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twice-inamillion · 3 months

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The Company

Peeping Tom

Smut and Story Building (Blackmail, Deep Penetration, Defloration, Creampie, Rough Sex, First Time, Choking, Light BDSM, objectification)

Chapter 6

3,585 Words

(You encounter a peeping Tom as you have fun with one of your assistants. She tries to use her newfound information against you, but instead, you end up using her. By the end, you found yourself a new toy to play with.)

You return to your office with IU after a business meeting outside the company. The two of you talk about what just occurred during the last few days and how busy it’s going to get moving forward.

“How does it feel receiving your first private jet, sir?”

“I’m excited; I remember riding on my father’s jet when I was younger and always wanted one of my own. Now I just need to get it customized, and I’ll be able to use it.”

“Before that, we need to hire a flight attendant.”

“That’s true.”

“What about asking your father for one of his?”

“No, I'd rather get someone that has nothing to do with my father. I don’t want them to tell him anything about my business.”

“I’ll try to put a post online to hire an assistant.”

“Sounds good.”

“Any requirements?”

“Someone not too old, eye candy. You know my tastes.”

“Okay, I’ll try my best.”

“Also, any news on Big Hit and JYP?”

“I’ve heard that they are suffering a bit money-wise, so I think they are going to accept your offer.”

“Let’s see what they say. I don’t want to buy them outright, but I do want to hold a good chunk of shares, especially Big Hit. Bang Si-Hyuk seems like a pretty cool guy. He gave me a tour of his small building and even introduced me to his debuting group a while back. I really want to help the guy.”

“I’m sure he’ll be happy with anything you give him, sir.”

“Let’s see how it goes.”

IU then hands you some documents and says, “This is some information I found out about JYP Entertainment. If you look at the third page, you can see that JYP was going to debut a new girl group under the name “6MIX,” but it fell through.”

“Oh, it seems like they had a hard time debuting due to one of their members leaving.”

“Yes, they added another member, Sana. It seemed like they were going to debut, but another of their leader also left the company, so they ended up scrapping the whole thing.”

“Poor girls, so much hard work and training to debut only to have it scrapped.”

“Yes, one in particular has been in their company for a long time. I heard she’s a very good singer.”

“Oh really? If JYP accepts the help, maybe I can ask him to release them from their contracts and send them my way.”

“I’ll keep you posted if there is any news, sir.”

“Thank you.”

“Would that be all, sir?”

“Yes.”

“I have a meeting with one of the girls, so I’ll head to my office.”

“Actually, I’m going to grab a bite at the cafeteria, so I’ll walk with you.”

The two of you walk towards the hallway, slap IU's ass, and walk the opposite from each other. Little did you know that you were seen by someone, the person IU was going to have a meeting with.

————

You get a message from IU that she has received some inflation about the deal with Big Hit and JYP as you are coming from the gym. It’s been a few days since you got any information, so you’re excited to see what’s going on. Without changing, you walk into her office, sit on the couch, and listen to some good news.

You might not have noticed that Jennie has been curious about the relationship you and IU have since she’s a higher-up than you. She doesn’t know about your real position in the company and only thinks of you as one of the staff members. She was shocked when she saw you slapped IU on her ass and decided to follow you after that.

Today, she had another meeting with IU and planned on having a light snack at the cafeteria before meeting up with her. Since she finished early, she decided to head up to the administration floor and relax on the outdoor patio before the meeting. She exits the elevator and makes it to the top floor. Jennie walks down the hallway and notices how quiet it is. She wandered around and found Irene’s and the CEO's office before hearing a faint noise coming from the hall. She quietly makes her way to the noises and gets to IU’s office from where the noise is coming from.

Jennie tries to listen and places her ear by the door. She hears moaning coming from the other side. She tries to make up what the people instead are saying and can only decipher the male voices yelling that he’s going to cum.

After some silence, she notices that the voices are getting nearer and runs towards the opposite side of the hallway to where the patio is. She peeks her head out and sees you coming out the door and IU fixing her skirt.

“What the fuck, were they fucking in her office?”

“Omg, he’s getting it on with a higher-up in the company. Maybe I can use this.”

————

Later that night, you get a message from Jennie from your staff phone. You read the message, and it is asking you for help moving some items around the house. You’re not in the mood to message her that you can do it tomorrow, but she is persistent.

Somewhat annoyed, you put on a shirt and head down the elevator to the floor where their apartment is. You ring the doorbell, and Jennie opens the door within a few seconds. She wears a loose crop top and small shorts that show off her petite body.

“You said you needed to move some stuff, right?”

“Yeah, it’s in the living room.”

You walk to the living room and see the items she was referring to. You spend about ten minutes moving the things, and Jennie is watching you up close the whole time.

“Is that all you needed?”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

“Alright, I’m going. I’m tired.”

“Okay, but I’ll call you if I need anything.”

“Please, don’t. The stuff wasn’t that heavy. Maybe try moving it between the five of you before calling me.”

You can tell that Jennie got upset by this based on her facial expression. “I don’t know why you’re complaining; it's part of your job.”

“It’s not. I was just doing this as a favor since you all just moved into the apartment, but that was a few months ago. You girls can figure stuff out,” as you grab your phone and head for the door.

Upset, Jennie yells, “If you’re going to be a douchebag about it all like the CEO, you’re messing around with his assistant.”

You turn around and see a grin on her face, blackmailing you. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“I know that the two of you were fucking in her office the other day.”

“Lies.”

“I saw smack her ass a while back, and this time, you were leaving her office, and she was skirted and had a smile on her face.”

“If that’s true, how would you know?”

“I heard the two of you doing it.”

“No one is going to believe you.”

“Hmph, I wouldn’t be so sure. I have the CEO’s number.”

“You’re bluffing. You don’t have his number.”

“Yes, I do,” she said, holding her phone out.

“Alright, do it.”

“Okay, I will” and is about to press the call button but then says, “actually, he might be busy with important stuff. I don’t want to bother him.”

You know she doesn’t have your actual work number, so you tease her, “I don’t think he’s busy. Why don’t we go visit him and tell him the situation? I think he would be more than happy to hear about it.”

You can see her expression change, and she says, “No, I think we can just leave it like that.”

You grab her waist, “Let’s clear things up. I don’t want rumors that I’m messing with the CEO’s assistant.” You pull her hand, exit her apartment, walk towards the elevator, and press the button for the top floor.

Jennie looks nervous but tries to hide her expression. “He’s going to be upset that we’re bothering him.”

“I don’t think so, plus you’re blackmailing me.”

When you arrive at the top floor, the elevator rings, and you both exit and walk towards the hallway. You ring the doorbell, but there is no answer.

With a faint smile of relief, Jennie says, “See, he’s not here, so let me waist go.”

“Hmm… let me try something.” You press the numbers on the keypad and hear a ring, unlocking the door.

“How did you do that?”

You pull Jennie and lock the door. “Seems like no one is home. CEO-nim! Jennie and I are looking for you!”

“Stop, he’s going to be made that we’re inside his home. Let’s go.”

“No, I don’t want to; let’s have a bit of fun.” You walk towards the kitchen, open the fridge, and grab a beer. “He has some good taste, nice.”

“Leave it; he’s going to get mad!”

“No, he won’t.”

“Yes, he is. I heard that he’s mean.”

“Really? They said that?”

“Irene said that he makes them work to the bone.”

“No, I don’t. Wait until I see her tomorrow.”

Jennie’s reaction changes, and she says, “What did you say?”

“Nothing, forget about it.”

“You said something.” She stops, looks around, and walks to the living room. She sees pictures of you and freezes.

Frozen for also a minute, she turns around and says, “Are you CEO-nim?”

You want to play it off, but know that the gig is over. Instead, you smile and say, “Dang, you caught me. Surprise!”

Many things go through her mind, like how she ordered you around the apartment, teased you, and even tried to blackmail you.

“So what’s this about having my phone number and blackmailing me about fucking IU.”

Jennie gets on her knees, rubs her hands together, and begs, “I’m sorry. I was just joking around. I didn't mean it.”

“It wasn’t funny. Why did you do it?”

She bites her lip and tries to come up with a reason, saying, “I don’t know. I just wanted to tease you a bit and got jealous.”

“Jealous? What for?”

“You’re my type, and when I saw you and IU, I wanted to blackmail you so you can do whatever I say.”

“You know, that could have really gone bad and gotten someone hurt.”

“I’m sorry.”

“If you’re sorry, how will you take responsibility?”

“Ehh?”

“You said I’m your type, and you’re pretty cute yourself. How about we have some fun?”

Jennie can’t believe what your words. She knows she said that you’re her type, but that was as a staff/trainer. Now that she learned you’re the one in charge of the company, she doesn’t want to do anything that might endanger her chance at debuting but, at the same time, finds it kind of hot.

“What did you have in mind?”

“What do you think?” giving her a smirk.

Jennie knows what you’re thinking; it’s not like she hasn’t thought about it herself. You come close to her and grab her small behind, causing her to yelp.

She’s being this close to her. You know that she’s small and petite, “too, like a doll.”

“What?”

Instead of replying, you pick her up, carry her to the guestroom, and toss her onto the bed.

“Wait… what are you doing?”

“I’m going to fuck you.”

“I’m not ready yet.”

“I didn’t ask you if you were. I’m telling you what I’m going to do to you.”

Jennie is stunned by your words. The image of you has been turned 360 from ordering you around to the other way around. Deep down, she can’t help but feel small and submissive by someone so huge and powerful enough to change her life.

“Okay, I understand.”

“Since you do, then strip. I want to see what I’m going to be working with.”

Jennie gets off the bed and stands in front of you. She slowly begins to undress herself, taking off her crop top and her small shots.

Now in underwear, she shyly takes off her bra, revealing her small, cute breasts. She tries to cover them, “Don’t forget the bottom.”

You smile as she hesitates to pull down her panties and whines, “Do I really have to pull them down?”

“Do you want me to do them for you? Just letting you know that I won’t be gentle.”

“I…I’ll do it then,” as she slowly pulls them down until it drops on the floor and quickly cover her cunt.

“Take your hands off.”

“But…”

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Jennie removes her hands, revealing her semi-bare cunt.

“Fuck, you have a pretty-looking pussy and a nice pair of tits. Lay down on the bed and spread that pussy for me.”

Jennie feels embarrassed but does what you told her. She lays on the bed and puts her legs up. She tries to spread her legs, but the idea of spreading them open and showing her pussy to someone for the first time is nerve-wracking.

“Spread them more!”

She widens her legs until you see her whole cunt in view. With both her index and middle fingers, she slowly spreads her pussy lips, giving you a view of her unused cunt. “How’s this?”

“Hot. You’re making me hard.”

“Really? I’m making you hard?”

“Yeah. Want to see?”

Jennie has never seen a cock before in real life, only on the internet when she would masturbate while in the dorms. Seeing one in real life is making her both nervous and excited, “yeah. I want to see it.”

You undo the bottom and drop your buttons, leaving only your boxers and a large bulge in sight.

Jennie can feel her heart beating faster as you pull down your boxers, which makes your cock springs out. “Wow, it’s so big. Can I touch it?”

“Of course,” you say with a grin.

Jennie, with her index finger, touches the tip of your cock and throbs, “Haha, it’s likes me.”

“How about grabbing it with your two hands?”

“Okay, but I don’t think I’ll be able to wrap my hands around it.” With her small hands, she tries to wrap her hand, almost touching her fingertips.

Turned on, you ask, “Can I take a picture?”

Jennie looks up at you and smiles, “Sure, you’re the boss, right? I have no say.”

“Glad to see you know your place.”

You grab your phone and take a shoot of Jennie handling your cock. “Try putting it in your mouth.”

“Like this?” as she uses the tip of her tongue to lick the head of your cock. “Yes, just like that.”

You record her slowly licking your length, your shaft, pulling the head in her mouth, and even her trying to take a bit of your cock in her mouth as she plays with her cunt.

“Fuck… I knew you were a slut” you say as she has your cock in her mouth. “Hmmm… I’ll be your slut, Daddy,” giving you a devilish smile. You grab her chin in between your hands and say, “We’re going to get along very well.”

She stands and lays on the bed once more and willingly spreads her legs for you, spreading her pussy, and says, “Make sure you get a picture of this.”

“You know how to turn on a guy, huh.”

“I just want to please you, Daddy. Plus, I want everyone to know that you’re going to be my first.”

You can’t wait any longer; you need to fuck her now. You set the phone down, walked back, and spread her legs. She grabs your cock and presses it against her belly, and asks, “Is all of that going inside of me?”

“It’s going to go right in here and reach all the way up here,” as you trace your finger and her wet cunt all the way up to her belly button.

“Fuck me already, Daddy. Make me a real woman,” begs Jennie.

You grab your cock and rub your shaft against her wet lower lips, spreading them and covering them in her sticky nectar. “I’m going to put it in; just relax.” She balls up her waist against her chest, “Okay.”

Jennie nervously watches as you align your massive cock against her small entrance, waiting for you to be her first and only cock she’s ever going to taste.

You press the tip on your cock and slowly insert yourself until you reach her thin barrier, which separates her from womanhood. You look directly into her eyes, signaling that you’re going to go all the way into it. She nods back and tries to prepare herself for what’s to come.

You grab her small waist and, without mercy, put your weight onto her petite body and slam yourself into her fresh womb. “Fuck!!! I’m cumming; you’re too big; you’re making me cum!”

Jennie’s body spasms, and she tilts her head back as she feels her orgasm overwhelming her.

“Haha, you just came from me putting it in? Let’s see how many times you cum.”

You don’t let her rest and put her into a mating press. She groans from not being able to ride off her orgasm, “Daddy, wait. You’re going to make me cum again. Let me rest.”

“A girl like you doesn’t deserve to rest; you’re my sex toy. I get to use you however I want,” slamming yourself inside her once again.

Jennie cries as she feels her insides being rearranged by your cock, “Ahh, you’re messing me up inside! I won’t be able to with anyone beside you! Fuck…you’re stretching my small pussy out!”

Watching her becoming a mess is getting you more turned on. Even if it’s her first time, she’s a natural. You place your hand on her neck and firmly tighten your grip. Jennie panics when she feels your hand choking her, puts her hands around your arms, and looks at you in terror. “Shh… baby girl, calm down; I’m not going to hurt you, just something the both of us to enjoy. Trust me.”

Directly looking at you, she lets go of her hands and instead focuses on you, thrusting inside of her. “You feel so tight, Jennie; I feel like cumming already,” as you tighten the grip of your hand around her neck.

You see Jennie trying to speak, so you loosen your grip, “Ahhh… cum… cum inside me, Daddy. I… I want to feel your cum in my tummy.”

You tighten your grip on her neck again as you fuck her roughly, only hearing the sound of both your flesh against each other. Little by little, you feel your peak approaching, a cold sensation in your back.

“Fuck… I’m going to dump all my cum in your tight little pussy!”

You feel all your cum shoot deep inside Jennie’s womb with your thick cum. Her eyes roll back from how tight you’re choking her as you pump a large load. Her body starts to go limp from the lack of air, so you let go of her neck and see the imprint of your hand around it.

Immediately, Jennie gasps for air and comes back to her senses. “You’re such a good girl, Jennie. I think you’re going to be my favorite toy from now on.”

She gives you a weak smile, grabs your hand, and places it back around her neck, “Keep fucking me, Daddy. I’m your dirty like toy.”

The two of you keep fucking all night long, every time you pump your cum in and on her body. At the end, you take a series of photos and videos of your work, Jennie’s body covered in cum and her cunt oozing out a mixture of both your juices.

—————

You wake up the next day and see Jennie under your arms. You try to get up, but she’s holding on to you. Rubbing her eyes, she turned around and said, “Good morning, Daddy.”

“Good morning, Jennie. How are you feeling?”

“Sore. I can still feel some of your cummies in my tummy. I feel my pussy gaped. I don’t think I'll be able to get married anymore, haha.”

“Good. You’re mine, anyways.”

“Jealous?”

“No. I just got like sharing my toys.” You grab her by the neck with a firm grip and say, “Don’t forget that, okay? You’re mine.”

“Yes, Daddy,” as she feels your strong hand choking her.

You let her go and walk to the bathroom to freshen up. Jennie looks at her phone and sees text messages from her group mates asking if she visited her mom since she didn’t sleep at the apartment.

Jennie replies to them and immediately gets an idea that makes her smile excitedly, “Daddy.”

“Yes.”

“Since I’m your sex toy, how about making the rest of us your toys?”

“You mean your groupmates?”

“Yeah, how bout it? Sounds like fun, right?”

“Doesn’t sound like a bad idea; I’ll think about it.”

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queenimmadolla · 1 year

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𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄'𝐒 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃

(dad!eddie x mom/pregnant!reader)

*NOT Mature, SFW — incorrectly flagged

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟏 ─ 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟐 ─ 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟑 • more of the pennyverse here.

Summary: . . . After almost losing you in a scare related to your preterm labor, Eddie is reluctant to meet his newborn son, whose life still remains on the line, until some convincing from you. warnings: angst, a whole lot of angst, near death experience, difficult pregnancy, early labor, preterm birth, talk of loss of infants, birth defects, happy ending.

a/n: congrats on making it to part two! we still have quite a bit of angst to get through but we're almost through the storm! this part (even though i wrote Wayne's World as a whole) was my favorite to write, and i'm sure you'll be able to guess why. word count is 6k. good luck and happy reading! and for the people mad about the long post, sorry, had the 'keep reading' tab on but it kept fucking with the format and eating chunks of it. you're gonna have to scroll. let me know what you think? ◡̈

Hours passed by, Penny had fallen asleep in his lap again and so had most of his friends with the exceptions of Jonathan who looked like he could really use the sleep, Eden and Wayne. Steve would snap awake every once and a while, careful not to jostle his sleeping girlfriend. Nancy was asleep on Jonathan’s shoulder while Argyle used Eden’s lap for a pillow. Barb and Robin were hanging off chairs in the most uncomfortable looking positions, Robin’s snores almost painful sounding. The ‘kids’ (teenagers) had been picked up by their parents, only agreeing to go home if they could come back to wait with him first thing in the morning.

Eddie didn’t rest for a single second, mind torturing him with horrible, horrible thoughts. One played in his mind on loop; he was holding Penny as he walked out of the hospital. They were on their own.

It held him captive, he hadn’t even noticed your doctor approaching him until she gently placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Mr. Munson?”

Wayne and Eddie traded quick glances and he handed Penny over, trying not to disturb her too much in his rush but she just curled up to Wayne.

Eddie stood up, already feeling lightheaded. That voice in his head that had been torturing him whispered something cruel to him, enough to make him want to cease existing: maybe you, somewhere in this hospital, already gone and he didn’t know it. Was she about to confirm his worst fears?

“I apologize for the fright we gave you. Your wife started hemorrhaging and she lost a lot of blood.”

Yeah. Eddie’s world was ending. It was over.

“But we were able to stop the bleeding and get her a transfusion. She’s stable and she’s going to be just fine.”

The relief was almost crippling, the heaviest weight he’d ever felt on him was lifted. Eddie wanted to cry, he squeezed his eyes shut again, trying to compose himself before he broke down in front of another doctor.

“We have her in a room, probably hold her for a couple of nights, depending on her recovery. Would you like to go see her?”

“Yeah, yes, please.” He nodded rapidly, wiping furiously at his eyes.

Dr. Eisenberg nodded and began walking down the hall, “If you’ll follow me.”

Eddie turned, ready to ask Wayne to look after Penny when Wayne cut him off, “Go. I'll let ‘em all know she’s okay and send ‘em home. They probably won’t be able to see her tonight or in the mornin’, but I’ll stick around. Let me know when I can come on up.”

Eddie wanted to hug him, but he really needed to see you.

“Thank you, Wayne. For everything.” Then he was scrambling after Dr. Eisenberg, who had stopped to wait for him.

The walk to your hospital room had Eddie ready to tear his hair out, he’d wanted to just ask your doctor for your room number so he could sprint the rest of the way because her pace was much too slow. He was desperate to get to you, to make sure you were really still alive.

“Here we are,” she stated, pushing your room door open. “Hello, again, Mrs. Munson. I brought someone who’s been waiting for you.”

Eddie’s breath hitched as Dr. Eisenberg stepped to the side and he finally saw you, eyelids heavy from whatever sedation you were still trying to pull yourself from, and a smile on your face that only widened when you locked eyes.

“Hi, baby,” you slurred, sleepy little smile not going anywhere. And neither were you.

The rush of emotions he was experiencing was too much, he burst into tears where he stood as Dr. Eisenberg closed the door behind her on her way out.

“Eddie…” you mumbled out, reaching the hand lacking an IV out to him.

Of course you were trying to comfort him, you were the one confined to a hospital bed, having just barely survived a traumatic birth and you were still trying to comfort him because you were perfect.

He slowly approached your bed, hot tears—he was surprised his body could even still produce more tears given how much he’d cried in the last few hours alone—streaming down his cheek. Eddie really did collapse when he reached you, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.

You wrapped your arms around him, holding him to your chest as best as you could, though you had no idea why he was crying, brain too hazy.

Eddie didn’t sob, just silently shook as he wet your neck, inhaled your scent, felt your warm skin and pulse beating beneath his lips. He hadn’t lost you, you were still here.

Ideally, he’d be holding you and squeezing you hard enough to ensure you’d never leave his arms again, but even in his emotional hysteria, he was mindful of your condition.

Eddie pulled away, large hands framing your face as he pressed desperate kisses all over your face, making sure every inch was caressed with his love before he focused on your lips, mouth meshing messily against yours.

You could taste the salt of his tears, feel a couple of stray ones catching where your lips met. While he may have been feeling a mixture of emotions, all you could feel right then was content and still a bit sleepy from the anesthesia.

When Eddie felt he’d conveyed his love for you sufficiently, he pulled away, a wet and hoarse chuckle escaping him when he realized you could barely keep your eyes open.

“You sleepy, baby?”

“Mhmm.”

“Get some rest, sweetheart,” Eddie’s thumb stroked over your bottom lip before resting over the center of it, “just, please wake up.”

“Okay,” you mumbled, eyes already shut. Still, you managed to press a kiss to his thumb before you slipped into a blissful slumber.

While you slept, Eddie had one of the nurses phone up the waiting room and sent Wayne. The poor man looked exhausted, but the relief on his face was evident when he saw you sleeping peacefully.

He looked like he wanted to cry, too. Instead, he just cleared his throat, blinked to keep the tears away and spoke low so as to not disturb you or the sleeping toddler in his arms.

“Everythin’ alright?”

“With her?” Eddie’s red rimmed gaze drifted back to you, focused on the rise and fall of your chest. Still breathing, “Yeah.”

Wayne nodded once and they both stood there in silence for a few minutes as the world began to turn again. Something still wasn’t right, felt wrong. He could tell by the tension his boy still had, arms crossed as he crouched in the seat next to your bed.

“And the baby?”

Eddie flinched as if Wayne had shot a gun off in the air rather than mention his son.

“I don’t know.”

Wayne watched him with a careful eye, Eddie looked almost like he was vibrating from the force at which his leg was shaking, even your hospital bed appeared to be affected by it, though not nearly enough to disturb you.

As much as he wanted to comfort him, for once, Wayne didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know what to say and he had an inkling that anything that came out of his mouth wouldn’t be heard by Eddie. He was lost in the dark crevices of his own mind.

The most he could do was offer to give him some alone time, he was sure his boy wasn’t keen on others sticking around right now, even him.

“I’ll take Penny home, me and Maude’ll watch her.”

Eddie shook his head, a look of panic flashing over his face, “No, that’s alright. She can stay with me.”

Wayne was reluctant, mouth set in a frown. Penny was a good girl, usually, but he didn’t know if Eddie could really handle her along with processing everything going on around him.

“Really, we wouldn’t mind─”

“I need her.”

That shut Wayne right up, he and Eddie shuffled to exchange Penny from his arms to her dad’s without waking her. She stirred momentarily then shoved her face into Eddie’s neck, her little body falling slack once more.

Wayne gave his shoulder a good squeeze, ran his hand gently over Penny’s back before he leaned down—and in a rare show of affection—pressed a brief kiss to your forehead.

As he was walking out of the room, Eddie felt the panic crawling down his throat again. He croaked out a broken, “Wayne─”

Wayne paused in the doorway, turning to acknowledge Eddie but his nephew didn’t continue, just looked scared. For a moment, Wayne was caught off guard, sucking in a breath as his boy looked young for the first time in a couple of years.

Now, he knew you and Eddie were young. He’d been aware of it when you got together, aware of it when you told him you were pregnant with Penny but sometime after that, he stopped seeing your age, stopped seeing Eddie’s as the two of you grew up for her. Now, right then, he remembered with startling clarity that Eddie wasn’t even twenty-five. He looked so young because he was.

Eddie didn’t have to say anything else because Wayne knew exactly what he wanted him to say.

Wayne nodded slowly, mouth pressing into a firm line of determination, “Everything’s gonna be alright, kid.”

Eddie choked up, held Penny a little tighter and Wayne went on his way.

He found himself settling back into the seat he’d dragged near your bed, cradling Penny as she remained blissfully unaware and drooling on his scrub top.

Wayne wasn’t wrong, she’d probably be a little too much for him but she was his kid, it wasn't like he could just hand her off to people when life came at him like this and he really did need her right now. Again.

You were here and whole, but somewhere else in this hospital, a member of his little family was still slipping through his fingers. He couldn’t let the other one out of his sight, couldn’t lose her, too.

Once more, Eddie remained restless as the hours passed. He sat in mostly silence. He’d turned on the tv near your bed, the volume high enough to drown out the sounds of the hospital outside of the room but much too low to wake you. Rain trilled against the windows, much more gentle than it had been earlier. The storm had also passed, and if there was even an ounce of humor in him, he would have been amused with how this storm seemed to fester like a black cloud looming over him.

It’d been a normal day up until he’d gone to Lucas’ birthday party, but he’d been skeptical about leaving you, worried something would happen. The metaphorical little black cloud formed over him, as a result, and so did the actual black clouds, quickly calling for wind and rain at high speeds.

And when Eddie had found out you were okay, you were alive, his black cloud disappeared, though it left behind damage and a cold atmosphere. The real storm had also run its course, leaving behind weather that reflected exactly how Eddie felt.

Penny squirmed in his grasp, and he realized he’d tensed up so he quickly relaxed, shifting her into a more comfortable position in his hold.

“Why don’t you give her to me?”

Eddie’s head snapped over to you, surprised to find you awake, somewhat lucid and watching him with a small smile on your face.

“Because you just had your insides removed and put back in,” He smirked, another wave of relief washing over him. You’d woken up, you really were okay. You weren’t going to leave him.

You rolled your eyes, making a vague hand gesture to brush the subject off, clearly the surgeons hadn’t removed your sass.

“She’s tiny and there’s more than enough room on here for both of us.” You hissed as you slowly shimmied your way to the side of the bed and Eddie frowned.

“Okay, how about you don’t move so we can limit the amount of heart attacks you give me today, yeah?” You knew Eddie must have been worried so you didn’t take the lack of humor behind his words and the tension on his face personally.

A quick glance at the clock confirmed your suspicions, “It’s three in the morning, Eddie. New day, but I’ll keep my antics to a minimum.”

Insistently, you patted the spot next to you, perfectly Penny sized and high enough to guarantee she wouldn’t accidentally move against your incision.

With a sigh, Eddie complied, gathering his daughter up. Tensing up disturbed her but full on moving her didn’t, most likely used to being carried into your home after she’d fallen asleep in her car seat or on the couch.

She didn’t stir when he laid her down, either. You both had to rearrange her limbs into a more comfortable position, one that didn’t make it look like she was possessed. Once Eddie tucked her in, he let out another sigh and cast you an apologetic look, big brown eyes wide, glassy and full of sorrow.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you.” It was the last thing you deserved after what you’d gone through.

The sincerity in his voice almost hurt you, it was heavy, as though it carried more weight than just a simple apology for his tone.

You held out your hand and Eddie immediately slipped his over it, locking his fingers with yours, squeezing as his breath hitched.

Your hand was so warm and soft. At one point in the last twenty-four hours, he’d thought he’d never get to feel it again, never get to hold your hand or see your pretty face. Never get to say…

“I love you,” he blurted out, the panic he’d felt earlier when he couldn’t remember the last time he’d said those three words to you climbed right out of his belly, trying to claw its way out of his chest. Eddie took in a shuddering breath, head shaking as a hot tear escaped its confinement, trailing down his cheek. He moved to the other side of the hospital bed, so he wouldn’t crush Penny, and took your face in his hands, pressing a passionate kiss to your lips, hoping he was able to convey just how much he loved you.

He needed you to know.

“Eddie,” you mumbled as he pulled away, only to hide himself in the crook of your neck again. You could feel his tears against your skin and it alarmed you. “I love you, too, baby. What’s wrong?”

“I thought I was going to lose you,” he confessed and you felt your heart seize up, “I thought I was gonna lose you twice in the same damn day. I was so fucking scared, sweetheart.”

When he’d been driving to the hospital, there had been a moment when he wondered if you’d still be breathing when he got there. It made him want to throw up so he quickly squashed it and forced it to the back of his head. It hadn’t been ideal when he’d entered the operation room, he didn’t like seeing you get cut open but it was comforting to see he’d overreacted. You were getting a c-section, you weren’t on your deathbed.

Until you had been.

And for the second time that day, he thought you were going to die, thought he’d somehow cruelly manifested this for you and himself.

“I’m alright, Eddie.” You freed your hand, grabbing his to cradle your cheek with.

“See? I’m okay. You didn’t lose me, you’re not going to.” Eddie pulls away from his hiding spot to stare down at you, the wounded puppy look still firmly in place so you add a little humor, hoping to get a smile out of him, “There’s no way I’m checking out this early, I can’t risk you moving on when you look this good.”

Eddie’s hand was so big his fingers were tucked into your hair, his palm alone took up most of your cheek. His fingertips lightly massaged the area of your scalp available to him as the hurt on his face morphed into an earnest look, somehow more vulnerable.

“There’s no moving on from you, you’re taking my soul, my heart, all of it with you when you go. You’re the love of my life, my everything. And that—fuck, it terrifies me because I’d still have Penny to take care of and I wouldn’t know what to do. I wouldn’t know how to pull myself out of it, if it’d even be possible and quite frankly, I don’t ever want to fucking find out.”

Eddie was more than happy to have those types of questions remain unanswered for the rest of his life.

“You’d be able to do it, I know you would. You would be able to take care of Penny and the baby.” You knew he would, your husband would pull himself out of his depression to make sure your children were okay because of how much he loved them, despite his grief.

Eddie flinched, something you were quick to clock. You didn’t need to ask, he could see the question reflecting in those beautiful eyes of yours.

He had to break the news. You were already in a frail condition and he had to tell you the baby you’d almost died to have, your son, might still die.

“Honey, the baby—he—fuck, he’s uh…there’s something wrong with his heart.”

The way your face plummeted shattered something inside of him.

“What?”

“He’s got a hole in his heart, the doctor said it was pretty common amongst heart defects but since he was born so early, it’d be difficult to medicate him or perform an operation. All they can do is keep him under observation, he still might not make it because of how young he is.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, head dropping back to meet your pillow as you tried, and failed, not to cry. Why was this happening? You blamed yourself, why hadn’t you been able to keep him in your belly? Why had your own body betrayed you? Why had you failed your baby?

“This is all my fault,” you declared, eyes and cheeks growing wet with your tears.

“No, no, sweetheart.” Eddie was not about to let you take the blame for something out of your control or even allow you to believe any of this was your fault. “You can’t possibly believe this is on you. These things happen, it obviously isn’t ideal, but it’s just circumstance. It’s not your fault and it’s not the baby’s fault. You did everything you could and more. Okay?”

He leaned in, finger stroking gently across your cheekbone as he caught a tear. You sniffled, nodding once as he pulled you back together.

“What does he look like?” You asked, snuggling back into the pillow as Eddie coddled you.

He hesitated for a moment before he answered, “I—I don’t know.”

That elicited a small frown from you, “You haven’t seen him yet?”

Eddie swallowed hard, gaze moving away from you, “No.”

You waited, watching a series of emotions pass over his features. Eddie often tried to keep his internal struggles to himself, a habit you noticed once you became friends with him (ironically, through some trauma bonding) and even into your relationship. You hadn’t expected him to confide everything in you right away, though you had let him know should he ever need someone to talk to, you’d be there.

Now, it wasn’t a matter of if he would, it was when. It didn’t take him long.

“I don’t know—I guess,” he pursed his lips, eyes squeezing shut as he felt the all too familiar burn of fresh tears. How many times had he cried in the last twenty-four hours? He felt ridiculous to be so emotional, then again, he’d never thought he’d find himself in this tragic situation, so he was due for a couple of breakdowns, “I know if I go down there and I—I look at him, I’m gonna fall in love with him and then what? He dies. I can’t do that, not if I’m gonna lose him forever. I can’t.”

Eddie was leaking tears, not yet sobbing but well on his way as he made his confession. He couldn’t stomach seeing his baby boy if he was going to be taken away from him, if the two of you would have to put a tiny little coffin—a size that should never have to exist—six feet into the ground. He’d been put through the fucking ringer but Eddie couldn’t do that. It would break him.

Eddie’s confession had you crying as well, you shared his pain. You didn’t want to lose your baby, either. You couldn’t remember what he looked like through the haze of your fatigue when you’d given birth to him, but if you tried to think hard enough, you could remember how it felt to have him in your arms in the passenger seat of Wayne’s truck. The first time you’d held him and you hoped it wouldn’t be the last.

Even if it was, you were grateful you’d had the chance to and you knew Eddie would never forgive himself if he didn’t get to see him, didn’t get to meet him.

“I know you’re terrified, Eds. It scares me, too.” You grabbed his hand just as it slipped away from your face, encouraging him to look at you. “I don’t want to lose him, either. I want to take him home. I want to cuddle with him, nurse him, take tons of pictures of him with Penny and with you, but most of all, I want to make sure he knows I love him.”

It killed you to imagine your baby in an incubator, small, helpless and with no one but the nurses, who could make the time to check on him in between all their other patients, offering him comfort. Human contact. And if he did end up passing, he could do so alone in there, not knowing how loved he was.

“I know you love him, Eddie, and you don’t want to lose him. But you can’t lose him if you don’t have him, baby. I hate that this is even a possibility for us, but I’d rather have held him and lost him than to never have picked him up at all. I’ll be okay with whatever you decide, but do you really want him to die without having gotten to meet his dad?”

Eddie let out a choked sob as he shook his head. He didn’t want his baby to die at all but you were right, if he did lose his kid, he’d spend the rest of his life agonizing over the same thing Eddie had been upset with himself for when he thought he’d lose you. He’d been unable to recall the last time he told you he loved you. Only, he’d know he never told his son.

“I’ll be right back,” he swore and you nodded just as he leaned down to give you a kiss. He wiped away his tears, inhaled a particularly violent sniffle and you watched as he left your room to finally meet his baby.

Eddie felt almost disorientated as he navigated his way to the NICU. He’d been there once, briefly, to check on Penny when she’d been there for a few hours, but that was a couple of years ago and he’d needed the assistance of several nurses and staff to direct him, but he finally made it.

The entrance room, where the viewing window was located, was nearly empty. There was a woman further down, gazing through the large window.

Eddie approached it with caution and his heart racing a mile a minute. It wasn’t too difficult to find his baby. His son was in an incubator, close to the window and labeled ‘MUNSON’. For the first time, Eddie got to take his son in. He had been right, he fell in love with him at first sight.

He was smaller than some of the other babies, bigger than others as well and surprisingly well developed. Kind of calmed Eddie’s nerves, just a little. He had a couple of monitor pads attached to his tummy with an additional one wrapped around his tiny foot. Other than the nasal cannula, baby Munson didn’t have a whole lot of tubes attached to him like Eddie had imagined and he could see a smattering of hair on his head, somewhat light in shade but he had a feeling it would darken soon to resemble his own.

It was hard to tell if Wayne and Penny were right in their description of him, Eddie couldn’t tell if he was still pale since the baby was cloaked in blue light, but he assumed his son had gained some color by then. Eddie also couldn’t make out his eyes, those were covered by some sort of eye cloth, most likely for protection. He looked a little odd, obviously resembled a baby and while his features were almost indistinguishable, appearing a little generic, as his face still needed to develop a little more, Eddie could see hints of familiar features.

He looked like newborn Penny, well, so far. Her features had obviously changed since then, and still were, but he was promising to look almost exactly like she had when she was born. And Eddie thought Penny looked a lot like you, so it got a smile out of him, regardless of the fact his son was bound to resemble his family.

Eddie watched the rapid rise and fall of his chest with concern. Was he supposed to be breathing that fast? Was he okay?

“Which one is yours?”

Eddie turned to peer over at the woman who’d asked him the question, “Munson.”

Eddie watched as her gaze moved over all the incubators until they found the correct one.

“Oh, he’s a cute one. And his breathing looks incredible.”

“Really? It’s not too fast?” He asked, the worry in his voice obvious.

“Considering it’s his first time pumping those lungs, I don’t think so, no. Looks like he’s breathing real good to me. Mine needs a little help.” She pointed through the glass to an incubator that housed a baby with a tube in its mouth as well as individual ones in each nostril unlike his son’s nasal cannula. Eddie felt horrible.

“I’m sorry,” he tried to apologize but she waved him off, a smile still on her face.

“Don’t be, that’s all mine is here for. As soon as she figures out how to keep doing it on her own, she’ll be back with me and my wife.”

Right on, Eddie thought. Before he could continue their conversation, a nurse knocked on the window.

She gestured down to the baby, “Is he yours?”

Wow, this glass must have been thin, he could hear her pretty good.

For some reason, Eddie still assumed she couldn’t hear him and only nodded. She disappeared for a minute and emerged into the room through a large pair of doors.

“Would you like to hold him?”

Eddie glanced at the other occupant and she gave him a nod of encouragement.

“Yeah,” he rasped out, turning to look at his son through the window once more, “Yeah, I would.”

Eddie was nervous the entire time as she prepped him with instructions. While they were concerned about the hole in his son’s heart, he was well developed, had strong vitals, good reactions, even for thirty weeks. He was so good that had it not been for his heart, he probably would have been sent home at the same time as you, given your longer than average stay due to your c-section and preeclampsia.

And when she placed him in his arms, the love he had for his son almost overwhelmed him. He couldn’t believe he almost denied himself this.

“Can I touch him?” He asked, after he’d stopped marveling at the small face—eyes still hidden—in his arms.

“Mhm, we’d encourage it. Babies, even born preterm, are still very much so human. He craves the contact, it might even encourage him.”

Eddie didn’t hesitate, fingers gently stroking over the soft fluff of hair on his son’s head. This close, he could see it all pushed towards the middle of his head, like a mohawk. His baby was already metal straight out of your womb, it made him chuckle.

The nurse stepped away to tend to another baby, giving him a little privacy. Eddie maneuvered his son so he was resting on his chest, little head pressed against the spot just over his heart.

“Hi,” he whispered down to the baby in his arms, “I’m your dad.”

Much to Eddie’s awe, the baby nuzzled his head against his chest, making him still. He didn’t know why, but he’d believed his son wouldn’t be able to move for some reason. It was nice to know he was wrong.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, too,” he laughed, the sound soft, “I’ve been looking forward to it, you must have, too. You sure know how to make an entrance, huh? Couldn’t wait in your mom any longer?”

Eddie ducked down to kiss his little head, lips remaining there as he moved to sit in one of the few chairs of the NICU.

“It’s okay, though. I’ve got you, daddy’s got you.” Even if the outcome wasn’t okay, right at that moment with his son in his arms, everything felt like it would be. And if his son needed encouragement, Eddie would give it to him.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to come find you, your mom had to talk some sense into me. She loves you a lot, you know? Probably jealous I’m down here and she isn’t, but only because she physically can’t just yet.”

Eddie’s hand went to support the back of his head as he moved the baby down to hold in his hands, staring down at his little face.

“I’ll bring her down to see you again as soon as I can, though. So you gotta keep fighting, okay? I know things are hard for you right now, not as easy as the other babies in the hospital, but I know you can do it. I love you so much, your mom and I just want to take you home, so you gotta beat this, okay?”

Eddie rocked his baby, gentle swaying motions as he pressed kiss after kiss to his head.

“I see you’ve made it down for a visit,”

Eddie glanced up at the face of Dr. Houseman, she didn’t look as intimidating as she had when she’d first approached him in the waiting room.

“Sorry to disturb you, but I’m very glad I caught you. I heard your wife is doing well.”

“She is,” he confirmed, with a relieved grin.

“Good, I’m glad. Have you been given an update on your little guy?”

Eddie recounted what the nurse had told him and Dr. Houseman looked pleased.

“Well, I have more news for you. He’s proving to be much stronger than we’d initially anticipated, and while his vitals were already good on intake, they’ve improved tremendously in the last few hours and so have his responses. I think he’s figuring out what he’s capable of doing; how to breathe, how to move, how to eat—we introduced him to a rubber nipple to check his latch response and it’s good, not quite there yet, we’ll have to get creative with his feedings but I think he’ll be able to latch onto his mom soon.”

She must have caught the way Eddie perked up at her use of the word soon. That meant his baby had a fighting chance.

“These first few hours after a birth such as his and with his condition are crucial. While he’s still significantly weaker than an average full term newborn, your baby seems to be a fighter. Should he survive this next night, I believe he’ll make it. He’d just need some time in here while the hole closes up, but it just might not be too much for him.”

She left him with that news and a parting smile.

Eddie held his son for a few more minutes before a nurse returned to put him back in his incubator. He hadn’t wanted to leave him, but he’d promised him he’d be back.

When Eddie got back to the room, his heart was a little lighter and he was able to smile when he saw you giving Penny, who was now wide awake, kisses. He pressed his back up against the door and watched for a few moments as you leaned in and gave her a loud kiss. She’d go into a fit of giggles before demanding another with an again!

“Daddy!” Penny beamed the moment she saw him and Eddie grinned as he made his way over, lifting her into his arms when she held hers up to him.

“Hi, pretty one. You sleep good?”

“Uh-huh,” it was clear she was distracted and didn’t care about his questions, no, she had some of her own. “You see my baby?”

Eddie raised an eyebrow, trading an amused look with you.

“Oh, he’s your baby now?”

“Ya, he’s—he’s my baby.” She nodded with a grin as she wrapped her arms around his neck, and he leaned down to press his forehead to hers.

“Well, then yes. I saw your baby,” he chuckled, pressing a kiss to her nose.

“Wha’helooklike?” Penny blurted out, eyes wide as she waited for his reply.

“He looked a lot like you.”

“Nooooooo,” Penny laughed, shaking her head against her dad’s, “He is my potatoes, not anoda Penny.”

“It’s true!” Eddie laughed with her as he put her back down by your side and leaned in to give you yet another—he’d never stop giving them to you—kiss.

“He looks like her?” You asked, after you’d returned his kiss.

“Mhm,” Eddie fell back into the seat he’d occupied hours earlier. “Looks like she did when she was a newborn. He’s not pale—like a potato,” he directed that part to Penny who just laughed into her little hands, “anymore, at least. I don’t know whose eyes he has, they were covered.”

Eddie was right about you being jealous, you were practically green with it.

“I wish I could see him,” you stated sadly, frown on your lips. You knew, realistically, if he started to decline, they’d most likely let you out of bed to see him or bring him up to you, but still. You’d rather it not come to that.

“Ran into his doctor while I was there, she said he’s got a better chance.”

Your eyes lit up, “Really?”

“I was just about ready to kiss her.” He nodded and you made a face, nose doing that adorable scrunch he loved so much.

“Okay, well, don’t do that.”

Eddie snickered, “It was a figure of speech, baby.”

“I know, I’m just saying it on her behalf,”

“On her behalf?” Eddie pouted, eyebrows pulled together in confusion.

“Yeah, I want to kiss her, too, but—uhm, Eds, you might need some sleep ‘cause—you’re hot, you really are, but you also look insane right now.”

Eddie got up to make his way to the bathroom so he could see himself in the mirror, nearly jumping once he’d turned on the lights.

His eyes were beyond bloodshot, his eye bags were dark and very apparent, his skin had an interesting almost gray like tinge to it and his hair was a wreck. Eddie looked like he belonged in a psych ward.

“Jesus,” he shouted loud enough to be heard by you.

“It’s okay, Eds. You’re still beautiful to me!”

Eddie did end up sleeping. Turns out the chair he’d been sitting on was also a pull out bed. You insisted that he get some rest, and while he did, you changed Penny’s diaper and got some hospital room service for the two of you, you’d even picked something out on the menu for Eddie to eat once he woke up.

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fyeahnix · 1 month

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Local Deadly Weapons Expert Sevika gets reeeaaaaal nervous when her gf handles sharp objects.

The way Sevika had been staring at you for the last minute made you want to burst into laughter. With her arms crossed, her fingers twitched and tapped her bronze arm. Her eyebrow cocked.

"You sure you don't need any help?" she said.

Funny.

"Yes, hun, I'm sure. You asked me already. Now go relax while I finish up."

She said nothing, but her eyes flickered between you and the cutting board.

You had always cradled kitchen knives in your fingers exactly the way your dad taught you: three on the grip, two at the base of the blade. This time, Sevika caught you before you settled in. Asked if you were okay. You kept up the charade for no other reason than to watch her squirm.

The corner of her top lip quivered with each awkward slide of the knife. You held the chunk of potato with your opposite hand, keeping your digits just out of reach in case of an accidental slip. The blade was sharpened well, mind, but you played up its dulled edge well enough to make Sevika fidgety.

The potato dwindled down to a scrap, barely enough room to fit the tips of your fingers. The final slice cut close. Sevika winced in your periphery, and in half a second she was nudged against you, massaging the knife from your hand.

"Lemme help. Please."

Hilarious.

"Vika, it's fine, I got it," you said, smirking, though you made no attempt to refuse.

Sevika set the knife aside. She clicked her tongue and trapped you against the counter. When she leaned in, she brushed her nose right up against the back of your ear. You couldn't help but roll your neck back a few degrees.

"I know you're doing that on purpose, you little shit."

"Doing what on purpose?"

"The knife shit. Thought you were tired or something. Don't be careless."

"Am I making you nervous?"

You shivered at the puff of air masking a scoff or laugh.

"Yeah. You are making me nervous," she whispered.

You turned immediately. "And what are you gonna do about it?"

Many moons ago, Sevika would have dodged the question. Her gruff exterior wasn't a front—she waved off any verbal expression of affection or care in favor of action. As much as you loved how action-oriented she was, any affection uttered directly always made you swoon. Buuut...you were still fine throwing her a bone.

The height difference between you never failed to make you melt. You felt small beneath her worried gaze. Not powerless, but definitely small.

And well, maybe, the combination of all three made you a little...needy. And hot.

She glared at you playfully before her expression softened. Her wolf-grey eyes twinkled. When she leaned in, your body followed the script. She gave you one quick peck on the lips before she delved deeper with lips and tongue. You returned with equal fervor as you pulled her closer by her pants waistband.

The kiss was fleeting but enough to leave you reeling when she pulled away. She glided her tongue over your bottom lip as a memento. You quickly moved from the waistband to her zipper, but she caught your hand and spun you around slowly. She placed your hand back on the counter. Her own trailed up your arm to your shoulder. From your shoulder blades down to your ribs. Waist to your ass. She squeezed you, shook you gently. Rubbed and squeezed again and again and—

Smack!

Your ass clenched and you sucked air through your teeth. It was a gentle, but loud swat that didn't do your situation any justice. Before you could even respond, Sevika grazed your ear again and whispered.

"Be more careful... please."

She pecked the space behind your ear and left you to finish dinner prep.

You stared at the mess of chopped potatoes and onions on the cutting board. Your cheeks and ass burned. Sevika played you at your own game, and you had no one but to blame but yourself.

taglist: @gaudesstuff @archangeldyke-all @abitohoney @sexysapphicshopowner @iamaboringrattat @animexaddictedtwt @ash-fall7

#Arcane #Sevika #Sevika x Reader #Sevika x You #Canon x reader #reader insert #Sevika imagine #Sevika headcanon #writing #headcanon #headcanon: sevika #if you wanna be added to my sevika taglist let me knoooow

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auspicioustidings · 7 months

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Services/Goods of Equivalent Value

Summary: You decide to renovate a crumbling farm house into a teashop, not realising there is a military base right down the road.

Work Count: 3.9k (this was completely by accident)

CW: None, the whole thing is a fluff piece

This was probably crazy. It was definitely crazy right? People didn't actually get to pursue their passions and have their dream job under relentless capitalism, that wasn't a thing right? So then why did you think that you could be different? Especially standing on this road (dirt path really) looking at the crumbling wreck of a farmhouse with only one suitcase and a backpack to your name.

The property had already taken a chunk of your savings and you'd need every penny of the rest to try and turn it into what you imagined. You walked over the threshold and took a breath. It was a rainy day, the puddles on the floor evidence of the holes in the roof. Parts of the floor were cracked and rotting. Only one window had managed to stay completely intact, the rest either totally gone or cracked beyond repair. But when you turned the tap and found that after a heroic sputter the water did flow through you grinned.

It didn't matter how the small space looked now, it mattered what you could see in it. You got to work.

You threw the screwdriver on the ground and huffed, stopping your feet like a child. This was the 5th time you had attached the new front door and the 5th time it was wrong. It wouldn't fit in the frame properly. You kept plaining down the edge gingerly, taking off a tiny bit at a time so you didn't go too far, and every time when you propped it up it seemed like it fit until you actually added the hinges.

"Ye ok there hen?"

Oh that was embarrassing, there was a man on the road. He was jogging in place, pausing what must have been a run judging by his workout gear to give you a bemused grin. You flustered a little, wildly gesturing to the door in accusation. You had every good reason to be in a huff, the door was being a dick.

He laughed at you and you blew out a breath before groaning and slumping down to hug your knees and bury your head there in embarrassment, your voice muffled.

"I don't know what I'm doing wrong, it just won't go on."

You heard warm laughter and then footsteps coming towards you. Felt a hand gently petting at your head in a 'there there' gesture.

"I wouldnae expect it tae. It's the wrong type of door for this frame."

You unburied your head and looked at him, aghast.

"But can't I just make it smaller? I've been making it smaller. I really love that door."

"Aye that would eventually make it fit, but it's an interior door, wilnae dae fuck all to keep the elements oot."

You groaned and just accepted your fate, falling back on your ass and then laying star fished on the ground to stare at the sky. You were bone tired. You'd laid the floor, it was crooked as hell. The windows were fitted but two of them just did not open properly and you couldn't figure out why. You had given up on the leaks, putting buckets down for the moment and hoping the next downpour would hold off until you could come up with a solution.

It wasn't like you weren't trying your hardest, but it was just so much all the time and you wondered why on earth you thought you could do this. A shadow fell over you as the man leant to look at you with a smile.

"I can help ye with the door" he offered, holding out a hand which you took to shake from your spot on the ground, telling him your name. "Nice tae meet you, John MacTavish."

"I can't pay you John MacTavish, so thanks but I'll figure something out."

"Wisnae offering for pay hen, just tryin' tae help a damsel in distress."

You considered him for a moment before hauling yourself up and making your way inside, motioning for him to follow. You started tearing through the place to find a pen and paper, clearing tools and assorted nonsense off of the countertop to lay the paper flat.

Johnny took the place in with some sense of awe. Last time he saw this place it was basically a ruin and he had to hand it to you, you had done a half decent job with it. There was charm in all the flaws, made the place feel undeniably cosy. He noted the buckets, would have to fix the roof. He wasn't any good at that kind of work, but hadn't he seen Rudy doing roof work on one of the safe houses before? They were due a visit from Los Vaqueros soon, he'd ask him to come help. Wasn't too far a trip, this road was a half hour run from a small off record military base the 141 tended to use when they didn't feel like being miserable in some rules bound grey prison of a base.

Rudy was a bit like him, always loved a project. He tried to figure out what exactly you were doing with the place. The counter looked like a bar of some sort, maybe a shop?

"Ok John, here you go" you said, presenting the very hastily written contract.

I, the undersigned, agree that I will pay in full Mr John MacTavish for works carried out either in monetary value or services/goods of equivalent value as soon as I have the means to do so.

"Services and goods eh? Wit ye selling?"

"Once I get the place fixed up, tea."

Johnny couldn't help but grin at your expression. You were so determined and so excited about the prospect, like the idea of it had completely re-filled your energy. Cute.

"Add coffee to the menu and you have a deal."

You liked Alejandro immediately and immensely. John, or Soap as you were now calling him and honestly you had no clue why, and Rudy were absolute terrors together. You actually did enjoy being around them, but my God if it didn't tire you out something awful. It was impossible not to be high energy with them, bouncing around and laughing and having fun. But when Alejandro had joined he had calmed you down, allowed you to take it slow and easy after days of feeling like a live wire.

With the roof fixed and a front door that worked you were able to start actually unpacking the suit case you had brought into the place months ago. Two kettles and your favourite tea set along with a big copper pot you loved, some utensils and some hand blended tea. It wasn't a lot, but being able to make that first pot of tea almost made you cry.

You were extra attentive, making sure it was brewed perfectly before going outside to find the others. You were nervous, the first time you had felt that way around them. None of the three were much for tea, that you knew.

"Hey I... uh, I made tea. I don't actually have any coffee just yet but I promise I'm going to get some soon! It was just in the meantime, if you wanted something to drink. Tea I mean, if you wanted to drink some tea. Which you do not have to" you rambled, trying to give your best winning smile to the three men currently working away at one of the windows. The ones that you couldn't open you had installed completely wrong so they had taken to reinstalling them.

Johnny and Rudy were content to watch you ramble away, seeing you like this being new to them so choosing to enjoy it while it lasted. You were adorable like this, heart on your sleeve telling them that it was important to you that they enjoyed something you had made for them. Alejandro only smiled and pulled off his gloves, stuffing them in his back pocket and going over to you.

"We would love some tea, it's the first time you've made it here no? Thank you for trusting us to share it" he said warmly, watching how you visibly relaxed. He liked that he could have that effect on you.

"Well if the boss says we drink tea then we drink tea" Rudy laughed, him and Soap following after.

You reckoned that if he went by first impressions, Simon Riley probably thought you were the biggest airhead he had ever met. In your defence though, you had the worst cold known to man when he had come round.

The place was looking great, but the fireplace wasn't done yet. As you had been since starting this project, and as you had been hiding from any visitors, you were sleeping in the building in a sleeping bag on the floor. It was getting bitingly cold and you were bundled up in layers whenever you went to bed. You could not afford to rent somewhere nearby while this was going on and to be honest you hadn't really thought ahead to what you would do when you actually opened the place. Probably just keep on sleeping on the floor, or maybe once you got furniture on one of the cosy armchairs you wanted to get.

He had made a house call when you were miserably sipping at a hot chocolate. Rudy had taught you how to make it, a recipe from Mexico. It was gently spiced and beautifully warming and smooth, but with your current cold you could barely taste it, hence the misery.

"Y'should really lock the door, I could be a murderer walking in here."

The man who had walked in was tall, in full tactical gear and wearing a balaclava with a skull on it. Probably was a murderer.

"Please put me out of my misery Mr murderer."

You honestly hadn't meant to say that to a complete stranger, but it felt like your head was stuffed with cotton wool instead of grey matter today. Thankfully he only chuckled gruffly instead of fulfilling your request.

"And then where would I get more of whatever tea Johnny brought back to base?"

Johnny. Right, this must be Ghost then. Soap talked about him sometimes, said him, Gaz and Price liked your tea which had made you jump up and down in excitement at the time. Your signature blend had taken you years to get just the way you liked it. Soap had also said something about Ghost having a mask, so you at least assumed this wasn't one of the other two.

"Oh right, let me get you some to take away with you. Hang on" you said, going to pack some of the leaves up into a little brown bag for him.

You put it on the counter and then went into the cupboard, grabbing the mug you had gotten in a Halloween sale. It was a white mug in the shape of a ghost, two little eyes on the front. You ladled in some of the hot chocolate from the pot on the stove and put that on the counter as well.

Ghost watched the whole thing with concealed amusement. He had genuinely come to get some of the tea, he liked the blend and they had run out of what Johnny had brought. But he had also come out of curiosity. It was clear Johnny was fond of you from the way his eyes lit up when he'd tell them all what he had done with you that day whenever he would come back to base. Rudy and Alejandro too when they had been visiting seemed enamoured, tense from mission planning right up until a visit to you would have them coming back relaxed and happy.

Part of him had been hoping to scare you a little showing up the way he had in gear and mask. It was probably because you were clearly sick, but you weren't treating him like something scary. No, you were sluggishly getting him tea and then giving him hot chocolate in a cute little ghost mug.

"You shouldn't be working sick, definitely a health and safety violation."

"Place isn't open yet so not technically working."

"In that case, thanks for the hot chocolate."

When he left, he took off his massive cosy looking jacket and draped it over your shoulders without a word before grabbing the bag of tea and taking off.

You tried a bunch of names for the cat and none of them seemed to fit just right. The scrappy little thing started hanging around the place when you started leaving out snacks for it and you found you enjoyed the company.

The place was nearly ready now, interior cosy and furnished with a bunch of mismatched furniture you had thrifted that somehow managed to match the vibe very well. With the fire going the place glowed just the way you had always dreamt it would, and the way the scent of tea clung pleasantly to the air was more than you could have hoped for. Simon and Soap had helped haul a lot of the furniture, but they had been gone for a month now. You really hoped you would see them again so you could show them the place now, completely transformed from when they last saw it.

Cosy enough now for this cat to enjoy at least. She even had a favourite spot, one of the wing backed armchairs by the fireplace.

"How about Binks?" you asked her, currently leaning behind the counter and mulling over a cup of tea.

In response the cat only yawned and blinked lazily at you.

"Ok, not Binks then" you laughed, taking a sip and sighing in contentment. Honestly who knew if you'd ever get customers, this place was completely out of the way, but you were proud of what you had created. Dirt poor, but proud. You'd open soon you thought, actually give this a go.

The cat eventually stretched and padded over to the door, looking over at you expectantly.

"Alright alright, time for you to go wherever it is you go" you said, going over to open the door and let her out.

There was a giant on the other side of the door and you all but jumped out of your skin in surprise. The man looked like he had been considering knocking, just as surprised as you were for a moment. Purring broke you both out of your surprise, the cat butting up against the man's legs.

"So this is where you've been getting to Herzogin" he said to the cat, leaning down to give her some scratches which resulted in more purring before she went right back to her spot on the chair, leaving you and the giant stood at the doorway alone.

"Is Herzogin her name? I'm sorry, I thought she was a stray" you said with a slight smile, hoping you hadn't accidentally become a catnapper.

"She is a stray of kinds, the base nearby feeds her sometimes so I got used to having her around is all."

"Oh my God the base! That makes way more sense now, I didn't realise there was something like that nearby."

So that's where all these men had been coming from. You wondered if that meant Ghost, Soap, Rudy and Alejandro weren't stationed there anymore or had been moved. The military wasn't something you understood, but you assumed they must move around a lot. Did they have a home base of sorts? Was it selfish of you to sort of hope the one near you was a home base for them?

"If they had told us about this place we would have visited" the man said as if in apology.

"Oh no don't worry, I'm not actually open yet. I'm just sort of practicing drinks until I work up the nerve" you laughed. "Do you want to try something? I'm best at making tea, but I've been trying out coffees and hot chocolates as well."

You moved to unblock the doorway, inviting him in and telling him your name. He said you could call him König. Luckily this place had high ceilings so he could experience the cosiness without it being cramped for him.

König found the next few hours to be some of the most calming he had experienced in years. He wouldn't deny that he enjoyed the bloodthirst of battle, it gave him a manic energy that suited him. But there was something to be said for letting himself be fully off duty. It was nice to teach you how to make Einspänner, laugh at your pronunciation of it and have you laugh back rather than be nervous around him for his size or his reputation. Sipping his drink by the fire with a cat in his lap and you softly telling him all about your big plans for the place if it started to do well was something he hadn't known he had been yearning for.

He knew him and the others in Kortac were only here a few more days, the 141 being gracious in allowing them to use their base to lay low while they handled the absolute mess happening in America just now. The whole thing had at least given the teams an uneasy alliance for the time being. Maybe he'd put some effort into keeping that alliance going so he could visit again.

You knew that you should do some sort of advertising for an opening, but the idea was overwhelming. Instead you just quietly popped a little open sign by the door and went about your day as normal. You would probably get nobody coming in because nobody knew this was here and that suited you fine. It felt like once 'opening day' was over and the pressure of it was out of the way, then you could actually seek out customers and not feel like it was as big a deal.

If zero people showed up your first day then the only direction was up right?

Only two people did show up. Price and Gaz. They had greeted you warmly like you were an old friend, explaining that they knew Soap and Simon who would be home soon but that they wanted to visit themselves. They seemed to like the place which made you happy, both settling in at one of the tables and chatting amicably away with you while you made their tea.

Herzogin didn't seem to care that there was company, barely even looking to check before curling back up in her spot happily purring away.

Captain Price found he liked this place immediately. It struck him as bordering on fantastical, seeming like a tea shop from a fantasy novel on the inside. It was an hour at a brisk walk to get here but he regretted not making the trip sooner, imagining that any customer who had come once would certainly become a regular regardless of distance. It was a relaxing spot, almost nostalgic feeling.

For Gaz the place was lovely, but he was more fascinated with you. He had wanted to visit before, had tried to tag along with Ghost and Soap and been denied. He reckoned he probably knew why now, bastards were being selfish and keeping you all to themselves.

"Is it always so quiet for you on weekdays at this time?" Price asked at some point in the conversation, watching the pretty blush that stained your cheeks with interest.

"Oh well technically, this is the first weekday I've been open at this time. It's actually sort of opening day? I mean I didn't really advertise or anything, I wasn't actually expecting anyone to show up if I'm honest" you replied sheepishly.

"It's a soft open then, just to test everything out yeah?" Gaz said gently.

"I think that's an idea. This can be your soft open and then in a week you can open proper. That way Ghost and Soap can be here for it" Price added.

Both of them were giving you such soft looks that you couldn't help but agree with them, settling on a date in a weeks time for a real opening. When the conversation turned to how you would advertise they had promptly told you not to worry about it with a knowing look to one another.

Every seat in the place was taken and the tables and counters were overflowing with sweets and snacks from all over the world. Bukkumi, halva, berlinerkranser, churros, shortbread, teacakes, all brought in for everyone to share. You were so busy making drinks that you didn't even register how ridiculous it was that you were happily hand fed bites of different desserts every so often by whoever happened to be near you when you stopped to fill a cup or mug.

It was nice to see everyone you had met again and to meet new faces. Herzogin took it all in her stride, figuring out quickly who she liked. You hid a laugh seeing König huff when she curled up in Simon's lap. The official opening was by all accounts an outrageous success and everyone absolutely overpaid on their bills regardless of your efforts to stop them.

Farah promised to teach you how to make the halva while Horangi swore that the bukkumi would remain a trade secret and you'd just have to hire him next time he was in town to make it for you. Aksel had rolled his eyes at the Korean man and pressed a kiss to your cheek in thanks for taking care of them. Kate smacked Soap upside the head when he immediately made a beeline to give you kisses as well which made you laugh before blushing and pressing a quick peck to his cheek when he pouted about it.

When everybody was finally out of the door you were absolutely exhausted. By the time the sound of the last car leaving faded away you were already done with tidying all the plates and cups away to the sink. You'd deal with the cleaning up tomorrow, you were far too beat to even consider doing it now. Giving Herzogin a kiss on the head after you had gotten ready for bed, you curled up in the chair by the fireplace, crashing out hard almost immediately.

"Told you so."

"Ye always have tae be right about everything don't ye LT."

"Alright. Get her in the car would you Sergeant."

"Right-o Captain, we kidnapping damsels now?"

"It's not a bloody kidnapping you cheeky bastard. We're putting her in a proper bed for the night and taking her back in the morning once she's made a bad attempt at explaining herself."

"She can take my room."

After some discussion on that point it was decided that you would indeed take Ghost's room with the reasoning it meant nobody would disturb you. They could hardly put you in one of the empty rooms where anyone might walk in. Everyone who they had invited for the opening was staying at base and they were not about to risk the likes of König or Rudy figuring out you were sleeping under the same roof as them. They'd avoid that for as long as possible.

Tomorrow they'd let you sweat a bit and then tell you in no uncertain terms that you'd be staying with them for the time being until they could build you an extension to your shop with a proper living space. You could pay them back with services/goods of equivalent value after all, and they could think of plenty of ideas for what that looked like.

#cod #cod au #tf 141 x reader #konig x reader #los vaqueros x reader #fanfic #truly I was in a very cosy mood this evening and could do nothing but write about cosy vibes #shan't apologise #mhairiwrites

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bumblesimagines · 9 months

Text

Imagine:

Lo'ak realizing he likes you

Request: Yes or No

~~~

There was a time he thought you were odd. Back when he was still a kid, a little boy who still had difficulty traversing his home and had just befriended the offspring of a sky demon. Spider had been a welcome change to his life. An oddly pale, mask wearing change. He'd been thrilled when Spider mentioned having a sibling, a twin back at the outpost. The thrill died when he had realized you were the opposite of Spider; slow, quiet, and reserved. You clung to Norm's legs all the time as a kid, following him around the outpost and spending more time with him and his team than with your own brother.

Lo'ak didn't see you very much during those years, even when Spider begged and insisted. He'd watch from afar as Spider tugged on your arm and whined, trying to convince you to leave the outpost and spend the day with him and his friends. Sometimes he'd snicker at the bemused look on your face and the way you tried prying his arm off. It'd take Spider around fifteen mintues before he gave up, only to do it all over again the next day.

Unlike Spider, who spent his childhood adapting to the forest so much so he was practically Na'vi, you had spent your childhood in and around the outpost. You were an odd little thing to Lo'ak. You seemed to hate the very idea of spending the day in the forest, but happily waddled after Norm and clung to every bit of information he explained to you. It was annoying, and a bit insulting, how you didn't want to hang with him and Spider just to spend the day studying plants with Norm.

That habit didn't break, even as you and Lo'ak grew into your teenage years. By then, you were practically part of the scientist crew, sporting their khakis and tank tops rather than joining Spider in wearing the clothes of the People. But when Norm and the others officially moved to the Hallelujah Mountains, Lo'ak expected you to be pushed to socialize with him and the others. And you did, just not with him, but with Neteyam and Kiri.

Lo'ak watched from a distance, slowly chewing on the cooked piece of yerik his mother had offered him. You stood outside the main building, mask secured firmly and a notebook in hand. Despite Neteyam being a year younger than you, he still had to slightly hunch over in order to see what you were pointing at. Lo'ak nearly scowled. You looked vibrant and pleased, rambling about Eywa knows what to his brother of all people.

"Just admit it." He blinked and tore his eyes away from you to look up at Kiri. She grinned down at him, her canines gleaming in the light.

"Admit what?"

"That you like (Y/N)." She cooed, voice full on teasing as she plopped down on the seat beside him. Kiri plucked a chunk of the yerik meat from his hand and tossed it in her mouth, amber eyes still locked on his face. The Sully boy stiffened at her words, his face heating up and likely exploding in a deep shade of navy blue.

"I don't!" He huffed at her, his tail lashing wildly by their feet. "They're Spider's twin. That's weird."

"Then," Kiri drawled and Lo'ak's ears pinned flat against his head, already hating whatever words would flow out of her mouth. "I'm sure you don't care that Neteyam's taking them down to the forest today."

He turned rigid at that, ears pricking up and eyes snapping back in your direction. You nodded excitedly at something Neteyam said and his brother smiled. A sour feeling bubbled in his stomach and he handed the yerik meat off to his sister before rising to his feet. Kiri snickered quietly behind him but he ignored her and made his way over to you.

"Hey, skxawng." Neteyam greeted him, his smile widening. Lo'ak missed the way Neteyam and Kiri exchanged a pleased glance.

"I heard you were going to the forest today." Lo'ak said, lowering his gaze from his brother's face down to you. You blinked at him and clutched the notebook tight to your chest.

"Uh, yeah. Neteyam said he'd be taking me-"

"You know, (Y/N), the flora you're looking for actually grows in Lo'ak's favorite spot." You furrowed your brows at the tall Na'vi and glanced at his brother, drawing out a slow and low hum from your throat. Lo'ak straightened his posture, tail swaying side to side behind him.

"Show me," He stepped toward you and you took a quiet inhale, turning your notebook around to show him the drawing. Lo'ak's breath hitched slightly and he gingerly took the notebook from your hands, studying the drawing. Slowly and carefully, he began flipping through the pages, growing more and more in awe of each drawing.

"They're rough sketches-"

"They're good." Lo'ak gaped at them and then clamped his mouth shut when he stumbled across a drawing of him riding his ikran. You'd captured the dark blue, purple, and green undertones of his ikran perfectly.

"You think so? I-I tried doing her justice." You stepped closer to him, arm brushing against his as you peered down at the notebook. His gaze lifted from the notebook to look at your face, feeling his heartbeat begin to pick up considerably. "The anatomy isn't great but I really liked how the colors turned out. She's always moving around so it was a little hard drawing her."

"Y-yeah, it's... It's amazing." Lo'ak muttered softly and his ears pinned back again upon hearing Neteyam snicker. Maybe, just maybe... Kiri's words rang true.

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theactofknowing · 4 months

Note

can i have a little fic of legolas x elf reader braiding each other’a hair? can be in any setting 🫶

i guess…. 😒🙄

braid my hair (if i braid yours)

legolas/gn!reader

a short and sweet drabble, nothing but a nice conversation with soothing hands. about .7k words! i’m a little evil and i changed the prompt a wee bit.

It’d been a simple day of travel, eased by echoed chatter among your fellows and the comforting allure of nature. Your party came to a halt when exhaustion and being famished began to gnaw at the edge of everyone’s attention—urged, by the constant complaints of two hobbits.

Uncaringly, you drop your belongings somewhere, generally, in the clearing of your makeshift camp. Your mind begins to wander as the voices of your companions fade— you hear Gimli’s boisterous voice as he pars with someone or another, informing them on how to properly hunt for dinner.

You huff in amusement before the wind begins to whip your hair against your face like a punishment. You curse to yourself, dragging remnants of your hair our of your mouth before a voice drags your irritation away from the front of your mind.

“You should tie your hair back.” Legolas, the sneak, says, not even announced by the crunch of the forest floor. You’d become accustomed to his quick yet silent nature, after instances one too many of you nearly tumbling off a cliffside from being startled.

“Is that so?” You reply almost absentmindedly, watching as he gingerly sits on an upturned tree. You flick your heft of hair over your shoulder as you sit besides him, ignoring the uncomfortable pricks of the bark. This position wasn’t unfamiliar to you—you’d found him intriguing, his nature was silent yet occupied with quips of wisdom—you spent nights beside him conversing as though you were old acquaintances. “I don’t care to braid my hair, honestly.”

He corrects you, a small smile gracing his features. You drop your eyes for a moment, overwhelmed by the softness to his face as he spoke. “You have no patience for it, you mean. I do.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And you said nothing to me the entire day?”

“I was waiting to see if you came to a conclusion yourself.” He says with a twinge of tease, lacing his tone as a parallel to the sweet smile on his face. He urges you forward with a flick of his fingers, “Come. I’ll aid you this once.”

You turn your back to him, presenting your entanglement of hair. You fall comfortable in the companionable silence that follows his focus. His hands glide through your hair, separating the chunks to rhythmically tend to—over, under. You resist the urge to sigh as his hands deftly massage your head as well, focusing on your thoughts instead. You wonder if his face is pinched in concentration, or smoothed from peacefulness as his hands traveled.

“Do you regret volunteering for the fellowship?” You ask, ignoring the urge to turn and face him as you spoke. None of those who’d volunteered to join the journey had planned to do so, those that came had arrived with the precipice of another task on their mind.

You suppose the answer is simple, because he answers without faltering. “No. To be courageous is to be spontaneous.” He adds, “This is a… very tasking trip, though.”

You laugh, and a surge of confidence spurs you, perhaps from the protection that comes with facing away—there’s no confusion or irritation to be presented with and sink your hopes. You lick your lips, fiddling with the cloth that lines your thighs as you ponder your question. You add on, knowing your innuendo is clear, “Then do you like the company you keep on this long, terrible journey?”

You feel his hands falter in their pattern through your hair—surprising, considering the courage and display of assurance you often saw. Disappointing, you think, and left an itch of anxiety in the core of your chest from his silence—assumingely disapproving.

“Yes,” His voice is soft, akin to the sweet melody he spoke when he whispered of the wonders of nature. You’re surprised, and hold back the urge to perk up from your seated spot. “I do.”

You hum in response, knowing you’re lost for words.

You peer over your shoulder just the once, seeing from the edge of your gaze that a piece of cloth was being wrapped around the tip of your braid by Legolas’ swift hands.

The braid is efficient, and not a single stray hair pokes from its confines. You run your hair over it and nod approvingly, before turning fully to him. You smile, “Thank you.”

He only nods.

requested @sugairsstuff who! hey! also writes

#lotr #lord of the rings #legolas #legolas x reader #legolas fanfiction

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sarcastic--metaphor · 8 months

Text

Winter's Night

AKA frosty old man yaoi

I've been thinking a LOT about the newest Fionna and Cake episodes... i'm not sorry

AU where the Candy Queen never shows up and the F&C gang hang out in the winter kingdom for a while longer.

Excerpt:

He didn't know why, but Simon approached his double as he played away on the piano. Then again, in the Winter King's world, wasn't he the double?

"Yes?" the King asked, not even turning around. Simon paused, his bare feet seemingly stuck upon the frozen floor.

"I..." Simon came to the terrible realization that he didn't know what to say. Or why he'd even come here, following the other Simon's music, "I couldn't sleep."

+++

It'd been a day since they arrived in the Winter King's world. Or two now, given that it was the very early hours of a new day. The sky outside the vast halls of the castle were dark and misty, the moon tucked away in a blanket of pale clouds.

Simon let his fingertips glide over the chilly windows, the pads of his fingers catching on not even the slightest bump or rough patch of ice. Everything in the castle, everything in the entire kingdom, was so perfect.

And this left him restless. More so than the strange scarab man that'd been following them, who was still thankfully trapped in a chunk of ice. If the Winter King's estimates were correct, the duplicate crown would be completed within just seven days of the process beginning. And then Simon would be pulled back into a dizzying, eternal labyrinth of madness.

Not eternal, he reminded himself. He promised to show you how to tame it.

To tame the crown. Simon had tried so many times to do just that only to fail in his own world. Even with the proof right before his eyes, he didn't know how in God's name he was ever going to become like the other Simon.

Which was why he was here, being chased through the silent halls by his thoughts. Somewhere in the haze of memories that belonged to the Ice King, Simon remembered being restless. With all that magic, the Ice King was far more energetic than he ever was. And maybe it'd rubbed off on him.

As he turned a corner, Simon paused at what he thought was the sound of wind. Or maybe not wind, but a whistle? No, wrong again.

it was the high notes of a piano coming from far away.

Finding himself no longer entrenched in his thoughts, Simon made his way toward the sound, unsurprised to find his doppelgänger tapping away at a cerulean piano.

The Winter King was out of the suit he wore during the day, instead dressed in loose robes in brilliant hues of pale white and sapphire. Seems like Simon wasn’t the only one who couldn’t sleep.

He lingered in the entryway to the throne room. The other had his back to Simon, playing a soft but cheerful tune. He didn't yet know he had an audience and was instead playing a concert for himself. Exhaling, Simon closed his eyes and searched for anything familiar in the Winter King's music: a scrap from one of the songs he and Marceline used to make up when she was little, the melody to the Cheers opening, those old Broadway tunes Betty used to hum while she read.

Nothing. He opened his eyes.

He didn't know why, but Simon approached his double as he played away on the piano. Then again, in the Winter King's world, wasn't he the double?

"Yes?" the King asked, not even turning around. Simon paused, his bare feet seemingly stuck upon the frozen floor.

"I..." Simon came to the terrible realization that he didn't know what to say. Or why he'd even come here, following the other Simon's music, "I couldn't sleep."

Before he could apologize and leave, WK, as Fionna had taken to calling him, turned and smiled over his shoulder. He sat to one side of the piano bench, a clear invitation. Feeling as if he couldn't excuse himself at this point, Simon took the offer and sat beside him.

"Oh, dear," the Winter King said, looking down, "Your poor feet!"

"Huh?" Simon followed his gaze. Yes, his feet were looking a bit discolored. They'd taken on an ashen hue and as he flexed his toes, Simon was a bit surprised to find them quite numb.

"What happened to your complimentary slippers?" Winter King asked. He clapped his hands and those two girls, the Ice Scouts, came out of nowhere with a fresh set of plush, white slippers. Simon could hardly utter thanks before they jet off to leave them alone.

Nevertheless, he slipped them on. He, along with the others, had been given very large guest rooms in the castle well stocked with warm, winter clothes. But when Simon climbed out of bed, sick with his thoughts, he'd taken a white robe and nothing more.

He fought the urge to laugh at himself. "Truth be told, I sometimes forget that the cold can hurt me."

He spoke as if this were still a recent development. But the last ten or so years as Simon were nothing compared to the thousand spent as Ice King.

A hand fell upon his shoulder. The other Simon at least didn't stare at him with pity. Just that sort of self-assured confidence that was, admittedly, entirely earned.

“Well, not to fret! Soon you won’t have to worry a thing about the cold.”

The Winter King laughed at his own words, his hand becoming a firm, reassuring touch on Simon’s shoulder.

Kingly, his mind supplied, Yes, that was the only way to describe this exact blend of pride and poise. Simon suppressed the sudden shiver that tickled his spine.

“Tell me, do you play?” Winter King asked, gesturing to the piano.

“Oh, I… do.” Simon said. He’d let his musical interests fall to the wayside in recent years, but yes.

Winter King sat up straighter as he clapped his hands. “Then how about a duet?”

And who was Simon to deny his kindly host?

He rolled his shoulders and began a slow song. The keys were a little lighter than he’d expected, the sound a bit shaper, making his first few notes louder than he would have liked. But neither said anything as his playing even out.

And soon a second set of hands joined him on the keys.

“It’s been a while since I’ve had a partner,” Winter King said, taking Simon’s hesitant song and breathing some more life into it. His fingers danced across the piano with far more confidence, taking what Simon started and making it much more his own.

It was a beautiful song though, as was everything the Winter King touched. And it far out paced Simon’s rusty skills. He paused once he felt that he could no longer keep up.

“You play very well,” he said, smiling politely. Hands hovering over the keys.

Winter King beamed. “And you simply flatter me.”

He tapped Simon on the nose, making him blink in surprise. The Winter King edged closer, shrinking the space between them until their knees bumped and their thighs touched. Simon moved on instinct to give them both more space but found himself already at the edge of the bench.

Winter King studied him with that ever-cheerful expression. “You seem tense, my Simon.”

“Ah, well…” he adjusted his glasses. “A lot on my mind, I suppose.”

Without missing a beat, “And if I could help with that as well?”

Simon blinked and without warning, found them so very close together. The Winter King was leaning over him, making use of his superior height to bear upon him with an eager smile. But it was just so sudden, so much that it left him reeling.

“I’m terribly sorry,” Simon said, standing, “But you’ve already done so much for me, for us, that–”

A hand reached out and grabbed his wrist. Simon did finally shiver, a little jolt going up his arm.

Winter King rose, still holding Simon’s wrist. At his full height, he was the picture of grace, yet the hairs on the back of Simon’s neck stood on end. Winter King took Simon’s wrist in both hands, raising it, and…

And pressed a kiss to the back of his hand.

His breath caught in his throat. Even the Winter King’s lips were as cold as ice.

A stray memory resurfaced in his mind, of something Cake said when they first arrived.

“Kiss each other!”

Which he would’ve brushed off as nonsense if it weren’t for what the Winter King said in response.

“Don’t think it hasn’t occurred to me.”

But the inhabitants of Ooo, of most variants of Ooo, were all just a bit silly and strange, weren't they? Simon thought that surely the Winter King meant nothing by it.

Until now.

“It’s been quite a long while…” Winter King began, “Since I’ve had a partner.”

He met Simon’s gaze with unflinching sincerity.

Meanwhile, Simon’s brain was being tossed back and forth between denial and shock. And perhaps a third emotion which he couldn’t yet describe.

He cleared his throat and tried to find his voice. Simon said, “N-now look at who’s flattering who.”

But his meek attempt at humor fell flat. Winter King acted as if he hadn’t even heard it, still holding Simon’s hand. He even wrapped an arm around Simon’s waist, palm pressed against the small of his back. Despite his night clothes and the robe, he still faintly felt that icy touch.

The Winter King said, “My Simon, tell me. How long have you felt so lonely?”

And he shuddered at that. It wasn’t as if he’d disclosed his own sour past to the Winter King. At least, not in full detail. He hadn’t brought up his sad life as a living relic on display, or the use of magic creatures as batteries for his spells.

Or just how empty the world felt. How empty he felt.

“How did you-”

“I can see it plainly,” Winter King said, “I can see it on your face. I see it because I once felt it myself, before I built this wonderful world of mine.”

Again, the space between them was slowly closing. Simon’s body was still ringed by the arm keeping him in place.

Winter King asked softly, “Who better to be at your side than I? And you at mine? Why don’t I assuage that ache you feel?”

And Simon could have said a million things in response.

You don’t want me, I’m just an old man.

I don't feel the same way.

But Betty–

I can’t.

Don’t.

No.

Please…

Simon said not a word as another frigid hand took his chin and tilted his head back. He merely shut his eyes and let the breath be stolen from his lungs. The Winter King smelled of pine and frost.

He tried not to shiver. And he also tried not to think of Betty.

That was rather easy. Betty had been human and warm.

And everything about the Winter King was cold. Cold, but clean and polished and beautiful. Not only that, but willing and wanting.

When the Winter King pulled away, lips parted and eyes partly lidded, he hummed in delight and seemed not the least bit interested in stopping. His cheerful demeanor was gone now, his hold on Simon’s waist growing tighter.

And Simon finally identified that third emotion he felt, a kind of fearful longing. In his world, he had grown to hate snow and ice, even rejecting it in his drinks. But he couldn’t deny how familiar it was.

And try as he might, he couldn’t run from how a part of him still ached for it.

So he relented, leaning into Winter King’s touch with silent acceptance.

He said nothing and put up no resistance as the Winter King pressed him against the piano, a wave of discordant notes filling the throne room as he leaned his body into Simon’s and held him and felt him and took from him.

The cold, once again, was such a great and terrible thing.

#fionna and cake #simon petrikov #the winter king #simoncest #i love this old man #and his hotter taller more deranged counterpart #fionna and cake spoilers #gets a little slutty at the end

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trensu · 27 days

Text

Heyyy, long time no post, huh? I'm dropping another chunk of stasis in darkness for you guys! And I wanted to remind people that these posts are basically rough drafts. The final product will hopefully be more polished but in the meantime please enjoy!

After Steve convinced the old man he meant no harm, he’d been allowed into the home. The Lord of Night hadn’t been super specific about the purpose of his quest, only that Steve had to bring him to Wayne Munson. Steve discreetly looked around the home as he entered it. The old man was obviously unwell and had been for a while, given the state of the house. Steve had the creeping suspicion that the time limit the Lord of Night mentioned was linked to the man’s health.

“What are you doing?” Wayne Munson asked suspiciously once he had returned to the kitchen with Steve in tow. He had sat heavily in one of the old worn chairs at the table but Steve, instead of joining him, began to clear the table on impulse. Steve halted awkwardly.

“This ain’t your house, boy,” Wayne said with a scowl. “I can take care of myself.”

Steve did his very best not to look at the scattered mess in the kitchen or living room. It was not the mess of a dirty, careless person. It was the mess of someone tired and overwhelmed. It was the mess of someone in pain who was too proud to ask for help. Steve took in Wayne Munson’s watery eyes, wan skin, and the clothes that were plain things, tattered from use, but mostly stain-free. Steve quickly added all these details and came up with a plan of attack. He set the plate back down.

“Yes, sir,” Steve agreed easily. “I’m aware, but I serve the Lord of Night and he sent me to you specifically. In our god’s name, I must assist you in any way I can.”

Wayne’s expression wavered. Steve pushed again. He lowered his gaze in a slightly embarrassed manner, letting a note of uncertainty color his words.

“I don’t know what else to do until nightfall,” Steve said. He rubbed the back of his neck bashfully. “I don’t want him to think I’ve neglected you.”

“What happens at nightfall?” Wayne asked.

“It’s when the Lord of Night wants to see you,” Steve said. Wayne blinked.

“Me? He wants to see me?”

“Yeah! So, if you could please let me,” Steve said, putting on his most endearing smile, “I’d like to take care of you until then. You know, make sure you’re comfortable and get the place ready for a divine visit. If it’s not too much trouble, sir?”

“Uh, no, that should be fine. Is…is there anything I should do?” Wayne asked dazedly.

“Not really. All I know is he really wants to see you tonight. Oh, maybe you’d like to rest until then? A nap, so you’re not drowsy when he arrives.”

Wayne nods, still in shock at the news. He didn’t protest when Steve helped him out of the chair and let him lean his weight on him as they navigated to the bedroom. Wayne sat on the bed as Steve drew curtains closed over the room’s single window. The curtains were thick enough to dim the sun to a pale yellow glow.

“I didn’t know there was anyone else who followed him,” Wayne said as he lay himself down over the covers.

"He told me you’re the only one left, besides me,” Steve told him. “And I only discovered him a month ago by accident.”

“By accident?” Wayne asked with a wry grin.

“My friends found a holy text when we were researching other gods. It was the only one of his in the city's whole library. Then we had a hell of a time trying to find his last shrine. When I finally found it, it was falling apart. He’s been forgotten,” Steve said. At Wayne’s troubled expression, he hurriedly added, “But now that I’ve pledged myself to him, I’m going to make sure people know him again.”

Wayne did not appear convinced, but he finally settled to rest after Steve promised to wake him before sunset. Steve took the opportunity to clean. He hadn’t been lying to Wayne when he said he wasn’t sure what to do until nightfall. It didn’t help that Steve also liked to keep himself busy. Being idle made him itch.

The house was small. Aside from Wayne's bedroom, there was only a cramped kitchen and a modest living room. From the small window of the backdoor, Steve could see a short, worn path to an outhouse.

Given the size of the house, though there was a mess everywhere, it didn’t take Steve very long to clean it all. When it was done to his satisfaction, there were still a few hours left until sunset so he wandered outside. The porch railing was covered with broad green leaves from intertwining vines but Steve left that alone when he saw the small garden nearby. It was full of ripe vegetables that Steve assumed Wayne had been unable to pick himself given his condition.

By the time Steve had picked the vegetables, pulled the weeds, and watered the garden, the sun hung low in the horizon. He cleaned himself up the best he could in the kitchen sink and took one of the chairs from the table to the bedroom before waking Wayne.

He told Wayne what he accomplished during Wayne’s repose. While Wayne expressed his gratitude politely enough, it was still apparent to Steve that the old man was irritated at having needed the assistance at all. To keep Wayne from dwelling on that, as well as to satisfy his own curiosity, he coaxed Wayne into conversation.

“Can I ask, uh, how you–I mean, how did you know? How did you know the Lord of Night existed?"

Wayne laughed at Steve’s befuddled tone. The laugh turned into a coughing fit. Steve quickly fetched him a glass of water and put it on the bedside table after Wayne had a drink.

“My family’s a bunch of no-good criminals,” Wayne croaked. “Were. It’s only me now. But before, each generation of Munsons took it up. Like a family tradition.”

“Criminals?” asked Steve cautiously.

“Thieves and con men. Some ladies of the night, if you catch my meaning. They knew of our Lord of Night and passed the knowledge down,” Wayne sighed sadly. “The life of a criminal ain’t what you call stable. We lost bits and pieces of him with every generation. Like his name. No one’s known his name for a very long time. Is that why he wants to see me? Did I fail him?”

There was genuine distress in Wayne’s question so Steve hid his disappointment. He had hoped the Lord of Night’s last worshiper would at least have a clue about where to start the search for the lost name. He focused, instead, on reassuring the old man.

“I don’t know why he wants to see you, but he wasn’t angry when he sent me. He sounded excited.”

“I suppose that’s a good thing,” Wayne said uncertainly.

“Definitely,” Steve assured. Before Wayne could sink into his gloom again, Steve said, “I know you said you’ve lost some knowledge, but do you know if the Lord of Night has any prayers? I haven’t…I mean, I’ve tried to worship him but I don’t think I can do it right without a prayer. I’m kind of new at all this.”

“My ma used to say our Lord didn’t have patience for formalities,” Wayne said, brow furrowed. “They bored him so he only had a few official prayers. There was one where we’d thank him for any dreams he gave us. I think there was another one that asked for dreams to bring inspiration or something of that sort. I don’t really remember those–ma would be boxing my ears for that if she was still around. I remember the one for protection, since we used that one a lot. It goes:

Lord of Night, Guide us through all phases Of the moon; May the dark be free of All dangers, While your many stars burn.

Wayne’s voice cracked into a coughing fit near the end. Steve hurriedly offered him water again once Wayne had caught it again. Wayne took a few mouthfuls and repeated the prayer again so Steve could learn it. It took a few tries, but Wayne was patient and by the end of it, Steve had it memorized.

“Is that the only one?” Steve asked, hoping to learn more. Wayne grimaced.

“It’s the only one I really remember. The Lord of Night prefers stories. My ma would tell us the best bedtime stories. Said they were for our god as much as for me and my brother. I was never good at coming up with new stories, so I retell my favorites or tell our Lord about my days and give him a little offering.”

Steve wasn't much of a story teller. He supposed he could do as Wayne did until he met up with Robin and Dustin again. They constantly chatted about books they’d read. Steve couldn’t help but notice how, once again, his friends seemed a better fit for his god than he was; all Steve could give his god was his shield and sword. It was discouraging. He had to figure out a way to make up for it somehow.

“What kind of offerings?” Steve asked.

He wanted to give his god more; he wanted to give the Lord of Night something he’d actually like. It wasn’t lost on him that the Lord of Night took him under duress. Who else would’ve been able to complete this quest?

“When I was young, it was horse shoes,” Wayne chuckled at Steve’s confusion. “Thieves are supposed to give him a part of their loot but my ma and pa were horse thieves. They got horseshoes and would leave one for each horse they stole, tied with a braid made of the stolen horse’s mane.”

“You stole horses?” Steve said, unable to fight off a grin as he remembered the conversation he had with the Lord of Night about it.

“Me and my brother, before he passed,” Wayne said with a weak nod.

The sky had darkened by now. Steve pulled the stone out of his satchel. He carefully unwrapped it from the cloth and set it gently on the bedside table next to the glass of water. Wayne eyed it quizzically.

“It’s from his shrine,” Steve explained. Without any further fussing, Steve stood up and went to the door.

“Don’t leave,” the Lord of Night said.

Steve turned to see the god, hooded in his cloak of constellations, sitting in the chair Steve had vacated. The Lord of Night had not even glanced Steve's way when he spoke to him. The god’s attention rested solely on Wayne.

Steve hadn’t seen or spoken to the Lord of Night since he’d been accepted as his holy warrior. The god had needed to conserve his energy, he explained to Steve, so that Steve could complete his quest. The god’s cloak was as mesmerizing as the first time. However, this far from the shrine, the god did not look as solid as he had during the nights he spent with Steve.

“I wanted to give you two some privacy,” Steve said softly.

“I think Wayne would appreciate not being alone,” the Lord of Night said.

The old man stared at the god unblinkingly. Wayne’s expression was one of awe and fear, so Steve did as he was told and stayed in the room though he chose to lean on the wall furthest from the pair. He was still close to them in the tiny bedroom, but it provided the pretense of privacy.

“My Lord?” Wayne’s voice was barely audible.

“Hello. I’ve wanted to meet you for years,” the god said.

#trensu tells stories #steddie #stasis in darkness #stranger things #i'm gonna be honest #i absolutely have no idea how prayers are structured and i've got like zero experience in poetry #i do NOT like how the prayer turned out but #i did my best okay?#steve is so eager to use holy words #i had to give him SOMETHING #also #i'm starting to think i should've been like numbering these posts or something #but it's not like they're actual chapters or have a consistent length yknow?#so idk

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lewkwoodnco · 3 months

Text

Be More - George x Reader

"Er...I think this dough's ready to be cut into the strips."

"Yes, chef."

He coughed awkwardly, too uncomfortable to come up with any decent sort of response.

a/n: am soooo salty i fell sick in the middle of my 12 days of fics '23 for xmas last year :((( so im giving myself a lil treat by doing a short series of valentine's fics! i SO don't know how souffles work if you can't tell so pls don't come for me, and a special special thanks to lisa @neewtmas for the apron idea heheh. all fluff, which is why I got all my angst fics out of the way beforehand if you'd like a lil palate cleanser :) also totally didn't make this a songfic cuz i was struggling to find a title :} btw I headcannon that george randomly zones in and out in everyday life and this has nothing to do with how much I may or may not do this myself ALSO was strongly influenced to post this earlier by the multiverse of George aka @oblivious-idiot @bella-rose29@bobbys-not-that-small heh

warnings/tropes: lockwood and george bromance supremacy!!! baking, lots and lots of valentine's day fluff, awkward georgeeeee

word count: 2.8k!

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST

Lucy handed George a steaming cup of tea, which he gratefully accepted. The three of them were having breakfast as usual, and with the last strains of winter fading, Portland Row's kitchen was entirely too bright. He closed his eyes, pretending he didn't see the way Lockwood's hand lingered on Lucy's when taking his mug. They were bad enough on any normal day, but even worse nowadays, with Valentine's Day drawing achingly closer. He felt himself begin to nod off again from the gentle and comforting steam.

He felt a mild rap against his cheek, which he turned to see is from a well-aimed sugar cube launched from across the table by Lucy. He looked up to see her staring hard at him and Lockwood poorly concealing a snigger with his cup of tea.

"George. Have you or have you not got any plans for Valentine's?"

He takes his time wiping his glasses on his shirt sleeve before responding. "Nothing much. Though I've promised Y/N I'd spend the day with her."

He watched Lucy's expression carefully, and she seemed to be watching his. Truth was, with Valentine's drawing closer and closer, George was going into a mild panic. He hadn't exactly arranged it intentionally. They had been having a quiet chat on a morning when George had been too tired from the previous night's case to strictly follow, and suddenly she was waving goodbye, promising to see him next on Valentine's Day.

He had no idea what kind of a Valentine's Day he had agreed to, or how much of a filter he had had, and he had been dropping Lucy desperate cries for help, with decreasing subtlety. Was it a date? Was she expecting a date? Sure, they had went to that play together after Lucy fell mysteriously ill, and maybe they met up for lunch once a week. But she never referred to

His eyes slowly drifted close as Lucy and Lockwood's conversation morphed into gentle white noise, enjoying the warmth of the little sun streaming through their kitchen window. It felt nice to have a little break from his intense week of baking -

Baking! George snapped wide awake, clumsily climbing out of his chair and feverishly counting the stacks of meticulously wrapped, frilly pastry goodie bags lining the kitchen counter. It had become an annual Valentine's Day tradition for George to construct these small goodie bags of baked goods for a sizeable chunk of his extended family. He even roped in Lucy and Lockwood, and as Valentine's Day approached they'd all gather around the kitchen table at night, even if it was after a case, packing the delicaices George had spent the day baking, until one of them started dropping off.

It was tedious work, but they enjoyed it and were well invested in it - Lockwood fiercely so. When a cousin had remarked that perhaps the tradition was becoming a little tired at a family gathering last Christmas, Lockwood had accidentally-but-not-really smacked his head. George relaxed as he neared towards the end of the pile - just one more day of baking, and he'd be ready to send them off.

Lucy and Lockwood were mostly finished with breakfast anyway, so he chased them out of the kitchen and got to work. Once George had his first batch of cookies in the oven, he started planning for the supplementary baked goods. For instance, he was going to make a chocolate souffle for the three of them to share over a midnight supper tomorrow.

So when the kitchen door swung open, letting in a blast of cold air, George spun around scathingly, ready to threaten Lockwood with deflated souffles. But the hiss at the tip of his tongue withered when he saw who it was.

"...Y/N?"

"Hello. Baking, are you?"

George suppressed the urge to shield the vast volumes of confectionary goodie bags littering the kitchen's surfaces.

"...yes." With some difficulty, he slowly resumed his movements, explaining how this was something he did every year. In a way, he was grateful to have something to do with his hands, because the last minute or so reminded him that he had no idea what he normally did with his hands while standing.

"Oh. Need any help?"

It took George another half-minute to process her question. "With what?"

"With the baking, obviously."

"Uh...s'alright, I've got it all handled."

"No, please, I'd love to help."

George paused mid-stir, looking comically perplexed with a smidge of flour on his nose. "What for?" He bit his tongue, hastily back-pedalling since his tone sounded aggressively suspicious. "What I mean is, you wouldn't want to spend your day here, sweating like a pig - not that you sweat, and definitely not like a pig, no - I'm the one sweating like a pig..."

What he wanted to say was, their oven was ancient and so made the kitchen stupid hot every time he baked, but failed miserably. He set down his mixing bowl in defeat. Almost instantly, she stifled a giggle, trying to pass it off as clearing her throat, and George followed her gaze to his apron in horror. What the mixing bowl had previously been hiding was the horrendously cheesy 'kiss the cook' graphic on his apron.

It had been a ridiculous gag gift from Lucy, one that he had never intended to use but was forced to after his last apron caught on fire from one of his experiments with the skull. Bursting into flames would have been more useful now, He stood there, eyes watering from the heat, determined in his refusal to acknowledge both the apron and the smile she was doing a poor job of suppressing.

"Fine. You can start with the cookie batter."

About a minute or two later, it occurred to George that perhaps it would have wise to ask how much experience she had with baking. Not a lot, he soon discovered, when her bowl nearly flew off as soon as she switched on the egg beater. He dropped his mixing bowl instantly, waving away her apologies.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't expect it to be so powerful."

He cautiously adjusted her grip on the bowl, gently guiding her fingers to a better hold.

"No, no, it's my fault. Not much of a baker?"

"...no."

"Okay, so what you do is, use one hand to hold the - other hand - hold the bowl, and the other holds the egg beater like - no, not quite."

He took a step closer, placing his hands over hers, trying to ignore the warmth radiating from her body, and the smell of her shampoo.

The last time they had been this close was on their way home from that play. With Lockwood out of town for a client meeting, and Lucy developing a mysterious case of the flu, it was only the two of them crouched under a tiny umbrella as they walked home after the play. George would have been more than happy to walk in the rain, but she was the one holding the umbrella, and was firm in her resolve to not send him back to Lucy with a head cold. With the little space between them, their cheeks brushed against each other occasionally, sending a jolt running through the side of George's face.

"Well...this is me."

George nodded dumbly, staring hard at the chips in her front door's paint, agonisingly aware of her looking at his face. He didn't dare turn to meet her gaze; they were far too close.

"I had fun today, George."

He sighed and briefly zonesout. As short as their chat was, he remembered very little, his focus only returning when she pulled her key out.

"We should do this again sometime," she was saying, as she turned the key in her lock. When he finally looked at her, there were the tinies raindrops on her eyelashes. There was something so pure and unassuming about the sight that it tugged at his heart. It made him want...more. More with her. With a brief smile, she disappeared into her home, leaving him standing alone in the rain. He stood there for a minute, prolonging the moment for some unidentifiable reason. It was a nice door. She had a nice smile.

It was as though she had read his thoughts from his eyes, for a faintly embarrassed air hung in the kitchen after that. For the next better part of an hour, they engaged in this delicate dance as they floated through the kitchen, carefully staying out of each other's way, never in the same area for long. It wasn't until she was sifting the dry ingredients that they next spoke.

"Hang on, that might be too much flou-"

As George touched her elbow, her hand jerked, sending a sizeable chunk of flour into her mixing bowl, along with a cloud of it directly in her face. He was sorry, of course, but as she spluttered and tried to blink through it, he couldn't stop the amused twist to his features. When she caught his eye, she rolled her eyes and sent a fistful of flour into his eyes. Now it was her turn to laugh as George groaned through the smarting.

"You're right, Mr. Cook, it IS hilarious!"

George scoffed, struggling to maintain his sanctimonius, above-petty-acts front as he wiped his glasses clean with as much dignity as he could muster. But on the inside, his defences were crumbling fast.

"You're acting like a child."

She looked mildly apologetic for a moment, and George felt a flash of truimph, before she raised both her flour-coated hands and resolutely streaked them across George's face.

"Egg on your face. Or should I say, flour?"

With that, all pretenses of civility were thrown out the window. The both of them swept up as many ingredients as they could and migrated to opposite ends of the kitchen table, pelting each other with everything that could be pelted. George landed a few well-aimed chocolate chips into her hair. She soaked the front of his apron with half a jug of milk, which was nearly enough to send him into hysterics. So it went on and on and on, until they ran out of supplies in their immediate reach, before resorting to shoving each other's faces into bags and tins of baking soda and powdered sugar. This, it occurred to George as he was rubbing cornstarch into her red, wheezing face, is strangely intimate.

Again, there was this tugging sensation in his chest, the kind that made him want to sit in his armchair for anywhere from half a minute to half an hour. The kind of sensation that could not be held in words. The closest he could get was the wish for a never-ending summer, or perhaps orchards full of cherry trees as sweet as the first pick. But even that fell short.

Just as she raised two fistfuls of sprinkles, the kitchen door swung open. Lockwood wandered in, looking sharp as ever in his too-small suit. The two of them smoothly parted, their faces burning under the flour, and George suddenly became very interested in the pastry dough he was kneading. He felt rather than saw Lockwood looking back and forth between the two of them, wishing that he'd just take whatever he needed from the kitchen and got out. But of course, he knew better than to engage in wishful thinking, especially with Lockwood's mildly gormless smile plain as day. "Hang on. George, you do realise that-"

Whatever it was that Lockwood was wondering if he had realised was cut off by the jam tart George shoved into his mouth, because the answer was probably yes, Lockwood, of course I realised that completely inane observation.

"Out. Out. I won't have you compromising the integrity of my kitchen." With a little difficulty, George wheeled a spluttering Lockwood littering soft pastry flakes all over his clean kitchen floor out into the hallway. He shut the door firmly and turned back apologetically, only just seeing the flour in her hair as she watched on amusedly.

"I sure hope I'm not starting up a ruckus - or was it compromising the integrity? - of your kitchen."

George felt his cheeks warming as he returned to the kitchen table. "No, of course not. You never know where Lockwood's been, is all. You're different."

Had he been standing this close to her the whole day, he wondered, close enough to see the pretty flakes in her eyes, softer than any pastry he could make? How was he supposed to look away? And how did he stand it?

"Er...I think this dough's ready to be cut into the strips."

"Yes, chef."

He coughed awkwardly, too uncomfortable to come up with any decent sort of response, embarrassedly muttering something along the lines of how there was no need for any of that. As she got absorbed into getting the strips of dough just right, George glanced at the kitchen door, to see Lockwood silently making exaggerated kissy faces at him. George picked up his rolling pin and Lockwood fled immediately, without so much as a creak from the floorboards.

Now, they finally returned to their baking with proper focus, now that they were all tired out. She seemed to have picked up some skills pretty quickly, though he still kept an eye out in case she might do something that would, say, set her hand on fire.

An hour or so later, the phone started ringing obnoxiously in the hallway. With some difficulty, George peeled off one of his disposable gloves on his way to it. When he picked up the phone, he almost wished he hadn't, because it was that same cousin from last Christmas' gathering. As his voice wore on and on, George started wishing he had let Lockwood give him another punch or two, just to set him straight.

Suddenly, he picked out a few startling words from his cousin's nasally voice, which made his heart plummet, as the calendar in the hallway came into startling focus. He wandered back to the kitchen door, numbly hearing his cousin's complaints of why no one's goodie bags had reached yet. He blankly stared at her, and she stared back confused, slowing down her cutting of the strips concernedly. After a second or two, he hung up the phone, but was in too much shock to lower it.

"Today's date," he whispered.

"Hm?"

"Today's date. It's not the 13th. I thought it was the 13th. Today is the 14th. Valentine's day was today, not tomorrow."

Even as he was saying those words, the calm look on her face told him exactly what he had feared - that she had known all along.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"I thought this was what you wanted to do!"

"Unpaid labour."

"What?"

"You spent your Valentine's Day doing exhausting, difficult, unpaid labour." He clumsily placed the phone down on the kitchen counter, struggling to find the right words as he fought against the embarrassment. "I am so sorr- just a minute, I might have some loose change somewhere here-"

"Don't." George was spiraling with shame, kicking himself for his oversight, and she still had the gall to look that pretty and kind. "I didn't mind any of it one bit, I promise."

"I promised you something fun."

"George, this is the most fun I've ever had baking, and I've been making pineapple upside down cakes since before I could - oh."

She broke off when she finally looked up to see the growing shock on George's face. She nibbled at the inside of her cheek nervously, trying to gauge his reaction.

"So you do know how to bake."

"Only a little?"

He took in the sight of her apologetic smile, the careful dusting of flour on her face and her suspiciously clean clothes. "You could have said."

"Oh, but I was having so much fun." George rolled his eyes. "I spent the day learning how to construct the most adorable pastry goodie bags I have ever seen, and I did it all with my boyfriend. Believe me, it doesn't get more fun than this."

Not for the first time that day, George stared at her in wonder, like he couldn't quite figure out how she was real. Even now, when all she was doing was merely existing, words failed him. He had a feeling he'd spend lifetimes chasing shadows, trying to pin what was gone before it bloomed, and he still wouldn't be able to find the right words. There was no other way to put it, or colour it - he wished they were more.

He hesitantly extended his hand, brushing just a speck of the huge handprint of flour on her face with his thumb. He turned, walking out into the hallway, but then just as immediately wheeled back.

"Your WHAT?"

TAGLIST: @dangelnleif @elenianag080 @snoopyluver20 @ell0ra-br3kk3r @avdiobliss @mitskiswift99 @ahead-fullofdreams @neewtmas @mischivana @houseoftwistedspirits

#if i had a nickel for everytime i wrote a george x reader fanfic where pastries were a siginificant part i'd have 2 nickels #which isnt a lot but its weird that it happened twice LMAO #also in case its not clear i meant the your WHAT to be referring to the reader calling him her bf sdfhajfalskf #lockwood and co #lockwood & co #lockwood and co netflix #fanfic #george karim x reader #george cubbins #george karim imagine #george karim x you #george x reader #george karim #valentines day #fluff #Spotify #be more #stephen sanchez

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logicalabsurdity · 4 months

Text

I have the power of Stud.io and anime on my side, and what do I do? Make sad dioramas about the origin story of my OCs.

###

Several hundred years before the Great Cataclysm, Lhilari was a Matoran of Ice living on the Southern Continent. Her Ko-Koro was a relatively isolated village, nestled in the crags of a western mountain range, and Lhilari was one of the traders, sent down to the warm foothills to barter for news and supplies.

Lhilari's duty brought her to cross paths many times with one of the local wandering Toa, a Toa of the Green called Garenix. They did not often spend much time together, but they became familiar faces to each other; Garenix always had a brief smile for her, even as he seemed to draw away from everyone and spent more time on the move. He particularly enjoyed when Lhilari brought him samples of hardy mountain mosses, and when Garenix did stop for a rare rest in one of the villages, he told Lhilari all he knew of local plants' beneficial or dangerous properties.

Perhaps it was that mentorship, as inconstant as it was, that was why Lhilari found him on the mountain path.

It was the harsh breathing that caught her attention. Harsh, but shallow; someone trying desperately to avoid notice, but in too much pain to succeed.

Lhilari's hand tensed around the handle of her spear. Toa Garenix had come through only last month, following up on the unusually aggressive Rahi and confirming they had calmed; the road was supposed to be safe again, especially this close to home. Had he missed something? Had something been hiding, waiting to pounce once enough silent nights had gone by that the Matoran grew calm again?

She crept forward up the path, eyeing every rock and tree, ready to lunge at the first sign of movement. It was early for a nocturnal Rahi to strike, the sky still shading down from blue to black, but...

It wasn't a Rahi she found, and it wasn't a victim of one. Hidden crouched behind a boulder she found Toa Garenix, one hand pressing heavily on his leaf-bladed broadsword as if it was the only thing keeping him from collapsing fully to the packed earth. A thick hilt protruded from his chest above his heartlight, and blood pooled by his knees and other hand.

Lhilari dropped her spear and rushed forward. "Toa! Toa Garenix, what happened--"

He raised his head to meet her eyes, and his bleak expression stopped her cold. "Little sister," he sighed. His face twitched in a faint smile.

"Toa-- Toa, you're--"

Toa Garenix glanced down at the shortsword in his chest. "Yes," he said. "I am sorry."

The blade was the only thing keeping him from bleeding out entirely. Lhilari twitched forward, then brought her hands to her head instead. "I can get help. Ko-Koro is only--"

"No," he said, and coughed wetly. "No. There is-- no time. I am out of time."

"The Turaga can-- can freeze it shut, I know he can, anything for our Toa--"

Toa Garenix shook his head. "Poison," he said. "I am beyond help, little sister."

Lhilari pressed her hands to her Matatu and shook her head. "No, no, there must be something-- you can't die, you're our Toa, you're everyone's Toa--" She pointed desperately at a berry bush that she knew did something but couldn't remember what. "Can that--?"

His smile was almost pitying. "I am sorry."

She stared at him, fury and despair warring in her. "Please. There has to be something I can do. You're--" Her voice cracked. "You're the only Toa I've ever known."

He closed his eyes for a long moment. He seemed to sag, and Lhilari jerked forward, ready to catch him, before his resigned gaze caught her again. "Bring me a stone," he said. "The first fist-sized stone you find."

Lhilari nodded sharply and bolted. She snatched her spear from the ground and didn't bother to search for a rock of the right size, just swung at a nearby outcropping with all her helpless rage until a chunk came off. She'd have to apologize to the Captain of the Guard for such an abuse of a weapon, but-- that was later. Now, her Toa was dying.

Toa Garenix looked somehow even worse. The pool of blood had grown, perhaps because he had moved to reach for her with his left hand. "Give it to me," he said.

Lhilari clutched it to her chest instead. "Who did this to you?" she demanded.

"They are..." He took a shuddering breath and shook his head. "Do not seek them out. Do not... follow my path. Give me the stone."

"Was it Dark Hunters?"

"Sister," he said sternly. The stone grew heavy in her hands as he stared her down. "Please. Do as I ask."

The faint glow of his Garai was more obvious in the dying light. Lhilari huffed and stepped forward to hand over the stone. "Are they a danger to the villages?"

Toa Garenix didn't take the stone from her, just laid his hand over it. His breathing hitched unevenly, his chest heaving. "No. They got... what they... came for."

He shuddered, then, his hand clamping around the stone, as an energy buzzed through it that made Lhilari jerk her hand away. Then he collapsed, his sword falling hilt-first to land next to Lhilari, the stone glowing a verdant green through his fingers.

"Toa Garenix!" Lhilari dropped to her knees and reached for him. "No, no no no, please--"

"Your Turaga... will know.... what to do," he whispered. "Use... the power... well, sister. Do not... avenge..."

"Please, I can't-- you have to teach me--"

He met her eyes and smiled one last time. "Farewell... Toa... Lhilari..."

The light of his green eyes faded as his head dropped, leaving only the glow of the stone. Lhilari clutched her head and sobbed.

It was nearly full dark by the time she returned to the village. The leaf-bladed sword, taller than she was, scraped in the dirt no matter how she carried it, but it was the glowing stone that truly weighed on her.

The guard on duty stopped her when they saw the giant sword. "Where is Toa--"

"I must see the Turaga," Lhilari interrupted. "Now."

She couldn't say it. She had to explain, but she couldn't. The guard didn't try to make her, just waved her through, and Lhilari took her burden to the Turaga's hut.

He didn't say anything, just looked at her for a long moment. Then he took the broadsword from her, leaned it carefully against one wall, and took her free hand to squeeze it.

"He's--" The words caught in her throat. "I'm--"

Her Turaga touched her other hand, the one clutching the stone, and nodded. "Do you know what you must do?"

Lhilari shook her head. "You do. He. He said, you do."

"Where is he?"

Lhilari kept her eyes fixedly open, staring at the blue-white crystals in the ceiling of the hut. "Down the path. Not far."

He squeezed her hand again. "Come with me."

She went where her Turaga took her, through a secret door and down the hidden steps, cool white lightstones marking the way. He brought her to the door of a room holding nothing but a small shrine, then stopped, and lead her to a stone bench just outside it.

"Lhilari," he said softly. "Do you know what Toa Garenix asked you to do?"

She flinched. "No," she lied.

Her Turaga pressed her to sit down, then sat beside her. "You need not take up the mantle now. We have lived without a Toa before; we can again."

Lhilari stared at the green stone still in her hands. At the Toa Stone, that their Toa had given her instead of allowing her to even look at his wounds. She stared at it, and felt the power humming beneath its surface, and said nothing.

"Toa die so Matoran can live," her Turaga said softly. "If we live long enough, we cease to be Toa, but we never cease to be protectors."

"I couldn't do anything," she whispered. "He-- he wouldn't let me do anything. I-- I thought we were friends."

"Would he have entrusted you with this otherwise?"

She closed her eyes tightly. The bloody blade protruding from his back intruded on her mind, the pool that spread under him as she wept and he remained still. "He told me not to avenge him."

"That is not the way of a Toa," her Turaga murmured.

"I-- I can't-- what else am I supposed to do?" Her voice rose into a wail. "I'm not him! I can't be him!"

"Be you," her Turaga said. "Be you, and do what you can."

Later, she would. Later, with new strength in body and soul, she would lay their old Toa to rest. Later, she would learn how to be a Toa under the tutelage of her Turaga. Later, she would put the mystery of who had killed their Toa to the back of her mind, to be forgotten almost entirely over the next three centuries of wandering the continent. Later, she would mentor new Toa herself in a world gone mad.

Now, she curled around the Toa Stone Garenix had poured his life into and cried.

###

Also posted on AO3:

#another lielac original #bionicle #lielac writes fic #cataclysm relief toa #stud.io #i was just doing the dioramas and then OOPS FIC LOL

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frenchfrywrites · 10 months

Text

CODE y69

MINORS DNI

Warnings: amab gn top dom(ish) living human reader, trans man bottom zombie Vil Schoenheit, monster(fucker) au, monsterfucking, medical play, roleplay, breeding kink, lots of drool, vil goes nonverbal, slight dumbification

Words used for Vil: pussy, cunt, tits, hole, clit. Mention of him having a period and getting pregnant

The sound of the door to Vil's bedroom opening softly tears his attention away from his vanity.

"Ah, sorry," he stares through the mirror at his door, where the doctor– he gathers from the white coat and stethoscope– he arranged a house visit with stands awkwardly in the doorway. "Am I interrupting something?" You ask, setting down your bag of medical devices and instruments on Vil’s bed.

"No," he’s quick to answer, capping the tube of lipstick he'd been applying and standing to greet you. Both of you size one another up as Vil sluggishly crosses the room. You’re handsome in the long white lab coat, undoubtedly so, and if he had the blood to do so, Vil thinks he might feel flushed. The mild anxiety he typically finds himself having when he’s among the living settles in, and he feels the urge to preen and reapply his makeup.

The two of you exchange introductions, and Vil notes that your hand feels so nice and warm when it shakes his, before you ask him to make himself comfortable on his bed. Vil sits himself down as gracefully as possible as you open your bag “I almost thought I had the wrong patient,” you offer him a bashful smile, applying hand sanitizer to your hands, then tugging on some gloves. “You looked so alive,” and your admission earns you a soft laugh from Vil.

“Thank you,” he mumbles quietly. After his untimely demise Vil's tried his best to cover his dead skin, the chunks of missing flesh, and his vacant eyes. He appreciates his efforts being recognized.

“Alright, let’s just jump right in, yeah?!” you give him a wide smile, “can you tell me your first and last name? And your date of birth?” Vil tells you the information easily. “And when did you become undead?”

“A couple of months ago,” he hopes you don’t pry much more than that. It’s not something he likes to dwell on.

“Great! Do you remember the last physical you had when you were alive?” you ask carefully, rummaging around in your bag.

Vil doesn’t remember much from before his death. He has people he knows- or knew- tell him things about himself, but most of what they tell him feels blurry and out of reach.

“It’s okay if you don’t,” you say when he hasn’t responded in a while. He hums- and it sounds a bit too close to the sluggish groan he’s heard from older zombies for his liking- and anxiously flattens the wrinkles on his skirt.

“This will be a bit different from an exam that an alive person might experience, but that’s why you called me in the first place,” you ramble as you put on a pair of gloves.

“I’m going to skip over taking your blood pressure and checking your heart, for obvious reasons,” you tell him, standing next to where he’s seated. Suddenly, you press yourself into Vil’s personal space,

“Can I touch you Mr. Schoenheit?” and logically Vil knows his heart has stopped beating for a long time, but he feels like it flutters in his chest all the same.

“Yes,” he consents, trying his best to not sound breathless. You take his head in your hands, feeling around his skull.

“You have lovely hair Mr. Schoenheit,” it’s an offhand comment, but it makes Vil feel like he’s on cloud nine.

“Thank you,” he practically whispers as you gently touch the back of his neck.

“Good,” you step back and Vil tries not to follow your touch, “looking great! I’m going to ask you to make some facial expressions with me now, so I can see how your muscles are working.”

Vil nods, folding his hands in his lap.

“Could you frown for me?” he does as he’s told, “then smile? Then puff your cheeks?” distantly, Vil remembers that people have told him he was in movies when he was alive; a memory of acting exercises comes back to him faintly as he moves his face through various expressions.

“Hm, I can see that the muscles on the right side of your face are still quite stiff,” Vil’s face falls at the news, “hey, it’s alright!” you caress his right cheek gently, massaging the muscle by his jaw gently. Even though your hand is gloved, Vil can still feel the heat radiating off your flesh all the same. He feels hungry. “Anyone who is not specifically looking for it would not notice, I promise,” you reassure. “Now can you open your mouth for me?”

Vil drops his jaw and it cracks a bit, leaving his mouth open just a bit wider than a living being would be capable of. That’s not true, he corrects himself, knowing that the naga can open their mouths nearly twice as more as he can.

“Oh Mr. Schoenheit what lovely teeth you have!” you joke, and despite himself, Vil laughs. “Seriously, you have a full set! Many of my clients would dream of having your mouth,” you muse, running your fingers along his teeth. The urge to wrap his lips around your fingers and suck is overwhelming, but somehow Vil finds it in himself to resist it. He thinks you must be a little stupid, even if you are a doctor, for putting your fingers in a flesh-eaters mouth. Slipping your fingers from his mouth you reach into your bag and grab a wooden depressor.

With your free hand you grab a small flashlight from your breast pocket, and press the wooden stick against his tongue.

“Say ahhh,” you instruct. The noise that comes out of Vil is closer to that of a moan, but you don’t comment on that. You press the depressor further back and he gags. With a look of surprise you pull away from him, removing the depressor from his mouth as you do.

“Sorry, did that hurt?” you ask curiously. He clears his throat, trying to regain his composure.

“It wasn’t so bad,” he confesses. Your eyes widen just a fraction, but Vil takes note of it. Turning back to your bag you take out an otoscope, “We’re going to check your eyes and ears next, you haven’t noticed any vision or hearing loss, have you?” Vil shakes his head, thankful that so much of his body continues to function.

“Can you look at…” you trail off, glancing behind you at his wall, “the calendar back there for me?” He looks at it as you flash the light into his eyes. “Ah, are you wearing contacts?” you ask after a moment. Vil hesitates to answer, but eventually nods, “I’m sorry Mr. Schoenheit, but I need you to take those out.”

With a sigh Vil makes quick work of removing the colored contacts- or as quick as he can be with the body he inhabits now. Trying his best not to pout he lets you take a good look at his glossed over, foggy eyes.

“You’ve got very pretty eyes Mr. Schoenheit,” you say as you pull away, “pretty and they're doing everything that eyes should be doing!” Vil huffs,

“Flattery will get you everywhere doctor.” You manuver Vil's head so you can look into his ear, brushing his hair back to get a better look and further exposing his expression.

“I’m already alone in your room with you Mr. Schoenheit,” you whisper, moving to look at the other ear, “how much more will flattery get me?” you muse. Vil is so glad his body can no longer blush, because he thinks he’d be as red as a tomato if he were living.

“Ah,” he goes to say something but before he can come up with anything, you’re moving onto the next thing. Feeling a little dumbstruck he watches you take off the stethoscope around your neck, and put it on.

“I’m going to take a listen to your lungs now, is that alright?” Vil nods, so you continue. “Would you please lift your shirt a bit?” With slightly shaking hands (the excitement of having you so close is having an apparent effect on him) he lifts his blouse for you. Sliding your hand under the fabric, you press the cold metal to his chest, and Vil gasps.

“Sorry,” you whisper in his ear, not sounding very apologetic. “Can you take a deep breath for me?” Vil does his best, trying to sound relaxed and calm, even when he feels the opposite. “Sounds good!” and within a blink of an eye you’re gone.

After stuffing away your stethoscope you turn to Vil, “right, so next we’re going to- oh,” you stop mid sentence, staring at his chest. Vil looks down, trying to see what you could be looking at, only to find that his nipples are hard. Shame washes over him, and he tries his best to cover himself, but you stop him, sitting next to him on the bed.

“It’s okay! I’m sorry I had such an unprofessional reaction, it’s just I don’t see that often with my patients,” you rub his shoulder comfortingly and Vil slowly drops his arms.

“Can I take a look?” You ask after a moment. Vil tucks his hair behind his ear, nodding slowly. Your hand falls from Vil’s shoulder to the hem of his shirt. As you tug it upwards you expose more of his skin.

There are small patches of decay, some skin that’s been stitched back together, and on his left side some of his ribs are exposed. With your other hand you thumb over one of his nipples, and Vil lets out a soft gasp. He feels so good having you touch him that any insecurity he’d normally have about the rotting, peeling flesh previously covered by his shirt is flung out the window.

“Did that hurt?” and Vil feels tingly all over at the quiet rumbling sound of your voice.

“No doctor,” he breathes, his breath hitching when you rub your thumb over it again.

“Feels good, Mr. Schoenheit?” you check, not giving Vil any relief as you continue to rub circles around his nipple.

Not trusting his voice, Vil nods, blinking slowly as waves of pleasure work their way through his body.

And as quickly as it started, it’s over. You pull back, and much to Vil’s humiliation, he can’t help but lean forward and try to chase your touch.

“Ah,” he makes a soft noise as his brain catches up. Part of him wishes to beg for more, but his pride stops him.

“Are you having other reactions, Mr. Schoenheit?” you ask softly. Vil rubs his legs together as he focuses,

“Yes doctor,” he answers honestly. Your smile widens at that,

“Amazing,” you praise, “can I see?” Vil lets out a low groan at that. Instead of using his words, Vil takes the hem of his skirt, and lifts it so you can see his soaked panties. Vil can’t help but grin when your warm touch returns to his chilled body as you gently run your fingers from his clit to his hole.

“Such a responsive, functional body,” you hum in his ear, and Vil clumsily jerks his hips into your touch, clutching desperately at his skirt.

“May I take a closer look Mr. Schoenheit?”

“Yes please, doctor,” Vil moans, his words slurring together. You slide off the bed, and between Vil’s decayed thighs. Your hands tug at the top of his panties, and with some combined effort, the two of you manage to take them off him.

“Oh look at you,” you coo, using two gloved fingers to peel apart his pussy lips. The heat from your body, even with a layer of gloves between the two of you, feels scalding against his frigid skin. It makes him want to melt into you. He clutches tightly at the fabric of his skirt, putting all his energy there so he doesn’t reach out to touch you.

"Ah," Vil gasps softly when your finger begins to slowly rub circles onto his clit.

“I bet that feels good, doesn’t it,” he can hear the smirk in your voice, but he doesn’t seem to care, and instead nods dumbly. Looking up at him, you take note of how Vil’s eyes go in and out of focus as he watches you play with his cunt.

It takes a while for him to notice, but Vil eventually sees the hard to ignore tent in your pants. Within the moment that he notices your hard-on, you slip a finger inside of him, and he jerks violently, letting out a long, guttural moan.

“I want to see if the muscles here are working correctly,” you explain, though you doubt he’s even listening to you.

Vil opens up nicely around your fingers, producing more than enough slick to accommodate the intrusions. His clit took a while to get erect, but it now stands proudly, twitching and aching for attention. While fucking him slowly with two fingers, you use your thumb to play with it. This draws a groan from out of Vil. You doubt he’d appreciate being told so, but it’s the kind of groan that’s classic of his zombie kind.

“Unnngh,” he moans, “g’nna uhmm,” and there’s just enough consonants and vowels for you to put together what he’s trying to say. You pull back, refusing him of the orgasm that was so steadily approaching.

“Wuh?” he blinks slowly, and you watch as his pussy attempts to clench around nothing. “Huh, please,” Vil groans breathlessly when he finally processes that you’re no longer touching him.

“It looks like your ability to self lubricate is working perfectly. I wonder though, Mr. Schoenheit, do you still get your period?” you ask, removing your white coat and gloves.

“No, doctor,” Vil replies after a moment, entranced with watching you undress.

“Then I suppose the only way we’d be able to tell if you’re able to get pregnant or not is by having me fuck your womb full of cum,” Vil nods along, though he questions your logic. He’ll agree with whatever you say if it means you’ll fuck him.

You reach into your bag, and after a moment of rustling around, pull out a vial of lube.

Laying back, he spreads his legs wider, making room for you to join him on the bed. He makes a pretty picture, with his skirt bunched around his hips, and his shirt pulled up to show off his tits. You tell him as much,

“You look so good,” you praise, and Vil preens, smiling and spreading his legs wider. You make yourself comfortable between his thighs, massaging his stiff muscles gently. Fumbling a bit, you open the lube, and lather your cock. Vil doesn’t mind the slight lull in action, instead focusing his energy on reaching up and linking his arms around your neck to pull you close.

He moans when he feels the tip of your cock press against his hole. Vil feels like he’s never been more alive as he feels your tip press into him. He knocks his head back against his pillow, arching his back as you slowly push yourself into him.

“There we go,” you coo, rubbing his hips and thighs lovingly when you’re balls deep inside of him. “How’re you feeling Mr. Schoenheit? Any pain? Any discomfort?” you check in, because Vil looks fucked dumb already.

“Guh-” he groans, then mumbles to himself. You wait patiently, and finally he forms a coherent sentence, “good, you feel- good,” he whines, his mascaraed lashes squeezing shut. His words divulge into mumbles and groans as he tries to tell you about how deep your cock is inside of him, and how hot you feel.

Slowly, you start to move your hips, fucking him nice and deep to make sure he’s properly adjusted to the intrusion before you take it up a notch. Vil practically melts into the bed beneath him, weakly holding onto you, his pussy clenching and twitching around you every so often.

“You feel so good,” you tell him softly, “ah, so tight,” you groan. Vil keens, and then instead of using his words- which he seems to have lost already- he tries his best to work his hips back against yours. You let out a breathless laugh, “faster already?” and Vil nods, letting out a pathetic whine.

“I’ve got you darling,” you coo, easily picking up the pace. He lets out a pleased moan, settling back down and returning to laying like a corpse under you.

“Just- ah- lay back and let me fuck you baby, you don’t ngh have to think at all, let me do all the work, sweet thing,” he nods dumbly at your instructions.

“Shit,” you breathe, fucking him so hard that his tits bounce with each thrust. Your hand fumbles around for a second before coming in contact with Vil’s clit. When you begin to rub at it as you fuck him, Vil cries out, his mouth falling open with a loud click, and his clouded eyes rolling into his skull. He clenches like a vice around you, and if you didn’t know any better you’d think he may have cum.

Drool begins to pool from his mouth as you play with his clit, and he lets out weak groans when you thrust him particularly hard or deep.

“I’m close,” you strain, because god you think you could get off just from looking at him, and the way he’s fluttering and clenching around you only gets you closer and closer to climax. Vil babbles something incomprehensible, drool continuing to fall from his mouth, puddling on the pillow and sheets beneath him, and thoroughly slicking his chin.

One of his hands falls from where it’s been wrapped around your neck, and rubs at his belly. Your hips stutter as you catch his drift,

“Fuck, yeah, ‘m gonna cum inside you Vil, gonna get you pregnant, gonna fill your womb, ungh, you want that?” he nods, his clit twitching under your fingers.

“Cum with me- Vil- c’mon baby,” you feel like you’re teetering on a cliff edge, just moments away from coming face to face with your orgasm.

He falls first, his groan of your name getting stifled as he slaps an arm over his mouth, squirting on your cock as you fuck him through it. You cum not long after, keeping your promise and snapping your hips flush against his as you pump him full of your cum.

You stay seated inside Vil until he weakly pinches your skin with his other hand, a nonverbal cue that your fingers on his clit and your cock inside him are making him sore with overstimulation. Pulling out you take a second to watch your cum ooze out of his pussy. If he hadn’t communicated that he was sore, you wouldn’t hesitate to get your head between his thighs and clean him up with your mouth.

Instead you flop down next to him, and take his cold body into your warm embrace. Vil removes his arm from covering his messy mouth, and snaps his jaw back into place. His eyes go unfocused as he looks at you next to him, and moving on instinct, he goes for your neck. His teeth just barely graze your skin before he realizes what he’s doing and resists the urge to devour you. Instead, Vil kisses your neck as an apology before pulling back.

Now that there's a bit of space between the two of you, you can get a good look at him. Vil looks properly fucked, his lipstick smudged, his mouth slick and sticky with drool, his mascara running slightly, his hair all out of place.

You can’t help but lean in and give him a loving kiss. Vil kisses back weakly, humming a tad mournfully against your lips. You think he’s probably still upset about nearly letting his monstrous inclinations take over. Through the kiss you try to convey that you trust him and love him. When you pull back there's a comfortable silence between the two of you for a brief second.

“Next time, I want to be the doctor,” Vil finally speaks, his voice rough and fried. You laugh, nuzzling into him, and pulling the comforter over the two of you.

“Ooh I like that, can you be all fascinated and awed with my living body?” you prompt, causing Vil to crack a smile.

“I think I could, at the very least, act like I would be “fascinated and awed”” he mimics you playfully. You laugh loudly, kissing him between giggles.

“Whatever you say, Dr. Shoenheit,” you tease, kissing him again before he can get the last word in.

#cw spit #cw monsterfucking #cw breeding kink #cw medical kink #cw dumbification #i might expand this au.. who knows lol #bottom vil schoenheit #spice

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