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randomingoftherandomness · 7 months

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Many pitied Shangguan Qian, the poor girl who had to marry a man already in love with another man, no one knows that she wasn't bothered at all by it.

She never liked being touched by men and neither did she dream of pushing a child out of her. But she would have been a liar if she didn't admit to enjoying her bargain with her husband and his lover. She could live in luxury and, AND, watch every night his husband fucking mercilessly his lover. She could watch the bratty and arrogant Yuanzhi beg for more, and sometimes, she could prepare him for Shangjue opening him loose with whatever she wanted.

Little did she care if she had to lie for the rest of her life making everyone believe that the child Yuanzhi would give birth soon is hers.

Does it sound weird? It's okay if it's uncomfortable for you to write, I know I'm a little bit strange.

A/N: Fam, please NEVER apologise for dropping these types of prompts in my inbox. NEVER. I, too, am a bit strange. We can be strange together. The way I damn near screamed when I saw this in my inbox :) This is a delight.

Tags: Contract Marriage, Marriage of Convenience, Boypussy, Intersex Yuanzhi, Mpreg, Established Relationship, Consensual Cheating (if you can call it that), Pregnant Yuanzhi, Cousin Incest, Implied Age Difference, Implied Consensual Underage, Dead Dove: Don't Eat, Gong Shangjue x Gong Yuanzhi, Gong Shangjue & Shangguan Qian

🌶️🍋🌶️🍋🌶️🍋

Shangguan Qian is rolling her wrist when she hears the front door of the penthouse chime. Pouring herself a glass of her favourite red, she smiles when she feels her husband come right up to her to greet her with a kiss to her cheek.

"Welcome home," She greets, surreptitiously wiping the back of her hand over where his lips were and gracefully taking a seat at the kitchen counter. She likes this counter top; Calacatta marble quarried from the Apuan Mountains in Carrara, Italy that she flew in to pick out herself. It's the same marble type that is used in all the bathrooms in this penthouse.

She spies a smudge near the far edge to her that ruins the gleam of the marble under the kitchen lights.

"How was work?" Shangjue asks. The timbre of his voice draws her attention to where he's fixing himself his own glass of red. He doesn't even like wine.

"Alright," Shangguan Qian responds. Taking a sip from her glass, she idly plays with the Cartier love bracelet her husband had given her as part of her dowry. "I'm going to be away for three weeks next month. One of my clients is having a party on their yacht in Ibiza to celebrate her third divorce and I've been asked to come with."

Shangjue nods, smiling serenely. "Ibiza, eh? It's nice this time of year. Just use my credit card if you need to buy anything for your trip."

"I will." She meets his eyes over the rim of her wine glass. Smiling sweetly, she throws her hair back. "Don't worry."

She's rolling her sore wrist when they both hear a muffled grunt from upstairs. Properly smug now and not bothering to hide it, Shangguan Qian leans back in her seat and says, "You should see what I left in your bedroom."

This earns her a raised eyebrow, but Shangjue does set his glass down to look at his watch.

"Is it..."

"Mmhm," Shangguan Qian hums, licking her lips. "And I've left him the way you like him best."

She has to giggle a little at the way Shangjue absolutely perks up in delight at that. She can understand why; taming a brat can be a world of fun if you're doing it right.

When they announced that they were getting married, it seemed like the world and their mothers pitied her. Who wouldn't be when the groom-to-be was just rumoured to be fucking a man on the side?

Well, it was less a rumour and more of the front page of every tabloid and gossip rag, and the hottest trending topic that every half-bit drama channel would report on, and the man is less a man, and more of a boy that was barely out of school and was the said groom-to-be's cousin ("distant. distant cousin," she thinks she can hear him say in her head, as if to soften the measure of taboo).

Shangguan Qian had been cordially invited to a private luncheon with on Gong Shangjue who offered her a contract and a lot of money for him to put a ring on her finger and his connections in her corner, and most importantly, his name behind her endeavours.

And two weeks later they were married.

She moves in to this penthouse the week after they come back from their 'honeymoon' in Paris which they'd spent apart every moment they didn't need to act up in front of the paparazzi they called on themselves -- him to the love nest he keeps in the 16th arrondissement to keep fucking the boy she'd yet to meet at the time, her to the Grands Appartements at the Hôtel de Crillon. She had a lot of fun shopping and getting eaten out by the receptionist when she clocked off work. It was great.

When Shangguan Qian was finally introduced to Gong Yuanzhi, she can finally understand the lengths Shangjue would go for his little angel. To say the boy was beautiful is an understatement; Yuanzhi has the sort of face that could easily grace billboards in New York's Times Square and the cover of every version of Vogue, but is at the same time, the kind of face you want to run with tears and kisses.

Sure, he's a bit of a brat, but when Shangjue is in the picture, the boy damn well melts. For all that her husband is known for his ruthless nature and his cold stratagems in the boardroom, she'd have to be blind to not see the way Shangjue adores him.

It's love. It's as simple and as complicated as that.

Shangjue invites her to watch them on the first wedding anniversary. Yuanzhi, unusually so when it comes to sharing his gege, had agreed, and Shangguan Qian was reasonably pleased to find that she enjoyed the experience of watching Shangjue fold his little lover in half and fucking him raw, that she didn't hesitate to accept the second invite, then the third, and a fourth, until it just becomes a standing invitation for them to keep their bedroom door unlock.

Not that she takes them up on it all the time, of course. She still prefers her carnal pursuits of the female variety.

But the trust is nice. More so when Yuanzhi discovers she's not half bad with her fingers and Shangjue likes how well she can truss his darling Yuanzhi up.

Just like how she's left him on the black silk sheets on their bed. She is very proud of her work today. Shangguan Qian made sure to tie Yuanzhi up in a way that showcased his pregnant bump.

Because that's the other reason why Shangjue would burn the world just to have a boy a good deal younger than himself and one who was barely done with high school when he'd first slid that contract over to her.

Shangguan Qian rolls her wrist and finishes up the rest of her wine. Taking hers and Shangjue's glasses to the sink, she rinses them out and places them in the dishwasher. Above, she hears the muffled wet and slick sounds of Shangjue slamming into his lover and Yuanzhi soft stuttering cries. Shangguan Qian hears something mumbled before Yuanzhi starts moaning like a two-bit whore loud enough that if she hadn't known that they're the only unit on this floor, she'd be worried about the neighbours.

The fool must be fucking with the door open again.

Shangguan Qian can only hope Shangjue isn't so eager that he'd forgotten that Yuanzhi is 5 months pregnant and showing, because the thing is, Yuanzhi is unique. Unique in the way that when she'd been trusted with this last secret puzzle piece, she had to take a moment to reorient herself.

Yuanzhi, the blessed boy, had blushed crimson when Shangjue told him to lean back and hold himself open for Shangguan Qian to see.

And see she did.

A pretty boypussy that glistened, leaking a stream of white and gaping from the breeding that Shangjue had been doing, and a little cocklet that Shangjue had thumbed back just so that she could see him better.

Her bracelet clinks against her watch and she clicks her tongue. Picking up her second phone, she flicks through her contacts and texts one of her regulars if she'd be free for a quick rendezvous tonight.

Yuanzhi had gone off his birth control the month before that night. The test results had come back positive two months later.

The sounds of Yuanzhi's lewd little whimpers grow louder with each slap of flesh to flesh.

Shangguan Qian spies the smudge on the marble again and wipes it clean with the sleeve of her loose, oversized cashmere sweater. They'd must have been fucking on the countertop when she wasn't home.

No matter.

Shangjue's contract had made it clear that this marriage of theirs will last just 2 years and 3 days, and not a day more. After their show of a divorce, there'll be money set aside for her that will comfortably cushion her for the rest of her life if she so chose. And, as an added bonus, she'll be getting full custody for the baby that's in Yuanzhi's belly. Oh, they'll be the heir to Shangjue's empire, no question about that, but Shangguan Qian will get to play mother until the child is 12, which is when there'll be a planned show for Shangjue to negotiate for shared custody.

To top it all of, Shangjue had her sign an ironclad NDA.

Her phone chimes and it's just one word. She smiles, picking up her bag, walking to the front door at the same time that she hears Yuanzhi's orgasm sing through their home.

It's all deliciously mapped out and Shangguan Qian can't wait for what comes next.

#Mpreg #Shangzhi #Juezhi #gong shangjue x gong yuanzhi #my journey to you fic #dead dove do not eat #seriously. do not engage if things like these squick you #gab writes stuff #I'm gonna keep this one off the main tag lol

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stormxpadme · 8 months

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Whumptober 2023 No. 10 - Broken Phone

Scogan Bingo challenge Breaking the rules

The news weren’t too shocking, in hindsight. With a psychopath villain, equipped with a healing factor almost matching Logan's, in the equation? The only thing shocking about this damn letter placed at the X-Men's garden gate at sundown was how long this had taken to happen. Fall from the Statue of Liberty or not, Creed showing his ugly mug again had only been a question of time. Not to mention that the trail of ripped-off, abused, disfigured, and half-eaten bodies respectively their parts, both from mutants and normal people, that the bastard had left in New York's sewers in the last few weeks, should have been a pretty obvious hint.

There hadn’t been exactly a warning though, not that. From whom? Creed's allegiance with the Brotherhood, always quite loose as it was, seemed to be the only thing that had definitely been killed at Liberty Island.

At least that was what Charles was told when he reached out to his ex-lover in another part of those sewers. While he and Magneto weren’t exactly back on regular speaking terms, Charles trusted Magneto's offended assurance that he'd long cut ties with this feral lunatic who'd used to do the dirty work for him, for a while. Charles hadn’t exactly been at his best game since Alkali Lake either, bouts of depression and guilt alternatingly keeping him from focusing on his work, but in this case, Scott was willing to trust his judgment.

Whatever Creed wanted this time, it had nothing to do with Magneto's usual delusions, and the guy was being far too demonstrative to hope he wanted to keep his head down for a bit, after apparently finally recovering from that full-force optic blast he'd taken at Liberty Island. To keep a low profile, like any somewhat sane and reasonable member of their species did, until the dust of Stryker's despicable attacks would have settled. Sane was famously not among Creed's distinguishing characteristics. Guy was out for death and blood and destruction, he always was. And right now, if that unambiguously worded notice to Mutant High was anything to go by, revenge had another high-ranking spot on that terrifying priority list.

Well, not for long. On his way to the cellar already, Scott hectically listed all the things in his head necessary for gearing up tonight, not even bothering with a briefing, the contents of which wouldn’t have changed his decision.

Only Charles' gruff order in the back of his mind had him stop in his tracks. 'Where do you think you're going, boy?'

'You want him to make good on his threat?' Scott deliberately recalled the image for Charles to see on his mind, of those few spidery scribbled words on some moldy newspaper he'd picked up just in time from inside the garden wall before one of the kids could possibly find it. Before the children seeking protection in this place would have had to read in detail how some psychotic motherfucker threatened to kidnap, torture, and kill them one by one unless Scott went to find him for a duel. 'I'm taking care of this. No need to involve anyone else.'

'Scott, we're a team.' The unwelcome mental touch inside grew stronger as Scott could feel Charles' physical presence approach as well, probably already in the elevator.

Which was all the more a reason to hurry on without looking back, for once even without the usual tortured side-glance at the sick bay door, the dark activity lights of some rooms hardly used since Alkali Lake. That was a pain Scott had had to deal with basically alone every day in those last months. Only the occasional unexpectedly friendly bender together with Logan in the latter's favorite bar had probably saved him from drowning in depression entirely in this worst period of his life. Given that Charles, in his own mourning and regrets, once more only seemed to remember that Scott actually existed when it was about something Scott was fucking up, he was very welcome to talk to the locked hangar door this time. 'We used to be, yes. It's about time we actually go back to that. Starting with that rabid feral threatening our kids. This is my job, Professor. He's been waiting to get his hands on Ororo forever, and Logan needs to watch the mansion, in case this is a trap. I won't be long.'

"You're not going, Scott, and that's my last word." Almost. Scott would almost have made it through the door to the armory, to his uniform and weapons, before the elevator opened to reveal a visibly annoyed Charles. The lines of age rapidly catching up with Scott's mentor lately were furrowing that high forehead even deeper that day. A piercing, steady glance from those intense grey eyes drilling into Scott's let him know, his mentor wasn't above enforcing his wishes using his gift if he needed to. "You spent more time drinking the night away since Jean's death than in the gym. You're no match for someone like Creed. And I need you to update the mansion's security measures since Sabretooth is around Westchester somewhere. We'll talk about this together with the others tomorrow and decide our next steps. Try to get some sleep until then for once instead of nursing another bottle."

"But …" Furious at this point, Scott clenched his fists but stepped away from the hangar at last when Charles fixed his gaze unblinking.

"You have your orders. Good night, Scott." Charles nodded at the elevator demonstratively, not moving his wheelchair an inch before Scott had stomped past him, outraged, and pressed the button of the teacher's floor with a too-harsh movement. Only then did he leave himself, towards the place where Cerebro had once used to be. A hall which was still, in spite of all the best attempts of a variety of team members, pupils, and allies, was nothing yet what it had used to be. Certainly not a device working well enough to find a jumbled-up but still strong mind like Creed's. The place did serve well enough though to stare at the wall for hours, wallowing in your own misery, Scott supposed.

Recapitulating the last few months, admittedly, he wasn’t in a good position to judge that. Well, no more of that.

****

Scott was nice enough to wait until he could be sure, Charles was asleep. Chances were, this whole thing might go wrong in spite of all preparations, ending probably with Scott having to show up at the doorstep of Hank's apartment downtown to have a few tendons sewn back in place or a broken bone or two to splint. Or worse. Whatever. You didn’t get into this business if you couldn’t live with that possibility.

At least Charles wouldn’t have to blame himself if he was oblivious to his team leader leaving the mansion in the silence of the night.

It was for such cases exactly that Scott kept one of his bikes in a dark alleyway nearby. Not that he'd ever needed it for insubordination before, admittedly. While he did have a bad conscience about breaking his mentor's rules, what was Charles to do, cut his allowance? Scott finally needed to start doing his goddamn job again and protect his team and his house instead of either feeling sorry for himself nonstop or spending more nights than he would have been comfortable admitting wondering how it came, Logan and he had been spending a remarkable amount of time together lately for two people hating each other's guts.

Logan wouldn’t be thrilled about Scott going rogue for a night either, he supposed. But Scott simply felt a lot safer, leaving the mansion with someone capable there who had proven more than once how much he cared about the people living in it. And if they would get their hands bloody again over this in another sparring match … Well, not to mention that there were worse things than being pinned to the ground by a well-built, sweat-covered feral, at least Charles wouldn’t be able to complain about Scott's lacking workout schedule again then.

Really, he could only win, Scott thought with a wry grin behind the shield of the usually neglectable helmet he'd opted for today for stealth reasons alone. Just one challenging solo quest, not least to clear his mind off the last few months' lethargy, and afterward, things would be back in order. No big deal. Not even an hour later, both that confidence and any impulse to smile whatsoever were entirely gone. Tracking down a target that wanted to be found was always easy; getting cocky about that was such a ridiculous beginner's mistake, Scott soon had to wonder if Charles had maybe been right, not thinking him capable of this mission on his own. He should have taken a closer look at that small, windowless concrete block of a factory hall to which he'd followed Creed's trail before getting inside. Then he'd never have ended up trapped in the middle of a room filled to the brim with barrels full of chemicals and explosives in the first place. Scott knew he was in trouble the moment the door was locked behind him and a single, flickering light on the ceiling went on, revealing this remarkably well-thought-out trap that forbade him from even thinking about using his blasts in this place if he didn’t want to blow himself up. Startled, he spun around, one of the diamond-sharp blades he'd equipped himself with as an alternative to his VISOR already at hand, expecting his enemy either by that door or about to pounce him fangs-first.

But Creed had already retreated back into the shadows between the barrel rackets. That it really was him, the breathtaking stench of rotting meat and matted fur alone left no doubt about. And the bastard was obviously in a mood to play. "So easy …" There was something … off about that voice since Scott had heard it threatening one of his team last. The same sadistic chuckle, sure, but the primitive lust for hunting had been replaced by something sounding more ambitious, something sharper. Maybe spending a lot of time underwater had at least cleared a certain mind, clouded by illegal mutant experiments before, since it obviously already hadn’t been able to solve a missing sense of personal hygiene.

This time, Scott didn’t even have time for a weak grin, busy retreating into the next best tactically useful corner himself. One far from the vessels containing the most toxic shit he didn’t even want to come close to, between the bulky, rusty shape of forklift and a counter that would at least give some cover once Creed would decide to ditch his own. Far worse preconditions than he'd hoped for, admittedly, but this wasn’t over yet. All pride and stubbornness aside, Scott wasn’t entirely suicidal – though the time since Alkali Lake had taken a toll on him as this night proved –, so he also used the quick moment of hopefully being unwatched to grab his phone. A soundless curse came from his lips when he had had to realize that his enemy had either indeed grown somewhat smarter since his alleged death or he'd had help – the reception was entirely jammed. And only now Scott started to regret coming here with a private ride that didn’t even have a damn communicator on it. Well, he had come here to deal with this issue alone. Thrusting his jaw forward, he forced himself to breathe shallowly but slowly, calmly, to force his heart rate into reasonable parameters, trying to listen to every smallest noise in the building, to know when his enemy would be approaching. Something that the loud humming of some air conditioning made harder though. Good thing, neither of them was here to hide. "You asked for me, Creed. Wanna spill it before I blow you into molecules for a second time?"

"We both know you're not gonna do that, One-Eye," Creed answered lightly, from somewhere fortunately still far away. "How would your precious little team go on if you spilled your guts all over this building? Perhaps you also missed the trailers on the other side of the street? You blow this baby up, there'll be a couple of whores and bums less in New York's streets. Be my guest though. Nothing I've not come back from. I like free haircuts." Yeah, definitely an update in the brains department.

Swallowing another curse, Scott rubbed his forehead in agitation and took another look at his phone display, with no different result, sadly, before putting the damn thing away. Now he'd have to prove how much he'd really forgotten about his hand-to-hand skills in that extended period of grief. "Bring it, then." He must have knelt in that damn dusty corner for longer than he'd realized, he thought with a frown, pushing himself back to his feet as he staggered for a second, his knees feeling wobbly … Only then it dawned on him that this slightly sweet smell in the air might not only come from those fucking chemicals stacked all around him. God fucking damnit.

"No need to hurry. You're not going anywhere anytime soon." Creed had come a lot closer – which had just become Scott's smallest problem – but true to his words, still didn’t make any move to attack, instead lurking in some opposite corner that Scott couldn’t quite make out from where he he'd crouched down on his knees again with a suddenly very dry throat. Bastard knew exactly he had all the cards in his hands and enjoyed his triumph, getting comfortable there in the dirt and dusk with a purr. The rustling of some bags and the cluttering of metal before some disgusting slurping revealed, motherfucker had the nerve to start a damn picnic over there instead of engaging in a fight he would be undoubtedly superior in.

Scott's stomach turned when Creed carelessly threw the remains of his snack his way which consisted of a shredded human hand almost gnawed down to the bones. Somehow, he managed to fight back the tightness in his throat, somehow. Wasting air by throwing up was a very bad idea right now. The Shi’ar breather capsule he'd plucked from his belt upon realizing there was some damn narcotic spreading in this hall wouldn’t last forever. That stuff, whatever it was, wouldn’t affect Creed a lot thanks to his healing factor but take Scott out in a matter of minutes. He better came up with a plan real fucking quick if he didn’t want to be on this asshole's menu next.

"No answer?" Creed chuckled darkly, apparently with a pretty good idea where that quiet whistling of artificially conserved air and an alarmingly weak buzz of the device's battery came from. "That's alright, prettyboy. I'm not interested in hearing anything from you but screams and pleas for your life when I get started on you. And for death, soon enough. Gonna have to disappoint ya on that one though. You, I'm gonna take apart piece by piece." Another demonstrative loud nibble on dry flesh, more bones cracking before being spit to the ground just close enough for Scott to realize that whoever that had once been had not even been an adult yet. "You're going to regret every single inch you made me fall down that Statue, and every hour I spent with my lungs full of water on that bottom, before I bite your throat. Think Imma cut off a few souvenirs off of you for your kids and your loverboy at home, too. I bet he'll want to know what happened to his latest bedwarmer. You two looked awfully close in that bar the other week … Guy's leaking pheromones all over the place as soon as you're nearby. It's almost cute." Creed let out a bellowing laugh when Scott stiffened both in ice-cold shock and growing agitation regarding a situation that was even more serious than he'd realized at first, entirely underestimating someone with a formerly impaired mind, unaware that a certain healing factor might be able to repair even such damage, with time …

The consequences of this carelessness were not only about to catch up with him at full speed. Logan … It was a scream of anger, confusion, and worry rearing up in the shape of that one certain name in his mind as he slowly felt dizziness and darkness spreading in his head and heaviness in his limbs. Whatever was poisoning the air of this damn hall was already far too deep in his cells to even think about an even fight, or about an escape. In five minutes or so, Scott would end up helplessly in the hands of this psycho, and if people at home, including a certain man he'd grown far fonder of than he'd even realized, wouldn’t be smarter about this comeback of one of their worst enemies ... Logan. Trying to suppress the thought especially of this one person that Creed was obviously after in particular, Scott clenched his teeth harder around the capsule between his lips, sending a small surge of adrenaline through his too-slow blood flow. Flexing his muscles, he shook himself again and again, trying to clear his mind, without much success. He had to keep trying though, he had to stay awake, to fight back … He couldn’t let get Creed anywhere near his home, anywhere near Logan who didn’t even have an idea the guy was back …

How far out of it he'd really already been, he only realized, when a huge, fur-covered hand suddenly closed around his throat, easily lifting him up into the air from his hiding place, black eyes glistening with lust staring right into his as Creed ripped the breather capsule from his mouth with his free hand. A first harsh blow to Scott's stomach stifled any weak attempts at freeing himself before they could really arise. "You smell delicious, pretty-boy…" Pulling him close, ignoring his struggling, Creed licked a long, greedy stripe up and down the side of Scott's neck, a threat no longer needed to know what was to come next. "I can see why that feral on your team wants you so badly … Too bad. Guy should have been faster ..."

Fighting consciousness already, Scott didn’t even really understand at first what was happening; for that, it went far too quickly. One moment, Creed was cutting off his air, a greedy paw fumbling with the zipper of Scott's uniform top, the next, he was suddenly dropped to the ground as a very familiar sound of extending claws came out of nowhere, an inhumane, deafening scream echoing through the hall. Blood squirted on Scott's face, burning in his mouth as he gasped for air, making him retch all over again, and then there was another, taller, and heavier body crashing next to his, torrents of red gushing from between two opened jugulars.

"Guess I'm late to the party. Invitation must have ended up in spam." Logan looked down at Scott half in amusement, half worried, and fully pissed as Scott scrambled to sit up, but made no move to help him for the moment, keeping his claws right where they were, buried deep in Creed's gut and throat. To render the guy as incapable as possible and thereby secure an escape, Scott supposed. This wouldn’t be more than a draw for the moment, that much was clear after this meeting. He should be damn glad, Logan had apparently had the right hunch and followed him. This could have gone real south real fast.

Creed only proved that with another hateful hiss even while half bleeding out, struggling under Logan's adamantium-steeled body to get free. That same intense, almost longing look was on his face as earlier when he'd talked about Scott's teammate as he looked up to Logan from pain-addled eyes. "And here I was thinking you'd never show up. Come on, Jimmy, let me go. You don't really want to keep working for these losers, do you? I tracked down a few of our old sources after they pulled me from the water. What do you say, we have some fun with prettyboy here, and then we revive the good old days together. What?" Creed only laughed even louder, as crazy as ever in spite of his newfound heightened intelligence, when Logan stared back at him in bewilderment, just as much at a loss as Scott what the guy was talking about. "Still don't remember, huh? Too bad. Don't worry, I'll refresh your memory. Cute kid like this? We used to fuck and eat that for dinner every week back then. It can be like that again. Come on, don't be a spoilsport. I'll even let you have the first go with our One-Eye before taking you to my place. You and I together? Humanity and the rest of the world won't stand a chance."

"Tempting," Logan gritted out with a strained voice, his enemy's blood drying in his beard as he visibly fought for composure, in a way Scott had had to fear he'd lose at some point so often in the past … Only now he realized how wrong he had really been about believing in Logan's faith and self-control so little. "Too bad for you, I prefer to sleep with mentally stable people." Another quick flickering of his wrists, a twist of claws, then Sabretooth's head rolled across the floor, leaving a remarkable trail of blood still. "Come on, before someone puts the bastard back together." Logan didn’t give Scott even a second to process what had just happened before pulling him to his feet, supporting his stumbling, half-conscious shape on the way toward the hole he'd entirely silently cut into that door. Only when they had somehow, in spite of their lousy appearance, made it to the jeep that Logan must have come here with, without attracting the wrong attention, Logan finally turned to Scott with a shaky breath. Reaching out for him, he rested two knuckles on Scott's forehead and felt his pulse. "You alright, Slim?"

Scott had never felt less capable of answering that question, and he'd never felt it was less insignificant to do so. "Logan …" Before Logan could get the stupid idea of letting go, his face tightening at the utter dumbfounded tone in Scott's voice, Scott reached up with a still heavily trembling hand to hold Logan's right there, on his neck, where it was quickly chasing away the memory of that sickening sensation of a predator's saliva and teeth far too close earlier.

"Yeah, no, you are definitely going to Hank's. You're intoxicated to the brim." Logan tried to pull away from Scott's grasp, half-heartedly enough to hope he didn’t mean it.

He was probably right, little as Scott liked to admit it, but before they would leave and Scott would undoubtedly have to face two days' worth of sermons from more than one side, he had to be sure. He had to know. "Is it true? What he said?" he asked quietly, shyly linking his fingers with Logan's.

Or at least he tried. To his dismay, Logan was even faster now to let go of him, his lips a thin line. "Which part do you mean? That I used to be his partner in crime, apparently, or that the only person who can tell me about my past is a murdering psychopath? Then again, seems like I'm better off not knowing anyway," he added with a bitter laugh, burying both hands in his hair, staring ahead into the dark street.

Seeing Logan look as lost as it had never happened before, in spite of the guy's amnesia, helped overcome Scott the last of his own bewilderment. This man had been there for him for the better part of the last half year, protecting him from the worst of a fall that Scott hadn’t even realized how close to it he had really been, and though they'd really not exactly been friends in the beginning no less. Now that it was Logan, possibly facing the shambles of what he'd thought was his life so far, it was him who needed support, not alienation. "It doesn’t matter, you know." Somehow shaking off the heaviness in his bones, Scott pushed himself away from his seat to lean over to Logan and rest his hand on his cheek, ignoring the grime soiling his beard. A shower was very much in order for both of them right now anyway. With any luck, they might even be able to take it together. "Guy's head is a monkey circus, but even if any of what he said is right … And I doubt it, Logan, because I know you … This is not who you are now."

"And what is that, Slim? Who am I to you?" This time, when Logan took Scott's hand in his, it felt planned, and right.

"You're the one who keeps saving my ass for some reason. And it's about damn time I show you how grateful I am for that." With that, Scott leaned in closer, hesitatively still, his heart sinking for a moment when the light touch of his lips against Logan's wasn’t answered …

Then Logan's other hand was back on his neck, pulling him closer so abruptly that their teeth clanked together before a hot tongue invaded his mouth with the hunger and greed of a starving man. And with Logan, Scott didn’t ever need to be afraid that these desires would take some inhuman grotesque shape like with that bastard back there in that factory hall. "You know you're still getting your ass whupped for pulling that stunt tonight, right?" Logan grumbled when they finally detached, both breathing faster, the air in the car suspiciously heavy all without chemicals this time.

Scott shrugged, unfazed. "I like paddles best, in case you want to take notes." Somehow, he managed to dodge a well-deserved slap to the back of his head in spite of his slightly battered condition. On the way to Hank's, he was fast asleep within two minutes.

*******************************************************************************

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#no.10 #broken phone #x men #fic #cannibalism #everything after x2 didn't happen sue me #x men original timeline movies #x men movies #fanfiction #stormys fanfics #dead dove do not eat #scott summers #cyclops #wolverine #scogan #scott x logan #scoganbingo #warning not applying to what's happening to the main characters #whumptober2023

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cherubify · 8 days

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upcoming fic was written spontaneously but surprisingly ive been adding words every night..!

#🔎 :inathink:#im gonna go blind one day for writing in the dark every night #but we r at 4k words in n its only 1/3 of the plot?! n jus main points..!#so excited to share it #its NOT a dead dove fic #i wanted to write smting that reflected the tenderness of my heart #n e ways yup

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naviculariis · 2 months

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Where is Your God?

Word Count: 3,074

Warnings: Gore, Torture, Cannibalism ( is it cannibalism if you aren’t technically human anymore? ), Dead Dove: Do Not Eat territory here, folks.

Rating: M.

Author’s Note: Okay so, Malekai originally comes from an original series that I’m creating. His home verse has nothing to do with One Piece. The Umi Umi no Mi is known as the Sea-Sea Fruit, and whoever eats it essentially gets to play the role of Davy Jones: the sea answers to them, cloaks their ship’s presence, etc. I’ll eventually explain it better, I promise.

Gulls cried overhead, creating a chorus that mingled with merchants calling out their prices for their fresh catches, for their wares that had arrived upon the cargo ships, of street urchins bartering and badgering. The market existed across from the port rather than in the heart of the city, which allowed for sunlight to warm the stone and cast away the fog that had lingered throughout the morning, turning the once dreary day lighter. Civilians and Marines alike made their way through the port-side market, perusing stall after stall, blissfully unaware of what was happening mere feet from their docile, comfortable livelihoods. The cacophony of sounds hid the sharp screams for help that echoed periodically from a ship within the port. Bargains between customer and peddler; laughter drifting across the waters.

The ship was grand, a Galleon that had obvious love and care put into her. Her wood seemed to be stained a vibrant, rich red; whatever lacquer had been used to stain and protect would have cost a pretty penny. Her masts rose high, with ivory sails that were tucked in for the time being. The crew of this magnificent ship mulled about on deck, seemingly taking the morning to rest while they await for their captain. The hull creaked gently as it was rocked by the waters of the Cobalt Port.

The waves were a touch choppy; white caps further out from the port, signaling rougher seas to be seen. Storm season was quickly approaching, after all.

The Captain paced slowly, silently, across the floor of the lower deck of the Crimson Grace, as if the ship and water it floated upon answered his need for secrecy. The sound of footsteps were muffled, the leather of boots creaking gently as each step met darkly stained wood, the sins of the past having wept into the floorboards. A fat tabby cat lounged upon an empty barrel of ale, tail flicking left and right as its green gaze watched the man curiously, waiting for his next move. When he stepped close enough, the cat rolled over onto its back, baring his belly for scratches that were gladly given from a gloved hand, finely crafted leather with crimson stitching. A purr rumbled free from the sweet creature, its eyes slowly shutting as the hand drifted up to offer a scratch beneath its chin for a moment. The hand retreated, but the feline did not move aside from its tail, which continued to flick to and fro against the oaken barrel, eyes still shut in bliss.

The unruly waves of the Cobalt Port broke against the hull of the ship, adding to the soft chorus of muffled whimpers; the beautiful music of pain and fear mingling. Each footfall brought forth another whimper, another gasp, another flinch backwards into the rickety chair whose legs were close to breaking and seemed to creak with every minuscule movement. The Marine, a tall man in his late twenties, feared that if he were to lean back any farther, it would simply give way, sending him sprawling back onto the wooden floor. His breath came forth in stuttering pants; he’d lost feeling in his left hand, and his right was quickly following. This meant that grasping his blade- if he even got the chance- wouldn’t work, not if his hands were numbed to the point of non functioning due to the harsh angle his shoulders were forced into resting. The coarse rope tied far too tightly around his wrists dug in painfully, chaffing the skin to the point of bleeding, rubbed raw; blood dripping down his hands to mingle with the blood that dripped from his fingers due to the missing fingernails. Blood dripped from the tips of his fingers slowly, dropping into the pool of crimson that had formed below.

The Captain turned on his heel suddenly, making the Marine jump in his chair. No hat to hide behind, no gun to draw- no, those had been stolen from him when he’d been jumped and drugged with an aromatic cloth in the early morning hours before the sun rose. “The Vice Admiral will be looking for me,” the Marine tried to speak around the gag in his mouth, having found his voice once more. It came out garbled, more akin to “Ha ich amiral ill e ooing or ee”. A laugh escaped the captain- his head tilting back, long, strawberry blonde hair swaying with the movement, mouth wide open to reveal sharpened incisors and canines- akin to what a wolf’s mouth would look like, the Marine realized belatedly. ‘Oh, Gods, please spare me from this wolf,’ he prayed silently, hoping that some deity above would answer his pleas for mercy. Like a lamb cornered in the pasture by a hungry wolf, bleating for its mother who would not come.

It seemed as if mercy did not exist within this hellscape of a pirate ship.

“You’ve no rank that matters to me,” the Captain spoke softly- a tone that would have been calming had the threat not been present. A rank would make little difference now. “You won’t be missed. You’re just a grunt. You’ll be labeled a deserter.” Sighing, he shook his head, wavy tresses following the movement, causing the rings within the braids to jingle ever so softly. “And you’re lying to me!” His arms crossed over his chest, drawing attention to the ink that settled in the skin of his left forearm; tentacles, it seemed to be, winding around his arm and onto the back of his hand, before curling around to his palm, ending with the longest tentacle wound around his middle finger. Leaning down, eyes the same color of grave dirt studied the man with a sense of morbid curiosity, drawing his attention from the intricate tattoo to meet his gaze once more.

The Marine’s once neatly trimmed brown hair had been matted by a mixture of sea water and dried blood. His face had once been a lively shade of beige with rosy cheeks flushed from the spring sunlight, but was no longer pretty. Instead, it now resembled a macabre mask of bruises and cuts. His lip had been split open, blood and saliva mixing and spilling over his chin, dribbling down onto the torn, once-white shirt that had been soaked through with sweat, sea water, blood, and bile.

“I do not like it when people lie to me, Sir.”

The Marine shook his head quickly, voice abandoning him once more as his mouth worked around silent syllables. His gaze, a blue so vivid it appeared crystalline, was wide, pupils blown from the pain and fear mixing with adrenaline within his veins. His chest heaved as fresh pain arched through his body from the movement; broken ribs screamed at him to please stop moving, please, we’re tired. Fresh blood oozed from a trio of deep lacerations in his chest, the skin ripping apart once more, undoing the minor scabbing that had begun, staining the fabric of his uniform further.

“You… are not lying to me?” Malekai asked, eyes widening as faux innocence colored his features. In that moment, he appeared to be naught older than twenty and five, despite being nearly double that age. But the Marine knew better; he’d become the Wolf of the Seas for a reason. “Oh, then I must apologize for this entire situation!” His fingers hooked in the rope that had been used as a gag, undoing the knot that kept it in place, giving the knight a moment of respite. A thankful gasp spilled free as he was allowed a single breath of fresh, unfiltered air-

until Malekai roughly took hold of the ends of the rope and tugged the knight’s head back suddenly, rocking the chair back with the movement. A scream of anguish escaped the knight as the corners of his mouth ripped from the movement, fresh blood spilling down his cheeks, filling his mouth, gagging him, coloring the tan rope a deep scarlet. “Oh, I am so sorry! Does this hurt?” Malekai hissed as he roughly drug the rope back and forth quickly, creating friction for a rope burn across the knight’s face, dragging it deeper into the lacerations he’d created, ripping the flesh further and further. “You see, we must not be communicating properly,” his hands finally stilled, releasing the rope to reach up, cupping his bloody jaw, drawing the knight’s tear-filled gaze to meet his own brown. He leaned close- close enough to kiss if the situation had been different. His gaze swept across his face slowly, drinking in the tears and blood, the unmistakable scent of iron thick in the air that lingered between them. “Because I know you are lying to me. How, you may ask? Because I have eyes and ears all over this city, and I have witnesses that put Marine vessels in the North Blue, near the shoreline of More-Lesa. You think your little Vice Admiral runs this city but that is wrong, little Marine. I do. I run this city, and this city answers to me. I am your King, don’t you know?”

The Marine whimpered; he’d been caught, and now he was going to die, body tossed into the Cobalt Port and never to be seen again, weighed down by stones to forever rest at the bottom of the ocean. What about his wife? His child? What would happen to them? Oh, sweet Hera, please watch over them! When Malekai leaned in, he shuddered. Oh- oh, Gods above, that was his tongue dragging up his cheek, leaving a wet smear in its wake! A hum spilled free from the Captain at the taste of salt and iron mingling. The Marine tried to lean back, to put space between them, but Malekai leaned with him to tower over his slight form. Piss dribbled down his pant legs as his bladder lost control, mixing with the urine that had long since dried.

“Yes, so you see,” Malekai murmured as his hands smoothed over mottled, torn flesh before he straddled his lap, full weight bearing down upon his thighs, arms resting around his shoulders. Chest to chest, no way to escape as his fingers wove through brown locks. It was jarring to be touched so gently after the hours of torture, to be caressed as if they were lovers. “You have one more chance to tell me the truth. You can try to scream, to cry, to beg- but no one will hear you. Do you know why? No, no, do not try to answer- Malekai is speaking, and I will tell you why you will not be heard by the people walking outside! It is high tide now, and a storm is coming in. Listen, can you hear the thunder?” He fell silent, watching as the Marine struggled to hear over the Lessan accent of Malekai. Distantly, he could hear it- the thunder rolling over the water. That explains why the waters were growing rougher by the minute, the shop rocking with the waves. “It is nearly eleven o’clock in the morning as well; the fish market will be busy, and the merchants are calling out their prices for their wares and catches of the day. No one is going to hear you down here, under my waters, beneath my deck, little Marine.” He cooed, lips drawing into a slow, small smile.

“Please,” the knight sobbed softly, voice shaking from the effort of moving his torn mouth. “I don’t know. I was just told by the Vice Admiral to deliver the message, that’s all!”

“Oh, a message?” Malekai mused, eyes widening in curiosity. “What message would that be?”

“I don’t-”

Malekai clicked his tongue as his fingers wound themselves around long brunette locks, yanking hard enough that clumps snapped free from his scalp, drawing forth a new scream. “Did I not make myself clear, sweetling?” He hissed, rising from his temporary seat as he tilted the knight’s head back, “You will not be making it out of here alive, no matter what tricks you try to pull! It would be much easier if you simply told me the truth, yes?” He gave another harsh tug before dropping his hand away with a disgusted grunt, lips curled into a scowl. “Why must you be so difficult? I am being quite nice, I believe.”

“All I was told was to tell him that Mihawk had made contact with Red Hair Shanks!” His voice was frantic as he watched Malekai move back. “And that plans were moving smoothly regarding something called a Pacifista!” Relief crossed his mottled features as he sagged in the chair. The bonds had gotten looser; his left hand was numb enough that- there! Breaking his own thumb, he was able to slip the bond off of his wrist and retrieve the short knife in his sleeve.

“Now, was that so difficult?” Malekai sighed as he rolled his shoulders, gaze drifting to a dark corner of the hull. “Now, you will tell me-” before he could finish his sentence, the sound of a fight beginning overhead caught his attention. Brows drawing inward, he sighed. “What are they doing? I told them-” his voice cut off at the feeling of pain flaring up in his side, a pained noise escaping him as he glanced down to meet the Marine’s frantic gaze. Brow raising, his gaze trailed further down to the knife embedded in his side. “Oh, you stupid, pitiful fool,” he cooed, turning to face him.

There was a shift in the air, then, the Marine realized- as if the shadows of the hull had grown darker, denser, the fire in the oil lamp flickering with the breeze of an unfelt wind. The lamp spluttered, attempting to keep the flame alive. Quietly, he began to pray, “Through the valley of the shadow-” he couldn’t finish the prayer, for his words were stolen as the oil lamps were extinguished by invisible hands- one after the other. Whispers began to flood the hull, none of the words making any sense- too many languages jumbling together. Fear gripped him, giving him clarity. “Oh, sweet merciful Death, the rumors-”

“Were true.” Malekai finished for him. In the light that broke through the cracks of the floor above them, he looked more like a demon from the depths of the sea than a human. Teeth far too white, eyes far too bright, his body seeming to contort and shift in the shadows. The scent of the sea air grew thicker, strangling him; salt, brine, rotting fish. It felt as if the oxygen was being sucked out of the hull, as if he had suddenly plunged hundreds of feet below the surface of the sea with the pressure. He struggled to breath, gasping for air as his lungs struggled. “Tell me,” Malekai whispered; despite standing in front of him, he clearly heard the voice coming from behind him as breath tickled the back of his neck, as a hand slid along his shoulder blades before wrapping around his throat while Malekai leaned close, close, too close.

Close enough that he could see the tattoo moving across Malekai’s arm, extending down, coming to life with a sickening wet sound that had his heart freezing within his chest. He looked back up, meeting grave dirt eyes.

“Where are your so-called Gods now, Marine?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The fat tabby cat sat upon the barrel of ale, licking its paw of the blood that had gotten onto its fur. Malekai sighed, using the remnants of his shirt to wipe the gore from his mouth, his face, his hands. His left arm ached, but then again, it always did whenever he had to resort to using a more hands-on approach. His clothes were ruined, soiled by blood, urine, and a bit of vomit from the Marine. It was interesting to see how people would react in the face of death.

The heart was still warm, still dripping, as he clutched it in his palm, creating a little pool on the floor. Turning on his heel, he made his way to where an ornate little box of Wano make sat undisturbed upon a keg of black powder. Carefully, he placed the wedding ring taken from the Knight’s hand within the box- to join countless others that gleamed in the low lamplight. As footsteps began to clunk down down the stairs, he raised his bloodied hand to his mouth, licking a slow stripe through the viscous liquid with the broad, flat part of his tongue, until his lips met with the meat of the heart. Mouth opening, teeth settled within the flesh as blood spilled forth. A gag escaped his new guest at the sight as Malekai hummed, chewing slowly before swallowing. A rag was tossed his way; he caught it with a roll of his eyes. Tossing the heart into an empty bucket, he began to clean his hands of the blood.

Darkened fingers of a right hand gave the cat a scratch behind the ears before the owner of the hand turned, meeting the gaze of their Captain. “What’d you do, decide to bathe in his blood like the old Janoshima Empress?” Kaith asked, not daring to step any further down than the eighth step of fifteen. “They’re gonna complain about having to clean up this mess.”

“Then let them complain,” Malekai replied with a flippant shrug. “I am going to bathe, and then we need to set sail for Mary Geoise. I need to meet on neutral ground to make my requirements be known.” Tugging his shirt over his head, he tossed it aside, ignoring the wet splat it made as it landed in a pool of blood. No body was left to discard of- only blood.

Only ever blood.

“Did you make him sing?” Kaith asked, gaze trailing across the mess that covered Malekai. Strawberry blonde waves dripping with blood, trousers soaked with Gods only know what, left hand shaking with a tremor that would leave within the hour. His face was still covered in the gore; he’d been messier than normal this time, no doubt due to the angered seas. Seas that answered to him.

The owner of the legendary Logia fruit, the Umi Umi no Mi.

A smile- cold, cruel, dangerous- split across the captain’s lips as he gazed up at his little Shadow, enveloped in the dying light of the day. “Oh, like the sirens of mythos.”

#𝕹𝖆𝖛𝖎𝖈𝖚𝖑𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖘: [ main verse ]#𝕮𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖆𝖎𝖓'𝖘 𝕷𝖔𝖌: [ FICS ]#𝕮𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖆𝖎𝖓'𝖘 𝕼𝖚𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖘: [ N.s.f.w. ]#𝖜𝖔𝖑𝖋 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖊𝖆: [ malekai kuznetsov ]#tw: graphic depictions of violence #tw: cannibalism #tw: gore #dead dove do not eat

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swanmaids · 1 year

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also if youre feeling confident enough for asoiaf characters - catelyn with "ive lost you for good" 👀 🙀🙀❣️‼️💔🥺

"Now, leave me, all of you. I would be alone with Ned tonight".

The Silent Sisters had done as they were bidded, and Catelyn was alone. The stone walls were somehow colder without their presence, wraithlike as it had been. There was no sound at all in the air, not even the rustling of the Sister's robes - in that moment, she could have been the only person alive in the world.

She stepped closer to the trestle table, until she was almost touching the side. It is ill luck to gaze upon the dead, she had always been told and always believed, but what did luck mean to her now? A woman who's husband had been left to the crows cared nothing for it. She could rely on no superstition to protect Robb or deliver Sansa out of the hands of evil. And she could allow no superstition to steal her last moments with the only man she had ever loved.

Gently, so gently, she traced a finger under the socket where Ned's grey right eye had once been. If she closed her own eyes, she could almost rebuild his dear face in her mind- cover the bone with muscle and fat and skin again, until she could gaze on the same care-worn countenance that she had woken beside for so many years.

Then she opened her eyes, and Ned was only bones once more.

A hand, large as her husband's had been, was squeezing her heart within her chest. Something within her throat- a scream, or a sob- threatened to choke her. She forced herself to swallow it back. I am going to go mad, Catelyn thought. Well, have I not good reason to be mad?

Perhaps it was that same madness that drove her next, as, quick as a leaping trout, she leant over the table and pressed her lips to the frozen mouth of the skull.

She kissed Ned's skull for as long as she could bear it without breath, and when she drew back her mouth was sore and cold. This time, she allowed the tears to fall as they would.

She knew then what she wanted- needed- to do, wrong though it undoubtedly was. The Silent Sisters would return when morning rose, to spirit Ned back to his lands and his forebears to be entombed. There would be no other chance.

Catelyn shook off shame, and pulled herself up onto the table. She draped the Stark banner over herself and Ned both, and lay down to sleep beside her lord husband for the final time, before she lost him for good.

#being a sicko on main #how on earth to tag this...#dead dove do not eat #there's skull kissing #and such #my fic #valyrianscrolls #nedcat #tuserosie

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1dklikesthings · 1 year

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so this is the magical john angst fic i finished a couple months back but never posted!! it was gonna be a part of a larger au but ive lost total motivation on it so heres the oneshot! PLEASE mind the tags bc this fic gets. a lil descriptive at parts

trigger warnings: graphic descriptions of blood and (ideation of) self-harm, depersonalisation/derealisation, religious themes, solitary confinement

#honestly i dont even know HOW i wrote this #i am so so verry sorry for writing rtgame miitopia dead dove. it will happen again /halfjoke #the religious themes are only very vaguely there but im still tagging em lol #rtgame miitopia #magical john #rtgame magical john #1dk writes #edit: fuck it we put this fic in the main tag #rtgame

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clone-medic-patch · 8 months

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Patch Fic Snippet!

This is a snippet from my fic, “A Series of Hard Knocks” featuring my OC Patch.

Warnings for panic attacks, PTSD and mild self-injurious behavior.

For context: Patch was stationed with the 501st on a temp basis after Umbara, but still has a lot of trauma from the Malevolence attack, which is the main focus of this fic snippet. Also, Dogma was semi-pardoned for killing Krell in this fic, and has been doing community service in medbay since then.

Enjoy!

Patch always heard klaxons in his dreams. Wailing sirens, flashing lights, and shuddering ships were familiar to his subconscious mind. Maybe that’s why he didn’t wake up to the Resolute’s evacuation drill until Tup was shaking his shoulder, shouting, “Come on, Patch. We’ve gotta go!”

Reality crashed into Patch like a tidal wave, threatening to pull him under. Before his mind could process his surroundings, he was already standing, following the other troopers as they exited the barracks. Brain jolting in horror, his breath caught in his throat, and he could feel himself tremble with every blaring siren.

The flashing lights in the hallway were what brought him to a stuttering halt. Letting out a choked whimper, he leaned against a wall. His knees gave out underneath him, breaths coming in quick and shallow. Patch squeezed his eyes shut, gripping his empty forearms hard enough to hurt, entire body shaking.

Part of him knew he needed to get moving, that he couldn’t get left behind, but his armor was back in the barracks, along with every one of his favorite coping strategies, and his shaking limbs refused to support his weight. Hyperventilating, he could practically hear the escape pod groaning as the life-support systems broke down.

Meanwhile, Dogma was passing through the hallway near the barracks. It was his first week back in his own bunk, and it still felt wrong to be safely nestled above Tup, listening to the quiet snores of his brothers, so he’d been wandering the halls waiting for sleep to come when the drill started. Rounding the corner, he nearly tripped over Patch before he caught himself.

“What the– Patch?”

Shaking his head frantically, Patch sat crumpled on the hallway floor, lost in a flashback and muttering to himself, “No no no no no–!”

Dogma gave the medic a look of confusion, closely followed by a jolt of alarm, remembering his quiet admissions during group sessions about destroyed Venators and dying escape pods. Even now, he could see the older trooper hyperventilating, nails digging into his forearms hard enough to draw blood.

“H-Hey, don’t do that.” He exclaimed, trying to get Patch to stop gripping his arms so tightly, but Patch didn’t even acknowledge his existence, still shuddering in panic.

Dogma shook his head, trying to think of a new approach. At this rate, Patch’s tight grip was definitely going to leave a mark. “Stop that– uh, here!”

With a grunt of realization, he crouched next to the medic, unclipping his own bracers before starting to attach them to Patch’s arms to give him at least a little bit of protection. Thankfully, this seemed to jolt Patch back to reality, just a little, and he loosened his grip just long enough for Dogma to finish.

For a moment, this seemed to help, and Patch’s breathing slowed a little bit as he ran a hand along the armor pieces. But then, to Dogma’s alarm, his breath hitched and a few tears started to fall.

“Hey, d-don’t cry!” Dogma’s hands froze as he watched, but this only made him cry harder, just barely audible over the warning klaxons. Dogma’s breath caught in his throat; he was incredibly out of his depth.

Not knowing what else to do, he grabbed his comlink from his belt and tried to comm Tup. Tup would know what to do. He listened to it beep a few times, but the call refused to connect. ‘He must’ve left his comm in the barracks,’ Dogma thought with dismay.

But Patch was still shaking, eyes filled with unshed tears, so he tried again, this time calling Hardcase. Hopefully medbay hadn’t been dragged into the evacuation drill. When the comlink chirped, Dogma gave an audible sigh of relief.

“What is it, Dogma? It’s 0200.” Hardcase groaned, still sounding half-asleep.

“Patch is crying.” Dogma’s voice was tense with nerves as he watched the medic.

“What?! What happened?”

“I don’t know! Probably something to do with the evac drill. How— W-What do I do?”

“He’s crying right now? Like, in front of you?” Hardcase was sounding increasingly concerned, and not nearly awake enough for this.

“That’s what I’ve been saying!”

“Then give him a hug or something! Don’t just stand there watching him!”

“A hug?”

He could practically hear Hardcase’s facepalm. “Yes, with your arms! Hang the kriff up and comfort him!”

Dogma’s eyes widened in trepidation. “Uh, I’ll try, but–”

“And get someone to turn the kriffing alarms off!” He heard Hardcase say something else, presumably to a medic in medbay, and then the comm call cut off, leaving him alone again.

In the short time it had taken to call Hardcase, it looked like Patch had calmed down a little more, but his hands still shook visibly as he sat curled up around his knees, letting out a quiet hiccup every now and then. Dogma took a deep breath, bracing himself before wrapping a stiff arm around Patch’s shoulders.

Patch flinched slightly before leaning into the touch, so Dogma offered him a hand, which he gripped tightly. Hardcase must’ve called someone, because the lights stopped flashing and the alarms petered off, and finally Patch could breathe again.

The medic opened his eyes, finally starting to register his surroundings. With an exhale of relief, he slumped into Dogma’s side. He looked up, blinking in surprise as he began to realize what happened.

“...H-Hey kid. Sorry about that.” His voice was hoarse, and his ears burned with embarrassment as he gave Dogma a sheepish look. He took a few grounding breaths, trying to look a bit less like he was falling apart at the seams.

“It’s okay… a-are you alright?” Dogma asked, stiffening slightly.

Patch quirked his head to one side, mentally scanning himself before answering honestly. “No, but I will be… c-can we head back to the barracks? I’d like to grab the rest of my armor before Kix or Coric drags me off to medical.” He could already feel his forearms burning, but he made a noise of surprise when he noticed that the bracers on his arms weren’t his own.

Dogma nodded, fumbling for a moment before standing up, giving Patch a hand. “Sure, uh– can you stand?”

Giving a grunt of affirmation, Patch took Dogma’s hand gratefully. He sniffled, trying to avoid getting any more tears and snot on Dogma’s loaned armor, if he could help it. “Yeah, ‘m good.”

With slow steps, the duo made it back to the barracks. Dogma was quick to help Patch locate his armor, awkwardly offering him a tissue when he sniffled for the 3rd time. “Ugh, thanks vod’ika.”

Dogma nodded, looking like he wanted to say something. “What is it, kid?” Patch asked, still feeling a little guilty at putting him in that situation. Even now, he was reliant on Dogma helping him put his armor back on. He let out a sigh of relief when he could breathe again, safe in its familiar weight.

Biting his lip in frustration, Dogma looked away, breath trembling. “I-I can’t – Is there… I’m not good at this! How do I help you?”

Patch blinked in surprise before letting out a huff of amusement. “You already have, vod’ika. You stayed, you found what worked, and you called someone who removed the triggers. Thanks for these, by the way.” He handed back the loaned armor bracers before reaching and grabbing his weighted blanket from his bunk to wrap around his shoulders.

“Oh…” Dogma blinked, realizing he had indeed done those things. He watched as Patch reached into his utility belt to grab a metal tin, helping him open it when his shaking hands gave him trouble.

Giving him a nod of thanks, Patch grabbed a mint before offering one to Dogma, which he hesitantly accepted. “Sorry for putting you in that situation, Dogma, but you did good.”

Dogma shook his head in refusal. “Y-You don’t need to apologize. I just– I’m not good at this…” He repeated himself, looking down at his hands. This whole medic assistant thing was pretty daunting, especially for an early-graduated trooper like himself. If it had been the start of the war, there’s a good chance he would still be on Kamino.

“Heh, nobody is, at first. The first time I helped someone with a blaster wound, I thought I was going to throw up.” Patch cracked a grin, relieved when Dogma returned it.

“Come ‘ere, kid.” He lifted one arm, raising the corner of his weighted blanket for Dogma to join him if he wanted. Dogma hesitated for a second before scooting closer to the medic, mirroring their earlier positions, if a bit less awkwardly.

A few minutes later, Coric came into the barracks with a couple bacta patches and a look of concern, followed by a wave of troopers more than ready to get back to their bunks. The next day, Captain Rex came by and set up a system for Patch to be alerted before drills, to give him time to put on his armor and use his coping strategies beforehand. They briefly discussed having a designated evacuation partner, in the case of an actual emergency, but settled on simply alerting the other medics (and his closest bunkmates) to be ready to assist Patch in the case of an evacuation.

Kix gave him another once-over after firstmeal, changing his bacta patches with an unnecessary level of concern before returning the favor and taking him off of duty for the next 24 hours. He still didn’t take off his armor, probably wouldn’t for the next couple days. But as he sat in his bunk, curled up under his weighted blanket playing sabaac with Fives, Tup, Dogma, and Jesse, he couldn’t say he regretted it. It was nice to be the patient, the one being taken care of, for once.

Full Fic:

#dogma’s reaction is heavily inspired by swdomesticverse and their au #links to the specific comic are on my main #clone medic patch #clone trooper oc #swtcw fanfic #swtcw fic #clone oc #clone trooper dogma #also posted on my main #panic attacks #self-injurious behavior #ptsd #patch has aviophobia #fic snippet #dead dove do not eat

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crossbackpoke-check · 9 months

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what are ur thoughts on the winners room trope?

ooooo okay surface level analysis: i like winner’s room fics :)

etwas tieferes: i think it’s cool that it’s (afaik) unique to hockey fandom and i enjoy the way it integrates a lot of unspoken rules in hockey with desire/makes them a physical/tangible reality… also the narrative potentials/world-building it opens up can be fun because there’s not really a set of rules for the “winner’s room” trope. are there in-universe rules? who gets chosen? who’s exempt? who gets to pick? where’s it going down? is it the entire room or one guy? what if your (ex)boyfriend is on another team? does somebody need to be taught a lesson or do you need to remind someone who got traded you still love them? also, most important, winner’s room gives you the chance to put two random-ass guys you saw interact for 0.002 seconds and went “hmmm. interesting” about into a Situation and i love that

#yeah buddy!! i love answering questions!!! unironically i have so many opinions!!!!#refraining from putting this in the main text but had to go: yeah who doesn’t love a good g*ngb*ng #it also doesn’t just have to be a bunch of dudes fucking though per always: i think winner’s room fics can bring up interesting dialogues #about the idea of bodily autonomy and self-sacrifice or sacrifice in sports #every fic can utilize a trope their own way so you might have lighter versions or heavier versions and #tw: sa #dub-con/CNC elements which. given the truth of SA and abuse in hockey it’s valuable to have tools to explore and i feel like i need to #address that when i talk about this? obvi dead dove do not eat for some fics re:winner’s room but i think a lot of them do talk about #control and power to some extent if you were to do a deep literary analysis. which we don’t need to. sometimes it’s enough to read a fic one #time because you liked the main pairing and didn’t know SHIT about the flyers and then come back to it years later and absolutely lose your #goddamn mind about the fact that actually you DID know about travis konecny before you thought you did and at one point there were all these #guys that you now know and love who were just like. random fuckers in the sides of the fic. i tend to do that a lot bc i will read for #nearly everything (if i love u. i will read your works even if i don’t know anything about the fandom and also i am always willing to jump #on new ships) so also tangentially i think winner’s room fics are a lot of fun because you can see a lot of different interactions between a #lot of guys like not only is it this guy and this guy but also this guy and that guy and these two interacting around the sacrifice etc etc #tangled web many layers und so weiter. not sure if any of that makes sense but also i’m gonna tag for mentions of sa/wjc/hockey canada stuff #i don’t even really know if winner’s room functions as well even in other sports bc of the Team Identity in hockey & cultural context #liv in the replies #winner’s room can be layered with SO many other kinks and tropes and aus and also just like. i like it & that’s probably all i needed to say #also obvi re: rules for trope there aren’t ever any there’s just some popular variations and we can kinda see some of those forming #but i’m not even sure if winner’s room has its own tag on the archive? i’d have to check i know i have a few saved in my bookmarks at least #OH also if you made it this far. wasn’t sure if this was like a ‘do u got recs’ or a ‘what’s your moral stance’ or ‘hey is this something ur #into’ so. good faith good vibes y’all and if this wasn’t what u meant please elaborate the question i do love answering things #ty for the ask!!!!#for the record i do watch hockey like the leonardo dicaprio pointing meme finding milliseconds of interaction to go HAHA GAY NARRATIVE about

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spook-e-snail · 1 year

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Today I learned you can get blocked on a03!!

#I literally never interacted with them either????#evil cursed shout out to that one mf in the sk*dxPump tag on a03 #they wrote over 70% of all the fics and they're almost all dead dove #they blocked me and I just??? dont know why???#im not even mad im just shocked lmao #anyways censored some words because I didn't want this in the main tag lol

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misojohnist · 1 year

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There is really and truly nothing quite like taking your first dive into a fandom's ao3 tag and seeing a litany of creative explicit dead dove fics from the same author with like a noticeable and specific pattern of themes. Even more special is when there are multiple people doing this at the same time about different characters entirely

#opening a tag to see mostly the main lesbian pairing and then ten fics from the same author in the same month about specific side old man A #or side character with traumatic background B #in situations so obscene or violent that you're like. for real?#like. glad you and your dedicated group of readers are getting some shit out of your systems. but jesus dude #i say this as a known enjoyer of Niche Ship Literary-esque Fan Fiction so like glass houses but theres just #something so startling about seeing like FIVE dead dove fics on the first page of a relatively small ip's tag

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sprout-senior · 27 days

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currently writing two fics and in one of them ink is just… awful. he’s SUCH a jackass. he is COMICALLY evil. i swear that’s not how i actually view his character, but i have a vision and unfortunately that vision involves ink being an incredibly fucked up villain

hope you like angst!! this one is almost entirely comprised of it!!!

if you don’t like angst the other one will have less, not completely angst free but overall it’ll be a fun coming of age adventure type story

#sprouts yapping #the rest of this fic is also incredibly fucked up in various ways btw #im contemplating the dead dove tag #just. absolutely devastating stuff when you really get into the nitty gritty of it #and YOU WILL #let’s just say when it’s not about ptsd it’s about events that will cause ptsd #felt a little silly #ink isn’t even a main character he’s just one of the antagonists #i have problems and this fic will make that abundantly clear #to. to clarify. the events in this fic are NOT inspired by real life

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naviculariis · 2 months

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BORN TO BREAK.

Rating: Explicit Warning(s): Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Blood & Gore, Injury, Amputation, Hysteria, Waterboarding, Specifically Post-Marineford but before the end of the Timeskip. Spoilers. Relationships: Eustass Kid/Killer [ lowkey ] Characters: Shanks, Benn Beckman, Yasopp, Lucky Roux, Eustass Kid, Killer, Heat, Wire, Original Male Character(s) Summary: “Captain!” Heat called from behind them. They’d covered them in water- had splashed them once, twice, three times before ducking his head under the water of the river. Waterboarding him, drowning him, snuffing out the fire that they spewed regularly. That’s why he couldn’t help, Killer thought as Shanks relented, stepping away, blade pulling free of his throat. “Captain, get up!” Heat called out once more. “What did you do?” Killer whispered as sat up slowly, body screaming in anguish. His ribs were certainly broken; how many? He couldn’t tell, but breathing hurt, moving hurt, his arm was bloodied and oh, god, was that blood surrounding Eustass? “What did you DO?!” He howled, launching himself to his feet only to be met with the muzzle of that damned sawed off shotgun that Beckmann used.

Notes:

PLEASE PAY ATTENTION TO THE TAGS. This gets gnarly. Remember how I've mentioned I can get into Dead Dove territory? Here it is. Oh, right. Do y'all remember that scene in episode 67 of the original Naruto series where Gaara is screaming hysterically during the exams about his blood?

Yeah. Keep that in mind for me, will you? You'll know when it comes into play.

Sometimes, you really underestimate how things will go.

The sound of footsteps was loud in the silence that followed after the clash. The movement caught Killer’s attention first; he glanced up towards Shanks, who watched with an almost smug expression. That spiked something in him, some dormant fear that prickled with anxiety, that had his hands sweating, had his heart racing in his chest. He shifted, attention turning towards where his Captain should have been. The ground was dry, too dry; dust was kicked up with every small movement. With the blood and sweat that was in his own eyes, it was hard to see, hard to make out what he was seeing.

Beckmann was walking away- no, walking towards him. That’s why Shanks was so smug, pinning him with his foot on his skull, his blade at his throat. Anytime he swallowed, the steel dug in a little more, drawing forth scarlet that trickled slowly down the length of it. His breath caught in his throat as the dust finally cleared away, giving way to… Kidd? Why was he on the ground? “What-” he croaked out, only to groan as Shanks pressed his weight into his foot. The pain was excruciating, his jaw clenching as a yell pulled free from somewhere deep within him.

“Captain!” Heat called from behind them. They’d covered them in water- had splashed them once, twice, three times before ducking his head under the water of the river. Waterboarding him, drowning him, snuffing out the fire that they spewed regularly. That’s why he couldn’t help, Killer thought as Shanks relented, stepping away, blade pulling free of his throat. “Captain, get up!” Heat called out once more.

“What did you do?” Killer whispered as sat up slowly, body screaming in anguish. His ribs were certainly broken; how many? He couldn’t tell, but breathing hurt, moving hurt, his arm was bloodied and oh, god, was that blood surrounding Eustass? “What did you DO?!” He howled, launching himself to his feet only to be met with the muzzle of that damned sawed off shotgun that Beckmann used.

His finger was on the trigger.

His arm was black; coated in Haki. Haki- Beckmann had Haki?

Shit. Killer blinked hard beneath the mask, trying to clear his vision. “Heat, what do you see?” He asked their third mate, who was silent. Silence was never a good answer. “Heat, answer.”

“I uh…” The waver in their voice was enough to set them all on edge. “I don’t think-”

“An arm for an arm, though your captain wasn’t the one to cost me mine.” Shanks answers in a near-chipper manner from behind him. “What will he do now? The Captain of the Kidd Pirates, beaten like a bad dog. But that’s what you all are, aren’t you?” The chuckle that escapes from Shanks is nothing short of sinister. “You come here to challenge us, to challenge me… For what reason? I have nothing to give you.”

An arm. Beckmann took Kidd’s arm.

“I-” Killer began to retaliate verbally before a sound caught their attention.

It started softly. Like a pained whine from a dog, high and reedy and nerve-grating. “My arm,” Kidd whispered, his gaze trained on the limb sitting on the ground three feet in front of him. It bled, oozing garnet onto ivory sand. He could see the bone standing out; shattered mid-way, nothing near a clean break. This wasn’t a break. That was his arm. Those were his fingers, painted black. Those were his rings.

That was his arm.

His arm.

“My arm.” His voice was barely above a whisper as he blinked once, hard. His heart was hammering in his chest so hard, he could see the remnants of his shirt moving with each beat. “My arm.” He repeated, dazedly. Adrenaline was starting to leave his bloodstream, sweating out through his pores. The pain was odd. He could feel his arm, still- no, no, he can’t. That’s only his mind thinking that he can feel it, that he can feel the sensation of his fingers twitching, of the nerves dying, of his hand growing numb and cold because the blood isn’t returning, it’s leaking out on the ground and oh, gods, that’s his FUCKING ARM. “MY ARM!” He screamed as reality set in. He reached over to the freely bleeding stump, fingers meeting torn flesh and muscle and fatty tissue that just hung limply, and shattered bone that pricked at his fingertips. “MY ARM! YOU TOOK MY ARM! MY ARM! MY ARM! MY ARM!”

“Ah, the hysterics.” Shanks hums, cleaning Gryphon on the edge of his trousers. The steel hissed as it returned to its home within the sheath.

Wire was stilled in the grasp of Lucky Roux, blood trickling down his forehead as he stared at Eustass. They took his arm? His arm ripped clean off. How the fuck did Beckmann do that? Did he have a devil fruit? Haki? He felt sick to his stomach, turning in Roux’s grasp to gag once, twice, before the bigger man released him to allow him to spill the contents of his stomach.

“I could finish him off,” Shanks offered Killer, reaching out to settle his arm around his shoulders, pulling him back against himself as if he were some friend, some companion. “What do ye say, lad? I finish off yer Captain, you lot come an’ join me and my crew?”

“Fuck you.” Killer spat, shaking in his grasp. “Fuck you.”

“Not my type.”

Beckmann snorts as he turns the gun, aiming now at Kidd. “One shot to the head, all it takes.”

“NO!” Heat screamed, pulling himself free from Yasopp, rushing forward to stand between Beckmann and his Captain, who was muttering under his breath about his arm. Hysterical; they couldn’t blame him. “Please- spare him. Spare us.” They pleaded, falling to their knees before the two men. “We won’t come after either of ye again. Just- spare him, spare his life. Please.”

Shanks and Benn study one another; a silent conversation between Captain and First Mate, something Killer was familiar with. He and Kidd did that often, knowing the other well enough to not have to use verbal language. “Fine.” Shanks shrugged, grinning as he released Killer, and stepped back. “I’m tired of this anyway. Find us in the New World, if yer Captain survives. I’d like a rematch, there. Get stronger.” Brown gaze settled upon Kidd, taking in the damage Beckmann had dealt. “You’re in the big leagues, now.”

And just like that, it was over.

Killer rushed forward, falling to his knees in the blood soaked sand before Kidd. “Eustass?” He whispered, reaching up to cup his cheeks, dragging his head up. His pupils were blown; his skin was pale with blood loss and shock. “We gotta get you up. It’s gonna hurt.”

“The arm-” Eustass tried to argue.

Killer shook his head. He didn’t argue as Heat came round the other side. It took a moment of figuring out where hands could rest before they had him up and balanced between themselves. Wire did grab the arm, wrapped it up in his jacket. The Red Haired Pirates went back towards the beach; they retreated to the town.

Eustass Kidd passed out two minutes into the walk, much to the alarm of his crew.

The next time he came to, he was laying down on a cot in what he assumed to be a doctor’s office. He blinked hard, eyes squeezing shut. Everything felt dulled; his head lulled to the right, meeting with a white wall. Huh. To the left, then. Ah, that’s better. A room! Killer is standing, talking to some dude in a white coat. Doctor, he hopes and assumes. Wire is sitting across from him in some chairs; Heat is slumped against his shoulder, their eyes closed, breathing even. Sleepy, sleepy Heat.

Eustass looks down to his torso. Bruising already beginning to bloom; he can feel a cracked rib or two, certainly. Drip, drip, drip. What was dripping? Did someone leave a faucet on? He huffed, going to sit up, only to find himself suddenly unable to. Something was holding him down. What? He frowned at the black straps that held his shoulders and chest. Why was he pinned?

“Hey, doccccc,” he drawled out, slurring his words like a drunkard. “Wha’s happenin’? Why cannae I… Shite.” He winced at the sudden flare of pain. What the fuck? “Wiiiire?”

“Eustass-” Killer began, stepping over as Wire shook his head. Heat woke up, then. Rubbed at their eyes, smearing their eye black. “You need to stay still.”

“Why?” He didn’t WANT to stay still. He needed to piss. “I need t’tae a leak.”

“You-” Killed glanced back. Wait, where was Killer’s mask? Why could he see his pretty blue eyes so clearly? Why was his lip split open? What-

The fight.

It all rushed back suddenly, playing out in the forefront of his mind. Eustass reels from the memory, from the pain that also returns in a weird, dulled form. “My arm,” he whined, head lifting to look at the bloodied bandages that covered the stump. “He took my arm!”

“I’m afraid there’s still work t’be done, lad,” the doctor murmured, coming to stand by his head. Eustass looked up, ruby gaze frantic as he searches this strange doctor’s face. His eyes were lighter than Killer’s, hair a mousy brown. “I’ve got to close you up.”

“You can’t reattach it?”

“No, laddie. I cannae.”

Oh. Kidd swallowed roughly, looked to Killer who reached up, cupped his cheek. “I’m not leaving the room.”

“Okay.”

“Bite down on this.” The doctor placed a block in his mouth. Wood, thick, slotted between his jaws to allow his teeth to clench down onto, grind into.

His breath started coming quickly, then. Chest rising and falling rapidly as Killer was forced to move, to stand at his head while the doctor moved further down. He couldn’t watch, didn’t want to watch, squeezed his eyes shut as Killer settled his hands on his shoulders.

Killer watched, instead.

He’d seen his fair share of amputations over the years. Things got bad back home; sometimes, you do what you must to survive, even if that means sawing through your own leg because it’d grown necrotic. That was the fear, here, that Kidd’s stump would grow necrotic. Stump. That’s what it was, Killer realized as the doctor- a man named Ronan- removed the wraps. Already soaked through, a small puddle on the floor had formed. The bandages landed with a harsh splat on the ground. He looked beyond, gaze settling upon the bone saw that sat on the table.

They should have called Law.

But Trafalgar was Gods know where, now. A hundred meters under the water, probably. Or less. Or more, Killer didn’t know how that weird ass yellow submarine worked.

Ronan sprayed the stump with water. Kidd hissed, whined, whimpered, wheezed at the sensation.

“Can’t we knock him out?” Heat asked from the side.

“I did. He woke up.”

“Killer?” Heat pleaded, and Killer shook his head.

“The pain will knock him out in a minute,” Ronan added as he grabbed hold of the bonesaw. “Or the shock.”

“Are you sure you’re a doctor?”

“As sure as you are that you’re a pirate.”

Killer shut up, then. Lips pressed tightly together, the bolt of pain like lightning from his split lip. His helmet had been cracked in more than one place; it would need to be repaired, eventually. But not right now. Not now. No, now-

He felt like he would puke.

The saw settled on the exposed bone. At least three inches of bone was still exposed after Ronan had cut away the “skin flaps”, as he’d referred to the loose skin. Eustass had been under for that. Ronan began to move his arm back, forth, back, forth.

The scream that escaped Eustass had every hair on Killer’s body standing on end. It warbled, high and pained and oh, Gods, he wished he would just pass out. Just pass out, pass out, pass out now. Please, Gods, please! Eustrass tried to pull away, but Killer held him in place.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Killer whispered over and over as Eustass sobbed, tears rolling from his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Boss.”

Eustass fell limp. For a brief moment, Killer assumed he’d just died. No- no, he was still breathing. It was a relief, then. He wouldn’t be able to feel any of this. The bone was cracking beneath the saw, falling away after ten minutes of consistent sawing. Ronan worked quickly, suturing and cleaning and doing things that Killer wasn’t really sure of, but the bleeding had slowed, and if Kidd died, he knew where to find this doctor.

It was dark when Kidd woke again. His mouth felt like it was full of cotton, his head felt just as heavy. The bed beneath him was soft, though; it didn’t rock with the movements of waves, meaning he was ashore. He groaned softly as pain rocked through him. “Shite,” he hissed, reaching up to rub at his face.

His arm didn’t move. His left arm didn’t move.

He looked down in confusion and saw empty space and blood speckled bandages instead. That’s right- he’d lost the arm. Beckmann had ripped it off of his body. Movement drew his gaze up, watching as Killer stepped in. Maskless, bandaged, hair tied up in a messy bun. “Eus?”

“‘M awake.” He grumbled, rising up with a hiss and far more effort than it should normally take. His back settled against the headboard. “Where are we?”

“Same island we’ve been on. It’s-... It’s been a week.”

“A week?”

“Yeah.”

“How?”

“Kept you loaded up on pain killers. You uh…” Killer rubbed the back of his head. He had been asleep in the other room. “You needed them.”

Eustass frowned as he stared at his partner. Killer shifted his weight. “C’mere. Bed’s cold.” He huffed, watching Killer carefully climb into the right side. He didn’t wait for him to settle, leaning in against him heavily. “Beckmann ripped off my arm.”

“He did.”

“I’m gonna kill him.”

“We are.”

“We are gonna wipe those shitty little rodents off the map.” Eustass muttered, eyes closing. His breath started to grow uneven; the hint of a sob escaping. “I’m gonna fuckin’ kill them all.”

Killer didn’t speak as he wound his arms around Eustass, pulling him close, lips pressing to his temple as Kidd broke down. Yes, they would kill Shanks, and Beckmann, and Yasopp, and Lucky Roux. They would all die for what they did to Eustass. To his Captain. His partner. His world.

Killer would make sure of it.

#𝕹𝖆𝖛𝖎𝖈𝖚𝖑𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖘: [ main verse ]#DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT #tw: Graphic Depictions Of Violence #tw: Blood & Gore #tw: Injury #tw: Amputation #tw: Hysteria #w: Waterboarding #those are certainly some tags huh gang?#𝕳𝖊𝖑𝖑'𝖘 𝕭𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖘: [ kidd pirates ]#& 𝕴'𝖒 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖋𝖚𝖈��𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖐𝖎𝖓𝖌: [ eustass kidd ]#𝕽𝖔𝖇 𝖅𝖔𝖒𝖇𝖎𝖊 𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖐𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊: [ HEAT ]#𝕯𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖓𝖊𝖈𝖙 & 𝕾𝖊𝖑𝖋 𝕯𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖗𝖚𝖈𝖙: [ Wire ]#𝕮𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖆𝖎𝖓'𝖘 𝕷𝖔𝖌: [ FICS ]#𝖂𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝕾𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖕𝖊𝖓𝖊𝖉 𝕭𝖑𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖘 & 𝖂𝖎𝖈𝖐𝖊𝖉 𝕲𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖘: [ Massacre Soldier Killer ]#𝕾𝖍𝖎𝖕: [ kidkiller ]

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i-drop-level-one-loot · 9 months

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*NSFW* How to train your pet Human pt. 3 (Yandere!Alien x GN!Reader)

CW: Dub-con, mild psychological distress, mind break, dead dove fic

Part 1, part 2

Kirtch slumped over his friend's standing chair, miserable and mopey.

A tall creature, taller than even Kirtch, sighed dramatically, sauntering around their depressed friend with a smaller horned being crawling behind them.

"I don't understand what I'm doing wrong." Kirtch whined pathetically in Jaudna's native tongue. Jaudna made a gurgling sound with the soft spot on their head, the closest human equivalent being someone rolling their eyes. They sprawled across their lounging seat, motioning for their pet to stay on his knees.

"I'll tell you exactly what you've done wrong. You pampered them too much."

"I punish them!"

"You punished them for their escape attempt. That was it. You've allowed your pet to test your authority in plenty of ways after that."

The man on his knees pleaded with his eyes to be let up, but stayed perfectly still, like he wasn't alive. Kirtch noted Jaudna's pet's demeanor with discomfort. That discomfort only lasted until he imagined (Reader) in that same position, looking up at him with their large dewy eyes, waiting so patiently to be held by him... his discomfort was replaced by jealousy.

"You don't understand, (Reader's) such a sweet little pet, and whenever they struggle they're so cute about it. I just can't understand why they aren't happy."

"Humans' minds are incredibly flawed. According to the few psychological texts I have gotten my claws on over the years, their memory is not set in stone like ours, it is fickle and easily manipulated. One of my books referenced a case in the nation called 'The United States of America' where nearly the entire country fell into panic over an imaginary evil, because a few doctors used a phoney science called 'hypnotism', a practice they believed could help recover forgotten memories, on a bunch of children, but accidentally implanted false memories of abuse, leaving the children traumatized, believing that they had been victims of a horrific occult."

Kirtch looked to his good friend nervously. "Are you implying I do something nefarious to my pet's mind?"

"No, I'm showcasing an example of how stupidly easy it should be to train your pet to love you." They tossed a book into Kirtch's hands, the cover printed with a photograph of a wild looking man, with fluffy hair and dark, hateful eyes. "Hypnotism isn't the only creative way humans have learned to reprogram each other."

Kirtch almost threw the book back, but saw Jaudna's unnamed pet still sitting so patiently for his master, and the pain in his body where his heart may have been throbbed again. "Thank you.. Jaudna."

(Reader) had waited for what they assumed to be well over an Earth day, alone in Kirtch's quarters, waiting for his return. The only company they received were the employees who brought their meals, speaking down at them in a language they didn't know, but could understand the disgust. It had been over a month since their fight with Kirtch. Every day since had been nothing but hell, feeling like their heart had been ripped out, they laid in their bed cage, only moving when necessary, allowing themselves to hide away inside their own mind.

The main door opened again, and (Reader) could hear Kirtch's long, graceful steps as he passed through the study and into the bedroom. "(Reader)? Are you still in bed?"

In an act of defiance, (Reader) kept their mouth shut, pulling the blanket tighter around their shoulders. But it was of little use, as Kirtch easily lifted their purposefully dead weighted body out of the bed.

"I'm sorry I was gone for so long, pet, but I had to see an old friend for advice." He carried (Reader) back to his desk, sitting them in his lap, fighting to hold them upright as they flopped about limply. "(Reader), please sit up so I can take off your shirt."

He began working on the wrists, the intricate metal cuffs with multiple buttons that almost acted like locks, and (Reader) subtly straightened their back to give him better access to the neck corset thing, thankful to finally have it off for a couple hours at least. (Reader) had grown to find it somewhat elegant the past few months, but it still was an incredible pain in the ass.

Feeling the air on their neck was bliss, and (Reader) immediately ran their fingers over their skin. (Reader) breathed a deep sigh, relaxing their body unintentionally. But almost as soon as their hands left their throat, a new collar was latched into place, a loud mechanism clicking as it tightened, stabbing the back of their neck with what felt like a fixed needle.

(Reader) cried out in pain, sprawling out their limbs on reflex, pushing themselves out of Kirtch's embrace and onto the floor, lying naked on their knees as they clawed at the collar, desperate to relieve the pain.

"What?? Why?" Their voice was barely audible through their sobs.

"I'm so sorry my pet, the pain will end soon, wait-" Kirtch pushed a button on what looked like a remote, and (Reader) could physically feel the rush of liquid enter their body, then the pain lightened, leaving (Reader) almost euphoric in it's absence.

"What is this? Why did you do this?" Betrayal laced their tone, and Kirtch looked almost on the verge of tears, but he stood still, refusing his urge to scoop up his little pet and beg for forgiveness.

"I know now that I didn't train you correctly, and for that I am sorry. I've given you too much leeway, and that is why you've been so unhappy." He took a ragged breath, thumbing the controller as he thought out his words. "I didn't want to do this, but I care about your happiness. This is for the best."

"So you put a shock collar on me?" (Reader) asked incredulously, spitting venom.

"No, nothing barbaric like that!" Kirtch looked hurt, flinching as he almost dropped onto his knees to comfort (Reader). "I just need to convince you that you're happy here with me, just as I did the first night you were here, to help you release your stress."

(Reader) remembered the shot he gave them, that first night when Kirtch used a toy to get them off, the hormones he artificially added to their body to make them feel pleasure, and then thought about the pain in the back of their neck. The color drained from their face. There were only two options; plead or double down.

"You can manipulate me all you like, I'll never be happy here." A tear escaped as (Reader) transformed their hurt into anger. "I deserve someone who will love me, not as a pet, but as an equal. Because I am a human fucking being. And we have partnerships. We don't jack off our pets, we do not love our pets like we love the people we have sex with, because that- that is not okay! Why did you.." (Reader) couldn't stop themselves from crying, looking up to try to at least slow the waterworks.

The silence between them was loud. (Reader) turned away, wiping away their snot with their bare arms.

"Pet, noun; a domestic or tamed animal kept for companionship or pleasure. Adjective; denoting a thing that one devotes special attention to or feels particularly strongly about." (Reader) looked up, horrified. "Your's may not be my first language, but I feel I had a pretty decent grasp on my understanding of what a pet is."

Kirtch placed a hand over his face to hide his expression.

"You'll be happier once this is all over. I promise."

"You son of a-!" (Reader) couldn't finish their sentence, more fluid passed into their spine, followed by an immediate sense of emptiness. Extreme anxiety flooded their body, causing severe stomach pain almost instantly. They collapsed, holding onto their midsection, their bare skin clammy. "What? Why?"

"No more talking back to me, pet." Kirtch kept his voice steady.

(Reader) cried out, rapidly becoming exhausted from heavy nothingness filling their body. "Please.. stop.."

Kirtch nodded, appearing relieved. He pushed another button, and the emptiness ebbed away, leaving (Reader) numb.

"I don't understand why you're doing this." (Reader) weakly grumbled, too tired to pick themselves up.

"Because I want you to be happy."

"I'll never be happy with you."

"Why?"

"Because! I deserve to be loved!"

"I love you-"

"Fucking liar." (Reader) snarled, knowing that this would cause them to be punished again, but needing to get in the last word. Kirtch looked so miserable, so crushed by (Reader's) words, but they felt vindicated by his pain. They needed to twist the knife deeper.

He smiled, so sadly, and grabbed a blanket, bending onto one knee as he covered his pet. "I love you, (Reader)."

Their heart clenched, and their face flushed. Immediately they searched his hands for the remote. "S-stop that."

"I love you."

Chemicals pumped into their neck, making (Reader) feverish and causing their thighs to ache. Their breath hitched, and tears of betrayal escaped. "I hate you."

"I know."

More pain gripped their throat, regret causing physical discomfort. "Why are you doing this?"

His smooth shelled fingers caressed their jaw, tenderly cradling (Reader's) face as though he needed them. Kirtch's touch sent shivers across (Reader's) skin, and they couldn't tell if it was because of the collar or their loneliness, but they wanted to pull him closer, make him touch them more.

"I will live for much longer than you. I will watch you grown old, and die. Even then, I will still love you. You are the most incredible creature I've ever met. I don't mind if you push me away, and slap at me. I just want you to be happy, at least most of the time." His head grew closer, his hardened face almost brushing (Reader's). "Let me make you happy."

'I need to fight back. Make him pay! I'm practically a slave! He bought me! I'll never see my family again because of him!'

(Reader) leaned forward, mind melting through their ears from the intense heat, and smashed their lips onto where his should have been.

All rational thoughts were drowned out by the intense need. They needed him, his love. (Reader) was aware of the sound of buttons clicking, but they couldn't stop, crawling onto Kirtch's body, feeling the edges of his joints scraping their back as his hands hungrily roamed their body, wanting to touch everything.

They would have felt ashamed, knowing how aroused they were, their exposed body touching Kirtch's stomach. Sweat was clinging to (Reader's) skin, and their eyes drooped stupidly. The only thing they could think of was relieving themselves, and wanting to see Kirtch relieved as well.

"Are you going to fuck me?" (Reader) whined between wet kisses, drunk on his touches.

"I will, if you want me to."

Their mood shifted, frustration beginning to surface again. "No. If you love me, wouldn't you want me?"

Kirtch sighed, fiddling with the remote behind (Reader's) back. "I do not have the same nervous system as humans do. We only engage in sexual acts for the purpose of procreation."

Shame shocked (Reader), sobering them up instantly. "Oh. I- I am so sorry." (Reader) moved to get off of Kirtch, but was held in place by the much stronger being.

"I will, to make you happy."

"No, I'm sorry! It won't make me happy knowing you aren't feeling good. I'm-I'm sorry, please let me go."

Kirtch pressed the button again, watching his pet's face darken and their mouth go from frightened to slack jawed. "Knowing you are feeling pleasure, from me, and only me, will bring me more joy than I can express." His cloak was ripped away, revealing his gorgeously colored exoskeleton. Kirtch gripped (Reader's) face tighter, forcing his blue tongue deep into their mouth, bursting with pride at the sounds (Reader) was making.

"What do you want me to do?" Kirtch asked, not intending on sounding like he was teasing them, but Kirtch craved the sound of their voice begging him.

"Please.." (Reader) swallowed their drool, feeling the hormones pumping into their brain, but too horny to care. "Please fuck me."

The spot on his pelvis where a human's genitals would be split open and a long, slimy cock revealed itself, growing behind (Reader's) back to a horrifying size. (Reader) only became aware of his erection when it fell forward, slapping against (Reader's) ass and lower back. In their intoxicated state, they turned back to look at what had suddenly touched them, and their eyes grew large in surprise. "Is that..? That's too big..."

Off balance and tipsy, (Reader) turned around, still sitting on Kirtch's abdomen, so that they were facing his exposed dick, and touched it experimentally. It was ridiculously huge, but because of the hormones being injected into (Reader's) neck, they were ravenous, using both hands to pump up and down on the shaft as they stuck the thin tipped head into their mouth, tasting Kirtch passionately. Kirtch was beyond elated, watching his precious pet so needy for him.

Kirtch picked (Reader) up, moaning at the popping sound as he pulled their mouth away from his body, seeing nothing but love in (Reader's) eyes as he spun them back to face him, and slowly began lowering (Reader) onto his naturally lubricated member. "Keep looking at me."

(Reader's) mind was hazy, and it felt like they were about to die, saliva and alien fluids leaking out their mouth and down their chin. Their internal voice had gone silent, the amount of tampering that had been done to their brain left (Reader) devoid of rational thought and intellect. "Yes sir." They barely got the words out as Kirtch entered their body, sliding into their needy little hole easily and without resistance, ramming himself in so their pelvis smacked into his shell with a wet plop, bringing (Reader) to a climax just from entering.

"Smile for me, pet." Kirtch cooed joyfully, loving how (Reader's) body spasmed, before slowly lifting them up, revealing the trail of their combined wetness stretching between their reproductive organs.

(Reader) smiled, reacting on autopilot as they rode out their orgasm, practically biting off their tongue when their sensitive body connected with Kirtch's again. "Ahhh, I already came! Stop!!" Their words cried for relief, however their voice and smile demanded more. It was too much, and (Reader) did want a break, but it also felt amazing, and that dirty little part of themselves that was desperate for love needed their body to be abused.

Kirtch bounced (Reader) on his cock, fucking them like a toy, regretting that he didn't have a camera rolling to capture just how adorable his pet was in his hands. "Look at how happy you are, pet! Don't you want to be this happy all the time? Don't you always want to be happy, with me?"

Kirtch greedily pushed the button again, peppering (Reader) with kisses as they came again, their sticky juices splattering on his stomach. The squelching sound of (Reader's) bruising body getting fucked by the hard as steel monster beneath them was music to Kirtch's ears. He had, embarrassingly, read the book his friend had lent him, and knew now how humans used pleasure to keep brainwashed people by their side. But it wasn't just pleasure, it was that feeling of connection. He had thought about what (Reader) had said, that humans don't jack off their pets, and that made sense, for animals that did not share the same level of intelligence as an adult human. What (Reader) needed, was to feel equal, to feel like they weren't just a pet, but a partner. So how would they feel, if Kirtch ejaculated so deep into their body they were still excreting his cum weeks later?

"I'm going to mark you as mine, (Reader)." It was a lie, his species did no such thing, but the look of unbridled joy on (Reader's) cross eyed face, the loopy smile that twitched as tears poured down to their chest, was a sight that made it worth lying.

"Are you cumming? Are you cumming in me?" (Reader) slurred, barely holding themselves upright in Kirtch's grasp.

"If you promise to be a good little pet." Kirtch could hold out for as long as needed. His species did not have sex for pleasure, so there was no sense of urgency when they needed to release. He could have continued going for hours, if he hadn't overdone it with the collar. (Reader) was on the verge of passing out.

"I promise! I promise to be a good pet! I promise!" (Reader) exclaimed, colliding their lips back onto Kirtch's as a string of hot sperm shot up into (Reader's) body, a fluid so thick it was practically glue, leaving (Reader) feeling physically full. Kirtch couldn't help but push the button again, seeing his pet overflow with adoration for him.

"I love you, (Reader), I really really do."

Kirtch whispered sweet nothing's into his pet's ear as they passed out, then carried them to his bed, tucking in their swollen body, not minding the mess. (Reader) really was the most beautiful and adorable little pet in the entire universe. He doubt that he would ever get another pet after (Reader) was gone. He sat on the floor, rubbing circles into their tear stained cheeks, smiling contently.

Of course, the next day Kirtch would have to use the collar, showing (Reader) how bad they truly felt inside when they refused to get out of bed, and while it was awful making them cry when they tried to refuse to eat, it was for the best. Kirtch knew it wouldn't take long for (Reader) to graduate from needing their collar, and that soon they would always be by his side, begging him to pick them up and play with them. It didn't matter whether (Reader) needed cuddles or needed to be filled with his seed, Kirtch would overuse that remote until they desired his touch all the time.

He didn't mind the glassy, doll like glaze to their eyes, the change in their speech, the way they began crying whenever it looked like Kirtch was unhappy, or how they stopped pushing him away. After months of flushing their system with artificial love, Kirtch knew that his pet was happy with him. And that was all that mattered.

#yandere #yandere alien #yandere alien x reader #pet human #cw dubcon #mind break #dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic #cw mind control #part three

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forever-rogue · 5 months

Note

Hello 💌 it's missing Eddie Munson hours here. Can I request a fic where the reader is the new girl in town? New to Hawkins high and accidentally sits at the hellfire table (cause obviously she doesn't know it's reserved 🤭) and gets all flustered once eddie and the members come up and tell her. All cute and fluffy ☺️

AN | I am weak for this concept! Enjoy 🥰

Warnings | None

Pairing | Eddie x Fem!Reader

Word Count | 3k

Masterlist | Main, Eddie

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You clutched at your tray nervously, looking around the cafeteria in search of some place to sit. Everyone had paired off as soon as the bell for lunch had rang and you were basically left in the dust. Most of the tables were crowded, and no one was even sparing a look in your direction. Tears pricked at the back of your eyes and threatened to well up, but you swallowed them down and started to look for an open spot.

After a few moments of trying to make yourself look small you found a few open spots at one of the tables towards the back. With the most miniscule of sighs to yourself you took the seat at the end, and hunched in on yourself, trying to make yourself as invisible as possible. Upon settling in, you reached into your backpack and pulled out the book you were currently reading and dove in.

It was enough to suck you and before you knew it, you were lost and off in your own little world. But then, you heard a loud throat clear among curious little titters. You startled and snapped your book shut, looking up to find several pairs of wide eyes studying you intently.

Your mouth opened and closed a few times as you tried to figure out what was going on, “ummm…hello?”

“What are you doing here?” it came out as more curious and probing rather than angry but it caused your heart to thump wildly nonetheless. He looked young and had dark, floppy hair and gangly limbs.

“I-I couldn’t find anywhere else to sit,” you admitted sheepishly, “and no one was here so I thought it was okay. I’m so sorry-”

“Wait, you’re the new girl, aren’t you?” you turned to the boy with the dark curls under a hat; they all seemed kind but nonetheless it all made you nervous.

“Yes,” you offered them a tight-lipped smile “I’m sorry, it’s just…I’ll go so you can have your table back.”

Standing up, you tried to grab your backpack and throw it over your shoulder in order to leave and run as far away as possible. Mortifying wasn’t enough to cover how you were currently feeling. Before you could get very far, you felt a hand wrap around your wrist and stop you from getting away.

“Stay,” the voice was different from any of the others you'd heard so far, honey sweet and warm. You stopped dead in your tracks and turned around to find another stranger looking at you curiously.

"Uhh…" you were dumbfounded as you looked at the handsome boy standing in front of you. He had dark, wild curls and big brown eyes with a soft smile tugging up the corners. You looked down to where he was still looking onto you and noticed several tattoos peeking out of his shirt, "umm…"

"You're new here, right?" He asked as you nodded dumbly. You were shocked that you hadn't noticed him before - he was so different and unique that he stuck out like a sore thumb, "shit sucks. But seriously, c'mon and sit with us."

"Are you sure?" You allowed yourself to look at the boys; they looked just as shocked as you, "I don't want to intrude."

"I insist," he gave your arm a squeeze before letting go and motioning for you to sit back down. One of the boys gasped lightly as you slowly sank down in the hard plastic shirt. The boy sat down to your right, "hope you don't mind hanging out with the freaks and geeks."

"N-no," you relaxed slightly as everyone sat around as well, "not at all."

"I'm Eddie. Eddie Munson," he held his hand and you shook it, offering your name in response. Your entire face felt like it was on fire as you forced yourself to look away, "welcome to the gang!"

Alright, maybe not everyone in Hawkins was terrible.

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After that first afternoon where you met Eddie and his friends, you started to feel more and more comfortable in your school and within yourself. You noticed that Dustin, Mike, and Lucas had seemed floored by how easily Eddie took to you. You didn’t think anything of it, as you had no prior knowledge of any of them to go off of. Nonetheless you appreciated all the kindness that was being thrown your way.

The next day, however, you weren’t sure if you should just automatically go to their table or wait for further invitation. You’d brought your lunch, brown paper bag crinkled from your anxious twisting, and slowly walked to the table at the back. It hadn’t been lost on you that many people seemed to avoid their table, and a few that did walk back made some nasty comments under their breath. It hurt your heart a little bit because these were the only people that bothered to show you any kindness.

“Hey,” Eddie’s voice pulled you from your thoughts and you looked at him with a nervous little smile. He cocked his head to the side to the chair on his right, watching as you slipped into the hard plastic, “surprised to see you here again.”

“O-oh,” your cheeks warmed under his warm gaze and you wished you could sink into the ground and melt away, “should I not be here?”

“No, no, no, I just meant…I’m surprised you’re back,” he gestured vaguely to the rest of the cafeteria and you almost squeaked when you noticed the rings on his hand. They suited him perfectly, “we’re not exactly the most popular crowd around here.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly too popular either,” you shrugged, catching his eye and exchanging a nervous chuckle, “I think you’re the first person to give me the time of day. No one else has even said anything…they all just kind of stare. I feel like a thing more than anything.”

“The people around here…are the worst,” he put his elbow on the table and rested his chin in his hand as he studied you intently, “tell me about you.”

“I don’t think there’s much to tell,” you shrugged sheepishly, popping a few crackers into your mouth in order to have an excuse to remain quiet.

“Everyone’s got a story,” you felt him nudge your knee with his under the table, “what’s yours? I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

And that was an offer you couldn’t refuse.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Over the next couple of weeks, you found yourself growing closer to the gang, but more than anything their enigmatic leader.

It hadn't taken long to figure out the hierarchy of Hawkins High School, and it was easy to figure out that you were on the bottom of the totem pole. Compared to the other kids, seeing how they were and interacted with one another, you had no clue being part of the outcasts. They were the only ones that seemed real and genuine.

The worst part of it, or the best depending on how you looked at the situation, was Eddie. You were drawn to him, wanting to know more and more about him, which felt dangerous. You already knew that you'd both be graduating in the spring and then leaving, and that he was on 3rd attempt at his senior year. Those two things in and of itself were more than to make you weary.

The rest of it - Eddie - was wonderful and had you feeling a type of way that wasn't possible. You liked his style, his hair, his personality - all of it. The issue was that you had no clue what he thought about you, or how he felt about you, if anything. Maybe he didn't even think about you at all, besides the hour and change he spent with you at lunch and breaks. That idea didn't settle well in your stomach, even though it had no right to. Eddie was just-

"Everything alright?" You almost slammed your locker shut as you startled at the sound of Eddie's voice. You sighed dramatically before turning around and finding him leaning lazily against another locker. He turned to you and offering you a devilish little smile that caused you to roll your eyes, affectionately of course, “what’s wrong, sunshine?”

“Edward,” you drawled out his name and he groaned at the use of his full name, “you can’t go sneaking up on people like that! I could have had a heart attack!”

“So dramatic,” he tutted, reaching over and tucking your hair behind your ear, “if you weren’t so busy daydreaming, you would have heard me calling out your name. What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

“Nothing,” you blurted out way too quickly, and you swore he gave you a knowing little look, “just…stuff and things.”

“Stuff and things,” he echoed in an amused tone as you nodded, your face warming up. Despite the fact that students were all around you, loud and noisy, it suddenly felt like it was only the two of you. He had a way of doing that, you’d learned, making you feel like you were the only thing that existed when he was with you, “very descriptive.”

“I…umm, nothing in particular,” you weren’t about to admit that you’d been daydreaming about him to his face. Not voluntarily anyway.

“Well, I was wondering if you were free tonight,” your eyes widened in surprise at his question. He laughed - nervously - and ran a hand through his dark curls. It really was such an innocent question, you were absolutely friends by this point, but it felt like it held much more weight.

“Did you need help with homework or Hellfire or…something?” there had to be a logical explanation to all of this. Surely….right? Right?

“No,” wrong. Very wrong.

“Oh…what is it then?” you squeaked at him and he grimaced for a moment. He was definitely nervous.

“I was wondering if you wanted to go see a movie and made get pizza or something after?” he was biting the inside of his cheek, finding the dirty laces of his Reeboks so interesting suddenly. Eddie Munson didn’t do dates; he didn’t get asked on them and he didn’t ask anyone else. Usually it was only girls that he dealed to that wanted to hook up, but those were quick, illicit affairs never to be spoken of again. But with you…everything had felt different right from the start.

When you remained silent for a few moments, he started to panic but then you opened and closed your mouth a few times, “j-just the two of us?”

“Yeah.”

“Like a…date?”

“Yes?” he allowed himself to steal a peek at your face and when he saw nothing but exuberant joy on your face he relaxed, “yes.”

You gnawed on your bottom lip for a moment before slowly nodding in response, your entire face felt like it was on fire, “no one’s ever asked me on a date before.”

“What?!” he turned to you now fully, pure shock and confusion on his face, “you’re not serious!”

“Eddie,” you were laughing now, a beautiful sound that went straight to his heart and often was the soundtrack of his own daydreams, “I’m being serious! No one’s even really looked at me that way.”

“Well, everyone has been so very wrong,” emboldened, he put his hand on your face and gently brushed his thumb over your cheek, “and in a way I’m glad for that because it meant I got to be the first to do it.”

“Hmm,” you hummed softly before gently wrapping your fingers around his wrist, “and to answer your question, yes, I am free. For you, I’m always free.”

“Wow,” you weren’t sure if he was talking to himself or to you, but it was endearing either way, “great - perfect. Umm, can I pick you up at seven?”

“I’ll see you at seven,” you confirmed softly, heart beating so wildly in your chest that you marveled at the fact that it wasn’t bursting through your ribcage, “don’t be late, Edward.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sunshine,” he grinned in response, “see you at seven!”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You were ready to go well before seven, and ended up nervously pacing around your bedroom. A slew of clothing was on your bed, as you had undergone several outfit changes before finally settling on a simple pink checkered sundress and sandals. You checked over your hair and makeup so many times you were starting to get sick of your own appearance.

Every time you heard a car driving through the neighborhood, you pulled back the curtain to see if it was Eddie. Which was silly, considering you’d been in his van and knew what it sounded like. But still…the nerves were getting to you.

By the time he actually pulled into your driveway, you had started reading a new book in order to occupy your mind. You’d gotten so lost in it that it took your mother knocking at your door to tell you that your little boyfriend was here. All you managed to do was groan in response as you threw your book to the side and grabbed your bag before running downstairs. Your parents had met Eddie a couple of times already, when he’d come to pick you up for school or drop you off, and surprisingly, they didn’t hate him. They liked him, knowing that the fact that he looked and dressed differently had no bearing on the type of person he was. And Eddie was a good guy, despite what a lot of Hawkins seemed to think.

Once you got downstairs, you found Eddie near the door, standing there nervously with a small bundle of floors in his hand. He looked up as soon as he heard you softly calling his name; his brain practically melted at the sight of you. You were always pretty - the prettiest in his kind - but this was just another level up from that.

“H-hi,” he stammered, holding up his hand in a meek little wave before remembering he had the flowers. You took a few steps closer to him, leaving just a little bit of distance between your bodies, “you look lovely.”

“Thank you,” the two of you exchanged shy smiles, “you look good too, Eddie.”

“Thanks,” his stomach fluttered with butterflies; no one had ever said that to him before, “these are for you.”

“You didn’t have to…they’re so pretty!” you gently took the flowers from him, but before you could stop yourself you pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. You stopped when you noticed the pink, glittery gloss print you left, but the two of you giggled as you wiped it away, “want to know something else, Eddie?”

“Tell me,” he trailed after you like a lovesick puppy as you walked to the kitchen to grab a vase for your flowers. He watched your every move like a hawk, noticing how you did everything with gentle reverence; it was the same way you always treated him.

“No one has ever given me flowers before either,” you set them on the counter, admiring how pretty they were, knowing they were from Eddie made them that much better, “you keep surprising me without even knowing what you’re doing.”

“I like surprising you,” he admitted softly, and you vowed in your head then and there that you were doing the same thing for him, “I like seeing that smile on your face.”

“Stop,” you gasped lightly before trying to hide your face in your hands, feeling yourself grow warmer and warmer with each passing moment. He shook his head and gently pulled your hands away so he could look at you, “Eddie!”

“I mean it,” he insisted softly, and you knew that he was being honest. You nodded softly and felt him reach for your hand, “c’mon, I have…well another surprise for you.”

“Another?!”

“Well, either we could go see the movie and then get dinner as planned…or we can go on adventure,” he suggested and you practically lit up, “I figured since it’s Friday and if you’re okay with being out a little late, it could be a lot of fun.”

“And let me guess, I would not be privy to any of these things we’re doing until we’re doing them?” your voice was soft and teasing but Eddie nodded eagerly. How very classic of him, “well, just how am I supposed to say no to that?”

“You don’t….”

“I don’t,” you agreed and Eddie cheered happily, already gently pulling you towards the door. He looked like an eager puppy more than anything and his enthusiasm was infectious.

“Get ready for an evening of excitement, m’lady!” he opened the door and brandished his arm, and all you could was to grin at him. He was such a dork but, you were starting to quickly realize, he was your dork, “you are about to embark on adventure!”

“I couldn’t think of anything better,” and your words made his heart melt, “c’mon m’lord, let’s go!”

At the foot of your steps he paused for a moment to look at you. You grew nervous, but as soon as he leaned in to gently kiss you, everything felt right. You kissed him back before he could pull away and you were both grinning like fools.

You’d never been more glad for sitting in the wrong spot before.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson one shot #joseph quinn #st

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