thrilled that baxter trusts you to have him like this. his upper body held up by the ropes, hands tied behind his back, and his legs forced open, allowing you access to his body...

you're positively glowing, and you pull him into a sweet kiss. it's full of love and tenderness until baxter slips his tongue into your mouth, then it turns hungry.

you let him have control, after all you still have control over his body right now.

you hum, pulling away.

he rests his forehead against yours, looking into your eyes.

you pet his cheek, watching baxter nuzzle into your palm. "you good? it's not tight anywhere?"

baxter shakes his head, "you did wonderful. it feels good." he purrs, his signature smirk stretching across his lips.

you kiss his lips again, replacing that smirk with a dopey smile.

"good. you know your colors and i'll check, but tell me if you want to stop." you remind him, just to reassure him and yourself. not that baxter seems too worried.

he leans forward to steal another kiss and grins, "i'm fine. so please... ravish me."

baxter lets out a loud cry, his legs shaking, and with how you have him bound he can't kick out his legs or close them, so he shakes in the ropes pathetically as he cums again for the 5th time, but this time on the vibrating butt plug you prepped him for during his 4th orgasm.

"you look so beautiful, darling." you praise, slowly stroking baxter's cock through his orgasm.

he throws his head back, showing you the expanse of his pretty throat.

you lean up to kiss his mole there, grinning against his neck when he whines.

"five orgasms for the five years we spent apart... you did so good for me, lovely."

you continue kissing baxter. placing light marks that will fade in the morning along his neck, but darker ones he can hide under his collar. something pleasant to think about while he works.

a light bulb goes off in your head, and you lower yourself to his thighs to start working pretty hickeys and bite marks into his porcelain skin.

baxter whines, calling out your name.

"you did so good for me.. look at the mess you made." you urge him to look at you, and when he does he can't help the low groan that comes from the base of his throat.

he made quite the mess of his tummy, staining the black rope around around there and even ropes of cum on his inner thighs.

but even then his cock still twitches weakly, pearly white cum dripping down his balls and pooling around the base of his plug.

"you look so cute, don't you think? and so naughty..." you lick up a string of cum from his thighs, working your way down to his plug, licking up the line of cum from his balls until you reach his tip, taking the red, weepy tip into your mouth and you take hold of the plug, slowly thrusting it in and out of his puffy rim.

"ah! y/n!" baxter exclaims, and even though he can't between your hand gripping his hip and the restraints, he still tries to move back onto the plug.

you hallow your cheeks, pulling back and spitting the mixture onto his cock before diving back in, licking it up and taking his down your throat again.

he whines loudly at the scene and sensation, his hole squelching obscenely as you fuck him. it's all so hot.

you come off his dick with a pop, leaning up to kiss him.

you transfer the mixture of cum and spit into his mouth, wiping the corners of his lips when it spills over during your kiss.

he moans lowly, swallowing happily.

"so good for me... what's your color, baby?"

baxter is quick to respond "green. its green.."

you nod, reaching for the water on the table just a ways away and urge him to drink, kissing his cheek when he's done.

you pull him into a kiss, a soft one full of love. "imma let you down now.."

baxter nods and waits for you to bring him down, starting with his legs.

once he's on the ground, you lead him to the edge of your bed, and at his insistence, you left the rope binding his arms behind his back.

you pet his hair, carding your fingers through it. "doing good down there, pretty boy?"

he nods, licking his lips at the sight of you man spreading, eager to get his mouth on your sex.

you laugh at his distracted gaze and urge him forward.

he leans forward to lick a stripe over your cunt, slipping his tongue between the folds and enveloping your clit between his lips, sucking and licking the bud. you moan, fisting his hair and forcing his head further into your cunt, his nose scrunched against the face of your cunt. he moans at the force, sending vibrations shocking through your veins. he stops sucking on your clit with a wet smack, dipping his tongue into your entrance, exploring your insides with his skilled tongue and loudly eating you out. loud squelches and smacks of his lips echo through the room, the mixture of your slick and his spit dripping between your butt and onto the bed sheets.

he leans forward, and without his hands all he can is carefully lick up the underside of your dick, and slowly easing his mouth onto your length, taking your tip into his mouth and sucking. he hallows his cheeks, sucking loudly and working his way down until his nose his buried against your abdomen. you relish in the sound of his choking on your dick and spit as you hold him there before letting go, pulling his head back to swirl his tongue around your tip before he spits on it, just like you did with his cock earlier, licking up your length and taking you back into his mouth.

you groan, tangling your fingers in his hair and forcing his head to stay still as you grind against his mouth, enjoying the loud slurping and choking sounds he makes from your rough face fucking.

"i'm gonna cum.." you mumble hoarsely, you legs shaking as you near your end,

baxter eagerly moans against your sex, and you realize he's grinding against the toy still in his ass, his cock hanging weakly between his legs, dripping cum onto the floor.

you laugh, lifting your hips up to get a better grind against his mouth. "you look like a whore like that.."

baxter moans loudly at that, the sound muffled by your sex and that's what pushes you over the edge, and you crumble over baxter, holding his head down as you cum on his tongue.

you bask in the after glow for a moment, covering your face with your hands and baxter rests his head against your knee.

when you finally open your eyes, you're met with your pretty boyfriend looking up at you with glassed, blown eyes and he's blushing all the way down to his shoulders, hickeys blooming all down his torso and the ropes expand with every labored breath.

he speaks before you can, hearts in his eyes, "that felt good.. being at your mercy... we'll have to do again."

[goldenempyrean]

I Missed You

〚 Pairing- Natasha Romanoff x Reader 〛

〚 Notes - Currently working on the BeachHouse AU but I wanted to get this out first! Enjoy some sad and weepy Nat :p 〛

〚 Summary - You're off on a mission when Nat starts to feel unwell. And even with her bestfriend at her side, Nat's finding it hard to be alone when she gets sick for the first time in years. 〛

〚 Wordcount - 2100 〛

〘 Check Out My Masterlist! 〙

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“Are you sure you’re meant to be working right now?” Clint asked casually as he strolled into the kitchen, raising his eyebrows at the woman slumped over a pile of paperwork at the table. 

Natasha looked up at him, her eyes tired and glassy. She tried to give him a reassuring smile, but it came out more like a grimace. "I'm fine," she said, her voice hoarse and cracking, “We both have some much work to do, shouldn’t you be getting your own work done instead of pestering me.”  

“God you’re crabby today, aren't you? And for your information, I’ve already got mine done. It’s easy to concentrate on it when you don’t have a head packed with snot.” He teased and smirked at the disgusted look which grossed her face. 

“You’re gross.” She sniffled thickly – he wasn’t exactly wrong though. She’d woken up feeling a little off a few days ago, there was that lingering soreness at the back of her throat that didn’t quite go away even after getting some water, but she’d put it down to being a little stressed. 

But much to her annoyance, she’d only felt worst throughout the day until she eventually woke up this morning feeling truly awful. But there wasn’t much she could do about that now. All she could do was try to focus and get her work done. 

Clint only shook his head as he began to search the kitchen cupboards for cereal, “Don’t you think you should atheist take a break?” He suggested as he started pouring multiple different kinds of cereal into one bowl. 

“I don’t need too,” She mumbled before quickly bringing her hands to her face when she sneezed loudly, groaning a little afterwards at the pain it’d caused in her throat, “I’ll live.” 

“Well, I’d be more intitled to listen to you if I weren’t terrified of what your girlfriend would do to me if they find out that I’ve let you work while sick.” Clint fake shuddered whilst simultaneously nudging the tissue box at the end of the table closer towards her, earning himself another eyeroll from her.  

But behind that sarcastic front Nat couldn’t help but feel a pang of misery, she missed you so much. Unfortunately, being an Avenger often meant having to go off on solo missions and while the two of you usually made it work, Nat couldn’t help but miss you more than usual. All she wanted was to be cuddled in your arms as you whispered sweet nothings into her hair. But alas, here she was, sick and feeling so very alone. 

Clint noticed the change in her demeanour and sighed softly, “Hey, I know it’s tough, but you can’t keep pushing yourself like this. You need to take care of yourself, and I’m sure your girlfriend would want that too.” He said while mentally kicking himself – he’d been so caught up in his own work that he hadn't even noticed how much Nat was struggling until it was too late. He made a mental note to check in on her more often in the future, to make sure she wasn't feeling overwhelmed or overworked. 

Natasha nodded slowly, her eyes drifting towards the tissue box. She knew he was right, but she hated feeling weak and vulnerable. “I know,” she said softly, “But I just feel so useless when I’m not doing something productive.” 

Clint walked over to her and placed a hand on her shoulder, mentally noting the heating radiating from her bare skin, “You’re not useless, Nat. Sometimes rest and recovery is the most productive thing you can do. And trust me, Y/N would much rather have you healthy and happy than sick and miserable.” 

She sighed, knowing he was right. “I just miss them so much,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper, “I haven’t been sick in years and the first time I do, they’re not even here.” 

It wasn't just the sickness that was making her feel this way. It was the fact that you weren't here with her. You were always her rock, her safe haven, and without you, she felt lost and adrift. You’d been the first person there to comfort her during the blip, the first person to stand by her after taking down the Red Room. You’d always been there. And while this definitely wasn’t the first time she’d been away from you; this was the first time it’d ever made her feel this lonely. 

Clint squeezed her shoulder gently, “I know you do. But you’ll see them soon enough, they’re meant to be home later tonight, aren’t they? I'll get Jarvis to set an alert for their arrival but for now, let’s focus on getting you feeling a bit better, yeah?” 

Natasha nodded and reached for a tissue, blowing her nose loudly. Clint chuckled, “That’s the spirit. Now, how about I make us some tea and we can sit down and go through this paperwork together?” 

However, as Clint went to turn on the kettle, he noticed the increase in her sniffles and turned around. His heart sank as he saw the silent tears running down her cheeks as Nat held her head in her hands, seemingly unable to think of anything other than you.  

Forgetting the tea, he quickly hurried over to her, sitting down and pulling her into a tight hug, his worry only increasing as he felt the small shivers running down her arms as Nat leaned began to sob against him, “I-I'm sorry,” she muttered, “I’m being ridiculous, but all I can do is think about then and that they’re not here and they could be out there hurt somehow on their mission and I wouldn’t know because I-” 

“Shh, Natty.” Clint soothed quietly, rubbing her back gently as her sobs continued, “If Y/N was ever hurt on a mission, we’d know instantly. Jarvis has their vitals always monitored. They’re okay Natasha, now I know you don’t feel well so we need to get this fever down, it’s only going to make you feel worst.” 

“There’s fever patches in the fridge...” Nat mumbled through her sniffles so quietly that Clint almost missed it entirely, “Vision made me put some in there earlier.” 

  Clint nodded, mentally thanking Vision for his wisdom. He continued to hold Nat for a little longer before slowly releasing her, swiping a handful of tissues and pressing them into her hand so she could clean up her face a little, "I'll get them for you and finish off that tea. I want you to pack this stuff away," He said, his fatherly tone seeping into his words, "No arguments this time. Pack it away, you're not working anymore. That's final." 

After receiving a small nod, Clint went to search through the fridge before finding the small packet and setting it on the side as he re-boiled the kettle to make some tea – making sure to add in a generous squirt of honey. He knew how tough it was for Natasha to admit weakness or vulnerability and seeing her break down like that made him realise just how much she was struggling. By the time he’d finished making the tea though, Nat had cleaned up the table a little, her piles of paperwork sitting neatly in one small stack whilst she sank down a little into her chair, muffling a chesty sounding cough into her elbow. 

Mentally grimacing at the sound of her rattling chest, Clint placed the tea down in front of her, "There you go," He offered a comforting smile to his partner, "hopefully that will help your throat a bit. Now I know you’re not going to like this, but do you think you’d like to go lay down for a few hours? I’ll finish up your work for you.” 

Natasha gave a weak nod, her eyes looking a little watery once again as she took a sip of her tea, "Thank you, Clint. I'm sorry for being such a mess," she murmured, her voice hoarse and strained from her coughing. 

Clint shook his head, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder, "You don't need to apologize for being sick, Nat. We all get like this sometimes," he reassured her, "Now go lay down, get some rest. I'll take care of everything." 

With that, Natasha slowly stood up from her chair, wobbling slightly as she did so. Clint quickly moved to steady her, keeping a hand on her shoulder to keep her steady. "Easy now," he murmured, "Don't overdo it." 

Natasha gave him a weak smile as he led her towards her bedroom, her steps slow and unsteady. Once they reached her room, Clint helped her to sit down on the bed before tucking her in with a soft blanket. "Get some rest," he said, his voice gentle, "I'll come check on you in a little bit. I’ll make sure no one disturbs you." 

On his way out of her room Clint couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness in his heart as he thought about you, wherever you were, and how much Nat missed you. He knew he couldn't replace you, but he would do his best to take care of Nat in your absence. Instead he’d concentrate on getting her work done so the two of you would have nothing to worry about except each other when you finally got back. 

〘✧✧✧〙 

The sky was dark by the time you’d finally gotten home that night. The compound was quiet, most of the agents had left for the day and most people were already in bed so it was safe to say you were surprised to come into the kitchen to see Clint sitting over the table, eating pasta as he stared down at the files in front of him. 

“Hey.” You called out quietly, seemingly startling him a little. 

“Y/N!” His face lit up instantly as he got up from the table, coming over to hug you, “You’re back finally, thank god.” 

You’d be lying if you said his reaction didn’t puzzle you a little though, “Yeah, sorry the flight back took a little longer than expected, is everything alright? Oh, have you seen Nat too by the way? I texted her to tell her I was home, but I think her phones dead or something.” 

Clint pulled away from the hug, his brow furrowed with concern. "Nat's not feeling so well actually. She's got the flu I think, she’s probably sleeping still." He gestured to the files on the table. "I’ve just been doing her paperwork. She really missed you while you were away Y/N, like really missed you.” 

“I’ll go check on her then,” You sighed, hating that you weren’t here to take care of her, you knew Nat rarely got sick and whenever she did, it usually hit her hard, “Thank you though,” You said genuinely, giving Clint an appreciative smile, “Thanks for looking out for her.” 

“It's no problem. Nat’s important to me, I wasn’t going to just sit there while she suffered. She’s going to be so happy to see you.” Clint nodded, before going over to the table to pick up his bowl of pasta, “I'm gonna head to bed soon now thpugh, I’ll finish that in the morning.” 

“Goodnight Clint.” You gave him a final smile before hurrying off in the direction of your bedroom. 

As you reached your room, you made sure to quietly open the door, not wanting to startle her. But once the light flooded the room, letting you see the outline of your girlfriend, your heart sank. Nat was curled up beneath the blankets in one of your hoodies as she tightly hugged one of your favourite stuffed animals. Even in the dim light, you could see the dark red grasp of a fever clutching to her cheeks.  

Not wanting to disturb her more than necessary, you silently got changed out of your suit into some comfy thin pyjamas before gently climbing in bed next to the sleeping widow. You’d intended to not wake her up but despite your best efforts, the redhead stirred a little as you settled down into the duvet. 

“Shh, baby, It’s okay now. I’m here, okay?” You whispered quietly, as Nat sleepily shuffled up into your hold, welcoming your touch as you pulled her close against your chest. 

“I missed you.” Her raspy voice barely louder than a whisper before sleep pulled her back down into its hands. 

“I missed you too moya lyubov',” You murmured softly, “I’m here now, okay? And I'm going to look after you.” 

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[senanatheskenana]

I Just Died In Your Arms Tonight

Genshin guys sacrificing themselves to save you. 

TW: major character death, gore, angst.

Kaeya

Kaeya laughs breathily as you pull his head onto your lap. His eyelids are so heavy but he keeps them open just enough to see you. A grin spreads over his face but you can see from his weepy eyes that he is in pain that you could never imagine. 

“I’ve made so many bad choices in life,“ he wheezes.

You look down at him and gently caress his bloodstained cheek, shaking your head, “No, no, no- Kaeya, you- everyone makes bad choices, it wont ever stop me-”

He cuts you off, coughing violently, blood and spit sputtering on his paling lips. “I hurt people, and I lie, and I never apologise”

You whimper, small tears pitter pattering onto his nose from yours. You don’t know what you can say to comfort him. Then you feel a cold hand clutch yours. It shakes as he brings it to his lips.

“But i got one thing right“ he kisses your knuckles, leaving prints of his lips in blood like lipstick, “And that’s enough for me“

And just like that the warmth in his face fades and the pressure around your fingers loosens. You are left mourning, unknowing of the redhaired man nearing you, too late to help you.

Diluc

“Please spare them,“ Diluc shouts from behind you, “They’re innocent! They have no collusion with me.”

He makes stern eye contact with you as if to say ‘don’t say a word’. The man beside you grips your should tightly, making you wince.

“Oh you mean to say that this... person has no link to the crimes? And therefore should not be executed?“ Dottore grins.

Diluc furrows his eyebrows at the horrid man before nodding.

“And in doing so you acknowledge that you are in fact the perpetrator of said crimes... And as such accept to take their place in execution?“ Oh he was having fun with this.

You squirm in his grip but it’s futile.

“And you promise to let them go if i do?“ he asks, eyes quickly glancing at you in concern.

“You have my word,“ the Doctor smirks. Did he really mean that, or was he simply playing with you both.

And like that you are pushed away, into the iron grip of two other fatui members as your lover marches quietly, unquiveringly, towards his awaiting death. 

You are made to watch and the redhead is forced to his knees, arms behind his back as a sword gently skims across his neck mockingly. His eyes close in acceptance but he still worries for you.

“I should not worry about the meddler, Dark Knight Hero. They mean nothing compared to two Ragnvindrs“

Diluc lets out a shaky sigh as he hears you struggling.

“Diluc please- don’t! I love you, please don’t do this for me“

But despite your howls, not a moment later the sword is pulled back before it lunges forward. It cuts your love’s head clean from his body and he falls messily to the ground.

Dottore laughs and plucks the head from the floor. 

“Leave them. They serve no other purpose nor entertainment.“

The Doctor takes his head but the body is left before you, seeping blood into the grass. And you cant find it in yourself to do anything but lay beside him, head on his chest, pretending that nothing had changed; he was fine and you were sleeping like just that morning.

Venti

Venti knew better that to steal the freedom of anyone. So how could you ever expect him to let you die. In his years, he’s never met anyone more deserving of life than you. To even think of you fading away while he persists was a crime to him. 

Which is why, even as you weakly beg him to stop trying, he still continues to throw as much of his life force into you. The divine glow that had once surrounded him grows faint but you feel your lungs begin to reconstruct and the blood start to seep back into your wounds. 

The moment ends suddenly when he collapses against you, wheezing against your chest, now pale and all too tired. He is cold when his shaky hand clasps yours. He tells you, through laboured breaths,

“You deserve to live... to be- to be free. I could no.... not live without you.“

“Please promise me you’ll... try to live without me, (Y/N)“

Albedo

Albedo can feel the skin on his bones flake away like slate as he falls to his knees in front of you. The other Albedo does the same, both afflicted with the same injuries. Both Albedos share an incredulous look at their wounds, coughing up blood. 

One is a golden colour.

Your Albedo clutters to the floor in a heap, turning weakly to face your legs, shaking as you stand there unmoving in shock. 

With no care for himself he asks, “Are you ok?” He knows the answer but he wants to assure himself that he’s done the right thing. 

You hastily shake your head, crashing to your knees, skin scraping agains the cold jagged rocks of the mountain. “No! No I’m not ok- You’re dying Albedo!”

You press a torn piece of fabric against the opening of the sword but he pushes your hands away, knowing it would only make the bleeding faster. He takes your hand.

“Please don’t cry. It’s no use... Just lay with me for a moment... Just a moment.“

You lay beside him, forehead against his, mindful of the hilt pressing agaisnt his chest. 

“Help’s gonna come, i promise.“ you sniffle, kissing his knuckles. They are bone white.

But no matter how long you both lay there no one comes. And you watch in horror as the humanity slips from Albedo’s body, leaving him nothing but a statue of chalk. 

When you are finally found, it was hard for people to believe that the statue had not always been there. It sickened you to believe that it would remain there forever.

Xiao

Everything had transpired so quickly in that small time. At one time you were fighting along side Liyue, and then the next you were tackled to the floor, an arrow narrowly missing your head. 

Xiao grunts and holds his side, still standing in front of you. Only now you notice the huge gash that slashed across his stomach. It oozed steadily, his once white shirt stained red. 

He didn’t even realise it at first.

“Xiao! Don’t try to be a hero! Please you’re hurt.“ you reason with him. But of course, Xiao does not welcome such sentiments.

He turns to look at you, perplexed. Had he really been this hurt? He hadn’t realised. He was too focused on you to feel the searing pain that oozed out oof his side. As if it had all happened suddenly, he slipped against the wall, still fighting to keep himself upright as he stared at you. 

You nodded to say you were ok, an answer to his unsaid question. You wished he was more worried about himself, but then again Xiao was never very keen on the idea of his health anyway.

So in the most Xiao way he pushes himself up to continue the fight- to charge his spear through the imposing enemies that were closing in on you both.

He puts on a stoic face for you but you both know that, with the injuries he has, he wont last much longer. And just like that, he stands long enough to see the foes fade away before he falls into your waiting arms. 

He isn’t afraid of this moment- in truth he yearned for it for years before meeting you. But of all ways to go, he knew this had to be the most honourable of all. He felt finally satisfied in your grasp. Yes, dying in your place was surely the best choice he had ever made.

Tartaglia

Chillde knew that it would one day be the thing to kill him. The Doctor had warned him that one more prolonged use of the delusion would prove fatal.

You found this out the hard way- as he fumbles out of his Foul Legacy form, choking on the blood and phlegm stuck in his lungs, and stumbling to his knees to catch his breath. He knows it’s useless. So when you race up to him, holding him steady and yelling at him worriedly for his negligence, he just smiles cheekily at you. 

“You’re so cute where you’re mad,“ he sighs softly, squeezing your hand as he collapses into your chest. 

“You’re an idiot, Ajax!“ you cry in frustration, “I always knew it would happen but god- not now- i just thought we’d have longer... “

He smiles sadly up at your face, feeling your tears drip onto his own cheeks, slivering down his neck. “Please don’t be sad. I hate it when you’re sad-”

“I can’t help it- you’re dying!“ you whine, “You’re literally fading in my arms. I dont know what i’m doing- you’re so subborn sometimes.“

“What am i going to tell your family? Teucer?“

His bright eyes fade a little at your words. He didn’t ever think you’d react so passionately to his death. He wanted to tell you about how he had sorted a generous fund for his family- and you. But he really could not comfort you with that. He didn’t worry because he would not be there to see the fallout.

“Teucer’s a smart kid. They all understand the risk- and the way i see it, i’d do it 1000 times over- if it meant i’d die to save you“

“Think about how sad Teucer would be if it was you who died“ he breathes out shallowly. “They’ve prepared for mine- but you- you came by surprise, and they all love you- and for you to get ripped away without warning would hurt everyone- including me.“

Zhongli

Zhongli had long since accepted that you would one day die. What he just could not bear to accept was that he was destined to watch you die. From the moment he met you, to the moment he fell in love, to now to this moment. 

The air seemed to stagnate around him, stopping in its tracks. His eyes darted around and he surely knew there were two things in danger, himself and the person he had fallen so helplessly in love with, and only enough time to generate a shield to save one. He realises that this should probably have been a more complicated dilemma but it takes him less than a second to choose to wrap you in his geo energy.

You realise what he’s done very quickly, screaming and trying to run to him, against the forces that attack you both but the shield is too strong. You bang against it desperately, yelping in anguish as you see him face his ultimate destruction.

He gives you a look that at once makes you stop and stare in awe and grief. He stands tall against the attack, glowing a bright gold, so bright all attackers flinch away under it as if it were burning them. 

And then all at once, there is no danger.

And the golden husk that defended you shatters and floats to the floor like singed paper.

And you look around in relief to see that you are safe. There is nothing left to hurt you.

But there is also no Zhongli. There is nothing left where he stood but a pile of dust and the earring that once dangled so serenely from his left ear. You quickly pluck it from the pile, sobbing as you do so, before clutching it to your chest. you wail loudly in despair as he slowly begins to shift across the ground with the breeze, scattering gently over the stone..

Surely this could not have been your lover’s show of erosion? Was he really nothing but earth now? Something so unmovable had become something transitory like dust.

You scramble to gather the dust in your free hand, scrunching it in your shaking fingers and holding it so tight you can feel each grain of him.

You cling to the hope that maybe he is still here. Rocks erode and in time become silt and sand, but they do not disappear completely.

Kaedehara Kazuha

Kazuha finds himself facing the Raiden Shogun, her judgement imposing on top of him like a smithing iron. In that moment he is reminded greatly of his friend. 

He could have given you up. He could have let you take the blame for your own actions.

So why didn’t he? You ask yourself that a lot.

And the answer to him is simple,

He cares a whole awful lot more about your life than he does his own.

And that is perhaps the biggest reason he is not scared when he is faced with the sword that glows purple as it begins to charge. 

“Do you have anything to say in your last moment Kaedehara Kazuha?“ the puppet asks.

He shakes his head, though his heart beats with echoes of ‘i love you.... please dont be sad.’

Thoma

Thoma was not the same after that. You doubt he remembers you, let alone what he did. Does he remember he once possessed a vision? Does he remember the feeling of loving you, or how it felt to be simply in your presence.

So many questions run through your head as you approach the man who stood in the courtyard. He seeingly looks into the space in front of him, without seeing anything at all. Only when you get close to him does he shake off the stare. He gives you a polite smile before continuing his thoughts.

“What are you thinking about?“

“I’m not completely sure.“

“What do you mean?“

“I feel like im missing something- like i’ve forgotten something on my shopping list.“

“Sometimes i feel like that“ you hum.

“Like you’re not completely whole, or that you forgot your shopping list?“ he remarks. He almost seemed the same in that moment but you knew from his look that he didn’t know who you were.

“Both. Increasingly the first one.“ you give him a look, “I lost someone- a big part of me- and i don’t think i’ll ever be myself again.“

“I- i think i lost something too.“

You take a breath, “Thoma do you remember me?”

He shakes his head; though sad, he still smiles at you.

“I dont think that’s what it is though- at least not completely“

You feel your heart crack at that.

“I don’t remember who you are, or what you do, or what we did. But“ he turns to you and gently nudges your shoulder, 

“I remember that i loved you.“

[carefulfears]

The way Scully puts her fingers to her mouth when Mulder is rambling about his mom’s message and she has to tell him she killed herself are u kidding me !!&!!’@:’!!! It’s DESTROYING her to tell him 😭😭😭😭 I love that she stayed the night and didn’t even change clothes, even when Skinner came her first thought is always to protect Mulder 😢

(x) she literally just has to sit there and listen to him and know that she’s going to have to stay steady and tear his whole world down. break his heart. take away his only sense of hope and method of coping in a lifetime of loss and neglect and abuse. you can watch it break her, on her face, in her voice.

this is the dirty work of “you were my friend and you told me the truth.” scully loves so bravely.

and she doesn’t know if he’ll be okay. she doesn’t know what this will do to him. she doesn't know what this will do to their life, to her life. but she gives him truth anyway, because that’s how they love. because that’s what he needs, it’s what he’s been denied for so long.

it’s easy to forget sometimes as an audience, how precarious and unsteady mulder is. the show reminds us. it shows us a weepy prayer in the church of a god he does not believe in, in conduit. it shows us shaking hands clawing through dirt and tattered fabric, in paper hearts. it shows us a finger on a trigger, in demons. but scully doesn't forget. scully knows, through every bad joke and wacky theory, what they're really doing, what's at the root of it all.

after seven years, she walks into his dark apartment. she does not try to turn on a light, as she had earlier in the episode. she sits down. she listens. she calmly relays clear facts, all of the information that she has. she gets down on the floor and cries. there's something so primal about it, a complete desperation and lack of pretense. he's spent his whole life both left completely alone in loss, and trying desperately to avoid it, and everything that he has held onto is breaking down around him in this moment. she's falling down into the wreckage next to him, mourning with him, holding onto him tight.

this is what allows for his growth in closure, this is what made it the end of the road.

to me, there are few moments that encapsulate scully's character more than this morning after scene, possibly my favorite sequence of the series.

she's so exhausted, when skinner knocks on the door. she's still wearing her work clothes from the day before. when he asks, "how's he doing?" and she answers, "it's been a hard night for him," her voice is so defeated. she was up all night.

(how different things would be, if there had been just one person, 27 years ago)

when skinner starts to talk about work, scully tries to tell him "no," that it's not a good time, before mulder comes up behind her. as skinner tells mulder that he needs him to go back with him on the case, and he's booked them two flights, scully doesn't move from her spot in front of him. she's blocking him in. you're not getting past her, and she's not moving. (and you're not taking him anywhere without her, as she looks at skinner and tells him he "better book three.")

to bring it back to throat, eye and knucklebone (as i referenced in my previous post):

"She’s been itching to get him locked up in a moving vehicle for days. Rocketing down a highway with her at the helm, where she gets to steer and decide what touches them. For long hours on his couch that night, autopsy hands on his head, in his hair, she’d thought about what it would mean to hide him away. Thought about what it would mean to steal and stash him like fairy treasure, to draw protective rings."

i always think of this passage when it comes to scully's character, there's so much conflict in her desire to protect and guide. in the doorway with skinner, they're standing on the precipice in-between the real world and the safety of his living room floor, where she could cover him.

but ultimately, they have to cross the threshold. she can go with him, but she can't keep him inside (as she will eventually learn through trial and failure).

there's so much grief, in being starbuck. there's so much grief, in the end, in loving someone that you can only follow, you can't steer.

[aconflagrationofmyown]

Ten Minutes -

A Sarge and lil Mama fic

Summary: Elvis just might get jealous of his children, the stove, the ironing board and anything else that has your attention one hectic morning before he has to go to the Army Base

Warnings: 18+- Pregnant sex, housewife kink, cum dumping, tiny bit of 60’s style degradation, people knowing you’re going back in the house for this?! free use if you squint, dry humping a frozen pea package

Pairings: Army Elvis x wife!reader

Universe: Sarge & lil Mama

Circa 1958

“Lil darlin’, I-I’m sorry but I -not even your pancakes are distraction’ me this mornin.”

You paused, baby spoon of apple sauce half lifted to Ella’s tiny mouth and a wad of sausage stuck in your own cheek, to meet your husband’s glassy eyes. You were startled, not by what he said, but by the fact that since you had last glanced at him he had morphed, his face was now flushed, lips slack and eyes swimming -he looked so close to finishing just sitting here squirming at breakfast that you feel a tingle of shock rip through you at the sight.

Some mornings are nice and intimate, some mornings are rushed but satisfying, few morning are luxurious due to his need to be at the base early, but occasionally there are mornings like this one -where the babies didn’t sleep for you during the night, he didn’t sleep well either and every second of your waking hours this dawn is spent getting him ready for the day and preparing for the horde of relations and fans bound to flood in as soon as he returns this evening. It’s not ideal and you weren’t unaware of his longing looks but after his initial declining of your offer to have you while you changed the babies’ nappies -well, you had assumed he was too tired to want it that much.

But Elvis Presley, for all his raw need and traditional entitlement to your “yittle cunt” was a caring young man, he saw you worked off your feet and the way you were breastfeeding a baby while flipping pancakes and he knew that it was a bad time, all morning it had been a bad time. And he really tried to tell himself he could go one single morning without release. He had broken a pill addiction, he’d sweated it out and gone manic in the nights and still showed up for duty, surely, surely he could leave for once without being buried inside you.

But watching you capably swivel around your duties, swollen belly lush beneath your apron and pair of heels on, breast hanging out of your dress as his clueless child got to suck on those gorgeous nipples of yours, minutes ticking by and his ride to base about to arrive…he had gripped his fork harder and tried not to let it bother him that you seemed fine about being left empty for the morning. He had told you he’d be fine, he ought to have been fine.

But the babies were getting your attention, the stove was getting your attention, hell!- his ironed slacks got your attention but he was left to scarf down pancakes without so much much as a momentary brush of contact. Lack of sleep was making him testy, then testy turned nearly weepy as his deadline drew near.

You looked so soft and nurturing in your little domain that the once small interest his cock took in the proceedings had grown exponentially, watching you lean over the table with your generous bust displayed as you poured him orange juice and flashed him sleepy smiles, asking him about what he had planned for the day -as if he wasn’t struck mute and pussy dumb.

Now the zipper of his slacks was scraping the skin of his retracting

foreskin and he’d take a million sermons from you about the importance of wearing briefs if you would just, -touch him somehow. So he broke, broke down and admitted he couldn’t distract himself enough to prevent him waddling out of here with a flag poll between his legs. So you stared back at him in confusion, trying to decipher his meaning in the half minute allotted you before-

-Just then the sound of a car horn blared outside, his signal to leave, making you both jolt and the friction of it made him whimper, his first thudding against the table causing the babies’ eyes to widen at the sound.

Your eyes scanned from his own glassy ones down beneath the table, to the sizable tent in his khaki pants and you let out a gasp at the way Little Elvis was visibly twitching in fruitless need against his fly, a tiny dark spot forming on the light fabric from his weeping cockhead.

“Oh daddy, you shoulda told me.” you whimpered in sympathy, eyes locking with his burning one’s, apple sauce sliding off the forgotten spoon and down to the table with a splat. “I-it’s time to go, you’ll be late…”

Elvis may be the man of the house, he may have seen to your every want and provision, he may have chosen your haircut and your exercise regimen, but you were commander in chief of mobilizing the troops. If it were not for your punctuality and stern discipline in this regard, the Presley’s would never arrive anywhere within the range of punctuality. He depended on you for this firmness and it was the first true taste of power he gave you in your admittedly imbalanced relationship.

“Oh lord, we gotta get you calmed down!” you wring your hands and his eyes grew wide at your denial of his need and before he could protest, you hopped up from your seat and booked it to the freezer. Pulling out a pack of frozen peas you came back to your astounded man and placed them in his lap, kissing away the hissing cry he let out as the frigid pack landed home on his crotch.

“I’m gonna go out and tell the Major you’ll be in the drive shortly, I’ll buy you time till that little problem calms down, alright?” you were very earnest and grown up right now, kissing his sweaty forehead while holding his chin in your hand and it sunk in for him at that moment that you still craved an escape.

Abashed by the incredulous and almost angry set of his features, you glanced down to his problem and noticed how both his legs bounced beneath his clenched fists, no doubt trying to distract himself but only succeeding at bouncing the veggies against him, adding to the friction.

“Honey,” he said very low and slow, as if trying to impress a fact of life upon, “this ain’t a boo-boo, it ain’t gonna go away like that-“

“I can’t let you be late!” you wailed and his eyes started towards the babies in concern for their witnessing you raise your voice.

“I am not going out there like this-“ he swore, to himself or to you or to the army you didn’t know, but he looked near ready to cry himself, frantic red splashed across his cheeks and throat swallowing thickly.

“I know, I know,” you soothed, glancing towards the door as a more insistent set of blaring came from outside, “just, just try to think about cleaning latrines or diapers or something, Elvis, please! Please, we can’t have you being court martialed over this.”

“It’d be worth it!” he snarls, and you back away from him on instinct, slowly shuffling backwards towards the door to make that obnoxious horn shush, innocent eyes watching as something vicious takes over your husband’s face at your abandonment. As you put a clammy hand on the door handle, signifying your intentions, his lip curls up in cruel derision and you watch horrified as his lithe body undulates off the seat, hips spearing upwards in a calculated pump, the crinkly bag of peas clasped to his crotch. It was obscene and inflammatory and he leers at you cruelly as you fling the front door open, nearly suffocated by the weight of his glare.

“What about the babies?” he hollers after you as you step over the threshold into the early morning sunshine, suddenly outraged and switching tactics at you abandoning your family to stop his commanding officer from walking in on him putting on an unseemly display with a bag of vegetables. -Like you were the villain here.

“They’re strapped into the high chairs, they’ll be fine!” you assure him, trying to keep your voice unaffected by lust and pausing halfway out the door to look back at him, still glowering from his seat at the kitchen table, legs spread wide in the chair, eyes fiery and dark and the front of his pants wet from thawed frost.

Married though you were, your patience taxed though it often was, petulant though he could be, nothing could cloud your appreciation for that sight and the sheer eroticism that glowed from your man when he was revved up. It shimmered around him like an aura of desire and seemed to make his surroundings shrink and tremble from his ravenous energy. You spun away from his hypotonic stare and the suffocating closeness of your little home, shutting the door to block it out before your knees buckled and he got his way.

You swish your way down the short drive to the gate and buzzed it open, allowing the Major and his car to roll on in, a greeting on his tongue and an inquiry as to where his recalcitrant sergeant was.

“He’s coming right out!” you state confidently as he braked near the door, “I’m afraid baby Jesse dumped a bottle in his lap right as you pulled up.” and you laughed gaily as if at a funny memory, and that made the Major laugh too, because you were a pretty woman laughing and it was the polite thing to do.

More polite than unabashedly admiring the way your breasts jiggled from your mirth or how your cheeks seemed flushed and warm, like maybe you’d just been made love to, or embarrassed within an inch of your life. Elvis Presley was a lucky sod and the Major may have envied his younger subordinate but he didn’t dare try anything more than polite chit chat a good four feet apart from you.

It takes all your self possession not to scuff your shoes in a nervous tick as the moments go by and Elvis doesn’t show, his Major eyeing you up and making the most insane small talk all the while, his eyes drifting to the front door.

“Maybe I should go check on him.” you mutter, voice tight in embarrassment and full of nervousness as to what you would find in your kitchen

The Major nods encouragingly and you scamper up the walk and into your house. You haven’t much time to shut the door behind you before you register Elvis’ still sat in his seat and chewing a pancake, it gives you a swooping feeling that whatever is about to occur will be a first in your relationship. You lean back against the door in a slump and take in his cool and powerful demeanor, army jacket still slung over the chairback and tie not fully cinched, and you know for a certainty that somehow you’ve overstepped.

“You scared of me?” he asks, voice low like a rumble and it contrasts with his soft face, such a large voice for so gentle a man. But there is no anger in it, just a demand for truth.

You ponder his question, realising that there were times that you felt anxious around him, a symptom of learning him still while he had studied you for years. But, “No, sir!”, you did not fear him. There was no doubt in your mind that he would never harm you.

“Alright.” he nods, face schooled into neutral pensiveness, “Then dontchu ever run from me again, lil girl. My woman doesn't run from me, am I understood?” he didn’t need to raise his voice to make you, and plenty braver men than you, shudder and nod obediently. “Here’s how this is gonna go,” he eyes the way you clutch your skirt hem in your hands, balling it up nervously and exposing your knees while at it, “you’re gonna go out there and tell the Major I’ll be driving myself. And he’s not to object, you’re to convince him, and then you’re gonna come back inside where you belong and take care of my ‘lil problem’. Ya hearin’ me, mama?”

“I hear ya, daddy.” you whisper, knees knocking briefly just from anticipation and he doesn't fail to notice it, palms the thawed pack over himself while giving you the first genuine grin you’ve seen all morning.

“Go’on now.” he points to the door like you’re a puppy and swallowing thickly around a numb tongue you do as you’re told, you go out again and tell the Major that your husband has suddenly grown an affinity for taking a cab through the German streets to base. That he’ll make up the ten minutes that may put him behind. You offer no excuse, there’s none to give, your flaming face probably says it all. You distract yourself from his scrutiny by the sight of that old busybody neighbor watching your interaction through her binoculars. The Major is concerned that he’s done something to offend and the moments tick by and you grow more and more weary standing in the drive dumbly shrugging off his questions as you feel the babies kicking inside you and your own slick starting to slide down you leg, your well trained kitty already preparing for your husband the second he said he was gonna have you.

The front door swings open causing you both surprise and a very smiley and smarmy Elvis comes to provide reinforcements, just in his pants and shirt, good mornin’ing the Major as you watch his body buzz imperceptibly.

“Where’s the other parts of your uniform, Sergeant Presley?” the Major asks him with amused patience.

“My cover is in the dryer, sir, just ten minutes’all it’ll need.”

“You put a hat in the dryer?”

“Yessir.” he grins whitely, loping his arm around your waist and tugging you closer to him, hand splayed on your lower belly and it’s like he might as well be fingering you, your pussy contracts and jolts so strongly at his touch. “Baby Ella spilled her juice on it.” and he makes a little motion of benevolent exasperation as if to say: babies, who can tame ‘em?

“Mrs. Presley said it was your pants.” the Major wasn’t a stupid man and he liked Elvis well enough to make life a little hard for him.

“Did she now?” your husband exclaimed, “Aww well, no, no uh, it was the hat, alright, she gets a lil fuzzy headed sometimes sir, don’t ya, sweetheart?.”

“Yes Elvis.” you felt like you were spiraling somewhere high in the deep blue yonder with the feel of him pressed against you and his fingertips rubbing suggestive circles on your hipbone.

“Sergeant Presley.” the Major is grave.

“Yessir?”

“Hats are meant to get wet.”

Elvis shuffles behind you a little as he adjusts his grip on your waist and you are certain it is to hide the front of pants. “Yessir, course sir, but, but it’s also ma jacket, sir.”

“Oh no, your jacket!” the Major's face gleams with sympathy, “No soldier should ever have to wear a wet jacket. General Paton said so himself once.”

There is a pause and a eyeing up between the two men over your little head, Elvis now entirely behind you and his chin digging into the top of your scalp as he rests it on your head. You train your eyes at the upstairs window of your neighbors house and the watching figure in it.

“How long will this jacket take to dry?” the Major broke first.

“Fifteen minutes, sir, checked the dial right before I came out.”

“Sure you did.” the Major smiled, “Which means with all this chit chat there’ll only be about five left, am I correct?”

“Ten, sir.”

“Eight.”

Elvis shifts behind you again, “Wearin’ a damp jacket is poor recompense for a fella who bought ya an extra pair of fatigues last month-“ your husband never brought up his own generosity and so to do so suggested he was in dire straits.

“Alright, alright, ten minutes!” the Major throws his hands up and jerks open the car door, seating himself inside, “I’ll be waiting” he adds pointedly as your husband barely manages a salute before shuffling you in front of him back to the door posthaste, hands full of your belly and breast.

“Wave to Mrs. Meyer, lil’, don’t forget your manners, I’ve got my hands full.” Elvis giggles behind you and you wave to her and her binoculars while sticking your tongue out just as he pushes you back over the threshold.

The door clicks behind you both and he sighs at having ten minutes alone with the exaggerated curve of your spine and the feel of your lush bum against his cock -while you survey the mess of apple sauce and sweet potatoes the babies have flung at each other while in your absence, it’s on the walls and maybe the carpet and you’ll have to scrub it before anyone comes over and -and you’re being spun and backed against the entryway wall before you can take another step. He towers over you, hands engulfing your shoulders and thumbs meeting at the base of your throat, and the natural respect he elicits as your husband is magnified by the uniform. The causal dominance that pervades his every action is unbearably strong and you both feel the shudder that rips through you, a slight smirk taking over his face at the effect he has on his little wife.

“Now, we got nine and a half minutes, lil mama,” he nuzzles his nose against yours and his thumbs rub up the column of your throat, “and you best not waste it by making your daddy extract an apology from ya. You better give it willin’ and quick.”

“What’d I do?” you whimper, confused and needy, spreading your legs to accommodate him as he crowds you, trying to trap a meaty thigh between them so you can grind.

“You called poor, achey lil Elvis a problem.” he reminds you, pulling away from you and denying you friction as he undoes the plain army belt from around his elegant waist.

Tears prick your eyes as you realize your good intentions were mistaken for reluctance and you’re quick to gasp out, “I’m so sorry daddy, I didn’t mean it that way, just trying to help!”

He hums as he pulls out his cock, the engorged and vibrant length of it looking particularly lewd sticking out of his drab and pressed uniform, “Don’t need to apologize to daddy, lil mama, I knows what you intended and I appreciate ya,” he murmurs real solem and you wait intently for instructions on how to make this right, “But lil Elvis here needs a kiss for bein’ treated like a damn owie when all he’s ever done to you is fill ya up and rub ya real nice. He gets reeealll weepy and small when you’re mean to him.”

You bend so fast to penitently kiss the goey head of his uncut cock that he has to stumble back a bit to give you room. He cries out as your lips smooch his dripping head and he winds his hand in your hair and yanks you off desperately, pressing you to the wall again and devouring your tacky lips with his own. He pulls away from you panting and wild, looking very boyish again now he’s convinced of your own fever, and without a second thought he grips the front of your dress and rips the fastened placket open, buttons flying everywhere. He groans down at the sight of you in heels with your pantyless cunt exposed, a sign of your obedience to his house rules.

“Turn round now,” his voice is gentle but gone beyond rough as he maneuvers you to lean and face the wall, hands splayed against the dry wall and back arched by instinct, “we ain’t got much time, and while it would serve ya right if I left you clenchin’ round nothin I can’t ever be cruel to the likes of you Mrs Presley, so you best be ready for me.”

“Please, daddy, I’m ready.” you lay your burning cheek against the cool drywall, feeling him flip up the scrap of skirt still left, and you watch out of the corner of your eye as the babies knock the remaining food off their trays.

“Spread those pretty legs, mama.” the toe of his show nudges your instep and you arch and spread further, readying for the burning plunge of his entry.

What you get instead is a resoundingly loud spank against the sopping wet oasis between your legs and it hits just right, pain and pleasure enough for you to shudder and gush through your folds and down your legs to his immense delight.

“Now that’s for being a hypocrite.” he crows and he is suddenly prying something between your stiff fingers and the wall, you realise in a daze it’s his watch. “You count the minutes out to me, alright?” he commands, splaying the hand wet from your cunt across your belly as he does indeed push inside you this time, and it makes you spasm, barely able to hold yourself upright from the feel of him pushing through the fluttering aftershocks of your petite orgasm. The squelch is deafening in the quiet house and it’s all the assurance he needed, his tone cocky as he bottoms out,

“Actin’ like I’m a damn imposition when you’ve got a ‘lil problem’ yourself. And I do mean little, this tiny pussy is a greedy little menace, make no mistake.” he sets a hard and deep pace that is meant to make him burst in under eight minutes, and you take it like he’s taught you to, with deep breaths and moans and a constant irrepressible clenching of your vaginal walls, “Hell, baby, you’re gushin’ so bad I can hardly stay in, why, the Major was liable to smell ya you’re so oiled.”

“I-I-I wanted you!” you wail in protest through the rough smacking of his hips against your butt, “I really did. I-I always do, I-I just d-didn’t want it to reflect badly on you.”

“I know, I know, real sweet of ya.,” he coos in your ear, hot breath tickling your neck as he grunts and huffs from exertion, “But peas baby? Really?”

“I didn’t know-“

“You’d don’t know much of nothin’ but how to take cock.” he chuckles at your answering whine, his large hands wandering ceaselessly over your wobbling curves.

Your legs start to give out from the overstimulation, having hit your peak too soon and now being subjected to a merciless battering of your sweet spot, you mewl out the passing minutes and claw at the wall. Your obvious desperation sends a thrill through him, egging him on through his burning thighs to give you all he’s got before the clock runs out.

“Little problem” he mimics your own voice mockingly in your ear, but it’s huffy as he’s getting worn down too, “little problem. A-a-anything about t-t-this feel little, sweetheart?” he jams himself in deep as you howl, bent at the waist and scratching the paint, head hung between your shoulders as you try to endure the horrifyingly delicious ordeal.

“Elvis, Elvis, Elvis,” you chant, eyes going fuzzy as you stare down at your shoes.

“Almost, honey, almost,” he whines himself, arm coming around your chest and hauling you upright against him, like his own little doll as he mouths at your cheek and ruts up inside you desperately. “Bein’ so good, so good for me, good lil wife like always. Don’t make ‘em like you no more, I got a keeper and, oh Lord Jesus help me I can’t breath, goddamn baby, I -uh, uh uh, huh, uh,”

You throw your arm back and grip his ass, pulling him deep and the drag of him makes you jolt, “C’mon daddy, show me I did good, give me that cream, gonna be raw without it.”

He sounds like he’s choking, burning hand squeezing your bare breast so hard a little milk dribbles out over his knuckles and he bucks up into you deep, so deep and it’s the most blissful feeling being the cause of this complete loss of control on his part as you feel the soothing splatter of his cum paint your walls.

He staggers back into the opposite wall with you still limply impaled, your heels scuffing the floor, and you both pant, his cheek smushed against yours and his hands cradling your full belly. “How’s that now?” he wheezes and you grin at his need to keep the upper hand after the pathetic amount of mewling he just let out, “You all full’n happy now, hmm?”

You nod shyly and take a hand from your belly and guide him down to your dripping foldings and you both hum at the heat coming from the poor abused petals. “Swirl it around daddy,” you remind him, “I’ll get all bruised if you don’t spread it around, ‘member what you taught me?”

“Mhmm, yeah, gotta spread it round, that’s right.” he swirls his exiting spend around your puffy cunt and he gives your little bud one last pat with his broad palm before pulling his cock out fully and picking your boneless body up in his arms.

He lays you on the couch tenderly, eyeing the torn dress falling off your ripe figure, and his heart swells at your sweet acceptance of him, the way you look content and knowing lying there wrecked and oozing. A building little cry from the high chairs snaps him out of his daze, reminding him of the ticking clock and the rest of the world outside of your warm eyes. He bends down and kisses you firmly, a quick but unmistakable show of thanks.

“I’ll get her.” you tell him, making to haul your jellied self off the couch.

“No, no stay, I’ll bring ‘em to ya.” he pushes your shoulder back down softly, trying to wrestle his pant fly closed as he makes his way towards the babies.

“There’s an extra pair of pressed trousers hanging in the laundry room.” you murmur through your tingly haze at the sight of his drenched slacks.

He gives you a grin of his own and shucks off the ruined pants halfway across the kitchen, hobbling with them to the adjoining laundry room, warbling to Ella which predictably makes her hush her crying for a brief moment to watch him pass in infantile astonishment.

“How’m I doin’ mama?” you hear him holler over the sound of the kitchen faucet running, he having stripped the babies of their sweet potato covered onesies and chosen to carry them at arms length to the sink, one by one, and hosing them off there.

“Thirty four seconds, Sarge.”

He appears over the back of the couch, a wet and naked baby in each elbow crook, his shirt sticking to his chest from their dampness, and you laugh at the hopelessness of the Major believing any of your excuses. “Here’s the lil critters.” he plops them on your exposed chest and you clutch them to you as they start to root around for a nipple, never satisfied.

He tugs on his jacket and cinches his tie, smoothing his hair back, hat clutched in his hand and he looks so very presentable striding over to you while you’re here in disarray, covered in children, cum and fabric scraps.

He pauses beside the couch to survey the pile of humans he loves, “Never seen’a prettier sight in all my life.” he whispers earnestly and you know he means it, all teasing gone.

You stretch your hand out to give him his watch back and his fingers linger over yours as he takes, and it thrills you like it’s the first time. “See ya later, soldier.” you whisper against his lips as a car horn blares outside.

[enam3l]

love, lola / chapter nine pt.1 / going solo (5.7k)

Eddie’s arrived in California, leaving you behind, to start his new life as a rockstar.

thank you for 1.2k of you kind angels!!!??? and thank you guys for your patience, life has been hectic with work and school and after the anniversary of eddie’s death (but not in this fic baby) i thought fuck it imma post what we got for chapter 9 - I hope it’ll all be worth the wait

a/n: sex drugs and rock and roll - no fr there is graphic sex here

series masterlist / follow #enam3l love lola for instant updates / my other work / now available to read on AO3!

comment for tag list. requests open for prequel stories.

California is too fucking hot. That is what Eddie Munson has learnt since moving. Far too hot for hair like his and definitely far too hot to stay hidden behind the safety of his leather jacket. After years of the mind numbing mundanity of Hawkins, Eddie was propelled into the fast pace L.A. mindset. Each morning for a moment his heart hammered, wondering where he was until the palm trees outside the window reminded him it definitely wasn't Indiana. The apartment the record label had set him and rest of Kraven up in was definitely not the trailer - maybe the size of every single one in the park combined.

So far, everyone had been nice; a niceness you're not usually privy to when you're known as 'The Freak'. Kraven were excited he accepted the offer and their label and manager had heralded him the hero of the hour. But a nagging part of Eddie couldn't ignore the feeling that this wasn't really his band, he was a replacement. There was a brotherhood between the bandmates long before his arrival and it's hard to ever truly assimilate with a bond like that. Regardless, he was there, escaped the confines of his small town and now living the dream of becoming a rockstar. This was always the fantasy, wasn't it?

September 2nd 1986

For the first time in his life, Eddie is sat in a real life, high tech, actual recording studio. A far cry from Gareth’s egg box insulated garage. An egg shaped chair swallows him whole which feels tediously symbolic of his time so far in California. Everything is much bigger than him. As the band and producers play him the demos they have already, with hopeful looks on their faces, he resorts to anxiously twisting the rings on his fingers. They're a tangible reminder of home. He thumbs them in order. Skull. Pig. Cross and bones. Mom's. But now there's a new edition - yours. 

It made its way onto his finger as you said your final goodbyes in the airport terminal and it hasn't left since. Between runny noses and weepy eyes, Eddie frowned as you withdrew from a hug that had already lasted several minutes (which was still not long enough). 

'I have something for you, Teddy,' you confess as you sift through your bag. 

'You already threw the party, sweetheart. Whatcha wasting money on me for?' He sighs. 

The protests were not what you wanted clearly as he's met with a silencing finger until you finally found what you were looking for. Now you chew your lip anxiously, fumbling with a little velvet pouch. 

'It's not for going away... it's - well, I gathered, this will be the first time since we met that we've not spent our birthdays together...' 

Eddie's stomach drops, he had not gathered that. 'Oh...' he murmurs.

'So, I thought I'd give you your present now. I guess. If that's okay?' 

Totally thrown, he only blinked and nodded. Taking his hand, you lay his palm out flat and shake the pouch until Eddie hears a little clinking, then feels cool metal on the skin. 

'It's the big 2-1, y'know. I wanted us to have something special. I couldn't think of anything to buy. But, I - uhhh - I could think of something to make.' 

Finally, he moves and inspects your gift closer. Two silver rings, perfectly imperfect. Carefully, he spins them round until he can finally see what the feature of them is. It causes him to gasp and you to resort to nervously stumbling over your words. 

'I was taking a silversmithing class at college and I was thinking about your rings and then I thought I could make you one. Then I thought I could make us some. Matching ones. For our birthdays. It's silly. They're not professional or anything. Y'know a little wonky. Just thought it'd be nice...'

Eddie balls his fist up, clutching the precious contents and closes his eyes to swallow up a sniffle. One ring has E for Eddie on, the other identical except for your initial. 

'Wonky? Y/N... they're perfect. This is, holy shit, this is the most amazing thing anyone has ever given me...'

The compliment makes your insides fizz. 

'Are you sure? I mean, I was gonna tidy them up more but when you were in hospital. When I went back to New York... I brought them back with me. Just incase... y'know...'

Just incase Eddie never made it to his 21st is the unspoken ending to that sentence that you both understand. Eddie takes your hands in his and squeezes. The rings shielded by your conjoined palms. 

'Thank you, sweetheart. Thank you... put it on me! Go on! Make me your little hand model m!'

As usual, Eddie's theatrics ease the tension and force you into giggles. 

Carefully, you slide the E ring over Eddie's finger. He prompts you to place it on the bare one next to where his Mom's old ring resides. Then, he takes your hand and delicately places your own ring onto the matching finger. To the rest of the people in the airport, it must've looked like the exchanging of vows between two lovers being forced apart. Really, they wouldn't have been entirely incorrect. 

‘So what do you think man?’

Eddie breaks his daze to be met with a room of hopeful eyes. 

‘Huh?’ He murmurs. 

‘The demos!’ The manager Chris encourages, ‘for the album! These are what the guys have put down so far. Love em?’

Eddie’s brain stumbles over what will be the correct thing to say. The songs bad? God no, there was a reason the bad were signed. But were they what he would do? Not really. It was clear they were angling as more commercially marketable, less niche like metal, a more digestible rock. Taylor was more Iggy than Ozzy. 

‘Yeah, yeah they’re tight,’ Eddie scrambles, praying he didn’t appear rude. 

Already though, his brain has calculated how he would rearrange each element of the songs, what lyrics he’d tweak, how he’d make it his own - but he has to remind himself that’s not why he’s here.

‘We want a single out for Christmas. Make a big splash over the festive season. Hit the talk shows, the radios. Get you boys out there. Build up the hype for a Valentine’s album release,’ Chris cheerfully continues.   

‘But don’t forget, none of these songs are finalised,’ a rough voice from the corner of the room interrupts Chris’ ambitions. 

Riz, the producer, sits like the mastermind behind the console in his swivel chair. His skin weathered and tanned, littered with scribbled tattoos not unlike Eddie’s own. Tired eyes that have seen too many young ambitious bands and their teams come in and out of his studio, are concealed by thin tinted glasses. A mane of salt and pepper curls, some formed into dreads cascade past his broad shoulders. A real old school rocker. 

‘Oh well, yes, yes of course,’ Chris fumbles, ‘plenty of room for your inputs Eddie.’ 

It’s clear Chris is entirely intimidated by Riz’s presence. His clean cut Armani suited self a direct contrast to the producer’s rough look. One is the face, the other is the real brains.

‘Speaking of, Chris, why don’t you take Taylor, Spike and Keith to lunch. Use that gold card the label bestowed upon you whilst me and Eddie get accompanied?’

Eddie shoots round to look at Riz, used to his name being called out as the signal he’s in trouble. But when he meets his eyes, they only offer warmth and a small smirk; something Eddie had yet to see him crack so far. 

‘Oh are you sure?’

‘Yeah, yeah, lots of technical things I need to adjust now Eddie is with his. Go on,’ Riz practically shoos Chris out the door. The rest of Kraven following suit, amused by their manager’s nervous babbling. 

Finally, once the door is shut and locked, Riz returns to his throne, spinning round and looking at Eddie expectantly. 

‘Well, come on then,’ he chuckles, smacking his tattooed hand against a leather chair beside him. Eddie immediately scrambles over, Sweetheart safely in her case towing behind him. There’s an awkward silence as Eddie toys with his guitar case, desperate to avoid Riz’s piercing gaze. 

Nonchalantly, Riz swings his feet up onto a nearby stool and reclines in his chair. 

‘So… you hate the songs,’ he chuckles.

Eddie finally looks up to gawp, scrambling for a response. 

‘No, I don’t, it’s not, I never said I-‘

‘It’s cool brother. You’re a metalhead. They aren’t a metal band. They’re not your first choice, no sweat.’ 

Riz, in just a few minutes of knowing each other, has called Eddie’s bluff. The tone in his voice is not anger or judgment, it’s just matter of fact with a hint of amusement. 

‘They’re not my first choice either, sound wise. I’m a lot more old school myself, personally. But, fuck, you know what, those boys got more star power than anyone else who’s been brought to me in the last two decades.’ 

Eddie nods eagerly. There’s a reason he was honoured Kraven had asked him, they were really fucking good and most surprisingly - nice. Riz eyes the boy before him, big brown soulful eyes that scream there’s a story behind them. 

‘I think you’re an old soul like me though, Munson. Let me guess… you’ve got notebooks full of lyrics in that case of yours?’

A beetroot blush flushes Eddie’s cheeks, he’s been rumbled and stutters an agreement. 

‘And I bet you’ve never shown anyone either, huh?’

Two for two. 

‘No, never. They’re all a little… personal,’ Eddie murmurs. 

‘All the best stuff is. So what you’re gonna do is get them out and show me who the musician Eddie Munson really is.’

With an eagle eye, Riz combs through the tattered pages of scrawling lyrics. Words dating back years. The afternoon flies by as Eddie demonstrates the melodies he wrote for each with Riz adding his own input. 

‘Well, Munson. I don’t think Kraven or the label know what they’ve accidentally come across with you,’ Riz scoffs. His fingers gloss over the stacks of song lyrics Eddie’s unveiled. 

‘And you better be marrying this girl you’re writing about. Ain’t heard love songs like this in a lifetime.’ 

The way Eddie nervously shrinks in on himself over his words isn’t lost on Riz, things rarely ever are. 

September 21st 1986

‘TWENTY ONE MOTHERFUCKER’ 

Raucous laughter and cheers manage to erupt over the booming club music. The fine spray of champagne, more expensive than his trailer, soaking Eddie’s curls. The women that had crowded the booth, struggle to get in the stream of booze. Liquid gold dripping from their open mouths and exposed cleavage. No, this was not the usual Munson birthday set up.

Despite attempting to keep his twenty-first birthday a secret, Eddie had been rumbled. Chris’ assistant Sammy had discovered his impending celebration after going through files. That was spilt during bedroom talk with Spike the bass player who she’d been hooking up with. Spike then mentioned a small night with the boys to Taylor and Keith to celebrate, which was overheard by manager Chris. So now due to Chris’ inability for subtlety, the boys found themselves in an exclusive WeHo club, surrounded by bottomless bottles, scantily clad girls and yes men - all courtesy of the label. Eddie was light years away from where he’d usually spend his evenings round humble drama room DnD table or with lukewarm beers in Gareth’s garage.

After three weeks of locking themselves in the studio when the sun had begun to rise, only leaving well after, the band were finally letting loose. The guys had all told Eddie their tales of L.A’s debaucherous rock’n’roll night life; the secret places where other musicians mingled, where dealers made their money and girls got the memorable nights they went looking for. But so far, he’d yet to experience it and now he was, Eddie wasn’t sure it was for him. A rainbow of pills scattered the table without discretion, he could tell they were far better quality than the shit he used to sell. Servers came with an endless supply of bottles, money no question. A far cry from the gruff, stingy bartenders at The Hideout. The clientele is a far cry as well. The girls that had flocked to their booth looked straight off a Hollywood set. One busty blonde sat on a bewildered Chris’ knee, his eyes desperately trying not to focus on the cleavage that bobbed below his chin. Spike was making it clear he and Sammy weren’t exclusive as a brunette and a redhead sat either side of him as they purred in his ear. Taylor had disappeared into the crowd, ever the life of the party, surely feeling the effects of the pills he’d let fizzle on his tongue. Out of everyone, the only person Eddie felt envious of was Keith. 

Nestled happily in the corner of the booth sat Keith and his fiancee Grace, lost in their own little world. The pair had scoffed when a girl had tried to luck with Keith, knowing hell would freeze over before he left Grace. High school sweethearts who had made it work as he’d followed the path of wannabe rockstar. She was no eager groupie or ditzy model, Grace was a lawyer; officially Kraven’s lawyer. Put together, fierce and completely soft on Keith - reminding Eddie of you. Although, they were a real couple, best friends and lovers, exactly what Eddie had failed in making the two of you. When they whispered private jokes or sleepy appeared from their bedroom, his heart panged with envy. Mind racing with questions of how they managed to make it work. Who made the first move? How did they know it was mutual? How did they know it wasn’t a mistake? All the questions he fretted over when his lips burnt with desperation to meet yours.

Eddie’s wishful gaze is interrupted by a sudden touch to his thigh. Eyes wide with confusion, his head spins round and are met with a fluttering pair staring right back at him. The stranger’s fingers tucking rogue curls behind his ear causes Eddie to freeze. A touch too intimate to receive from anyone but you or his family. 

‘Your hair is nearly as long as mine,’ the girl drawls. Long nails still trailing up his shredded jeans and now up his exposed bicep. Whether she hadn’t noticed Eddie’s bewildered look or had just chosen to ignore it, the girl pressed on.

‘The boys told me you're the new lead guitar… I think you’re definitely an upgrade, honey.’

Eddie gulps, Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. So far he had been able to avoid interacting with these legendary California girls. Throwing himself into rehearsals with the band and his own late sessions with Riz long after the rest of the guys go home. Women weren’t on his radar. Everyone dull in comparison to the shine he knows radiates off you. 

‘Urm, thanks,’ he mumbles, trying to squirm out of her grasp.

‘And he’s a little shy?’ She giggles, ‘sooo cute.’  

Eddie’s eyes, wide like saucers, scan the surroundings rapidly, desperate to escape this uncomfortable encounter. He wasn’t interest in a hook up, the thought unimaginable and he definitely didn’t want this. He’s desperate for you more than ever now, wishing for your soft touch, wishing it was your tipsy words being whispered in his ear. His birthdays weren’t for sharing with random hookups, they were always reserved for you. After being separated by your college, Eddie was giddy at the thought of getting to spend your birthdays together again. But now you were torn apart again, now even further apart. 

Finally, Eddie spots his opening. The girl leans over to the table to pour another drink, her grip on him loosening. Quickly, he darts up, hopping over everyone’s legs and abandoning the booth as the girl calls after him. Eddie’s feet seem to take him away before his mind is even sure where he wants to go. Hand’s planting on the bar top, causing an unexpecting bartender to jump, Eddie pleas,

‘Is there a phone anywhere I can use?’

The bartender nods, finger jabbing to a corridor beside the toilets. Shouting a thanks behind him, Eddie shoots off in the direction of the promised phones. 

Frantically, he punches in a number he’s known by heart for most of his life. Ringed fingers twist round the cord anxiously and the dial tone hums over the vibrations of the club’s speakers. 

Eddie’s breath hitches as the other end picks up and fumbling can be heard. 

‘H-hello?’ Your sleepy voice croaks. 

It’s the best noise he’s heard since he arrived, better than anything he’s heard in the studio. 

‘Hi,’ he whispers shyly, ‘it’s me, it’s Eddie. I’m sorry, did I wake you?’

Your giggle makes his stomach churn. 

‘I know it’s you, Eds or should I say birthday boy? No, no, it’s okay. I was already awake.’

‘Are you okay? Are you sick?’ He enquires desperately. For a moment, Eddie is sure he hears a hesitation in your voice. 

‘No, no, I - urm, you know, just one of those nights. I’m fine! It’s nice to hear your voice.’

Eddie for once is grateful for the distance that separates you for seeing the blush that spreads across his cheeks. 

‘It’s really nice to hear yours too. I’m sorry I’ve not been keeping up with the calls, it’s all just -‘

You interrupt before he falls into a spiral of apologies. 

‘Eds, it’s fine! You’re a rockstar in training, I don’t expect you to be missing all the fun to be calling me every second.’

‘But, I want to, sweetheart… I wish you were here,’ he sighs. 

‘I wish I was too… but this your adventure. This is everything you’ve ever dreamed of.’ 

Eddie desperately wants to let the alcohol coursing through his system to take ahold of his tongue and confess no, you’re everything I’ve dreamed of. But he doesn’t. Your voice chirps up again, trying to dispel the sad silence that took over the line. 

‘So, how’s your birthday? How is being 21? Are you not out and drowning in booze and those Cali girls?’ You’re chuckling but he doesn’t laugh. 

‘No, no I’m out with the guys. But, urm, no Cali girls. Definitely not.’

Eddie’s not sure if you let out a relieved sigh or it’s just wishful thinking. 

‘You’re out?! Eddie, what on earth are you calling me for!’

Your scolding tone makes him grin. He can picture perfectly how your brows are furrowed and how if you were in front of him your hands would be flailing animatedly. 

‘Cos birthdays are our thing. You’re much better than this club full of fuckin’ posers.’

‘Yeah, they are. Am I now? Are you trying to flatter me, mister?’ 

‘Always, sweetheart.’ 

The pair of you giggle down the phone. His dimpled cheeks aching from the grin you inspire. As the giggles finally subside, Eddie hears you attempt to disguise a yawn and remembers how once again distance keeps you apart. 

‘Guess I should let you get to sleep then, huh sweet?’

‘You should go and enjoy your birthday more importantly!’

Eddie huffs, knowing such a thing is impossible without your presence. 

‘I’ll try… I’ll speak to you soon, promise.’

‘Don’t worry about it, Eds. Whenever you have time!’ 

‘I’ll always have time for you. I’ll make sure I at least call you on your birthday.’

‘You better,’ you sleepily smirk, ‘it’s two days after yours, you’ve got no excuse to forget.’

‘How could I?’

Eddie rakes a hand through his curls, knowing he needs to hang up but it’s too hard to let you go. 

‘Get some sleep, sweetheart. I miss you.’

‘Goodnight Eddie, I miss you too.’ 

The line goes dead and once again the only sound filling his ears is the throbbing base. Trying to replay your words in his head, Eddie flops against the wall. Eyes closed tight as he wishes it was you he was breathing in rather than the cloud of perfume wafting from the women’s bathroom nearby.

It’s only when he can feel a presence beside him does Eddie open his eyes. A woman mirrors his position against the wall but faces him, a wicked glint in her cat-like eyes. Taken aback by her close proximity, Eddie jumps causing her to giggle at his squirming.

‘Whatcha waiting for cutie?’

Eddie continues to shuffle away, the phone your warm voice once echoed out of, now uncomfortably sticking into his back.

‘Was just… just using the phone…’ he murmurs nervously.

‘Oh?’ she cocks her head, auburn waves tumbling, ‘and here I thought you were waiting out here for some fun.’

A slender manicured finger reaches out, tugging at a bewildered Eddie’s bottom lip. He stutters as his brain scrambles for a response. Another awkward round of full frontal flirting from random girls. The thought of supermodel groupies throwing themselves at him was somewhat appealing when he was a raging hormone of a teenager. But even then, you were still in the back of his mind on a pedestal, now you live there front and centre. Eddie recoils from her touch, swatting her hand away.

‘No!’ he surprises himself with the firmness in his voice, ‘M’sorry, not looking for anything.’

The girl scoffs a ‘whatever’, rolling her eyes and flouncing off. Just as Eddie finally feels his body relax, a snigger from the corner catches his attention. A frame steps forward from the shadows. 

A man, also in his twenties, grins an infectious smile that makes Eddie feel a little giddy. Shorter than himself, but broader, tanned muscles that glistened with sweat from dancing.

‘I think she’s a little disappointed,’ the guy chuckles.

‘I really was just using the phone!’ Eddie insists.

Gradually the two move closer towards each other, Eddie drawn in by the piercing pale eyes that never leave him. Despite the corridor being much cooler than the dance floor, heat bubbled between their bodies. 

‘So… Eddie, are you definitely not looking for any kind of fun?’

October 31st 1986

Now in the depths of autumn, the madness of life had only increased. Kraven had found their sound with the addition of Eddie, days spent mastering their sound in the studio. When out of the studio, the boys sat round meeting tables listening to suits spew corporate jargon about their mastermind ideas for selling the band. That was his least favourite part, hearing his existence and passion whittled down to money making schemes. It’s also where Eddie was forced to tackle the idea of fame. Seeing his name in small print under photographs of the band, plastered in pages of music magazines about the next hot thing. Personally, he found it mortifying but Wayne insisted it was proof of him achieving his dreams, whereas you cackled down the phone at the surrealness of it all.

At the end of the day, Eddie buried himself in sheets of paper, attempting to put into words the feelings that brewed inside. Trying to heal the internal wounds the events of the year had left, whilst being a thousand miles from the people who actually understood. Vocalising the sadness he wished he didn’t feel over achieving his dreams of making it but not with his own band. Then as ever, trying to find an outlet for the love he felt for you that bubbled with fervency in your absence and 

with every stolen phone call. Then, a couple of times a week, Eddie would present his lyrics to Riz to make sense of, during after-hours at the studio. A secret project the two of them found themselves falling into outside of Kraven. That was another source of guilt, that his heart and soul weren’t invested in the band in the same way Taylor, Spike and Keith’s were. That he reserved the heartfelt work for himself, letting his real passion erupt during the late night sessions with Riz. 

Then there was another output Eddie found for his pent up frustrations about his overwhelming emotions and suffocating new lifestyle. A way to let go in a way that didn't leave him ashamed as if he had betrayed you. The guy at the club on his 21st birthday had opened up possibilities that Hawkins had limited. Small town life was oppressive, he didn’t need the rumour mill buzzing with fresh stories that the satanist Munson was also a sodomist. Whilst Taylor and Spike drowned in girls, Eddie became comfortable seeking out something else in the bars and clubs they’d frequent. It was easier, less intimate. He didn’t need to worry about coy teasing, didn’t need to exchange names and take girls home. Eddie could find release down the back of another guy's throat, quick and hot in dark corners and back allies. He was unsure if his bandmates had realised and was anxious that they’d reject him for it but that was another issue forced to the back of his mind, stored in another box overflowing with anxieties. 

Halloween was decided as a good marketing angle for the band. Their name added to the line up of hot new rock bands performing at an infamous West Hollywood Halloween party. Something thrown by a record executive’s tabloid covering daughter that had become notorious enough to be spoken about on MTV. Eddie being no stranger to a costume and outlandishness being second nature to Taylor, the pair had put themselves in charge of putting together the band’s costume. 

‘This is pretty hardcore you guys,’ Spike admitted, ‘didn’t think you’d pull it off.’

The four cramped into a backstage room at the venue, getting ready for their performance. Eddie’s tongue stuck out in concentration as he finished painting Spike’s body. All four of them were skeletons. Leather trousers and boots embellished with white paint, creating the illusion when on stage they were void of flesh. Their torsos mostly exposed aside from frankly decorative scraps of leather. Spike in long leather sleeves that covered wrist to arm and left the entirety of his chest exposed. Eddie and Keith both in tight leather waistcoats. Then Taylor, naturally, entirely topless aside from some leather wrist cuffs and mask that made him appear as a devilish gimp. All exposed skin had bones painted on top which was now Eddie’s current job. 

‘Of course we did,’ Taylor boasts, ‘you really doubted our little DnD nerd’s ability to put together a costume?’

Eddie splatters paint in the singer's direction. Even if they weren’t his friends from home, his band mates had become real friends. Their bantering is interrupted by the door opening and a fallen angel with a clipboard appearing. 

‘You guys gotta be outta here in like a minute, the band on stage are wrapping up and you’re next.’ Her sentence is finished with a pop of her bubble gum and the slam of the door.

After final adjustments to the costumes, the boys file out to the side of the stage. Eddie’s chipped black nails gripping at the neck of his guitar. The usual pre-show jitters causing his stomach to flutter. 

‘You good brother?’ Keith whispers, a reassuring firm hand bracing Eddie’s shoulder. 

‘Yeah, yeah, all cool, I mean y’know aside from usual pre-show nerves,’ he shrugs. Keith nods with understanding, spinning his sticks - a nervous tick Eddie has come to notice. 

‘Damn, you better at this fuckin rockstar shit than me. My heart feels like it’s about to fall out my god damn asshole knowing who’s in that audience!’

Quirking an eyebrow, Eddie warily responds,

‘What do you mean… who’s here?’

Keith’s eyes bulge at his bandmate’s obliviousness. 

‘Holy shit, you got no gossip rags in that little town of yours? This party is infamous. It’s some real Motley Crue as shit out there. Full of rockstars fuckin heiresses n shit! Little Miss Clipboard said mother fucking Slash is here!’

Before Eddie can even clear his now dry throat to respond, the sound system booms with the excited announcement of the MC.

‘Next up is rock’s hottest new band… Kraven!’

The cheers are muddled by the ringing in Eddie’s ears, his body seized up until Spike nudges him along. With a gulp, he steps out into the spotlight, trusty axe in one hand whilst the other spins the ring you made him. 

Dripping sweat causes the paint to bleed down Eddie’s exposed skin. Unsteady hands grab one of the bottles of whiskey thrusted upon them once the band exited the stage and merged into the party. Eddie’s ear’s still buzzed with the raucous applause and hollering that erupted once Kraven finished their set. Immediately after they were mobbed by names he’d read on the backs of cassettes he couldn’t afford in record stores. Producers, lyricists and fellow musicians, all congratulating and praising him - Eddie the freak Munson, the kid who grew up awkward, poor and unwanted. The change of pace in his life was surreal; after a lifetime of critical fails, he’s been rolling nat20s. 

A soft evening breeze provides Eddie with as much needed respite as California weather can. The surrealness of inside was getting to him. Skin sticky from sweat induced by the growing crowd of important people with his name on their tongue. His name. Eddie Munson.

‘Eddie Munson?’

It takes a moment for Eddie to realise that voice wasn’t coming from inside his head. A few feet before him, leaning against the roped barrier a guy peers with his head cock. Soft flopping quaff falling into his curious eyes. A cowboy. Blue wash denim waistcoat with nothing underneath exposing taught tanned muscles. A tanned cowboy hat pushed back so it hangs off the back of his neck.

‘Uh, yeah, yeah… can I help you?’ 

The guy shrugs, hands sliding into the back pockets of tight jeans and rocking on the balls of his cowboy boots. 

‘Nope. Just thought it was you. Saw you perform, you were great. More talented than most of these rockstars,’ he scoffs.

‘Oh, I - I don’t know about that. Thanks, I guess,’ Eddie fumbles over his words, eyes focused downwards at those damn cowboy boots.

With a chuckle the guy responds, now daring to move forward, strong hand adjusting Eddie’s waistcoat. 

‘See, you just proved me right. Most of those guys would’ve agreed and definitely wouldn’t thank me…’ 

His fingers brush over Eddie’s jittering own. 

‘Need a light for that?’

He pulls up Eddie’s hand that holds a long forgotten cigarette that remained unlit. Gulping, he nods. The mystery cowboy draws nearer, a zippo and a cigarette for himself materialising from inside the waistcoat. 

‘I’m Max by the way,’ he smiles as he takes Eddie’s cigarette and places it into his agape mouth for him.

‘I’m Eddie…’

‘I know, babe,’ Max whispers, his own cigarette in his mouth now.

The tips of both cigarettes almost kiss as the distance closes between the two men. The zippo crackles alight, the flame illuminating a pair of wide chocolate eyes staring at a charming pair of green, both sets of pupils dilated. 

‘Holy fuck, I knew you were big. Could see it on stage in that tight ass leather,’ Max groans. Metal scrapes on marble as Eddie Munson’s ringed fingers grip at a bathroom countertop as the man he met moments ago pumps his aching cock. Finally the tension built up inside him from the pressure of the evening was on the brink of dissipating. Huffs of air escape his mouth as Max drops to his knees, long tongue flicking at the drip of precum. 

‘Knew you’d taste good as well,’ he smirks.

‘God damn, shit,’ Eddie pants as warm lips caress his tip, he struggles to contain himself. His hand lunges out, grabbing at Max’s soft locks. ‘Shit, my balls, suck my fucking balls.’

Pliant, Max does as he’s told, firm balls popping into his mouth causing wild bush to prickle at his face. After a few luxurious sucks, he’s hauled back to his feet and Eddie’s previously shaking hands are nowhere to be seen as he swiftly unbuttons denim.

‘I can’t be the only one to play show and tell.’ 

Eddie smirks as he watches green eyes flicker in bliss as his fat cock is released from its denim cage. Tanned to match Max’s toned body with a pretty pink head, fair pubes trimmed neatly. A real pretty boy. 

‘No wonder you were so confident,’ Eddie chuckles, ‘knew you had that ready and loaded, huh?’

Max whimpers now he’s the one to receive relief from another’s hand. Eddie tugs his chin to force eye contact. Only a moment can they maintain contact before both men are chest to chest, jerking the other off, a mess of precum leaking between them. Open mouths and tongues flickering at each other, spit swapping. It’s dirty and hot and far too filthy for this fancy carpeted bathroom.

Pushing aside a wail of pleasure, Max uses a free hand to fumble inside his waistcoat until he brandishes a foil square. Eddie arches a brow.

‘Jesus, just, just fuck me before I cum,’ Max pleads. 

The desperation makes Eddie snigger but it’s mutual. 

Quickly, the man is bent over the counter, ass exposed as Eddie’s warm spit drips down. Groans echo as his thumb circles over Max’s tight hole, slipping in as both men’s dicks twitch in suspense.

‘P-please, fuck me,’ he grunts.

‘Alright, alright. You ready cowboy?’

Moans echo off the tiles as Eddie eases into Max’s asshole. The pair’s eyes meet in the mirror they face until he tops out and his head drops into denim. After a moment, Max begins to wriggle beneath, fucking himself on Eddie’s cock until the message is received. Eddie braces himself, fingers digging into hip bone as he begins to drag his length in and out. 

Eventually the air is thick with heat and the sound of skin on skin. Full balls slapping against each other. A ringed hand against a plush asscheek. Feral groans and whines of pleasure. So loud that no head is turned when the bathroom door bursts open.

‘What the fuck is this shit?!’ A new voice booms off the tiles.

Eddie and Max’s heads snapped round to the figure in the doorway. The pair caught, trousers round their ankles and Eddie balls deep in a stranger. The image is too incriminating to be anything other than it was. He was exposed and the sweat from the impending orgasm now runs cold. There was no hiding.

-----

damn who tf at the door? my man didnt even get to nut in the hot cowboy

tag list: @tlclick73 @probablyin-bed @fangirling-4-ever @booksarekindaneat @azydrateanatomy @sadbitchfangirl @fluffybunnyu @big-ope-vibes @beam86 @midnightsgetawaycar @stevieharringtonswife

[ember-owlet]

Could you maybe do a Viktor cg fic please??? Or headcanon or anything you want.

But like, cg Viktor x male or nonbinary little reader who's like... Baby, like 0-1, nonverbal

If not, that's okay!!

a/c: yes, definitely!! i know viktor has been a very popular topic in my asks as of late, and i can see why! it took me a while to think of the perfect scenario for you, i hope you enjoy this little fic firelight! thank you for waiting ʚ♡ɞ 

tw for brief mentions of viktor pondering his death!! stay safe, you can always come back to this when you're ready (ૂ′ᵕ‵ॢං)

dynamic: gn!little!reader x cg! viktor

The warm glow of morning shone through the still air of the scientist's lab. Papers scattered endlessly around the scuffed desk, and resting atop them was none other than the main resident of his second home. His body rose and fell to the soft whirrs of the hexcore, filling in the gaps of silence around the overbearing steel walls, the foreign object rotating seamlessly above him. The unsure creak of a door alerted Viktor to wake to an alarmed position, his head whirring around instinctually before his mind could register the intruder's identification.

An endearing effort, nonetheless it was near impossible not to wake Viktor; He was truly the lightest sleeper in Piltover. Growing up in the undercity developed a skill to wake at the drop of a pin to danger, and though moving to a city like Piltover would be no cause for such concerns, some habits never left him. You can take the boy out of the city, but you can never take the city from the boy. Letting the foggy images clear, his shoulders relaxed, exhaling at the presence of Jayce with you in hand and rubbing your eyes with a soft yawn. "Oh. Good morning, you two." The scientists' voice was hoarse, dropping his guard he released the scalpel from his grasp. "I assume you both had an eventful night?" Viktor stood up from his spinning chair, walking over to see the dark circles under your eyes that reflected his own. "Jayce, don't tell me you made my little one stay up too late." Jayce rubbed his neck and chuckled, it wasn't rocket science for your caregiver to guess how late your adventures turned out. "Sorry Vik, they just couldn't fall back asleep and I didn't know what else to do. We spent the night making a pillow fort and playing blimp captain." You quickly waddled over to Viktor, widening your arms to embrace your papa. He sighed, closing you in for a gentle hug. "What am I going to do with you poklad.." Viktor patted you along towards your designated corner of the room filled with toys, coloring books, and sensory items. Jayce was the first to close the distance, waiting until you were out of distance to make his comment to the other. "They really missed you, y'know. I get that they're not allowed in the lab while you're working with the Hexcore, but they were really worried when you didn't show up."

There was an audible exhale when Viktor shook his head. It pained him to even ponder the fact that you were alone and frightened for him. "I know, I just-'" If he had been honest there were more than a few times where he wouldn't have been able to return to your arms again. "I would never want them to be here in case something were to happen to me." Jayce instinctively reached out to console his companion. "Of course. But it won't happen. Not as long as we're together." He pulled the corner of his lip in a small smile, rubbing Viktor's shoulder in confidence. "But make sure they get some sleep. I'm supposed to keep my reputation as the fun one here." Nodding, Viktor watched the broad figure walk himself out of the office. He let the air settle, exhaling with a small wheeze. You were able to catch his attention, weepy eyes to the contrasting brightness. His eyes would widen to the sight of you grasping at the air towards him. With every attempt to stand, your knees would buckle to exhaustion; further frustrating you in your need to be held. "Hmm." Viktor's throat rumbled. If not for himself he would at least allow his body to recharge for you. "I think we've been up long enough myška. Let's have a rest, shall we?" Lifting himself in unsteady movements he hobbled towards you, his head gesturing towards the door leading to the bedroom. You lifted yourself onto the bed, watching as Viktor dragged the drapes slowly. You couldn't help but giggle as your caregiver playfully joined your side with a chuckle, curling yourself against his slender stature. Grunting, you could feel his aching body move to turn on the lamp and grab the journal off of the nightstand. You looked at your caregiver's notes, each observation recorded with their own key for additional thoughts. Viktor tilted the journal so you could see it better. "I think we're making real progress, there's just- something missing." He rambled on about what adjustments he would be able to make once the two of you were awake. But for you, the feeling of his body with the rumble of his voice was safe, and sleep would begin to make your eyes grow heavy from exhaustion.

[frecklystars]

teary eyed over the idea of ken studying what all of my medication is for. making sure i'm eating and drinking. asking when i've last slept. i don't like being doted on constantly but i really really wouldn't hate it if ken fussed over me bc i know he wouldn't do it to baby me

seeing me laying in bed and asking how long i've been there and i don't answer so he assumes it was a bad day. lays next to me and rubs my back and urges softly "sweet girl, you wanna get up? just for a minute. and if you're still tired you can go back to sleep. but how about just one minute out of bed with me? can i make you some food? did you eat today? no? oh, you couldn't keep it down... i'm so sorry. i'll make you something light, let's try again. can you try again for me? i'll make it really yummy, i promise. you can just have a few bites and i'll eat the rest, don't worry. can you stand? do you want me to Keri you? heheh. c'mere baby, let's go get some food in ya"

he carries me downstairs and sits me on the leather couch. he is frantically making a sandwich. he is going to make this the best sandwich ever. he is going to make this the most nutritious sandwich to ever exist. he's cutting this baby into little triangles. the entire time he is trying to fill the silence, trying to say funny things about leather couches that he learned, like the "hysterical" sounds they make when your thighs get sweaty and stick to the leather. he thinks it's funny. i don't, until he starts laughing at his own story and then i can't help but laugh with him

weepy over the image of him sitting next to me and watching me eat and going through all of my medication and mispronouncing all of them. i can't tell if he's doing it to be funny or if he genuinely doesn't know how to pronounce wellbutrin. "but it's got the word WELL in it, so this will make you feel better, right?" he makes sure he knows which one does what. he knows which one i have to take with food and which one i don't. he knows their side effects. "good morning, sweet girl, i made you breakfast, your pills are by your spoon." "hey sweet girl, let's go to the beach, we can have some ice cream and you can take your vitamins when we get outside." "sweet, divine, beautiful girl, you almost forgot, here's your evening pills. these will make you feel so much better." he always hands them to me with a drink and watches me take them because he knows i'll forget otherwise. he sticks to the routine, always a step behind me with everything i need (because as ryan says: behind every great barbie, there's a ken giving her everything she needs and holding her stuff for her, and he's totally fine with that).

and on days when i'm so out of it, the medication unable to do its job because the world is just too much, or maybe the ptsd is hitting harder than normal and i can't go an hour without getting physically sick, he doesn't urge me to get out of bed right away. he says, hey keri, let me lay next to you - no no don't move, don't move, let me lay next to you sweet girl. let me hold you in my very strong and manly ken arms. you having nightmares again? did you sleep at all today? a little? you'll sleep better tonight, i promise. no, i promise, i'll make sure of it. let's lay here for a couple of minutes, just a couple. and then we'll get up and get some donuts, how does that sound? and while we're at it maybe some more food for dinner, but let's start small with one or two bites of something sweet. you know barbie loves giving you her clothes, she'll be so happy to see you in her sweater, let me help you put it on so you'll be comfy when we go for a little walk to the donut shop. and if you're still depressed by the time we're picking up dinner, we'll come right back and go to sleep, okay? i'll hold your hand the whole time. i've got you. i'm not going anywhere. this isn't gonna be like last year, sweet girl, nobody's here to hurt you anymore, nobody's here to scare you. you're safe with me. and you've got more than a dozen other people who look just like me who want you to be well. we're all rooting for you. if we're feeling better after you eat, we'll go visit six, how does that sound? i bet driver misses you too, let's go see him tomorrow if you're up for it. we want you to be okay.

[yallemagne]

For the first time... Mina doubts the effortless confidence in her marriage.

Mina has expressed before that she keeps her journal to share with Jonathan.

It seems only yesterday that the last entry was made, and yet how much between then, in Whitby and all the world before me... Some day he may ask me about it. Down it all goes.

She restarted her journal knowing Jonathan might inquire about the foggy time in his memory when he was sick and so much was going on around them.

Well, some day Jonathan will tell me all; and lest it should ever be that he should think for a moment that I kept anything from him, I still keep my journal as usual. Then if he has feared of my trust I shall show it to him, with every thought of my heart put down for his dear eyes to read.

But today, she writes so Jonathan will not suspect that she is keeping anything from him. When has she ever worried that Jonathan would doubt her? Certainly not when she was meeting with unmarried men alone and staying over at one's house. Nope. No worry of doubt or perhaps jealousy then. Not until now, when their honest and trustful marriage is being challenged by Van Helsing's stubborn insistence on secrecy.

Oh, why did I ever go to Whitby? There now, crying again! I wonder what has come over me to-day. I must hide it from Jonathan, for if he knew that I had been crying twice in one morning—I, who never cried on my own account, and whom he has never caused to shed a tear—the dear fellow would fret his heart out. I shall put a bold face on, and if I do feel weepy, he shall never see it. I suppose it is one of the lessons that we poor women have to learn....

What good does keeping her feelings a secret from him until "the right time" do him? When that time comes, wouldn't it hurt more for Jonathan to find out that as he and the men went gallivanting like fools into the night, she was hurting and blaming herself fully for Lucy's death, and he wasn't there to comfort her? Perhaps, she counts on Jonathan simply never inquiring after her. Perhaps, she is hoping that he will follow the other men's example and worry more about themselves and their grief than ever give a thought to hers.

Mina records an experience that is almost beat-for-beat Jonathan's encounter with the Weird Sisters AND Lucy's recall of her assaulter's eyes. And she just. She just writes it all off as a dream. Why? Because if what happened was real, then that means she's at risk of worrying the men!

I must be careful of such dreams, for they would unseat one's reason if there were too much of them. I would get Dr. Van Helsing or Dr. Seward to prescribe something for me which would make me sleep, only that I fear to alarm them. Such a dream at the present time would become woven into their fears for me.

That would be a good thing, Mina! They should be fearing for you! VH has been preaching up and down about how he's put you in this precarious position for your own good, and if you would only reach out and inform him that you are being hurt because of his negligence, you could catch Dracula in the goddamn act! If VH's going to use your safety as an excuse, he better stand by that and start actually fucking protecting you.

But he is not actually concerned with her safety in any meaningful way, just how he can use her womanliness to rally the men along!! And Mina understands this best of all. What matters most to her and VH is that the men think she's safe. Who cares if the vampire is feeding off of her?! All that matters is that no man's feelings get hurt.