#this is the kind of thing that would be an hour long discussion rather than a tumblr post

[weixuldo]

Missed me?

Sub!Anakin x Reader

a/n: Helloo!!! i apologize once again for going awol- but here is a small horny drabble i wrote for no reason hahah I hope u enjoy- ik it’s not my usual content, but i wanted to branch from my series for a moment- hope u enjoy!!

Anakin takes his role as a general very seriously, but sometimes he gets tired of giving orders and just needs to follow them

warnings: cursing, pwp, smut, overstim, masturbation (M!), gn reader, degredation(male receiving), shaming, handjob

_____________________

The council gathered to discuss the next steps the Jedi would take in their involvement in the clone wars; the meeting had gone on for hours- the masters couldn’t seem to agree.

Anakin grew impatient as he sat and listened to the elders bickering over politics; sure he was a general, but he was used to action. Getting things done. Not sitting in a stuffy room creating hypothetical scenarios.

He needed this meeting to be over. 

As he leaned back in the chair provided to him (not a seat among the ranked masters) he found his mind wandering. The last battle was long and near the end, it became more so one of attrition rather than power. He had been gone for months and was exhausted. His orders were to return home for a brief period until the council could decide the best course of action- so he thought that meant he would be going directly home…to you. 

He was under the impression he was to return to his home on Coruscant to recollect himself before discussing further matters with the council.

In preparation for his return to you, he had shamelessly been edging himself- so long in the tense heat of battle gave him little time to relieve stress.

In a way he took the build up as something to look forward to when he could finally return- something special he could share with you- that would be the most rewarding feeling.

He hadn’t seen you in so long, he hadn’t felt you in so long…hadn't tasted you in so long.

Months away had taken its toll on him in more ways than one; he felt himself becoming more irritable and having a shorter temper than the already short one he was known to have. His fists clenched under his jedi robes as he itched to run home. 

He sat with his usual scowl on his shapely face as the others continued to talk. 

“Isn’t that right, General Skywlker?” Master Windu asked. 

His scarred eye twitched before he was snapped from his thoughts, “Ah, yes- our enemies are becoming weaker as they continue on”. 

Master Windu nodded at Anakin in thanks and continued his point. A few other members took Anakin’s statement into consideration. 

Little did they know he was hardly listening to them, instead he was trying to keep his pulsing erection hidden from his superiors. He was gripping onto his chair in fear that if he shifted a certain way he wouldn’t be able to subdue the moan building in the back of his throat. 

Maker… he needed you. 

When he was first deployed he was able to subdue his unnaturally high libido but as the time went on and tensions of the war grew, he needed some relief.

The Jedi would retreat to his tent and grab one of the military-issued rolled-up blankets and toss it onto his cot; after tying it tighter with his belt- it was ready.

He needed something other than his own fist to help him out and at least he could grip around the blanket as if he were gripping onto you. 

The first few times he did this he was embarrassed- but he always kind of liked the shame. The famous General Skywalker desperately fucking himself into his blanket in the middle of the night… how pathetic.

He couldn't wait for you to scold him for being such a horny and desperate excuse of a jedi…

He wanted to hear it all. 

Oftentimes he would thrust in and out of the bundle so vigorously that he would almost always collapse onto his cot from exhaustion afterwards. He just needed to get all of his cum out… he just had too much. 

There were nights where he couldn’t help but moan and pant your pretty name as he bucked his hips into the makeshift pussy 

“Meeting adjourned”.

Anakin blinkled himself back to reality and rushed out of the temple with great urgency. His master eyed his eagerness and simply shook his head.

Of course Obi Wan knew about you- he had known Anakin since he was a boy; he could read him like a book.

Also he had heard Anakin practically howling your name in his tent during his nightly walks more times than he would have liked. 

But you were good for Anakin, plus Obi-Wan thought highly of you, so he kept his mouth shut. 

You were also the only one who could put Anakin in his place. 

__________________________________

You sat on the balcony of your large penthouse as you waited for your lover to arrive; Anakin sent you a message yesterday telling you he would be home today, but much to your chagrin the day had almost passed. You were getting a little worried. 

Of course, being with a Jedi, you were well aware contact wouldn’t always be available- you had to keep your relationship a secret after all- but it didn’t help your anxiety. 

You were about to head back to your room when you heard quick footsteps in the hallway outside of your apartment- could it be?

Before you knew it your door slid open at lightning speed and behind it was a panting Anakin. You took a moment to enjoy the beautiful scene in front of you; Anakin’s hand still outstretched form forcing the door open, his sandy locks windswept (from the speed at which he ran to you, no doubt), and a glint of desperation is his blue eyes. 

Perfection.

Finally you gave in to the magnetic force pulling you to your lover and ran towards him with open arms. 

“Ani!” you gasped as he met you halfway, engulfing you in a tight embrace. 

Your senses filled with his force signature as you buried your face into his neck. His strong hands gripped at your back and he breathed in your sweet scent. 

“It’s been too long, Angel,” he sighed into you.

“Too long” you agreed, starting to kiss up his neck. 

His body shivered and a small moan escaped his plump lips. 

“Fuck baby…” he groaned as he pawed at your ass through your night-robes.

You grabbed his face and pressed your lips into his; the kiss was full of passion and lust. He could barely stop his tongue from exploring your mouth- he just needed you so badly. 

“Someone’s impatient” you smirked against his lips. 

“You have no idea” he growled as he lifted you up to wrap your legs around his waist. 

The way he held you, had your core right next to his bulging erection. He panted as you wiggled your hips against him. 

“Lets go to the bedroom” you instructed and he nodded without hesitation. 

Once inside you pushed yourself off of him and he backed up with a sad look in his eyes. 

“Don’t worry pretty boy, I’ll give you what you want- but first I need to see how badly you really need it” your voice had a lilt of mischief to it. 

“Anything- anything for you” he mewed as he began to take the glove around his mechanical hand off. 

“On your knees” you demanded. You needed to see just how willing he was.

Without another word the powerful Jedi sunk to his knees and tilted his head up to meet your face. “I need you”. 

The desperation in his voice made your spine tingle- he was so deprived. That only made you want to play with him even more. 

“Are you sure? You don’t seem like you need my help much- you’re holding yourself together just fine- I might as well just leave the roo-”

“NO!” he exclaimed loudly, reaching for you.

After he realized he raised his voice too loud, he lowered his head, “please don’t go” he whispered. 

“What was that baby?” you cooed.

“Please, don’t go- I can’t- I need you” he practically whined. 

“Need me to what?” you tormented.

“I need you to touch me- I need you to help me cum” he said ashamedly. 

You clicked your tongue and strode towards the man in front of you, “Alright, but you have to ask nicely alright?”.

He nodded vigorously, “Please, Please, I’ll do whatever you ask”.

You smiled and began to undo his robes. Slowly, you removed each strip of fabric from his tired body, every brush making him shiver. A new collection of scars and scrapes has accumulated on his sculpted torso- a beautiful sight. Soon all that was left was his pants, a painfully hard bulge obviously present. 

“My poor pretty boy had no one to help him out huh?” you said, slowly pulling his waistband down with your fingers. 

He shook his head, “no, no I didn’t”.

You freed his aching member from the constraints of his pants and he moaned as it slapped against his stomach. Anakin was truly a sight to behold; standing at 8.5 inches, a prominent vein running up his left side, his blushing red tip already leaking with precum. 

Maker.

You bit your lower lip in anticipation- it took all of your willpower not to take him into your mouth then and there… but you needed to play with him some more- it would make the release all the much better. 

You wrapped your fingers around him; he was hot to the touch and pulsating. He groaned and tossed his head back. With a smirk you pumped his length a few times before he began to move his hips with the up and down motion of your hand. 

Once you could tell he was lost in the feeling, you removed your hand and his eyes shot open with desperation; he practically whimpered for you to continue.

“Are you sure you’ve been a good boy? I think you haven’t waited for me” you scolded.

You didn’t care if Anakin jerked off or not, but it was very enticing to berate him for doing so when it got such a visceral reaction from him. 

“I-I tried not to, I really did, but wit-” he stuttered, dick still twitching. 

You put on a fake displeased look and got up to take a seat in the chair adjacent to your shared bed; leaving a disheveled and agonizingly horny Anakin with a look of confusion. 

“Go ahead.” you ordered.

He fixed his posture and sat on his knees once more on the plush bed, “I don’t understand-”.

“If you like the company of your own hand so much, go ahead and pleasure yourself” you said, crossing your legs. 

He gave you a defeated look, “Angel, please”.

“I’m waiting.”

He huffed out a few curses under his breath before he brought his remaining human hand to his mouth and spit. This was humiliating- he was so exposed (but there was a certain allure to that).

He would never admit to anyone but you, but something about being belittled and degraded resonated with a deep part of him. All his life he had been taking orders, it was his nature by now. 

“Show me how you did it while you were away, I know you needed to use something other than your hand”

The judgment in your sultry voice made his cock pulsate, Maker he loved your sweet degradations. 

He grabbed a blanket and his utility belt to form a model of what he had been shooting his load into for the past few months. He mounted the bundle and began to thrust himself in and out, moans building at every snap of his hips. 

Your eye twitched as you watched the scene infront of you- he was so desperate for you that he had been fucking his own bedding in wait to return to you. 

Anakin was lost in the familiar pleasure of the plush blanket around himself, but the fact that he could feel you in the room was throwing him off- how could this be enough to make him cum when he could feel your presence right there. 

Why would he waste his high on this when he could have you instead?

Between thrusts he managed his deep blue eyes open to see you had moved from your chair to his side. He gasped at the sensation of your cold hand on the base of his neck. You dragged your nails down his back and basked in the melodious noises he made. 

You grabbed a fistful of his sandy locks and pulled his face back to look at you  

“Do you even hear yourself right now Anakin, you’re moaning like a bitch in heat.”

Yes. more.

“If only those so frightened of you knew what a submissive little slut you really are; how does your battalion even take you seriously?” you taunted, standing behind him to wrap your arms around his waist.

“Fuck” he sputtered out… don’t stop.

At this point he was violently bucking his hips into the blanket, messy hair falling into his eyes, chest heaving with each snap. 

“Do you want me to touch you, baby?” you whispered into his ear.

His whole body quivered at the feeling of your breath against him.

“Y-yes”

“How much do you want me t-”

“I need you! I can’t- I- Fuck!” he whined. 

He was close- just a little more 

The smile on your face widened and you kissed his temple before slipping your hand down his v line and finally grasping his dick- he gasped at the pressure and the coolness of your hand against his hot skin. 

He leaned his head back against your shoulder as you worked on him. The overstimulation was insane- he whole body shuddered with each stroke of your hand. 

“You’re so pathetic Anankin, does anyone actually respect you? Look at yourself” you taunted as you squeezed the tip of his pulsing cock garnering beads of milky precum.

He pried one of his eyes open to see the sweaty mess between his legs, precum coated his thighs, his dick, and your hands. Maker.

So close. 

You took your other hand to grab around his neck, “cum for me like the good slut you are”.

There it was. 

Anakin exploded in your grasp, milky cum erupted from his overworked tip. His moans rang through the walls of your bedroom and his whole body spasmed with each wave of his high. He wasn’t sure of anything in that moment except for the pleasure that filled his body. 

“F-fuck fuck” he stuttered, grabbing onto your with his mechanical arm; cold metal clawing at you flesh. 

His cock finally settled down, only a few twitches here and there. The scene in front of him was his ruined sheets and ropes of white. 

He leaned against you as he caught his breath.

“That’s my good boy” you praised, brushing his sweaty locks from his forehead. 

He whimpered at your words because his aching cock responded to your praise. 

“It looks like you want more; would I be correct, or are you too tired to continue?” you smirked. 

He opened his eyes and weakly propped himself up, “m-more, I can do more- need to please you” he insisted.

“please me then Ani” you cooed into his ear, running your hands up his chest.

“please me with your mouth, please me with your cock…” you trailed off before he closed his eyes once more.

And with what seemed to be a flip of a switch, he grabbed you with his strong hands and flipped you onto your back. 

“I’ll show you how much of a good boy I can be” 

***

(a/n: ik this was mainly just a handjob lol- but i feel like doing a whole smex scene would been too long- but lmk how u felt abt subby ani!!!)

#anakin star wars #anakin x y/n #anakin x you #anakin x reader #anakin smut #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker #star wars anakin #sw x reader #sw smut #star wars x y/n #star wars smut #pwp #vader smut #smut #smau #darth vader #darth vader x reader #vader #sw darth vader #anakin #darth vader fic #star wars #star wars x reader #sub!vader #sub anakin #subby anakin #anakin is a little shit #anakin is so hot #hayden

[lovebugism]

i am so sorry but reader talking about robin right before making out with eddie is like absolutely the best thing i’ve ever read i’m obsessed i genuinely can’t wait for anything else in that universe that you do

THE CUSTOMER'S ALWAYS RIGHT | god help the girl

summary: in which you come to terms with the fact that you're hopelessly in love with eddie munson. pairing: virgin!eddie munson x reader word count: 13k warning: phone sex, more discussions of shitty boyfriends, j*son c*rver name drop, talks of unhealthy eating practices, smut 18+ mdni! a/n: this ask has been sitting in my inbox for ages now, but i wanted to save it until robin made an appearance in the series! thank you, anon, for being so sweet! and for the few of you who've been waiting on me to finally post <3 hope you enjoy! xoxo

( PREVIOUSLY ) | ( SERIES MASTERLIST ) | ( NEXT )

They only met once, but it changed their lives forever. 

That’s what the movie cover reads at least, but the words have long blurred into a jumbled mess at your tunnel vision. John Bender stares you in the face, but all you see is Eddie — boyish and brazen and scowling because he thinks it makes him look intimidating, but nowhere near as cruel as he seems. 

He’s certainly got the hair for it, much longer and curls far wilder than Judd Nelson’s measly set of brushed-back locks. He’s got the terribly animated personality down pat, too; the one that either makes you laugh uncontrollably or squirm in discomfort when it’s pointed your way. And the style’s a pretty fine match also, though you’d argue that no one sports a leather jacket quite like Eddie Munson does.

Wallowing in your boredom at the empty Family Video store on Main Street — where your best friends slave over mundane work with aching backs and a lingering sense of gratefulness that no customer has been in in well over an hour — you find yourself analyzing each character pictured on the front cover of The Breakfast Club.

Robin would surely be Allison, you conclude rather quickly, because their deadpanned glowers are eerily identical. They’ve also got this sort of atypical aura to them, too, like a dark storm cloud or the promise of a long night. But strangely it sparkles — strikes of lightning or a sky full of stars. It draws everyone’s attention to them; even when they’re desperately trying to hide in the very back of a room.

And Steve would be Andrew, not particularly because of his affections for this Allison-Reynolds-Robin-Buckley hybrid you’ve concocted, but because "popular guy with daddy issues" is a trope that fits him far too well. He’s way more likely to get detention for trying to look cool in front of his assholes friends than for anything actually malicious of heart. But that would’ve been years ago now. He’s not that kind of guy anymore. 

He’s soft and sweet — a Brian Johnson sort of soft and sweet, if you will. If Brian wasn’t the brains, but the sweetest dumbass anyone’s ever met.

You realize then, that Jim Hopper would make a mean Richard Vernon. He’s impatient to a fault, almost too stern at times, but never enough to make you genuinely fearful of him. You’ve found that it’s virtually impossible for you to take him seriously when he’s so cartoonishly angry. It’s a match made in heaven, you find, though Jim might take offense to the comparison.

And if Eddie is Bender, then that’d make you the Claire Standish of the bunch.

She’s dreadfully stylish, a bit stuck-up at times, and perhaps a little bit more spoiled than the average person; but it’s not like she ever claimed to be perfect. And you wouldn’t either.

You’ll take more pride in your wardrobe filled with pretty pleated skirts and flouncy dresses than your somewhat glacial disposition. And you might not be drowning in daddy’s money, but you’re certainly spoiled in other ways — if only in the employee discount at Enzo’s that got you wine for cheap and your connections at Family Video that meant free movie nights whenever you wanted.

The bad boy and the princess was a tale as old as time itself. It’s a fairytale you wouldn’t mind living in if it ended how it did in the movies — with a kiss on the cheek and an exchanged diamond earring in the calloused palm of another. A soft pink smile and a celebratory fist in the air.

But you’ve met your fair share of John Bender’s and none of them had been particularly kind to you, let alone had fallen in love with you. 

Maybe that’s because you were no Claire Standish. Never pretty enough, never mousy enough, never pure enough.  You try and dissect why you’ve never been successfully loved, and all the signs point to you, you, you.

You hope Eddie’s different. You need Eddie to be different.

“Something’s wrong with me,” you blurt out of nowhere.

Well, it’s not totally out of the blue for you. You’d been stewing over that thought since you got there — since you left the woods with damp underwear and the scent of you on Eddie’s fingers.

But to Steve and Robin, who’d stayed relatively silent and locked eyes only once after they noticed how abnormally hushed you’d gone, it catches them quite off guard.

Steve lifts his heavy head from where he mans the counter. His tired eyes leave the computerized catalog for the first time in forty minutes, and he has to rub at them with the bottom of his palms to see you properly. Meanwhile, Robin crouches at your side, taking returned tapes from the bin sitting next to her and placing them back upon the shelf you lean against. 

She blinks up at you, deep ocean eyes swimming with apprehension, like she can sense the spiral you’ve just about twisted yourself into.

“What do you mean?” she wonders, ever the supportive best friend, as she plucks Heather’s, Pretty in Pink, and Weird Science from the bin and sets them onto their assigned rows in the Teen Drama section.

“Eddie won’t fuck me.”

Neither of them is particularly stunned by the unabashed nature of your admission.

Not only have they both fucked you at one point or another, but they’re your best friends — no one’s ever going to know you quite the way they do. It leaves little left unsaid between the three of you, with secrets you’ve all sworn to take to your graves. Steve once stuck a finger in his ass to see if he liked it (he did) and Robin sometimes gets off on her childhood teddy bear (rather ironically named Mr. Snuggles). 

So this? This was nothing. Especially in comparison to all the other shit you’ve confessed to them because god knows the whore of Hawkins has a plethora of stories to tell.

Steve is more shocked by the name that leaves your mouth than anything else. “Eddie Munson?” he repeats with furrowed brows, like he had to have heard you wrong.

You bring your chin to your right shoulder to look at him, then nod.

“Eddie… The Freak… Munson?”

You nod again, slower for him this time.

“You wanna fuck… Eddie Munson?” Steve reiterates once more, as though the idea was too appalling to be true. “Eddie Munson — The Freak?”

“Yes, Steve,” you huff in irritation.

His face contorts into a puppy-like confusion. A frown settles between his bushy brows and he cocks his head to the side, nose scrunching and his lip quirking slightly. He couldn’t look more disgusted if he tried.

“…Why?”

You groan and tilt your head back dramatically. “That’s not what’s important here, Steve. The better question is why won’t he fuck me?”

The boy’s lack of any actual assistance doesn’t surprise Robin in the slightest — his dumbfounded gaze and innate confusion are actually pretty on brand. It just puts all the burden on her, to help you wriggle out of the mess you’d tangled yourself into. 

It’s not like she isn’t used to it, though, nor does she mind doing it for you. She walks you through your emotions like a professional, squashing out all the burning orange embers for you before they have the chance to burst into flames.

“Well, what do you mean he won’t fuck you? Like… did he actually say that or does he just wanna, you know, take things slow?”

The latter would’ve been way too easy. Eddie’s always been nice enough to you. It’d make sense for him to want to stay unhurried and gentle with you, but those words weren’t exactly in your vocabulary. 

The first time you were alone with him, you were getting yourself off on his thigh after making him come in his jeans. The next time you saw him, after four days of him clinging to your consciousness, there wasn’t as much small talk so much as there were two of his fingers stuffed knuckle-deep inside of you.

You don’t know Eddie’s birthday, but you know how he likes to be touched — squeezed and not rubbed. You don’t know his middle name or how he likes his eggs in the morning or what his relationship with his mother is like, but he’s already made you come. Twice.

You are completely, utterly, and totally incapable of taking things slow. So it wasn’t that. It couldn’t be. So it had to be the other thing. The very scary, terrifying, boogeyman of a thing.

“I mean, I offered to give him a blowjob and he completely turned me down,” you lament in reply.

Robin and Steve wince. Like, physically wince. Their faces scrunch and their heads flinch from something invisible. Audible ooh’s fall from their mouths without them even realizing it, because you don’t get rejected. Ever. Especially not after offering to pleasure someone without much of anything in return.

They don’t mean to react the way they do. The visible shock that coats their features is involuntary more than it is anything, and it only adds to your fears.

“Exactly!” you exclaim.

“I hate to say it, but I think hell might be freezing over as we speak,” Steve half-jokes.

“Well, he was working, right?” Robin asks with raised brows. “Maybe he was just busy.”

“Sorry, Rob, but no guy’s too busy for a blowjob.”

“Real charming, Stevie.”

“Maybe he just has a small dick,” the boy concludes with a shrug.

“I felt his dick,” you shake your head almost immediately. The feeling of Eddie’s hard cock through his denim jeans, all rough and warm against your palm, hasn’t yet left you. “It’s not small.”

“Well, maybe he can’t get it up—”

“Yeah, that’s not a problem either.”

Eddie was rock hard when you left him, throbbing and aching and obviously needing some kind of relief. That’s partly why you’d been so ardent to return the favor, though the other half of it was purely selfish — you haven’t seen a more beautiful sight than Eddie Munson getting off. To deprive yourself of that masterpiece made you feel like you were starving.

You have a hard time imagining the raging hard-on just… dissipating after you’d left him. That means he probably jerked off in the back of his van and you missed it. And if he came, right after he promised everything was okay, that means he just didn’t want you to do it… right?

Steve seems to be caught in the same inner turmoil you’re currently stuck in; and for good reason. In all the years he’s known you, he can count on one hand how many times he’s had to turn you down. And every time, it was because he’d gotten back together with Nancy. It was never because of you. Not once. And sometimes he felt like it hurt him as much as it did you. 

As far as Steve’s concerned, you’re so out of Eddie Munson’s league that you’re not even in his fucking orbit — so the freak show, turning you down, doesn’t make whole lot of sense to him.

“Huh…”

“It’s me. It’s definitely me,” you conclude with the shake of your head. A bitter, almost hysterical laugh spills from your lips. “He thinks I’m fucking ugly or disgusting or something. It’s totally fucking me—”  

Robin completely abandons her basket of tapes then. She rises to stand in front of you, looking timid as she does so. Her raised brows form wrinkles on her freckled forehead and her blue eyes widen to reveal more of the whites of them. She looks like she’s approaching a wild animal. A bomb that’s about to explode.

“Okay… You’re starting to spiral, alright? So let’s just try and take a few deep breaths—”

You don’t listen to her. 

Actually, you do quite the opposite, as you begin to blurt every fleeting thought that crosses your mind.

“I’ve made out with nearly everyone in this stupid town— I’m pretty sure I’ve fucked almost half— and you’d think Eddie would wanna take advantage of that, the way everyone makes him out to be some sort of freak, right? But he hasn’t and at this rate, he won’t, and I just don’t understand why,” you ramble without taking in a single breath. “Usually being a slut is a huge turn-on for guys, you know? But what if Eddie thinks it’s gross? I mean, it is gross— I’m gross—”

You only stop for air when Robin takes your shoulders in both hands. She looks less apprehensive and more stern, as she forces you to look at her.

“Look. I love you, but you need to get a hold of yourself, alright? I know you’re not used to being told no, and I know how much it sucks, but shit happens. I’m willing to bet all the money I’ve ever seen that whatever is going on with Eddie has nothing to do with you, okay? And if it’s making you this upset, maybe you should just talk to him.”

“But I don’t wanna seem like I’m too eager, that’s gross—”

“Then find someone else to fuck,” she offers with her signature Robin Buckley half-smile. “I’m sure it would take you less than five minutes to find a willing participant.”

“Yeah, right here,” Steve jokes from the counter with the pathetic wave of his hand and a dumb grin on his lips. 

You don’t hear him over the voices in your head — half calling you crazy for letting a boy drive you this mad over nothing, and the other half bitterly affirming each of your deep-rooted insecurities.

Your face screws up, like the thought of being with anyone other than Eddie upsets you — it does upset you.

“I don’t want anyone else.”

“Then what do you want?” Robin yells in your face, shaking you by your shoulders.

“I want Eddie!” you shout back without thinking. The words seem to spill out of nowhere. It takes you of all people by surprise. No one in this rat trap town would ever expect the whore of Hawkins to want to settle down, least of all the harlot herself. It’s strange; it’s riveting; it’s really fucking scary. “…Fuck.”

The brunette smirks, proud of herself. “Well. There’s your answer.”

“I hate when you’re right,” you mumble to yourself, pouting as she crouches back down again.

“I know.”

It was a terrifying thought, to know that you were head over heels for someone else. You try to come to terms with what that means. 

Sometimes you think you fall in love with a new person every day. A cute guy holds the door open for you, a pretty girl compliments your outfit — they never think about you again, but they’re on your mind for days. It was so easy to develop such meaningless infatuations, especially when you were bored.

But Eddie was different.

He was a nice guy. A nice guy that was sweet to you just for the sake of being sweet to you; not because he secretly wanted something in return. That made you fall for him at first, but then you just… kept on falling. Eddie Munson was an infinite void you couldn’t crawl your way out of even if you wanted to, even if you tried.

And that’s what frightened you the most.

Because if you really thought about it, you’ve only truly been in love a handful of times. And, sure, it didn’t work out — that was normal — but some of them fucking ruined you. 

You’re still trying to figure out who you are without all of the people that have broken your heart. You’re still fighting like hell every day to recognize the person you see in the mirror, while Billy Hargrove fucks off with a new girl every other week like he didn’t totally destroy you.

But, even still, Eddie was completely different. No one’s ever made you feel the way he makes you feel. And it’s more than the stupid heavy petting — it’s more than anything. It’s never been like this before; not even with the blonde mulleted asshole who ripped your heart to shreds. 

And you’re scared that if you get hurt again, you’ll never be able to come back from it.

“Steve, do you have another copy of Fast Times in the back?” you suddenly ask the boy, tossing him a look over your shoulder.

It’s your last ditch effort to rid yourself of the ponderous, gray doom and gloom surrounding you like some storm cloud. Your comfort movie solves all of your problems — or, at the very least, Phoebe Cates does — but it seems everyone else in town has developed a similar fondness for minute fifty-three of the film and got all the tapes off the shelf before you could get your hands on one.

“You know I keep on in stock for you,” he answers quietly.

He reaches below the counter to pull out a spare copy for you, and your heart swells with the rays of a thousand rising suns and the songs of every morning bird.

Steve told you some time ago that he could change. And back then, all it did was piss you off, because he didn’t want to change for the town slut — for the girl he put through the goddamn ringer. He wanted to change for Nancy. The princess bruised his brittle ego a little, and then he realized what an asshole he’d been to everyone, to you.

But as angry as it made you, you never believed him. “Once the King of Hawkins High, always the King of Hawkins High,” you remarked bitterly.

You wouldn’t say it to his face, for the sake of keeping his ego from inflating all over again, but you could tell he was really changing.

He was kinder, he was softer. He stopped caring about what everyone thought about him, about what not caring would do to his reputation, and started giving a fuck about the people worth giving a fuck about. 

Apparently, you were one of them.

“…Really?”

He nods with a subtle shrug. Like it was no big deal. Like it wasn’t one of the sweetest things he’d ever done for you — keeping your favorite movie on hand so you’ll always have a spare, knowing that it’s the only thing that gets you out of a deep, dark funk sometimes.

“Stevie… You’re gonna make me blush,” you lilt with a grin as you saunter over to him, hands innocently laced behind your back. “You need to be careful, Harrington. I’m gonna start to think you actually like me.”

He scoffs. “I do like you.”

“Yeah, when it’s convenient.”

It’s obvious your joke hits him where it hurts. It serves as a bitter reminder of the asshole he used to be, the douchebag he’s trying like hell to grow out of. He looks up at you with a sheepish, honey-tinted gaze before ducking away again.

A year or more ago it would’ve made you feel good, to know that you hurt him just a fraction of the way he hurt you. But you know that that isn’t the same man standing in front of you now, that he’d rather die than make hurt your feelings, and it makes you feel like shit for saying it in the first place. 

“Sorry,” you apologize with a scrunched nose. The palms of your hands dig into the edges of the counter as you lean against it. Your shrug. “It just kinda came out…”

The barcode scanner in his hand beeps as he passes the thing over the back of the tape — never charging you, just getting the movie out of the database.

“So, uh…” he starts before clearing his throat. He focuses his gaze on the computer and types on the bulky keyboard with the tip of his pointer finger. “You really like this Eddie guy, huh?”

“Maybe. I think so.”

“And he’s not, like… a total freak or anything?”

You can’t tell if he’s trying to look out for you or if he just wants intel on what it’s like trying (and failing) to bang the local weirdo. Either way, it makes a smile tug slow at your lips as you joke: “Not in the way everyone thinks.”

“Jesus,” he winces at the obscenity of your words.

“Sorry,” you apologize again, though the laugh that bubbles from your lips after cancels out any hint of actual sincerity. “You don’t need to give me the talk or anything, Steve. I can take care of myself.”

“…Can you?” he half-jokes.

It makes you falter. “Well… With you and Robin and Hopper constantly on my ass, then yeah.”

“Just don’t want you to get hurt,” Steve finally admits, soft and suddenly shy as he hands the VHS over to you.

“That’s rich coming from you—”

He jerks back the tape before you can take it from him, leaving your hand reaching for thin air. His cinnamon eyes glimmer with a foreign seriousness, not completely unkind, but lacking their usual blithe. “That’s why I’m saying it. I just… I want you to be okay.”

Steve is one of the rare ones, you conclude right then in there — in the liminal emptiness of Family Video, beneath fluorescent lights that cast sharp shadows upon his already chiseled features. He was a mythical creature of a man, one who breaks your heart and does everything in his power to mend it again.

He hasn’t forgotten about what he did to you, not like Billy did, and he won’t. Not ever. He saw what he did to you and he never moved on from it, just matured enough to make sure it never happened again. And he won’t let another unworthy douchebag hurt you like he did. Not if he can help it, at least.

And he did try to warn you about Hargrove, to be fair. You were just the dumbass that didn’t listen.

“Well, me and my Phoebe Cates wet dream are golden, Pony Boy,” you promise. He hands you the tape again and lets you snatch it from his grip this time. “Don’t worry your pretty little head, Stevie.”

Steve Harrington was right. 

The fleeting thought flashes across your mind for half a second, and you quickly realize that those words have never been uttered in the same sentence before now. But he wasn’t wrong in what he’d said about you, just before you left — you were completely, totally, absolutely, and implicitly unable to take care of yourself.

You nearly passed out in the bathroom after taking the hottest shower of your life, feeling too woozy to slap on anything other than moisturizer because you failed to remember to actually eat something that day. It wasn’t totally your fault, though; if anything, it was because of Eddie and all the butterflies he’d given you that made food the very last thing on your mind.

You half-heartedly dry yourself off, keeping your hair in a towel, while you slip on a cotton set of underwear you’ve had for way longer than what's likely acceptable. Damp and half-naked, you prance into the kitchen to fix Bowie her bowl of dinner before you feed yourself.

You fork a can of wet food onto a flower-shaped plate and let her eat on the counter — because you’re an adult now, and you can do that sort of thing.

The calico purrs while she feasts, but your stomach thunders with negligence. You peek into your mostly bare refrigerator and make a mental note to go grocery shopping when you get paid next week. 

With a lack of food and an even lesser will to cook something, you settle for the half-eaten chocolate bar you keep stashed in the very back of the fridge; kept only for the most special of occasions — when you’re reveling in your loneliness and trying to convince yourself that you can make it on your own.

It was practically the size of your forearm when you first bought the thing at some too expensive candy store in the city. Now it’s no bigger than your hand.

You eat the thing in bed, even though you know you’ll get crumbs everywhere and that it’ll make sleep agonizing for you — if you get any, that is. You’re bound to feel like a total zombie by the time the sun rises and the late-night sweet will likely make its appearance on your skin by then, in a red and raging blemish of a consequence.

You’ll feel empty and starved and surly, a snapping grouch instead of an actual person, until you get some actual food in your system.

And you’re more than aware of all of these things, but you don’t do a single damn thing about them.

You’re nothing but a sulking lump upon an unmade bed, lying in a pitch-black darkness that’s evaded only by the static-y television across your room, trying your best to pretend like you aren’t waiting for Eddie’s phone call. It’s hard to remember to forget him, though, when the movie you’re watching is practically a feature film of him and all the ways he makes you feel.

Spicoli and his terribly inebriated friends slur as they chorus “No shoes, no shirt, no diiiice” and you swear you can feel Eddie’s shoulder bump softly against yours as he laughs, hear every sound of his melodic chuckle in your ear that made you giggle right along with him. The low bass of Moving in Stereo plays in the otherwise empty silence of your bedroom, and every beat feels like the rhythm of your thrusts against his thigh.

Eddie Munson is all-consuming.

Even the thought of him feels physical.

Phoebe Cates all but undresses herself in front of you, but you’re stuck thinking about some guy who lives in a trailer park across town, deals drugs for a living, and can’t graduate high school. You’re a total fucking goner.

Your eyes flutter shut, and instead of the backs of your eyelids, you see Eddie’s trailer. Your lips start to tingle as they kiss his for the first time — hungry, yearning, needing. His thigh is pressed snugly into your cunt, denim jeans rough against your soft cotton panties, and you have to bite back a moan when he tenses every time you squeeze his hard, covered cock.

You can feel it, all of him, like he were here with you now. 

You wish that he were.

His fingers would feel far better, leave far more sparks of electricity in your belly, than the ones as you sneak through the hem of your underwear.

You try and take things slow with yourself, to be as gentle as he had been with you earlier in the woods, but it feels strange to treat yourself with so much tenderness. To touch your pussy like it’s the first time it’s ever been touched. Like it’s a beautiful thing you need to be sweet to.

Maybe you find it so foreign to be careful with yourself because no one has ever been careful with you.

No one, except for Eddie.

Your touch doesn’t rival his. It doesn’t even come close.

No matter how tightly you squeeze your eyes shut or how hard you try to pretend that they’re his fingers inside of you, you can’t make yourself feel as good as he did.

Your fingers aren’t as rough as his guitar-string-scarred ones and they don’t caress your clit with the same methodical care. They don’t fill you quite the same either, nowhere near as satisfying as his much thicker ones.

And you’re no stranger to masturbation, not by any means. Sometimes it’s the only way you can guarantee an orgasm for yourself when you’ve got a partner who cares so little about your own pleasure. But Eddie was different. Eddie cared — so much so, that he’s gotten more orgasms out of you than you’ve gotten from him, which is something you’ve never said about anyone else you’ve been with.

It’s rare and unfamiliar, a bouquet of all things refreshing and terrifying and strange, tied together with a pretty little ribbon.

You know that you can make yourself come. It’ll just take way too long to actually be worthwhile and won’t be nearly as mind-blowing as you need it to be. You won’t be left with trembling thighs and nearly numb legs — just a pitiful excuse for an orgasm that you could get from any one of your exes with half as much work.

What you need is Eddie. 

And you hate that. You hate how much you need him and you’re terrified of what that means.

As far as precedent goes, right when you start needing someone is usually when they start to leave. It’s like fucking clockwork most of the time — like everyone knows that you’re a ticking time bomb and eventually it gets too risky to stand too close to you. 

You’ll just have to keep Eddie at arm's distance. So he won’t see the grenade that you are.

You pull your fingers out of your wanting cunt, still slick and throbbing with a need that you can’t give it, when the phone rings.

The high-pitched shrill in the quiet makes you tense like it’s the first time you’ve ever heard the damn thing. Your breath catches in your throat, first out of fright and then at the inclination of who waits for you on the other line.

Suddenly, you’re scrambling to collect yourself. As though there was any possibility that Eddie might be able to see you through the phone line.

You wipe your wet fingers haphazardly on the cotton of your underwear and sit up straighter from your ungracefully lazed position. Then you count to five — one mississippi… two mississippi… three — so Eddie won’t think you’re some kind of crazy person who doesn’t have anything better to do than wait for his call. 

So he won’t know that’s exactly what you are.

You lift the ruby red rotary from its hook at your bedside table and stretch the corkscrew cord to press it to your ear. “…Hello?”

“Yeah, hi. I’d like to order a pizza. Half pepperoni, half hawaiian.”

You roll your eyes at his dumb joke, even though the familiarity of his voice makes you smile. It warms you like a home-cooked meal, like you were high-pitched and starving before and now you’re on the soothing comedown of finally being satiated.

“Yeah, sorry, we’re closed.”

“Then why’d you pick up the phone, huh?” he teases back. You swear you can hear the grin in his voice. You didn’t know a smile could be so audible. It makes you wonder if he can hear yours — if you’re doing a real shit job at pretending. You anxiously twirl the cord with the pointer finger of your free hand.

“Because I’ve been waiting for you to call me all night, dummy.” 

Your answer is more honest than either of you were expecting. 

Eddie’s sigh crackles through the shoddy reception. “Yeah. Sorry ‘bout that, sweetheart. I’ve been working all night. I only got home, like, five minutes ago.”

You can hear the heavy exhaustion in his voice. “Rough day?”

“Kinda,” he answers with a shrug. You can hear the grating squeak of his mattress as he plops down onto his bed. “I dealt to one of Jason’s goons today… They always give me a hard time.”

“I’m sorry,” is all you can think to answer. 

Eddie’s been the brunt of every joke since seventh grade — people made fun of too big clothes, his too wild hair, his too loud music. But he took it all in stride, laughing with everyone else before volleying a harsher joke back in response. You almost started to think that he liked it. That, somewhere deep down, he was fond of all the attention he got from people who supposedly couldn’t stand him.

But it hurts to know that it hurts him.

“Don’t apologize. It’s not like you did anything,” he assures with a soft laugh. He makes the bold decision to be honest then, too. “You, uh… You made my day a whole lot better, actually.”

You don’t know if he’s talking about the brief fling in the woods or the phone call you’re sharing now or if you particularly care either way. Your heart flutters like it’s been kissed by the wings of a butterfly.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean… I don’t know— I couldn’t stop thinking about you, you know. And, knowing that I was gonna get to talk to you again kinda got me through the day, I guess… And, yes, I am fully aware of how lame that sounds, but—”

You don’t get to hear the rest of his excuse, of why what he just told you totally isn’t lame, because you’re covering the receiver with your palm and turning to squeal into your pillow. A far more pathetic sight, in your humble opinion.

There hasn’t been a more fulfilling feeling than this one, to know that he’s been feeling the same way you’ve been feeling about him this whole time. It’s better than all the orgasms he could give you combined, to be loved so wholly.

“…You okay?” you hear his muffled voice ask after you’ve gone suddenly AWOL.

You press the phone back to your ear and nod like he can see you. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. The phone… fell— you said you just got home?”

“Uh, yeah. I met with Hellfire for a bit at school. We’re almost at the end of the Cult of Vecna, so they’re kinda on my ass about it. The little shits are obsessed.”

“Well, they should be. It’s a really good campaign, Eds.”

“Thanks to you,” he mutters. You can almost picture the glimmer in his button eyes and the shaky half-smirk he always looks at you with when he gets all shy.

“That was all you, Eddie Spaghetti,” you retort. “I still have no idea how you did it.”

“Did what?” he wonders, chuckling a bit at the nickname.

“Make something so beautiful out of thin air.”

Lying in the depths of his bedroom, blanketed by the darkness and bathing in streams of moonlight, Eddie feels his breath catch in his throat. 

For the first time in his life, he doesn’t have a joke to spew out on the spot. He’s speechless, just for a moment, a quick blink of a second, with nothing to say. Because, if he really thinks about it, that’s sort of what happened with you.

You were just his customer and he was just your dealer.

You were a loyal client and then a girl way out of his league that he developed a too big a crush on. Then you made him come in his underwear and washed the sticky stains out of the denim for him. Now you’re on the phone with him. You let him tell you all about his shitty day and apologize like you weren’t the only good thing about it — like you aren’t the only good thing, period.

It’s not the most cliche love story, nor is it the most beautiful, but it has his cynical little heart beating like the wings of a hummingbird.

Then, when all the mushy mess fades like fog, he finally thinks of something to say.

“It’s the witchcraft, sweetheart,” he shrugs to himself. “Didn’t you hear? I’m a devil-worshipping freak.”

“You know that’s not it, Eds,” you retort with the roll of your eyes.

You know that it’s hard, to be a metalhead from the wrong side of the tracks in the eighties — at the height of the Satanic Panic and all the delusional craze. That shit’s followed him since freshman year. Even still, it nips at his ankles like rabid dogs.

Maybe you were never naive or bored enough to believe all the rumors, but Eddie Munson was always more than that to you.

“No?”

“You can blame it on being a freak show all you want, but I know it’s because you’re one of the funniest, smartest, most creative guys I’ve ever met—”

“You must not know a ton of guys then, sweetheart,” he interjects playfully, like he couldn’t stand to hear you compliment him any longer. You’d give anything to see his blushing cheeks just now.

“…You’re kidding right?” you giggle in response.

“Sorry— that’s— I didn’t mean it like— It was— I was joking,” he stammers, frightened that he might’ve offended you in some way. 

It only makes you laugh harder. Both of you know you lost count of all the guys you ‘know’ a long, long time ago. You do imagine it’s somewhere near ‘a ton’, though.

“I know, Eds,” you assure with a contented sigh. “I was just teasing.”

“Oh.”

“The slut and the freak… Who would’ve thought?” you wonder all dreamily, like it’s a fairytale as old as time itself. That’s what it feels like, sometimes.

Eddie isn’t sure what you mean — who would’ve thought you’d be friends? Two people caught in that in-between stage of platonic and romance that’s complete agony and total, total bliss? A couple of kids falling in love—

“It’s sort of kismet, huh?” he answers.

“I think so.”

“So, uh… What are you up to?” Eddie wonders then, equal parts curious and eager to keep the discussion going. He’s frightened any lapse in conversation is going to lead to saying goodbye. 

He wants to stay on for hours, until both of you are fighting to stay awake, and then listen to the sound of your heavy breathing when you inevitably lose — like that isn’t the creepiest thing anyone’s ever wanted. He’ll fight Wayne about the bill if it comes to that, he doesn’t care, he just never wants to stop being this close to you.

“Do you want the real answer or the fake one?”

“Uh… Both?”

“Well, I’d say I was doing something super productive with my night, you know, catching up on all the boring adult shit, but then I’d be lying. And I don’t wanna lie to you, Eds,” you tell him with a teasing lilt playing at the edge of your voice.

Eddie swallows thickly, fearing he’d somehow been caught in his own lie — or rather, his half-truth. He moves on quickly, though not exactly full of grace. “Right. Yeah. Totally.”

“Honest answer is, that the only productive thing I’ve done tonight is shower, and now I’m in bed watching Fast Times and eating all the chocolate in my house, because I can’t cook for shit and I have nothing else better to do with my night,” you admit to him, picking at the thread of your comforter.

“Oh, don’t tell me I missed the ‘Moving in Stereo’ bit,” he agonizes.

“Just.”

“Well, correct me if I’m wrong, sweetheart, but it sounds like you’re having loads of fun tonight.”

“I’m having a lot more fun now,” you assure him.

“Glad I can be around to make you laugh,” he retorts like he’s not all too happy to do it.

“You’re a total comedian, Eddie Spaghetti.”

“If I’m the jester, you’re the queen, sweetheart,” he promises, a grin evident in his voice.

Your breath catches in your throat something fierce; you’re almost worried that he’s heard it. His words pierce your heart, a stroke of lightning or a blade of steel. He’s joking, but it’s so strangely profound, the kindest thing anyone’s ever said to you and it’s dripping in sarcasm. 

It’s sort of Eddie’s love language, you’ve come to understand, to say something so sweet but coated in venom to make it sour again. It makes you feel special, loved, almost.

A fire builds behind your rib cage, sharp and distant and all-consuming.

“Are you alone, Eds?” you ask him suddenly.

The sudden curve ball in the conversation takes him by surprise. “Uh, yeah, Wayne’s at work right now… Why?”

“Because I want you to talk to me…”

“Oh?” is all he can say because isn’t that what he’s been doing this whole time?

“And I want you to say things that… maybe other people shouldn’t hear,” you explain slowly to him.

“…Oh.”

He’s heard about this only once before, the whole phone sex thing. 

It was from Andy in the back of Ms. O’Donnell’s class a year or more ago, though Eddie never called him by that name. Andy, in all actuality, was Jason Carver’s right-hand man, and he meant that in every sense of the phrase. Eddie was more than convinced that the guy was so obsessed with the blonde haired, blue eyed douchebag that he was giving him handjobs on the regular.

But it seemed the dick brigade couldn’t function properly without their leader and Eddie had the misfortune of hearing all the mindless bullshit they were spewing behind him — basketball, parties, girls; in true white bread fashion.

His friends gathered around him like he was telling some sort of secret, though it was loud enough for anyone in a three foot radius to hear. Eddie, caught directly in the line of fire, heard all about Chrissy’s older sister, Wendy, who was two years older and off at college. 

He’d gotten her number from some party he’d crashed. At least that’s how he told it, right before telling everyone that she swore like a sailor when she came and that she told him all the dirty things she wanted to do to him while she did.

“It was like her hand was on my dick, dude, I’m serious. That shit was crazy, bro,” he’d laughed after retelling the whole conversation in excruciating detail.

Eddie rolled his eyes to himself then, inwardly jealous that he’d never get to meet Wendy — or any other girl that would be willing to have phone sex with him, for that matter. His phone only ever rang for telemarketers or a rogue Dustin Henderson calling to annoy him.

But, here you are now, the most wanted girl in Hawkins, offering it to him on a silver platter. He wonders if you’ve done this before, surely you have — oh god, he thinks to himself, what if you’ve done this with Andy?

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” you assure him after his unusually long silence. “I know you’re probably busy and tired and everything—”

“No! No, yeah, I— I want to. I totally want to.”

“Okay,” you nod. Petals of a flower begin to bloom in your chest as you lie back in bed, settling further into the mattress. The movie, already long forgotten, serves only as light and background noise. “So… What are you wearing, Eds?”

“I feel like I should be asking you that,” he laughs. 

On the other side of Hawkins, in a trailer in the middle of nowhere, Eddie rises from where he’d originally flopped back onto his bed with the notion that it was going to be a semi-normal night. He props himself against his headboard. His fingers twitch at his thigh.

“Beat ya to it, Munson.”

“Well, I’ll have you know that it is very sexy, sweetheart. I’m wearing the same Hellfire shirt you saw me in, I don’t know, five hours ago — except now it’s got a rip in it because I totally ate ass on the way back to the van.”

He tells you this to make you laugh — it works — but he prays you don’t ask any questions. Because he got it while hurrying back to his van mere minutes after you’d left him, so hard he thought he was going to burst, with no more than seven minutes until his next client arrived.

 Thankfully, he only needed three.

“I love that shirt,” you respond in place of saying what you really want to — ‘I love how that shirt looks on you’ — how it clings to his lean torso and reveals his midriff whenever he stretches his arms over his head.

“She’s a lit-tle worse for wear now, sweetheart,” he lilts.

“I’ll stitch it up for you.”

“And I’ve got on a pair of boxers that are so old they’re practically see through because I’m pretty sure they used to be Wayne’s back in… I don’t know… the eighteen-hundreds.”

Eddie was right. It was sexy, though, for the exact reason they weren’t supposed to be. 

There was something so domestic about it all. You can picture him lying in his bed, in the most comfortable clothes he owns, in the one place he can feel at peace. Like a renaissance painting, something familiar and comforting and beautiful — fuck, you’d give anything to be next to him.

“…I think that means it’s your turn now, sweetheart,” he teases.

“Is it?” you mock in return.

“C’mon. Don’t leave me hangin’ over here.”

“It’s nothing, special,” you assure. Your eye flits down to peer at your own body — nothing special, indeed, you think to yourself. The lilac cotton set came from the grocery store downtown on the clearance rack you so often frequent. “I just have my underwear on. It’s very boring, I’m afraid.”

It’s not boring. Not to Eddie — the boy who prides himself on his insanely active imagination. He might not be able to pass english with his brain, but he can certainly create worlds with it, and it’s too easy for him to picture you. He imagines you, freshly showered, and smelling of the warm lavender-vanilla scent you always smell like, mostly bare and lazing upon a fluffy comforter.

He swallows thickly. “Oh, that’s— that’s really, uh— that’s really sexy.”

His thankful that you don’t seem to mind his poor excuse for dirty talk.

“It’s only because I was too lazy to get into actual pajamas.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

“Yeah?” you press, smiling to yourself and caging your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Yeah.”

“Can I tell you a secret, Eds?” you wonder, made brave enough by his own admission.

“‘Course you can.”

“Before you called…”

“…Uh-huh?” he eggs on, intrigued at the way you trailed off, sounding suddenly shy.

“I was…” The thought of telling him what you were doing mere seconds before he called makes you nervous. It wasn’t like you were ashamed of touching yourself or anything, nor is the art of dirty talking lost on you, but something about Eddie makes you timid.

“You were… what, sweetheart?” he wonders gently, with a too audible grin.

“I was touching myself.”

That’s all you tell him. The words linger and hang in the air of your separate bedrooms and you cling to the silence — almost mortified and anticipating his reply. Eddie, meanwhile, feels like his tongue has swelled in his mouth and all the air has been punched out of his lungs.

“Oh...” he tries to respond without the breath to accurately do so. “…Yeah?”

“You know what Phoebe Cates does to me,” you try to joke.

His laughter crackles through the receiver. “Yeah. I kinda have her to thank for the other night, don’t I?”

“Give yourself some credit, Eds. The hottest guy in Hawkins was sitting right next to me, what was I supposed to do?”

“No way you think I’m the hottest guy in town,” he scoffs. “Everyone knows you’ve got a thing for pretty boys.”

“Pretty boys?” you echo with a giggle.

“Uh-huh. The Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington type, you know?”

“Well, I think you’re a hundred times prettier than he is.”

“Really?” he scoffs cynically, obviously not believing you.

“He wasn’t the one I was thinking about with my hand shoved down my panties,” you admit, immediately quelling his self-doubt. “That’s gotta count for something, right?”

Eddie clears his throat and then stammers, “I— I guess so— yeah.”

“Are you hard, Eds?” you ask in a breathy whisper.

And he just nods to himself at first, too stupid to answer audibly. He can feel himself stiffening in his boxers, only halfway hard now, but getting firmer by the second. Soon, he’ll be aching. 

“Yeah…”

“Can you touch yourself for me?”

Eddie would rather take a bullet to the chest than say no to you — at least, he figures that’d probably hurt less — so he slips his fidgeting fingers through the band of his boxers and takes his warm, stiffening cock in his hand. He squeezes himself just enough to make his stomach tighten.

“Want you to touch yourself, too,” he admits, neither asking or demanding it, just telling you.

“Yeah?” you tease.

“Well, I think it’s only fair, sweetheart.”

You can’t help but notice how breathy he’s gotten — how it shakes on the inhale and hitches on the out. He’s got his hand shoved down his underwear and you’re jealous of the fingers that get to wrap themselves around his cock. You wish they were yours. Both of you will have to settle, it seems.

“Whatever you want, Eds,” you answer playfully. 

You obediently slide your hand back into the warmth of your panties. Your fingers slot between your lips and collect the slick that had gathered there since before you’d even answered the phone. You bring it up to your clit, circling the pads of your fingers there until you twitch, then dragging them down to press into your opening. They slip in with ease. 

Both of you have turned into lovesick idiots, separated by so many miles, and missing the other most ardently. Lying in the depths of your bedrooms, basking in a velvet loneliness, building with a mutual pleasure with nothing but yearning hands and longing sighs.

Eddie’s eyes flutter shut at the sounds of your low moans and fragile whimpers that crackle through the static — beautiful still, but certainly no match to the ones you were breathing in his ear just hours ago. 

His lashes dance across his cheeks as he tries to remember how you’d felt against his fingers, soft like velvet and delicate like silk, weeping and pulsating with need. 

He drags his hand from his boxers and lets the band snap against his pelvis. He spits into his palm and wets his cock with it, sighing as he tugs at himself without much friction.

“Are you wet, sweetheart?” he asks, though the words threaten to get stuck in his throat.

“Yeah,” you whisper back like it’s some kind of secret. 

You work yourself open with your middle finger and slip your pointer in next to it without much trouble. Your walls flutter around them while you fight to find the spot the makes you keen. You’re only able to tease it, fingers not quite long enough to caress it completely. Your thumb keeps working at your clit, though, to make up for the lost pleasure. 

“I’ve been wet since I left you,” you admit through labored breaths. “Haven’t been able to… to stop thinking about you, Eds.”

“Glad I’m not the only one whipped over here, sweetheart,” he manages a laugh.

“No one’s ever made me come that hard before. Not just with their fingers,” you tell him mindlessly, dumb on pleasure, as you feel yourself climbing that peak.

“Really?”

“Never,” you promise, then whine. “Doesn’t even feel as good now… Can’t get as deep as you can—”

Eddie hangs on your every word as he works his palm up and down his stiff cock, squeezing at the base and swiping his thumb over the head with an expert hand. His face scrunches as his stomach starts to tighten, he’s close to coming — too close for his liking. He doesn’t want this to be over so quickly.

“You’ve ruined every other guy for me, Eddie Munson,” you confess, more than pleased to hear how it makes him whine. It sounds like it comes from the depths of his chest, the way it crackles low and needy through the receiver.

“Good,” he grumbles through his pants after he’s gathered himself all over again. “Don’t want anyone else to have you, sweetheart.”

This time you’re the one letting out the most pathetic of whines. It makes a smile flicker at the corners of his lips.

“You like that?”

It sounds so dirty, but you can tell by the sincerity of his tone that it’s genuine. So you answer with a longing truthfulness, a delicate “yes”entwined with a yearning moan.

“You just wanna belong to me, don’t ya?” 

Now, this is dirty talk. The teasing lilt of his tone — it’s almost degrading —  and makes you clench around your fingers. “Yes, please,” you whine, all but pleading for him now.

Eddie’s close, so dreadfully close, with a pleasure so tangible he could taste it. Your words make his cock twitch in his hold as the fire builds in his belly. 

Through your whole-hearted promises and wanting moans, he can hear the sound of your slick through the receiver. The static reception doesn’t do it justice, but the wet click of your fingers working you open was unmistakable.

A moan grumbles in his throat as he digs the crown of his head back into his pillow. “Holy fuck— I can hear you, baby.”

“I’m so wet for you, Eds,” you tell him through fragile slurs, like it wasn’t inherently obvious. 

You were wrong before, about wanting to hide from him. You couldn’t conceal your need for Eddie if you tried. The honey you drip, all sweet and just for him, wouldn’t let you keep it a secret.

“I know, baby, I know,” he nearly coos. “Are you— fuck, please tell me you’re close?”

“Yes,” you promise in a whine. Your thumb presses harder into your clit. It makes your thighs tense until they’re shaking.

“You rubbing your clit for me, sweetheart?” he asks like he knows. “I know that’s what you like.”

You whimper, working at the spongy spot within you as your hips buck off the bed. “Yeah.”

“Keep rubbing yourself like that for me, okay? Want you to keep going until you come for me.”

If he keeps talking to you like that, it’ll come a lot quicker than he’s prepared for. 

It’s too soft to be much of a demand, but you listen obediently anyway, rubbing at yourself though your sensitivity keeps building. It grows like a morning tide, rising and flowing like white waves on an ocean, stirring something fierce in the depths of your stomach.

“Eddie,” you sigh out his name, broken through staggered pants.

You hear his stuttering breaths, too. “Y—Yeah?”

“I’m about to come,” you promise through a whine when the familiar crescendo sends a shock through your body.

“O… Okay,” he responds, pathetically, then whines, even more so.

“Want you to come with me… Please…”

“Fuck— okay. Shit, sweetheart, I’m almost there.”

“What are you thinking about?” you ask him.

“Your pussy,” he answers without thinking — he’s not doing a whole lot of that anymore. “Wish I’d gotten to taste you earlier. Wanna feel you… fuck… Wanna feel you come on my tongue.”

“Holy shit, Eds,” you moan at his words, at the vivid picture they paint in your head.

“And you get so… God, you get so fucking wet. Just want you to drench me, baby.”

It feels good, to be complimented for something boys used to make fun of you for, to realize for the first time that’s it’s sexy — that you’re sexy — and that Eddie is more than happy to drown in you. The feeling almost rivals the impending orgasm that’s bound to hit you like a tidal wave.

“I’m thinking about how I coulda took you on that bench… Just, fucking, get on my knees for you. Shove my head between your legs. Hold your— shit, baby— hold your thighs open, keep you exactly where I want you,” he rambles but then cuts himself off to moan at his own words. “Goddamn, sweetheart. Wanna taste you so fucking bad.”

The moan you let out is pitiful. It leaves your mouth in the most delicate cry. 

No picture has ever been clearer than the one of Eddie between your thighs, your hands knotted in his hair to move him to exactly where you need him most and forcing him there. You can feel his fingers digging into your hips, his rings pressed against your burning skin, and the way your legs tremble on either side of his head.

“Yeah. Keep— Keep doing that. Keep moaning for me,” Eddie tells you. “I’m about to… holy fuck, I’m about to come.”

“Wanna feel your tongue in me so bad, Eds,” you whimper, egged on by the moan he lets out. “Want your cock even more.”

That’s what does him in, the assurance — the promise — that you want him just as bad as he wants you. 

He tightens his fist around his cock, achingly hard and raging a crimson at the tip, trying to imitate the way you’d feel around him. It’s not all that close, not nearly as wet as the honey you’d be dripping for him, but his imagination does the rest of the work for him. 

All at once, you’re on top of him, riding him for all he’s worth, your pussy threatening to swallow him whole. You’ve drenched him, just like he’d begged for, and that wet schlick noise still echoing from the receiver is the evidence of each of your assured thrusts over top of him. 

You’re still pleading for him anyway — for more, for his tongue, for his cock — and he wants so desperately to give everything to you.

“Oh god, baby—” he sputters. He grips the phone in a white-knuckled, fist trembling. “Oh, fuck, I’m coming, baby.”

“Please, Eddie. Please come for me,” you plead over the low sounds of the forgotten film playing across the room and all the dirty wet sounds your pussy makes against your fingers. You sound like you need it, like you want his orgasm more than your own.

“Want you to come with me… Can you— Can you do that for me, sweetheart? Please?” It’s not dirty talk anymore. He’s actually fucking begging you and doesn’t feel the least bit ashamed to do so. 

He wants to hear all the pretty noises you make when you come — that initial cry that stems from the depths of your soul, the high-pitched whimpers that come when the sensitivity builds, and the whines that leave you when it ebbs.

He wants to hear it over and over and over again, like a worn cassette, and play it until the tape spins out.

“Yes…” you promise through a set of stuttering breaths.

There’s no talking when either of you come. Eddie’s long forgotten to talk you through it, but you would barely hear him if he had. The phone slips out of your hand when your grip slackens and it falls to the pillow beside your head.

You chase your orgasm full throttle, working through the crescendo and the strikes of lightning, focusing only on his muffled moaning and the pretty sounds he makes as he comes. 

The breath of your name whimpered through a tight throat is what does it for you. Your body has hardly any time to warn you before you’re gushing all over your fingers, twitching every time the pad of your thumb rubs over clit.

That cry, the one you always let out as you come — all wet and full of need — makes Eddie orgasm right alongside you. 

He swipes his thumb over his head again, collecting the pearls of precum gathering there and sliding them down the base to squeeze himself there like he’d been doing this whole time. He clutches harder this time, imagines it's your cunt locking him in a vice-like grip, and whines in his throat when he comes.

Several loads of it spill onto his cotton boxers, most of it gathering along the side of his hand and dripping down his knuckles. His breath staggers as he works himself through his high, praising you through the phone like you’re the one who brought him to it. 

“Fuck, baby… You’re so good… So fucking good.”

You’ve long settled from your own orgasm, still tingly and numb in some places, but not as gone as you had been just moments before. You still float on a cloud, getting lost as you stare through your window at the half-hidden stars sprinkling the night sky and feeling as though you could reach out and touch them.

You can feel the satin moonlight bathing you, and the jittery static of the neon of the television screen. You can feel everything and somehow nothing at all. 

“I don’t know how you do it, Eds,” you confess, hardly thinking about the words spilling from your mouth when you lazily bring the phone to your ear again.

“Do what, sweetheart?”

“I don’t know… You always make me feel good. Even when you’re not here… Even when we’re not getting each other off.”

“I feel the same way,” he promises you, all mushy, even though he feels like a slob for wiping his hand off on his discarded jeans on his bed. “Just… wish you were here.”

“I wish I was there, too… Wish I could clean you up.”

Eddie’s eyes shut tight as his head tilts back to his pillow at the thought. “Fuck… You’re gonna make me hard again, sweetheart.”

You perk up suddenly as an idea sprouts like a flower in your head. A smile blooms on your lips, and you rise up onto your elbows, glowing with an unanticipated excitement. “How long would it take you to get ready?”

“…Get ready?” he echoes.

“Yeah,” is all you say.

“I mean, I— I don’t know. I figure if I put on some new underwear and a fresh pair of pants, I’ll be good as new... Why?”

“You wanna do something?” 

“Yeah. Sure. Anything,” he answers clumsily in place of saying, ‘Anything to not have to be without you.’

“I wanna go to Skull Rock.”

“Skull Rock?” he repeats. 

Legend has it, you and Steve made that place a local landmark. People have always said that Hopper caught the both of you one too many times up at Lover’s Lake and the Quarry, that you needed a more hidden place to fuck. So you’d stumbled around in the middle of the woods until you found a place the chief wouldn’t think to look for you.

You’d certainly found it. Then every other horny high schooler did too.

It’s the place you go to fuck, the most private place in all of Hawkins — hell, maybe even Indiana entirely for teenagers who can’t get the house to themselves. And as appealing as it sounds, to take you beneath a sky of twinkling stars, Eddie doesn’t want his first time with you to be on dirt or in the middle of the woods. That’s how all the horror movies start, don’t they?

So, needless to say, your answer takes him by surprise.

“Yeah! You can see all the stars really good from there. It’s too hard to see them so close to town.”

Eddie’s heart swells all at once at how sweet you are, like sugar poured directly onto his tongue. You’re not eager to be without him either, it seems, and that thought is as gratifying as it is thrilling. 

You’re an adventure he’s about to go on, without a map or a way out, a journey he’s happy to go into blind as long as you’re holding his hand the entire way through it.

It breaks his heart to hang up the phone. He practically begs you to do it for him, and it makes you laugh — a kind giggle entwined with a tease ‘you’re such a baby.’ It rings in his ears long after the receiver clicks.

Most of all, he hates all the stoplights that separate your place from his. He hadn’t known where you lived before now, not until you uttered it over the phone. He makes a mental note to figure out a quicker way, somewhere through the winding back roads that his old van can speed through to make the distance less daunting.

He pulls into your apartment complex, a quaint two-story thing on the quieter side of town, where the woods are plentiful and the street lamps far fewer. He turns his radio down out of respect for all your neighbors that he’s sure he’ll never meet and spies you through the neon orange porch lights. You shut and lock your door in quick succession, then scurry across the way to meet him.

Eddie leans over to unlock the passenger side door for you, already beaming, and finds you’re smiling too when you climb in next to him. The grin you shoot his way outshines the night sky and makes a bright yellow sun of the girl sitting in his passenger seat.

“Hi,” you’d greeted him, all shy like you didn’t just make him come all over his hand thirty minutes ago.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he volleys back like he always does, with that big ol’ smirk and teasing lilt as he cock his head to the side — using his playfulness to cover up the bashful mess you so easily reduce him too.

Neither of you had gotten particularly dressed up to see each other. All he did was put on fresh under and pajama pants. You succumbed to a smilier laziness it seems, haphazardly brushing through your half-damp hair, throwing on a too big t-shirt, and calling it a day. 

The cotton hangs low at your chest, stretched out and obviously well-loved. It falls well past your thigh, though you spend much of the drive anxiously tugging it down. 

It makes him wonder what you’re wearing beneath it. If you’ve tugged on a pair of shorts or if you’re in the bra and (undoubtedly wet) underwear you’d told him you were wearing over the phone. 

Eddie winds himself up all over again while you sift through the flimsy case of endless cassettes he keeps tucked in the glove compartment that never quite shuts all the way.

“How do you now have any ABBA tapes?” you wonder like it’s baffling, with an Iron Maiden tape in one hand and Cinderella in the other. Metallica plays lowly, nearly inaudibly, from the stereo.

Eddie laughs and darts his eyes from the darkened back roads to look at you, all smiley and bathed in moonlight, before turning back to the road again. “Uh, because I’m not a thirty-year-old woman. That’s the shit moms listen to.”

“Moms and hot girls,” you retort jokingly.

“Right, moms and hot girls listen to ABBA — of which, I am neither, sweetheart. Sorry to be the one to break it to you… Besides, it’s not like you walk around listening to, fucking, I don’t know— Van Halen or whatever.”

“Hey. I listen to Van Halen,” you shoot back.

He scoffs. “Yeah, right.”

“It’s got what it takes!” you sing suddenly, not quite catching the rhythm of the song, but smiling anyway as you reach for his forearm resting on the center console. “So tell me why can’t this be love!”

“Oh, my god— that’s literally their worst song,” Eddie chuckles through the widest grin you’ve ever seen from him. 

It makes you smile big too, looking like an idiot who’s totally head over heels for the boy next to her. And of that, you’re happily guilty of.

“Not true,” you shake your head defiantly. “I love that song.”

“So that means it has to be good, right?” he retorts playfully, shooting you a teasing look, though his beam is more than sincere.

“Obviously,” you answer with a scoff that makes Eddie roll his eyes.

He knows he’s going to start to love it, though, if only because it’s the only Van Halen song you halfway know.

He’s going to hear that song on the radio and he’s going to want to turn it, but he’s going to remember this moment now — the one with you reaching for him while you sing the lyrics to a song he can’t stand, sitting pretty in his passenger seat, while the moonlight blanches your smile and the bare skin of your thighs.

Eddie Munson is going to love that goddamn song for the rest of his life.

He parks as close as he can to Skull Rock, knowing his van can’t work its way that far into the woods. The two of you are forced to walk the rest of the way, not exactly minding it, though Eddie’s incessantly worried you’re going to get cold. 

He’s already forced his jacket upon you, which you took with little fight. It warmed you almost immediately — with his cozy heat and musky cologne.

You make mindless conversation the entire way there, about music and then about his band and then what animal you’d want to be in your band if that were the least bit possible. Eddie chooses a sheep without any hesitation, though you’re confident that a penguin would be far cooler. 

You keep a careful distance between you, at first, like both of you are too scared to initiate the first move. That is, until you trip over a raised branch and nearly eat ass on the forest floor. Then Eddie’s holding your hand the entire way, keeping you close.

“If you wanted me to hold your hand, you coulda just said so, you know?” he jokes. “Didn’t have to go through all the dramatics, sweetheart.”

You try and yank your hand out of his grip in protest then, but he doesn’t let you. In fact, he pulls you closer and twirls you into a bear hug that you happily relax into.

He feels your sigh fan against his collarbone as you rest your head at the nape of his neck, his arms wrap around your shoulders as yours settle at his waist. He rocks you back in forth, in a moment that’s too almost sweet to make fun of.

Eddie finds a way, of course, “See?” he singsongs. “I’ll hug you like this all the time, if you want. You don’t have to almost kill yourself to get my attention, babe.”

“All I did was trip,” you laugh at his theatrics.

“Death by tree root… What a gnarly way to go.”

He holds your hand the entire way to Skull Rock. 

He doesn’t let you go once, not until you’re ascending the large boulders to plant yourselves at the very peak of them. He’s grabbing you again once you settle, though, and the two of you just sit there, for several long moments, just gaping at the stars that dance with life above you. They sprinkle an infinite void with enough light that manages to touch you, trillions of miles away.

There’s a subtle beauty in that Eddie never would’ve appreciated before now.

“Shit, babe,” he breathes through a whimsical existential dread. “You were right. The stars are really fucking pretty out here.” 

You love how much he loves this, to come to Skull Rock with you and count the stars. Any other guy would’ve had their tongue down your throat by now, stuffing your hand down their unbuttoned jeans.

But not Eddie.

He just holds your hand because he likes the feeling of his fingers entwined with yours, grasping tightly onto you while he gazes at an infinite universe — like you might float off right along with it.

His neck is stretched to gape at the night sky. You catch his adam’s apple bobbing every time he swallows. You want so desperately to kiss his milky white skin and sprinkle blotchy red bruises there.

His curly locks fall over his shoulders. He shakes his head to get his bangs out of his eyes while the chocolate buttons of them dart around the endless void.

He’s more beautiful than every star in the sky combined. You can’t be sure of how many that is, of course, but it’s a whole bunch if you had to guess. It makes sense, though, for the prettiest boy in the whole damn galaxy.

“Told ya,” you answer with a smile, leaning over to nudge his shoulder with yours. “You come out here often?”

You’re asking if he takes girls here and he knows it, but it’s not like you’re being inconspicuous about the whole thing. Eddie gauges it almost immediately, the subtle jealousy hinting at your tone — something no one else would’ve caught — and he squeezes your hand in reassurance.

He shakes his head. “No… Never.”

“Never?” you press with raised brows, like his answer shocks you.

“Ever. It’s not really my scene, I guess… But what about you, sweetheart? Never seen you around these parts before.”

You knock his shoulder again, harder this time.  “Shut up. You already know the answer to that.”

“Yeah…” he nods to himself, eyes darting back and forth as he reminisces on something. “You and Harrington, you and Hargrove. Hell, I think I heard about you and Jason one time—”

“That was a long time ago,” you argue. “Before I even knew you, okay?”

“I’m just saying,” he shrugs in defense. “You totally have a thing for pretty boys, sweetheart.”

“I never said I didn’t, Eds. Just that you were pretty, too.”

“Whatever,” he scoffs and rolls his eyes like he isn’t glowing red beneath the moonlight.

“You’re better than all three of them, Eds,” you confess with a sudden softness that catches his attention almost immediately. He turns his attention from the sky to look at you properly again. His breath catches at you sad you look — all beautiful and coated in shades of blue.

“…Yeah?”

You nod and drag his hand into your lap to fidget with his fingers. You trace the skeleton heart on his middle finger, subverting all your attention there because it’s easier than having to look at him now. “Better than all of them combined— not even just them, you know? Out of everyone. No one’s ever been this nice to be before.”

“Me neither, sweetheart,” he confesses with a morose grin. “The freak of Hawkins High attracts a lot of assholes, believe it or not.”

“Is it bad?” you wonder cautiously, like you’re scared to hear the answer. In some ways, you are. 

You hadn’t known him in high school, not really. For obvious reasons, you ran in very different circles. You never even had classes together. There was never any excuse to be close to each other before now, never a reason to become friends. So you didn’t.

You grew to know him as a freak, and he knew you as the town slut. Then somewhere down the line, he became your dealer and now… here you were. 

But you’ve graduated now and he’s still army crawling towards a diploma. You couldn’t save him from the hell of Hawkins High even if you wanted to.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he shrugs. “Jason and the dick brigade just wanna make my life hell, that’s all.”

“I hope they aren’t,” you respond shyly.

Eddie scoffs then shoots you a smile. “Oh, of course not. Look at me. I’m at Skull Rock with the most wanted girl in Hawkins. I’m living the dream, sweetheart.”

“So you don’t care?” you wonder, peering at him through your lashes, as you twist the silver cross around his finger.

“Care about what?” 

“That I’m a slut,” you laugh like it’s obvious.

Eddie doesn’t think it’s all that funny. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s not like it isn’t true, Eds,” you retort with a trembling smile. “I mean, that’s literally what people call me — most people don’t even care to call me by my real name anymore.”

“I don’t care,” Eddie shakes his head. “I don’t care about that. I don’t give a shit about what people say about you. If everyone cared about what everyone said about everyone, neither of us would be here right now… Because you’d think I was some devil-worshipping freak and I’d think you were too busy getting it on with Chief Hopper.”

You screw your face up immediately at the thought. The mere idea was repulsive. The asshole was practically your father these days. Jim Hopper was in that small bunch of available people you would never fuck, and happily so. 

“I’d never stoop that low,” you joke.

“I like you, how you are, right now,” Eddie promises. “Don’t want you to change a damn thing.” 

His brown eyes twinkle with a sincerity that rivals the stars above you. All of a sudden, you don’t care about a bunch of heavenly bodies light years away from you — you care about this man, the one sitting beside you now, holding your hand even though your palms have gone all sweaty.

It’s too good to be true — the way you looks at you, the way he talks to you, the way he treats you. You’re scared that it’s a dream, that you’ll wake up and find that none of this was ever real. Or worse, that he was, and that he just didn’t care about you the way you cared about him.

It’s almost irrational. Almost. 

But it’s happened before. 

And it’s left you a scarred and mangled mess.

You shake your head to yourself and scrunch your face as you turn to look him. “Have you ever done this before, Eddie?”

“Don’t what?” he wonders with furrowed brows.

“I don’t know…” you shrug. “Any of this? With anyone else?”

He’s grateful he doesn’t have to lie. Or tell some clumsy half-truth for the sake of saving his own skin. He realizes tonight is perhaps the most honest he’s ever been with you, baring his pale soul beneath a silver moonlight. 

“Never,” he answers, unwavering, with a firm shake of his head.

“Really?”

“Really,” he nods, then swallows thickly at a gut-wrenching realization. “I’ve never felt his way about anyone else before.’

“Me neither,” you promise. 

It’s a tad more meaningful coming from you than from a boy who’s never had someone to love and to love him back.

You’re experienced, you’ve found what you like and what you don’t like. You’ve been with guys who have given you the world and guys that have ended yours altogether. And out of all of them — all of the assholes in Hawkins you could’ve picked — you’ve chosen the freak. 

You want him. 

You want Eddie.

The revelation makes him grin. “Promise?”

“Cross my heart, Eddie Spaghetti.”

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #eddie munson imagine #virgin!eddie munson x reader #virgin!eddie munson

[87kelce]

—can we please get back to loving?

summary: you knew the term exclusive was never something travis would ever use when it comes to your relationship. but you seemed to be the only one he called when he wanted someone around.

warnings: angst, smut (18+ only, no minors), arguments, slow sex, riding, pussy eating, spooning

word count: 2660

notes: title taken from the song written all over your face by louis tomlinson. not proofread so if there's any mistakes i apologise. again likes and reblogs are very much appreciated 🫶

You never seemed to get a moments peace at night anymore. You knew better than to answer his calls, however the majority of the time, he was already waiting outside to be let in. But you just couldn't deny how good the sex was. He's barely doing anything and you're coming undone beneath him every time, his soft lips and wandering hands doing wonders on your body.

But then there were times he called and it wasn't for sex. He'd maybe just lost a game and he needs a pick me up, so he calls you. You talk for hours until he hears you yawning and then he thanks you for calming him down and tells you to get some rest. He also apologises for rambling on and keeping you awake for so long, but you tell him it's fine and you'd rather sit up and talk to him if it meant he was ok. You're always worried about him after a loss, he always blames himself for not doing enough and it hurts you that he feels that way.

Then you invited yourself over to his place one day, and he gladly let you in. You knew he had a game the next day so there was no chance of having sex, but at least you could help him focus on the game. He seemed to be in a good mood—he was making you laugh, you were watching TV together and you, slowly but surely, were falling for him. You were falling for the way his eyes practically disappeared when he laughed, falling for the way he always looked at you like you were the only thing in the room, falling for the way he kissed you softly and gently, falling for the way he felt so comfortable around you all the time.

But it was never exclusive, you knew he didn't want that. You were just there for a hook up and to hang out sometimes. If you didn't stop the whole ordeal, you were afraid you might get too attached and he won't reciprocate those same feelings. So you started ignoring his calls, and when he'd text you and ask what's wrong, you make up lies.

I'm too tired. I'm not feeling great. I've got friends over.

But he knew you better than that. After the third excuse he just invited himself over, making up his own excuse of I just wanted to make sure you were okay. And you knew better than to invite him in. But now he's on your couch, flicking through the channels on your TV, completely making himself at home.

"Why didn't you want to be exclusive with me?"

"Hm?"

Travis turned to face you, eyebrows raised. He clearly hadn't heard you, too focused on the TV and you just sighed.

"Why didn't you want to be exclusive with me?"

"Let's not discuss that.. I don't want to start a fight."

"Was I the only girl you were seeing?"

"Don't.."

"I want you to be honest with me."

He sighed, switching off the TV and getting up, walking to the kitchen. He opened your fridge and grabbed a water bottle, taking a sip before coming back to the couch. But he didn't say anything, just sat there in silence before he took his phone out and started scrolling through it.

"Travis.."

"I'm just.. I don't know."

"Is it me? Is it something I've done?"

"No."

You just sighed, getting up and going to your bedroom, slamming the door behind you and flopping onto your bed, crying into your pillow. He's like a completely different person now, compared to the person he was last week, laughing with you on the phone and being so sweet and kind to you. You're just waiting and hoping he knocks on your door, apologises and sweeps you off your feet again, like a knight in shining armour. But you're pretty sure he couldn't care less, and honestly, you're not even sure why he invited himself over in the first place. If he was worried about you, he could've called. You don't know why he was so adamant about being here with you, but not actually being with you.

After one of his games, he gave you an old jersey and you still kept it under your pillow, claiming it helped you sleep better. You reached under and grabbed it, bunching it up and cuddling it. Maybe if you hadn't tried to push him away, he might still be the nice Travis you knew two weeks ago. You kept blaming yourself, putting yourself at fault for everything between you and him, until a knock at your door startled you. You wiped your eyes, getting up and opening it.

"You okay? I was gonna check on you when you slammed the door but.. thought I'd give you some space."

"I'm fine, you can go home if you want."

"That movie you like is on, wanna watch it?"

"Just.. go home."

"I can't go home, not when you're like this."

"I said I'm fine."

"You're not."

He's being pushy but he needs to be, he needs to get you to admit that you're not okay. He knows you better than yourself sometimes and you just roll your eyes, pushing past him to sit on the couch, watching the movie starting. He threw his head back and sighed, but just as he tilted his head back and went to turn and follow you, he noticed the jersey. He remembers giving it to you, smiling when you immediately put it on and twirled round in it. Truthfully, although he won't admit it, that was the first moment he fell in love with you.

He walks into your room, grabbing the jersey before going back to sit with you on the couch. He just throws it down on the middle section of the couch, before sitting down and turning to look at you.

"You keep it on your bed?"

"Under my pillow.."

He just smiled, still watching you until you smiled back at him. He was almost magnetic, pulling you right back into him whenever he could. You let him in so easily and you know you shouldn't.

But then he's pulling you onto his lap, his mouth on your neck, lips soft against your skin. Your hands move up to the back of his neck, fingers scratching gently at the nape of his neck.

"Trav.."

"Shh.. feels good right?"

You just nodded, eyes closing shut.

"Then let it happen.."

As you pulled back slightly, his head tilted, lips moving to the other side of your neck. You felt like you were spinning, feeling all dizzy when he kissed you, ultimately making you forget you were mad at him in the first place. Then you remember he has practice again tomorrow, and it's important.

"We can't do this.. not tonight."

He ignores you at first, kissing along your collarbone and you have to push yourself away from him so he looks up at you.

"Listen to me.. we can't do this.."

"You still mad at me?"

"No, but you have practice again tomorrow."

He just sighs, hands fiddling with the hem of your t-shirt. It then hits you that he probably came here just to have sex, his excuse of making sure you were okay was just a lie. You push off him completely, sliding to sit next to him on the couch. But one of his hands is still on your waist, thumb circling gently on your skin.

"I need you to be genuinely honest with me, okay?"

"Okay.."

"Did you come over here for just a hookup?"

"No. You just.. kept avoiding me and I wanted to make sure you were alright."

You stood up from the couch, starting to pace around the room. Sure, he's cared about you but you just can't seem to figure out why he came over to make sure you were alright. He always just calls you, talking your ear off for hours on end and making you laugh to forget about why you were ever upset in the first place.

"I can't keep just having sex. But you don't want to be exclusive with me."

"You want the truth?"

"Please."

"I think you're so fucking cool. I get so happy when you answer my calls, those conversations we have are the one thing I look forward to on my off days. I push all these feelings down because I'm fucking terrified, my work is hectic and I.. I just don't want you to get overwhelmed by it all."

He had sat up now, head facing the ground after he spoke. You slowly sat down, one of your hands reaching for his.

"I remember giving you that jersey.. the way you got all giddy and excited when you put it on. I.."

You squeezed his hand gently and he turned his head to look at you. Then he sat back and once again, pulled you into his lap.

"Ever since then.. I can't stop thinking about you. It's just.. the travelling for away games, you wouldn't be with me for a few days and—"

"Trav.."

He looked into your eyes, feeling your hands cup his cheeks.

"I can handle a few days without you every so often.."

"Are you sure?"

You just smiled, kissing his forehead.

"I'm sure."

You let go of his face as he pulled you in against him, his forehead resting against the side of your neck. Everything felt so heavy with him before, but you didn't know that it was all on him. You had doubts that if you told him how you felt, that he wouldn't reciprocate those same feelings. There was no way you could've predicted him actually being in love with you. Especially with the sex, but now, as he moved his head back and kissed you softly on your neck, he could be sweet and gentle with you.

He moved his hands to your waist, shuffling forward on the couch before standing up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. Walking you to the bedroom, you dropped your head to his shoulder, tilting your head to kiss the side of his neck. You unwrapped your legs from his waist when you felt the bed dip beneath you as he lay you down. One of his hands fumbled with your shorts as the other bunched your shirt up, his fingers brushing over your nipple, making you gasp slightly.

His head was resting against your stomach, lips leaving lingering kisses all over your skin, and you couldn't help but watch him, eyes closed and savouring every moment with you. He had managed to wiggle your shorts and underwear off, and now his mouth was kissing the inside of your thighs. You were still looking down at him when he flashed his eyes up at you, his mouth hovering over your core. He moved your left leg over his shoulder, while he pushed at the back of your thigh on your right leg, keeping it open. The hand that wasn't holding your leg open, wrapped around your other leg, trying to keep you in place while he buried his head between your legs. He could feel you squirming underneath him and almost anticipated your movements, his head moving in time with you.

You threw your head back when he delved his tongue inside, mouth still attached to your folds. Again, he flashed his eyes up at you, grinning when he saw you slightly arch your back up off the sheets. He licked through your folds a couple more times, before you reached one hand down, pushing against his forehead.

"Trav.. please.. too much.."

But he didn't stop, he just pushed his tongue deeper, licking faster, your whines and moans only egging him on further. But just as he knew you were close, he pulled away, reaching down and wiping his face with the hem of his t-shirt. He then shrugged your leg off his shoulder and stood up in between your legs.

"You close?"

"Mmph.. mmhm.."

You slowly opened your eyes, watching him walk round the bed, before sitting down and patting his thighs. You slowly turned over, crawling up the bed and swinging your leg over his thighs. When his hands found your waist, he smiled up at you, brushing your hair out your face.

"There's my girl.."

You just blushed, lowering yourself down and hiding your face in his neck.

"Does my girl wanna come?"

"Please?"

He reached behind you and pulled at his shorts, dragging them off. He returned his focus to you, realising still how sensitive you already were and started to move his hands up and down your sides, squeezing gently and almost trying to massage you. While his hands were occupied, you lifted yourself onto your knees slightly, reaching down between both your bodies and adjusting yourself onto him, sinking down and sighing into his shoulder when he was fully inside.

"Take it easy, baby.. nice and slow."

You were feeling so overwhelmed that you couldn't move much, rather just grinding against him. His hands on your waist made you move, lifting you off him slightly before pushing you back down. His lips were kissing your neck, softly and sweetly, and you could feel him smiling against your skin.

Since he had basically eaten you out to almost orgasm earlier, it didn't take long before you let go against him, mumbling out that you were close.

"Let go.. I got you.."

You sighed out in relief, legs slightly trembling around him as he shh'd and cooed at you. He gave you a few languid thrusts himself to ride you through it and over it, before you felt him grunt in your ear. He was close and although you were still sensitive and still coming down from your own high, you wanted to help him get to his. Grinding your hips down onto him, he threw his head back against the pillow, eyes screwed shut and his mouth open.

"Unless you want me to come inside you, you better get off my dick.."

You pulled off him and heard him sigh against your neck, dropping his head back to your shoulder. He reached over to the bedside table and grabbed a tissue, cleaning himself up. You then slid off him, laying down on the bed, feeling him drag his shorts back on before laying down behind you, arm wrapping around your waist.

"I hate when we fight.."

"I know, baby.. but if we hadn't had that fight, I wouldn't have realised what a dick I was being and wouldn't have told you how I feel about you. I could've just left when you told me to leave.."

"I'm glad you didn't.."

He just smiled and kissed your shoulder, before nuzzling his forehead against it.

"Now.. you gotta sleep, you have practice tomorrow.. and I don't think Reid will let you turn up late.. again.."

He just laughed, kissing your shoulder again before resting his head into the pillow. You felt his hand play with the hem of your t-shirt for a while before he stopped and you knew he'd drifted off to sleep. You stayed awake for a while after that, unable to think about anything except Travis. Eventually your eyes fluttered closed and you drifted off to sleep, warmed by his arm around your stomach.

#travis kelce #travis kelce fluff #travis kelce smut #travis kelce angst #travis kelce x reader #travis kelce x y/n #travis kelce x you #travis kelce fic #kansas city chiefs #kc chiefs #nfl #nfl fan fic

[spacedace]

Continuation of this post.

Okay, took a bit since I was kinda going through and slightly tidying things up/picking out the bits that had more humor in them since that was more the vibe of the last post and I figured that’s more of what peeps where interested in, but here be the snippets of the awkward post-surprise-wedding dinner between the Waynes and Nightingales!

I actually have more snippets of things that go down before/during/after these snippets if anyone would like to see those. They have things like Duke & Babs breaking into the Nightingale apartment to investigate, some BatPham family fluff, and Talia’s party crashing scene in anyone is interested

*

They really were trying, is the thing.

Tim feels like they should get credit for that, on whatever cosmic score board “meeting the in-laws-who-may-potentially-be-supervillains” is tracked on.

Damian offered the invitation to Elle and her family, Jason even - reluctantly - agreed to it, even if he wasn’t happy about them meeting at the Manor rather than somewhere that qualifies as neutral ground. The Nightingales accepted, a date and time set. It was happening.

Sure, Dr. Jasmine Nightingale - the woman that Jason had been dating for years and was about to have a baby with - was incredibly suspicious and potentially involved in the disappearance of at least three of Gotham’s regular rogues. 

And yeah, it turned out that the guy Dick had been flirting with off and on for years was her - older? Younger? What information they had was conflicting on where Dan fit in the sibling order, which was a thing - brother who kinda-maybe-definitely was running something illegal with his bar in Bludhaven as a cover. 

And yes, Damian had sorta-secretly married his best friend of many years - who likely wasn’t involved in anything shady but who was able to keep up with Damian in a scuffle and that kinda was a reg flag by itself if you thought about it for five seconds - completely without warning while the two had a very long history of not being interested at all in any kind of romantic relationships.

They were trying their best to put these very large, very red flags aside for one night for the sake of Damian and Jason’s insistence that the Nightingales weren’t a massive threat to Gotham at large or their family specifically.

Did Barbara go slightly out of her mind trying to figure out why any research into the family led her running in circles for hours on end, only for her one and only slight hint of a lead to result in her computer oozing a mysterious green substance that no amount of testing had been able to identify? 

Yeah, kinda.

Did Duke admit that he’d known that Elle was some kind of meta of unknown powers since he met her for the first time when she was twelve and didn’t tell anyone because he was pretty sure she didn’t even have any active powers, only to discover a year ago she did when Damian came home suddenly glowing like her and still didn’t say anything because Damian asked him not to? 

Sure.

Did they have a family meeting - minus Damian and Jason - discussing the possibility that the two were under the effects of some kind of mind control and that they were absolutely going to be using the dinner as a means of getting as much information out of the Nightingales as they could without tipping their hand as to their suspicions?

Yes. Without question. One hundred percent.

Were they still also doing their best to make things pleasant on the - extremely to the point of impossibility - small chance that their new in-laws weren’t incredibly dangerous villains but instead very normal civilians with weird luck?

Okay, Tim can admit, that one was up in the air.

Bruce had the security on the manor completely overhauled. They’d stashed weapons and meta-inhibiting cuffs around in case things turned violent. They set up contingency plans to try and prevent any kind of mind control. They’d put the Justice League on standby to have Martian Manhunter and a few others just in case none of their many contingency plans worked. Superman was covering patrol for the night and was going to keep a listening ear on them to call in the cavalry if it was needed.

But they were still at least trying, alright.

For example: Tim was trying very hard to not think about the fact that the years of slowly getting to know Danny - both as Red Robin and as Tim Drake - might have all been some long con on the Nightingales’ part to infiltrate the family even further than they already had. 

That Danny’s bright eyed ramblings about space as they sat on the roof of the guard shack at Gotham Cemetery squinting up past the light pollution to those brightest stars and sipping overly-strong coffee were fake. That the easy days of hanging out at cafes and arcades and museums learning about all of Danny’s little quirks  and sharing his own as his civilian identity could have been an act. That the sass and sarcasm and sweetness that Tim liked so much about his maybe-sorta boyfriend was a carefully calculated facade made just for Tim to fall for.

Tim was trying very hard, thank you very much.

Alfred suggested they all just try to get through dinner first.

Tim’s unsure where Alfred found such a sudden well of near-delusional optimism inside him, but he hopes that it isn’t an effect of Dr. Nightingale secretly brainwashing him too. He’s mostly sure the only Nightingale to ever come over to the Manor had been Elle, and he’s pretty sure Elle isn’t herself involved in whatever shady shit her family is maybe-probably into - kinda pretty sure…The hindsight on the fact that a totally normal girl should not be able to throw down with Dami on the regular without being horribly maimed or outright killed wasn’t doing her any favors. Nor was the surprise marriage.

Point was, Tim was pretty sure that getting through even a single meal in the state things were in was going to be an impossibly high bar to clear.

He was proven right when, five minutes after sitting down at the table, Talia showed up.

—

As far as first impressions go when it comes to meeting your clone/daughter/sister’s new platonic-husband’s family goes, pointing and shouting holy shit is that Hot Dumpster Guy? the moment the front door is opened is probably up there for one of Danny’s worst.

It’s taken a whole 1.2 seconds for Jazz to start facepalming. That’s gotta be a new record. She was going to kill him when they got home for sure. She’d spent the entire week - and the car ride - leading up to tonight talking about having manners and not starting fights and please these people are going to be family you cannot start shit the minute we get there, at least wait for after Elle and Damian’s first anniversary.

In Danny’s defense, it totally is Hot Dumpster Guy that Dan’s been driving them all nuts about with his pining for the past few months. 

It’s not his fault Dan never called him by his actual name. Or that the defining moment of their meeting for the first time was Dan fishing the dude out of the dumpster behind his speakeasy after the guy girlbossed a little too close to the sun while trying to be the Tony Hawk of parkour. And Jason and Damian were in the family chat, they could have mentioned that the guy was their brother at some point after one the many - many - times Dan spammed them pictures of the dude doing acrobat bullshit and wailing about how hot and funny Hot Dumpster Guy was. Hell, Elle could have mentioned it at literally any time and wasn’t she the one that coined the name Hot Dumpster Guy to begin with when this all started?

Based on the delighted grins on Jay and Elle’s faces and the fact that he can feel Damian’s smug amusement echoing out from not that far away inside, the three had been hoping for something like this. Because of course they had, his Grave is nothing but a bunch of chaotic menaces at the end of the day, himself included.

Dan, bright red and utterly mortified, uses his place towering behind Elle as a cover to kick Danny in the ankle as hard as he can without sending him dropping to the ground outright. He can feel his alternate-universe-future-self/son/brother’s rising homicidal rage. Totally worth the mortified look of shock and horror he’s wearing though. It’s what he deserves after all the years of making fun of him over the Red Robin/Tim Drake stuff.

“Hot dumpster guy?” The Hot Dumpster Guy in question sputtered, looking like he didn’t know who to turn his bewildered and betrayed look on first.

Elle makes it easy on him, for the first and most likely last time in his unlife.

“Dan sent us the CCTV camera of your spectacular landing when you guys first met.” She said with a grin that was probably just a touch too sharp to be totally human, shoving her way past him with as much manners as a feral badger - Ancients, they really were fighting an uphill battle trying to convince Damian and Jay’s rich ass family that they were a nice and normal bunch. “I saved the scream you made when the rat crawled down your shirt as my ringtone for you.” She added, waving her phone back at him, and yeah her teeth were definitely too sharp for normal humans, Danny was going to have to try and pull her aside before Hot Dumpster Guy or any of the rest of the family noticed.

“One night, I asked for one night.” Jazz muttered forlornly into her hand. Jay gave her a reassuring pat because he was a good partner and a shit eating grin to Hot Dumpster Guy because he was an equally good asshole little brother.

Yeah, Danny thought as Hot Dumpster Guy floundered his way through trying to introducing himself after that shit show, one night was probably setting the bar a little too high there.

—

Introductions did not get better.

Dick could admit that probably was because Damian and Elle had decided to take it upon themselves to lead the charge on that after the two had all but  physically drug everyone into the most comfortable living room. 

The plan had been for Dick to bring them to one of their more…formal sitting rooms. Namely the one that could with the press of a button turn into a nearly inescapable prison if things got ugly. No windows, one entrance, walls and doors reinforced enough to slow even Supes down in smashing through. The works. Damian had either sussed out what his family was up to and was circumventing it, or Elle - as part of the house as the rest of them after all these years - had simply not even considered that the Wayne family would bring them anywhere else. Dick hoped desperately that it was the latter.

Then they started introducing everyone to each other.

“That’s my latest blorbo.”

“This is Nightingale.”

“That’s some scunkly guy.”

“And this is Nightingale.”

“Over there is the world’s worst pathetic meow meow.”

“On Nightingale’s other side is Nightingale.”

“Those two over there are Failed Tumblr Sexyman and Spider Georg.”

“You know Todd.”

If it wasn’t for the fact that Babs found and confirmed their signed and certified marriage certificate, he’d suspect the two of making the whole thing up just as an excuse to cause maximum amount of chaos for their respective families.

“Hey, Hot Dumpster Guy, where's everyone else?” 

Actually, nevermind, Dick doesn’t put it past them to have actually gotten married to sell the bit.

—

When Bruce had asked him for help with his meeting the in-laws/sting operation, Clark had been expecting - based on the situation as explained to him - that he would be listening in on the kind of cat and mouse verbal chess games that so often occurred when Batman was facing off against subtler foes. To be waiting for any sign - however subtle - that backup was needed, tense and on edge all night as he swept up as much crime as he could while the Bats and Birds were busy.

He had not expected to be listening to the single most awkward small talk he’s ever heard in his life. The second hand embarrassment of it all felt as devastating as any kryptonite he’d ever encountered.

Similarly unexpected had been the sudden turn the moment Duke and Barbara - late by virtue of snooping through the Nightingales’ respective homes for evidence, a venture that had really just made everyone involved feel uncomfortable from what Clark could hear  - had arrived. It seemed that the presence of all the Bat’s brood had been required for the trap that was set off the moment the two joined the group.

The utter devastation laid down upon both Nightingales and Waynes by the newlyweds as they unleashed utter chaos on their new shared families in the form of what must have been years of carefully curated blackmail. There was a slideshow. And a movie. And so many embarrassing stories about all of them. 

Clark may have started texting Diana the second Elle and Damian Wayne al Ghul Nightingale - they had decided to just…keep all their combined last names, apparently rather than choose just one - made it clear what they had planned for the pre-dinner entertainment for the night.

There may have also been plans to get the Wayne al Ghul Nightingales to share their beautiful collection with Damian’s dear Uncle Clark.

*

Tag time: @screamingtofillthevoid @stargirl1331 @mnemovoid @malice-of-the-sunrise @bathildaburp @autumnwulf @revnantdpxdclover @coruscateselene @writer-extraodinaire @idfk-man10 @fluffen-spooky @frostedthroughghost @akikkobara @unadulteratedsoulsweets @phoenixdemonqueen @overlycaffeinatedsuperwholockfan @gin2212 @emotional-otter @lexdamo @dixiwoods @wildbacon @ashleysmshly @that-random-fangirl @satanicrutialspecialist @lazy-bouqet @treepainting

I think that’s everyone haha, hope you guys enjoy!

#dc x dp #dp x dc #danny phantom #batman #superman #wonder woman #danny fenton #jazz fenton #danielle fenton #dani fenton #dan fenton #tim drake #dick grayson #damian wayne #jason todd #batfam #batpham #gotham's favorite psychiatrist Jazz AU #anger management #brain dead #dick grayson/dan fenton #queer platonic damian and danielle #aro/ace damian wayne #aro/ace danielle fenton #Damian & Elle have been working on that slide show since they were 13 it's their magnum opus #Bruce spent the entire time in such regret that he asked Clark to listen in for the entire night he KNOWS the little shit told Diana #Jazz and Alfred immediately recognize each other as fellow holder of the single brain cell in their respective families and bond immediately #it doesn't help Tim's paranoia that Alfred has also been brainwashed #Talia adores Elle and was more than happy to join the family dinner when invited #BatFam is CONCERNED about how and when they met and what Elle did that impressed Talia so much

[jinxificada]

something to relax …

dealer!jinx x fem!reader

summary: you deserve a rest, so you turn to the infamous jinx for help.

tags: modern au, porn w plot, both jinx and reader are +18, mentions of drugs and alcohol usage, cunnilingus/oral sex (j!receiving), hair pulling, squirting, fingering (both!receiving), public sex (not really), risky sex, prep school and wealthy kids need their own warning, ooc jinx?

notes: nsfw, mdni (both men and minors), wc 4039 !! long intro.., not a native! i like observations but be kind, i know shit about dealing drugs so it might be inaccurate 😭, not 100% sure if im satisfied w this but idk i hope you enjoy!!!

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

"i'm telling you, you're insanely overworking yourself. i don't even understand where'd you get all the time to do everything you do." your friend scolds you jokingly, though you can tell she's honestly worried for you.

"nonsense." you roll your eyes in denial, "i'm alright, we take the same classes."

"i'm not in any club doing extracurricular stuff, nor am i tutoring any dumb kid." she discusses, walking with you through the crowded hallway towards your next class.

"well i don't really have a choice, it's for the-"

"the scholarship, i know." she sighs, finally arriving. "just... please take a moment to relax."

you both take your seats almost in the middle of the classroom, by the windows. she always sat in front of you, so she would turn around and chat whenever she wanted without you being able to ignore her.

"what about we go to that party on saturday?" she proposes and you already bite your lip with an hesitant expression, "please! we don't have to stay the whole time, just an hour or two."

"i don't know... i don't have a car and it’ll be too late to take the bus." you poorly excuse, not wanting to fully reject her.

"i can drive you! or you can just stay at mine." she happily resolves and you just nod with a sigh.

it's not that you didn't like hanging out with your friend, nor she's always so insistent. she usually is very understanding and gives you space. but the exams were getting close and you needed to higher your grades in a couple of classes, so you've been paying extra attention in classes, speaking with a couple of teachers on how to improve your grades and busying yourself with the usual assignments, the extra assignments, and tutoring this one kid below your year for some extra money.

unlike most of the students here, your family isn't able to properly pay for your education. you've done your previous years in the public school your small town, your teachers were so amazed with your capabilities that they recommended your parents to send you somewhere... better. they all collaborated on writing a recommendation letter for your acceptance. and you got the full scholarship! congrats, now you have to work harder than your classmates in order to keep it.

it wasn't fair, and your friend knew it. she felt so bad that she couldn't help you with money or your studies, but she can help you to ease your mind a bit.

so, you could only frown while making a mental list of all the valuable things you could be doing instead of this, standing in a big kitchen full of intoxicated teenagers. your friend was trying to talk with you while mixing alcohol in disposable cups for each one of you.

"and tomy was sticking his tongue inside of mary's mouth in front of her father, ew! you should've seen their faces when they realized, her father was burning red, i don't know if from embarrasment or anger." she rambled with a loud laugh.

you chuckle, mostly because her laugh was contagious. "who was tomy, again?"

"shh, he's coming." she suddenly leans in to whisper before pulling back wearing her social smile, "tomyy!"

a rather scrawny tall boy comes from behind you saying your friend's name in the same way, "fancy seeing you here!" ah, he had a high pitched voice.

"i didn't want you to miss me!" she quickly jokes, "nice party!"

"i'm guessing you're having a good time." he chuckles. at this point he's set himself right next to you and still hadn't acknoledge you. "have you already found jinx?" he asks curiously with a supposedly mischeavous smile.

"damn, she's here already?"

"yeah, just bought from her in the second garden."

'what the hell is a second garden?' you thought with a weirded out glance.

they chat a bit more and you think you know the kitchen from memory after rolling your eyes around as they talked. the boy soon moves to another guest and your friend turns back to you.

"the funniest thing is that they were sent to the principal's office was for sucking their faces off in the middle of class." she continues the conversation she was having with you as if you've never been interrupted, it was a talent of hers.

'is this what she thinks of a relaxing night...?' you mentally complained. you had your friend talk you ear off 5 days a week, but that didn't seem enough for her. at some point you muted her voice from your head and only listened to the loud pop music and different people talking over each other. your eyes were fixed on the next room through the kitchen's door, the flashing lights barely illuminated the crowd. blondes, brunettes and redheads, they all stay in the background when a blue head pushes through them to your way.

you physically react with a quiet sigh when you can see her face. a pretty girl, with the softest features you've ever seen, decorated with a messy dark makeup and intense eyes. curious to see how her full style looked like your gaze lowers on her body, she was wearing a white laced corset gripping her chest for life and low wasted black denim shorts, along with the biggest boots you've ever seen.

the girl who caught your eye walked into the room with loud, confident steps. people quickle recognized her, some greeted, some lowered their eyes to the floor. she only smiled briefly before grabbing two closed bottles of vodka like she owned the place and left.

"who was that?" you breath out, realizing you've been holding it the whole time.

"jinx," your friend shrugged, "local dealer, mental problems and rich daddy." she summarized, fixing her lipstick and soon changing the topic.

the night ended up being a boomer. your friend got a stoner to share his blunt with you both and that, mixed with the alcohol you had been drinking since the night started, made you both pretty tired and sleepy. luckily, your friend's house was about two streets down from the party, allowing you to arrive sound and safe while intoxicated.

you couldn't deny that you slept like a baby.

but the week started again a day after, along with your responsabilities. and it seemed that it's gonna be a shitty one.

for your extracurricular activity, you had the job to take decent pictures for the school's paper. they were all rejected by the president in charge. you scored a negative B in a practically easy test because you were too distracted noticing that the so named jinx was in the same class as you. 'she looks very pretty in the dark blue uniform.' was your constant thought. and the cherry on top, you didn't have your extra money of the week because the parents of your student were late with the payment.

they were showered in wealth, why won't they give you your 50 dollars? now they’ll have to pay $100 next week.

but for now… you had to survive with the remaining money you had left for the rest of the week. and it was only monday.

you thought you could handle this particularly difficult week, but all this tension build up only to blow up on your face. and the face of the teacher who was telling you why you had to rewrite the essay you just submitted.

you were use to cry over stress, you thought it was a healthy way of letting it out. just not in the public eye.

tears and sobs were comming out of you as you walked down the halls, feeling like millions of eyes were judging you. how embarrasing, right? but that was only your mind playing you, the only person who looked at you twice was tomy who recognized you but couldn't recall from where.

it was friday and the classes already ended, the club was about to start in ten minutes but you were debating whether test your luck and see if it can all get shittier or just call it a day and go home.

but a loud yell of your name from behind you interrupted this final decision, your friend throted her way up to you and worriedly wiped your tears.

"are you okay? what happened?"

"i'm fucked up! i'm gonna fail all my exams and get kicked out from this stupid school!" you dramatically cried in the comfort of your friend's arms. you knew she was fighting demons to not roll her eyes and say 'i told you'.

she listened to your whines for a couple more minutes until she had an idea.

"okay stop, shush." you frowned but stayed quiet anyways, "listen, i know jinx stays in club hours to sell, she must be in that shitty bathroom from the second floor. why don't you go buy some weed and relax this weekend?"

your frown deepened and even a light blush appeared on your wet cheeks, "uhm, i don't know... why don't you just stay at my house to hangout, please?"

"oh hun, i would love to but my parents are taking me to visit my grandma." who lived far far away, you nodded. "just, try what i'm telling you, okay?"

"okay..." you hesitantly say, your friend seemed in a rush because just when you were about to ask her how much it would probably cost and how many grams you should buy, she pecked both of your cheeks in goodbye and left you standing in an almost empty hallway.

you were on your own now, hoping the 15 dollars you had left from this long week would be enough, but you doubted it.

you hesitantly pushed the door of the supposedly shitty bathroom (it didn't have a mirror, nor the renovated cubicle doors the other's had, though it was perfectly functional). welcomed by the sight of jinx sitting on top of the counter sink, ciggarette in hand and an amused smile on her face while she talked with another girl.

they quickly shut up at your presence. you purse your lips awkwardly at them, you were about to greet them when this other girl just scoffed as if you ruined something and leaned to whisper in the bluehaired's ear. jinx only chuckled in what you thought was a very flirty manner and the girl left, leaving you alone with her.

it was a good moment to say something, jinx was looking at you expectantly but you were too busy checking her out.

the school uniform itself is rather conservative, but it was usual for students to fix it to their liking as long as it isn't too inappropiate. jinx seemed to be an exception, because you didn't know how was she allowed to move around with the skirt so short. you weren't complaining, not at all. with the way she crossed her legs you could easily appreciate her pale legs, noticing a few marks and bruises which fed your curiosity.

she cleared her throat, "so? you came all the way here to stare at me?"

"no- no, sorry." you quickly apologized and presented yourself, taking a few steps closer, your voices echoing in the bathroom,

"right… what can i offer you?"

though her words were friendly enough, her tone was playful and given that you had a breakdown just minutes ago, you couldn't help but feel like she was mocking you. she probably was.

"i, uh, i was wondering what's your cheapest relaxing item?" you hesitantly ask, seeing the corner of her lips rising the slightest bit in a smirk.

"are you familiar with drugs?"

"no... not really."

"then i have the perfect discount for you!" jinx smiles brightly and you get even more closer, interested. "weed is ideal for begginers, and i can give you 15g for 100 bucks, whatcha say?"

"oh." you instantly gloom. "and... h-how much for 2 or 3g?"

"3 grams? you can barely make a blunt with that." she mocks raising an eyebrow, studying you for a second before smirking again. it was hard to read her, but you could sense she had something in mind as it seemed rather mischeavous. "for 3g... 20 bucks."

you sighed, looking away in embarrasment. you heard that her prices were high, but this... what did she need so much money for, anyways?

"okay, um... i don't have enough money with me right now. thank you." you sheepeshly said, ready to turn around and go back home to keep crying.

"wait!" she suddenly says, decrossing her legs to shift in her spot, "don't give up so easily... we can arrange something..."

"arrange...?" you repeated, confused. jinx motioned with her fingers to approach her and you did, mantaining a respectable distance before she could reach your arm and pull you even closer, caresing the lenght of it along with your hand. you were stunned, feeling your ears and chest warm up. "how come?" you murmured, trying to grasp on the situation.

"i'm feelin' nice..." she hummed, "i can give you 5g... if you give me head."

"e-excuse me?" that was your first reaction, pulling the hand she was holding away and to your chest, "what...? are you serious?"

"oh don't be such a prude!" she chuckles, giving you a knowing look, "d'ya think i'm dumb? i've seen you staring, i know you want me."

her bluntness made you blush, damn, her mere presence made you blush. she was exposing you while offering her body in change of some weed. you've never been in this kind of situation before, your mouth opening and closing as you tried to think of something to say.

she kept distracting you though, with that pretty smirk of hers. since you didn't instantly ran away, jinx knew her guess was correct. reaching for your hand again and rounding your hips with her long legs to pull you closer, till your body hit the counter she was sitting on.

"i know you want me." she repeated in a low tone, "and i know you need it, toots." you unconsciously lean into her touch as she caress your cheek, right where the dried tears rested on.

"i don't want to t-take advantage of you..." you dumbly say, jinx almost pouted at how adorable you were. you thought it was you who was taking advantage of this?

"you're not, silly!" she giggled raspily, "this is business."

"i'm- i don't.... i'm not sure..." you rambled, and before you could make a point -if you were ever going to make it-, jinx pulled you into her for a kiss. a hungry, intense kiss.

and you instantly melted, your hands traveled to hug her waist as you reciprocated. she tasted like that ciggarette she was smoking a moment ago, mixed with the flavour of some candy.

you thought it was hot.

her body shifted closer, sitting by the edge of the counter to easily push her hips into you. the heated make-out was interrupted by her own heavy breaths.

"see, toots?" she rasped, "you can do it."

"okay." you hummed, leaning in to kiss her again. it was ridiculous really, how easily you gave in. specially after she dodged your attempt with an evil smirk.

"uh-uh." she pushed you by the shoulders, "i asked you to eat me out."

you almost scoffed in complain, before realizing that maybe… this was even better.

"but i have a condition." jinx called for your attention with an amused chuckle. "you have to make me squirt."

"fuck." you sighed, "really...? are you-?"

"i know i can, yeah." she nods, spreading her legs for you, "but it won't be easy..."

you certainly wouldn't mind trying, you weren't exactly up close to her pussy and you could already feel the smell of her arousal, inviting you to taste her. jinx lifted up her skirt to expose her lingerie, a furious pink with a wet spot on her center that watered your mouth.

soon enough you were kneeling down, it was a bit uncomfortable given the height of the sink. hesitantly, you licked your lips and looked up at her, in search of confirmation. in response, jinx flashed you a playful smile, leaning back to rest her weight on her hands.

satisfied, you concentrated on her pussy, carefully pressing down your thumb as if testing the waters. her hips twitched at the contact, moving towards your hand. you let out a hum, 'sensitive?'. experimentally, you sticked your tongue out to lap over her underwear, the wet spot growing as it mixed with your saliva. you were contently taking things slow, against jinx own desires.

she aggresively gripped your hair to push your head into her pussy, "don't tease me, nerd." she husked.

and you couldn't bring yourself to mind, rushing to move her panties to the side to finally taste her. you wanted to impress her, you wanted her to like you, and give her the best head she'd ever have. your lips hugged her clit, quickly working on her pussy, sucking and lapping. you were rewarded with quiet sighs and trembling legs, occasionally a moan. but it seemed that jinx was trying not to crumble, silencing her sounds by pressing her lips together, though it barely did the job. you didn't mind, not when you were making out with her pussy so fervently.

your hands gripped her plushy thighs as you put them on your shoulders, helping her to stay still. her hips twitched towards you every now and then, when you would suck particularly hard on her throbbing clit. and you? you were having the time of your life.

as busy as you always were, it’s been quite long since you had some fun like this.

jinx looked down at you with furrowed eyebrows and flushed cheeks, meowing softly as she felt herself coming undone at your enthusiastic work on her pussy. her hand pulled at your hair and you opened your eyes to meet hers, but her head was thrown back in pleasure. you didn’t stop, instead you moved your hand to furiously rub her center until she looked at you again, biting her lower lip to muffle her moan. she came against your mouth, rocking her hips lazily against you.

you licked her clean a few times before realizing you didn't accomplished your task, she didn't squirt.

"well well, toots," she said accompanied with a breathless and amused chuckle, "i told you it would be- mhm!" her mocking words were interrupted by your actions, you decided that you'll just try harder.

you went back at it, this time focusing more on her unattended hole. when your tongue explored a little more inside, your nose hit her clit sending shivers through her back as she arched. her initial surprise was overpowered with pleasure, she didn't care anymore about not showing how much she was enjoying herself.

after the previous stimulation, this time she reached her limit much quicker. you really wanted to make her squirt, so you put all your effort on your fingers, which you carefully put inside her. jinx cursed above you, letting you do whatever you wanted with your body as everything felt just so good for her.

and the reward came along her relief, her cum fell all over your lower face, though you shamelessly tried to drink all you could.

"mkay, stop-" jinx whined lowly as you kept your mouth attached to her pussy, against her own words her legs squeezed your head tightly.

you pulled back a few seconds later, wiping your chin with the back of your hand only to smudge all her fluids to your cheek, making her giggle. she motioned at you to get closer, opening the flush of water on the sink by her side.

"thanks." you smiled quietly as she cleaned your face with water, "your thighs..." you pointed out at the wet mess on her inner thighs.

"i know."

jinx took a deep breath before making an effort to get down the counter, barely struggling to make her way inside a cubicle. you shyly stayed put, fixing your hair looking to anywhere else to give her some privacy as she cleaned herself up.

"i didn't know you were that stubborn." the bluehaired girl mocked you, suddenly she was by your side again. this time cornering you.

"you- you asked me to do it."

"yeah..."

there was something so mesmerizing in her blushed cheeks, her darkened blue eyes. your breath got caught in your throat when you felt her slim fingers sneaking under your skirt uniform to playfully pull on the edge of your underwear.

you only looked at her with little hesitance before you tried to lean in and kiss her. she dodge your attempt for the second time, not letting you time to react when she forcefully turned you around, pushing her chest on your back.

"i can give you the 15g, if you let me play a little bit." she whispered against your ear, nibbling at the earring you were wearing, "hmm? will ya let me?"

"yeah," you quickly agreed with a pleading voice, hitching up your own skirt and resting your hand on top of hers while pushing your hips, your movements were hurried and desperate, there was a pulsing desiring waiting to be attended. jinx was overly amused, rubbing your center over your underwear. "yes..." you sighed, throwing your head back to her side, leaving you neck exposed for her to keep her lips busy with.

breathless moans left your mouth, relaxing your body against her touch when loud steps startled you. it was impossible for you to ignore them because there was a chance that someone could caught you both. though jinx didn't seem to care, mindlessly biting your skin.

"did you hear that?" you mumbled, your body tensed in anticipation.

"yeah," she giggled in response, capturing your attention by getting her hands under you panties which got a squeak sound out of you. "imagine if they find us here."

"not funny-" you grumbled, unable to push her away but your eyes fixed on the closed door.

"c'mon baby, must be the janitor. he's not allowed to come here." she reassured, her other hand moving your head to her, kissing your lips messily.

you gave in, sighing into her as she pump her fingers in and out of you. you already felt so stimulated that a few minutes later you were already cumming on her hand. she doesn't stops till you ride out of your high.

jinx loudly pecks your cheek, pulling her fingers out and up to her mouth, sucking off your cum.

"god." your voice trembled at the sight.

she only smirked at you, walking to her bag which was laying on the floor. your eyes were closed while you fixed yourself again, anxious to get home and change your dirty underwear as you can uncomfortably feel the stickness.

when you opened them, jinx left on the counter a small ziploc bag.

"a deal is a deal." she shrugs, "enjoy."

you slowly reached to the bag, a bit conflicted by how the situation was ending.

“i- i’m not even sure i needed it now.”

jinx raised her eyebrows at your murmur, you came to her with those desperate and anxious eyes, only for you to not accept it?

but she knew better, with her signature mischievous smirk she approached you once again, puts the bag in your hands and let her fingers linger a bit more on top of them.

“how about this? take ‘em home, use it tonight and touch yourself thinking ‘bout me.”

your eyes open slightly, and you blush like you didn’t just fuck her a couple of minutes ago. either she always caught you out of guard, or you’re simply not used to being… so vulgar.

“so? will you do that f’me?” she stares at you expectantly with those big blue eyes, amused by your reactions.

“y-yeah, yes i’ll do it.”

“cute.” she sighs, leaning to peck your cheek once again before going to grab her bag and walk towards the exit. “i want proof! text me later!” she chuckles loudly by the door and just as loudly smacks it closed.

#arcane #jinx arcane #jinx x reader #jinx #jinx x reader smut #jinx x fem!reader #jinx smut #lesbian #jinx arcane smut #jinx lol #arcane jinx #jinx fanfic #jinx x you #jinx x y/n

[snippychicke]

So kuro IDEAS..

How do you feel about like...enemies to lovers? Like so if Kuro has like a weird relationship with one of the staff of the mansion? Kind of one upping each other to care for Kaya.

Heh, I was working on this… and then my beta reader/friend pointed out it was more hate!sex vibes than enemies to lovers. So while I will be posting that in the future… It also meant I ended up restarting this, which is why it took so long. 

You and Klahadore were rivals, though not in the common sense. 

You had been taking care of Miss Kaya since she was just learning to walk. First as more of a babysitter/playmate when you were a young teen, and then as her personal maid as you both grew.

So when Klahadore had somehow assumed command of the household staff and was obviously trying to garner the new lady of the house’s favor, you were less than thrilled. 

Kaya was your charge. You didn’t care for the rest of the manor, or anything like that. But he was not about to usurp your position. 

So your rivalry was for taking care of the teen after the death of her parents. Though Klahadore was more the strict parental figure that had a soft spot whenever Kaya gave him a pleading look (Such as when he discovered Usopp visiting). Whereas you were more the big sister, happily conspiring with her in various plans. 

If she wanted some fish instead of the ‘medicinal soup’ that seemed to become the mainstay of her diet, you’d sneak down to the village and buy something freshly fried and bring it to her. If she wanted to travel into the village--which Klahadore was very much against due to the unseen dangers-- you and Usopp would find a way to keep the butler distracted for at least a few hours. 

Well, you kept Klahadore busy while Usopp escorted her into town. And keeping him distracted but not suspicious was a trial in itself. At first it was difficult, and Klahadore caught on more than a few times--whether it was for when the two teens were sneaking out, or if Usopp was merely visiting-- and was never happy. His protective streak fueled his irritation, and more often than not it ended up with you  

But then you started to actually learn about Klahadore, and then your ‘mission’ became easier…and also more enjoyable. A very weak question of ‘what’s your favorite animal’ revealed he was fond of cats, which had been the crack in the mystery of Klahadore. 

Because you loved cats. And convincing Kaya to request a few cats to ‘keep the vermin away’ was an easy task, meaning soon there were a few felines wandering the manor and the sprawling estate. You even caught Shem and Buchi playing a few times with the new ‘recruits’, making you smile. 

Discussions about the latest antics of the manor’s newest residents led to talking about other things with the butler. You found out he did enjoy a glass of wine once in a while but despised drunkards, he had been to several different islands around the East Blue before washing up on the shore of the Gecko Islands. He insisted he was neutral when it came to the Marines and the World Government, but you didn’t miss the slight sneer of disgust when news of them were splayed in the newspaper.  

Then there were the things you learned without really talking. He was constantly on high alert. There was no  chance of trying to sneak up on this man. He was also rather suspicious, verging on paranoid. There had been a lot of odd looks when you had first begun…and hence how often he figured out you were trying to distract him purposefully. Add the fact Klahadore was rather sharp-minded, and you had a feeling he was well aware what you were up to, but was instead amusing you along with Kaya. Maybe because he was as soft on the girl as you suspected… 

Or maybe he enjoyed spending time with you, just as you were. 

The realization hit you when he sought you out for once. You had been ironing some of Kaya’s favorite outfits when you felt a faint tap on your shoulder, making you jump. There was a sly smile on Klahadore’s face when you turned around, causing you to narrow your eyes and wave the iron threateningly towards him. “Are you trying to get burnt?”

His smile never wavered as he gently took the iron from your hand and set it down. “I’m finding that risk isn’t as great as I once thought,” he answered, which made little sense to you, but that was pushed out of your mind when he took your arm in his and pulled you away from the ironing board. “I found something I believe you should enjoy.” 

You were really confused as he led you down to the cellars, where the vast amount of Kaya’s parent’s wine collection sat (mostly) untouched. Back in the darker corner, you heard soft little mews before Klahadore pulled back one of the heavy curtains that hid the open window in the stone wall. Laying in a nest of scraps of fabrics you recall had gone missing over the last few weeks was one of cats with a litter of multicolored kittens. 

“Oh my god!” you whispered as you pressed closer to Klahadore (completely as a way to keep you from picking up the newborns. No other reason.) “Babies! I thought she was looking like she was about ready to pop.” 

“I stumbled upon them just this morning,” he explained softly, kneeling down and pulling you down with him. “I assume she gave birth sometime through the night.”

“We should set out some fresh water down here for her, and food. Oh! And I’m sure there’s some old towels that would keep them warmer than those scraps. I wonder…” you trailed off, happening to glance at the man beside you. Those dark eyes were focused on you again, full of warmth and amusement as he smiled softly. Something about his expression made your heart flutter and your face warm in contrast to the cool air of the wine cellar. “What?” 

“Your compassion never ceases to surprise me,” he admitted, which did little to help your blush. “It’s… endearing.” 

“I recall someone not too long ago called me a bleeding hearted fool for assisting Kaya to sneak down to the fireworks festival.” 

Something shifted in his dark eyes as he looked back to the kittens. “I admit, I am prone to being overprotective of the girl. And I don’t take others sneaking around my back very well. But in hindsight, I’m aware you only have Miss Kaya’s wellbeing in mind when you allow such things to occur.”  

You bit your lip before sighing. “I’m sorry, Klahadore. I really don’t like it either, but I just can’t seem to say no to her. But, on the plus side, I got to know you better. And I’ve really enjoyed that.” 

His free hand reached up to touch your hand that was still wrapped around his arm.  “I have as well. Which is why I was wondering if perhaps you had any plans this weekend. I overheard that Miss Kaya and Usopp have plans in town, and was hoping maybe we could have an evening to ourselves.” 

Your blush returned in full force and your heart traveled to your throat. Was it your imagination running away? Or was he intending to have that sound rather romantic? Especially with his fingers still gently caressing your knuckles. “I-I think I could clear my schedule. For you.” God, why did you have to say it like that?!

The internal-criticism fell silent as he looked back to you, his smile widening. “Then it’s a date.”

#kuro x reader #one piece kuro #captain kuro #kuro headcanons #kuro #one piece klahadore #klahador x reader #klahadore x reader #klahadore one piece #klahadore #one

[the-archetype-of-civilization]

More little things I noticed in my third rewatch of ATSV.

-SPOILERS AHEAD-

There was a moment that confused me where Spot was robbing the guy of the ATM and he was setting down some cans for (seemingly) no reason. He was actually placing the ATM on top of the cans so he can roll it out.

I can't confirm if this is what was actually there, but when Uncle Aaron was telling Miles they "gotta roll," there was an acrylic stand of Spider-Man there that looked like Miles Morales Spider-Man (color and all).

When Miles was swinging through 42 NYC, there was an advertisement for "Vulture" something, I'm assuming a company. Messed up.

When Miguel first introduces himself by ramming into Vulture, Gwen gets to the spot and does this really slick landing animation where she kinda just gracefully brushes against the bannister briefly before landing on the ground.

42 Rio being given more hours at the hospital shows just how bad 42 New York has gotten without a Spider-Man. Terrifying.

I think I may have pointed this out on a previous post, but 1610 Uncle Aaron had a lucky black cat while 42 Uncle Aaron had a lucky white cat instead. I also like the parallels of Peter being tied up against a punching bag by Miles in ITSV while Miles is tied up by Uncle Aaron in ATSV.

I find it hilarious that Miles STILL doesn't know about ComicCon and didn't bother to look it up since ITSV when 42 Rio brings up "ComicsCon."

When Hobie is blocking off Miles from walking through to Miguel and Miles bumps into him, there's a tiny skull that appears when they make contact. It might just be a punk thing, but I wonder if it's an omen for the bad thing that's ahead of Miles.

Lego Spider-Man's vocalized "boop boop"s killed me.

I love the reveal when Miles realizes he's in the wrong universe, the camera pulls into his face and twists slightly. Obvious but nonetheless cool film styling of "his world is spinning" aside, I love that it feels like a 40's/50's kind of thing. Like this is something that you would see in The Twilight Zone, it nails the old comic book-y vibes too.

42 Miles' facial posture has his head up high and his chin slightly jutting out and up, like he's this "in-charge," cold, dignified superior while our Miles has his chin straight, sometimes pointed down and his head straight, showing he's trying to appeal to his humanity and trying to be humble and unassuming. It's awesome details like this that I love.

Hearing Spot say that he couldn't get a job because of what happened to him at that deli really hurts, honestly. Even if, in a way, he himself is partially to blame, it sucks that he has to resort to this. And the way he says it, almost in a "well, I can't do anything else so this is the only thing I can do ¯\_(ツ)_/¯" kind of way is really saddening, like he's trying to take it in stride and as a matter of fact. As awful as Spot becomes, I still feel bad for him.

Miles has a "#BLM" pin on his backpack. I'm sure people saw it already and it's probably a given, but in a world where media is trying to appeal to as wide of an audience as possible, it's nice to see the studio make a clear stance with a character that absolutely fits the bill.

That title drop for Earth 42 when Uncle Aaron tries to dab up Miles going into slow-mo with the music subdued was dope as fuck.

Miles throwing his arms up when asking when his dad dies ("When does it happen?!") is so on-point and well animated, it feels like something every New Yorker would do (I would personally know, since I am one).

When Gwen asks Jess if she ever made mistakes, Jess' reply, saying "yeah, but I got over it," is pretty toxic. It feeds into Gwen's need to avoid her problems rather than address them and face them, and I think that's why she probably chooses to avoid discussing things about Miles to him directly.

That look of disgust on Miles' face when he's being surrounded by Spider-People ("What is this? Some kind of intervention or something?") was so real.

The long silence between Miles choosing to go into the portal to follow Gwen is so good, I love when the movie speaks for itself rather than the dialogue. You can see the hesitation in Miles' eyes and face and then his determination as he jumps headfirst into the portal. A great character scene and fitting transition into the next act.

The album cover for the soundtrack is so good and comes from the scene where Miles goes into the portal. It feels like a mix of something from a Golden Age comic book cover, Miles' hand opened out towards the camera like he's being thrust into another world. And the colors of the portal and transition to Mumbattan are gorgeous. Fills the 40's/50's vibes I was talking about earlier, too.

Jeff's toast is really well done and I like how heartfelt and real it feels. Makes his anger, unfortunately, justified on Miles, even if Miles was trying to do the right thing for him and Rio in the end.

"I was just cool the whole time" is such a boss line, I love Hobie.

Miguel casually (almost lazily) swinging around rescuing civilians at the Guggenheim whilst talking to Gwen about a serious conversation is unironically cool. And it fits to his character, he's probably done it so many times that it becomes child's play in the end.

"I ain't got Scooby-Doo, mate."

How does Hobie know that Miles should use his palms for those powers? Curious.

"But now...I'm not afraid of anything." I love Miles so much, he's grown and become so strong not just for himself but for others. He's the best Spidey. Full stop.

I love the reversal of reflections for Gwen. At the beginning of the movie, she's in her casual wear but with the reflections always showing her in her Spider outfit. At the end, she comes home in her Spider outfit but with herself in her casual wear in the reflection instead. She started off alone in the world as Spider-Woman and ended feeling like Gwen. Her arc was completed and she's facing herself, the real Gwen Stacy and not Spider-Woman.

I felt bad that the deli clerk got bonked by the bat :( But, at least he's all right.

Miles saying "Don't do that" to the kid licking the subway window is real. That shit is nasty, the windows are the least clean parts of NYC's subway.

I love that both Gwen and Miles use comically deep voices around their respective dads. It's cute.

When the police officer was saying "I think we found our sign" when Gwen webbed them up, George's silent head turn with unamusement was awesome.

I will not have anymore George Stacy slander. Yeah, he made a bad call in seemingly arresting his daughter, but he QUIT his job for her. He loves her that much that he quit being, not just a police officer, but a CAPTAIN, for HER sake.

Speaking of which, when George had his gun pointed at her before she unmasked, he had his gun down the whole time after she unmasked, even while he was re-relaying her her rights. And when she tries to approach him, his gun flinches up a bit but stops.

"Can you go easy on the penguin?"

This is actually a follow-up post, since I said before that I might make another. This movie is too much for me and I love taking it apart.

Edit: I'm sorry for the constant updates and changes/revisions, but I can't stop thinking about this movie.

#spider verse #spider man #across the spiderverse #spider man atsv #spider man across the spiderverse #spider man across the spider verse #atsv #across the spider verse #miles morales #spot #the spot #uncle aaron #aaron davis #rio morales #miguel ohara #gwen stacy #peter parker #peter b parker #hobie brown #jessica drew

[discount-shades]

Sleepy Baby: Part 13

a/n: There are only going to be about 5 more parts to this story I think.

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin / Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1200 ish

Summary: Meet the Parents

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“I spy with my little eye something that is pokey.” You gaze out the window at the Arizona landscape enroute to some small town east of Dallas.

Jake fakes concentration while answering, “hmmm, is it a cactus?” Jake had moved into your house a few months ago, and you were driving to his home town to pick up some of his stuff that he had been keeping at his parents. It still feels fast but at the time you had been together for eight months and spent every evening together anyway. It did not make sense for Jake to continue to rent. 

“Yeah,” you sigh, “your turn.”

“I spy with my little eye something tall.” Jake says with a grin glancing at you. 

“Cactus.” You say with confidence. “I spy something reddish.”

“A rock?” You nod at his response. “Ok, I spy something rocky.”

“Jaaaake!” you groan, “You have to come up with your own things to spy!”

“There is nothing to spy but cactus, sagebrush, and rocks.” You roll your eyes but he is right. You are eight hours into the trip and still have another hour until you reach the campsite you are spending the night at. 

“Ok, new game,” he says. “Would you rather fight fifty chicken sized alligators or one alligator sized chicken? 

You ponder his question for a moment before answering. “One giant chicken. All I would have to do is cut its head off,” you say with confidence. “It would flap around and get blood everywhere but I think if I had a machete I would win.”

“I am horrified with the violence inside you.” Jake says with mock disgust. “I wish I had known of your atrocious blood lust before I moved in.” 

“OH MY GOD!” you laugh, “you asked!”

“And I will always regret it,” he says solemnly to your giggles, “I'll never be able to look at you the same.” 

– – – 

The rest of the drive passed in contented silences, radio singalongs, and long discussions both serious and irreverent. Before you know it you are pulling up at a neat farm house a few miles outside of a small town. When Jake puts his pickup into park you feel the nerves that have been bubbling in your stomach rise to the top. You are nervous to meet Jake's parents.

Jake takes the hand that is not carrying your bags and gives it a reassuring squeeze, leading you up the walk. His mother comes running out of the house, wearing blue jeans, runners and a t-shirt. Her blond hair pulled into a ponytail.  “Oh my baby boy is home,” she dramatically rushes past you and throws her arms enthusiastically around Jake giving his noisy kisses on the cheek. You step back and eye Jake’s blush over his mothers head trying to get a read on his response. Your lips pressed together to hide any emotion you might have. Whatever you were expecting it wasn’t this. 

His mother turns to you, “Well aren’t you the sweetest thing!” Her accent is much thicker than you expected, you say a polite hello and introduce yourself. “Well my name is Tammy and my husband George and I raised this young man here,” she says, pinching Jake's cheek causing his face to redden further. 

She turns and leads you into the house, “Now I have you set up to sleep in Julia’s old bedroom,” she says to you. “I can’t have an unmarried couple doing the devil's tango under my roof.” You feel heat flood your face and stare wide eyed at Jake.

“I didn’t mention that?” he asks quietly at your expression.

“No!” you whisper back before turning to Tammy, “That will work fine.” Tammy directs Jake to take the bags upstairs and ushers you into the kitchen and gives you a glass of lemonade. 

“Now I hope you understand, I want there to be no horizontal refreshments happening here.” Tammy continues as you choke on your drink.

You manage a hoarse, “Ok,” between coughs. 

Tammy tuts as she bustles around the kitchen placing a tray of cookies and fruit in front of you. “I don’t know what kind of mattress testing you get up to in California, but under my roof you will not be wiggling the toothpick.” You nod mutely and feel as if your face is about to catch fire. “And there will be no rolling in the hay either when you go riding next door either!” she shakes a spoon at you as she gives the lemonade another stir before filling more glasses.

A noise announces the arrival of a man who can only be Jake’s father, George. They have the same eyes and face but George's greying hair was originally brown. “You must be Jake’s girlfriend," he says kindly and pulls you into a hug before leaning back to look at you. He takes in the embarrassed look on your face and sighs. 

“Tammy, I told you to stop with your anti-sex hazing!” 

Tammy groans and immediately drops the elaborate accent, shifting to one that matches Jake’s. “Dammit you ruined it! I almost made it to six different ways to describe sex!”

You are glancing back and forth between the two of them confused. “What?”

George sighs, “Tammy likes to greet all of our childrens partners with an elaborate ‘no sex while you are here talk,’” he explains. “You’ll be sleeping in Jake’s room, just ignore everything she said.” He scratches his head in embarrassment. “I do have to say the walls here are incredibly thin and I am a very light sleeper so please be very quiet whatever you do.”

“I sleep like the dead,” Tammy chimes in with a smile, “I won't hear anything, so scream and moan away!”

You groan and rest your blazing face on the cool granite countertop listening to Tammy’s laughter, George sits beside you pats your back in commiseration. “Did Jake know you were going to do this to me?” you say in a muffled voice. “Is that why he ran off?”

“I did,” Jake sounds sheepish as he walks into the room and you raise your head to glare. “In my defense I laughed so hard at Jules’ husband when Mom did it to him that Julia threatened to say something I will not repeat if I didn’t let my mother do it to the next woman I brought home.”

“You sold me out!” you say in outrage. “Either you tell me that secret or Julia will, I deserve to know for the suffering you put me through.”

“Deal,” Jake readily agrees. “I need to limit the amount of blackmail Julia has on me to use on you.”

“Oooh,” Tammy pipes in, “tell me too!”

“That will never happen.” Jake declares. 

After your embarrassing introduction the rest of the evening of getting to know Jake’s parents goes smoothly. They are welcoming and so incredibly kind it’s almost overwhelming. When you eventually head to bed Tammy sends you a wink, “remember I sleep like the dead,” and heat floods your face and you can see Jake’s face go lobster red. 

Jake's childhood bedroom had been remodeled into a guest room and you are disappointed to not get a look into the life of teenage Jake. “Trust me,” Jake says, “it’s for the best.” 

It’s nice to go through your evening routine beside Jake and the two of you are soon snuggled into bed. Despite Tammy’s encouragement, it’s George’s advice that wins out and after a few kisses, you drift off to sleep with Jake’s chest pressed against your back. 

#jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman x reader #jake seresin/reader #jake seresin x reader #hangman #hangman/reader #top gun hangman #topgun maverick #topgun hangman #hangman topgun

[eddiemadmunson]

CEO Aemond Targaryen

So, once upon a time, me and my bestie @hamatoanne​​​​ were talking about headcanons for CEO Aemond and his secretary. And I was asked to turn it into full oneshot 😏😈 So here it is, bestie 😁 Enjoy 😏😏

Paring: Aemond x female!reader Word Account: 5500, yeah, it’s long  Warnings: 18+, oral sex (f and m receiving), spanking, dirty talk, tying up, choking A/N: English is not my first language, Aemond is older than Aegon here...          Y/L/N: Your last name 

“Hi, how are you, my baby?” your mother asked you when you answered her regular Saturday night video call. “I am fine mum,” you smiled at her softly. “You look tired, Y/N,” your mother frowned and examined your face. “I didn’t have much sleep this week, we had to finish one very important project so I worked some extra hours,” you admitted and yawned. “You work too much, baby,” your mother sounded really worried. “Don’t worry mum. It was emergency situation, Mr. Targaryen really needed to close this contract before the end of the year. He usually lets me go home much earlier,” you tried to calm your mother down, but she was in her “momma bear” mode and nothing could calm her. “I don’t like that man. He makes you to overwork yourself, Y/N!” your mother accused him. “That’s not true mum, he just wants to work with the best and most dedicated employees. And I like to think that I am the best, mum,” you said firmly. Your mother was worried about you and you understood it, but she was acting like if your boss was some modern slave master. Aemond Targaryen was very ambitious man, he inherited Targaryen corp. when he was only 25 years old and a lot of his father’s old business associates thought that he won’t be able to keep the company on top of the business. But he was better than all of them combined. He was clever, ambitious and ruthless. His father Vicerys Targaryen was a good businessman, but he was too soft and he rather let his brother Daemon to take care of things. Aemond liked to have everything under his control. He sacked a lot of employees who (in his opinion) lacked the abilities to work for him.To be honest, if it was up to him, he would kick you out the first day he met you. But your father was a good friend of Daemon and Daemon agreed to take you as his intern when you were still at school and after you graduated he employed you as Viserys’ assistant because you were really good. You were efficient, smart, you could recite laws, you memorized old cases with other companies. You were perfect assistant. Even Aemond had to admit it after few days. You slowly became his right hand, he took you on all the business meetings with him, he sometimes discussed the contracts with you, he asked you about your opinions on his opponents. You seriously loved your job. Mr. Targaryen was strict, and he almost never asked you anything personal, but you admired him. He was your age, but he already achieved so much in his life. And you were lucky to be a witness to his greatness. “I know you are the best, darling. That’s why I think that you deserve to work in some nice office with kind people and not with that creepy man,” she sighed. “He is not creepy, mum. You have never met him, how can you say that he is creepy!” you protested. “I saw him on TV, he might have only one eye, but it holds so much anger and cruelty, he seriously gives me chills through the screen,” she said dramatically. “He would be thrilled to hear you mum,” you chuckled. “He loves to have this effect on people. Most of his opponents think twice before their try to double-cross him,” you smirked and your mum looked even more worried. “Is he ever cruel to you, baby?” she asked worriedly. “No, mum, don’t worry. Well, he isn’t warm around people, he never talks about anything personal, he keeps his distance from everyone, but he isn’t unfair or cruel to me, he treats me with respect, mum,” you smiled warmly at her. You talked with her for few more minutes before you both said your goodbyes. You ended the call and sighed, you kind of lied to your mother about Mr. Targaryen keeping his distance from everyone. Maybe it was only your imagination, but you could swear that he is trying to find excuses to touch you or to get close to you lately. You were signing new deals yesterday and when he passed you the pen, his fingers touched yours and you were sure he did that on purpose because you caught a tiny smirk in the corner of his mouth when he heard you gasp at the contact. You were standing next to copy machine the other day and he stood right behind you, breathing his hot breath on the side of your exposed neck, telling you that he needs more copies for Aegon and Daeron. You fought the urge to take a step back and press your back against his strong chest. Because who were you kidding, you weren’t blind, he was very attractive man, he was also very intelligent and he had this dangerous aura around him. But he was your boss and it would be really inappropriate. You could swear that you saw him watching you in the corner of your eye but when you rose up your head he was looking the other way. But sometimes when your eyes met, you could almost felt the sexual tension between you two. But you were probably going crazy. He was strictly against relationships at working place, you just saw things that didn’t exist.

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

You didn’t know that you were right. Aemond Targaryen wanted you and he wanted you badly and it was getting on his nerves. He tried to fight that feeling at the beginning, he really did, but you were so smart and good at your job and that was something what made Aemond very aroused. And of course you were a very beautiful woman, but outside beauty wasn't that important for Aemond. His obssession with you started few weeks ago, after he had a very long and hard day, he prepared a deal with a Baratheon corp. and your job was to read it and find possible mistakes. His head was hurting, he was tired and he wanted to go home so badly, when you told him that he made a big mistake, giving them a percentage share they wanted but he refused to give it to them before. He was angry at you first, because you pointed at his mistake, but he quickly relized that you saved him a lot of money and mockery. You were smart and ambitious and he found these traits very sexy. He couldn’t stop thinking about you, he couldn’t stop looking at you when you weren’t looking, he couldn’t stop subtly touching you or walking into your personal space. You were driving him crazy. He was fighting those feelings and urges, but he was slowly but surely losing this battle. He resented bosses who fucked their secretaries and assistants. When he was growing up it was publicly known that his father Viserys was cheating on Aemond's mother Alicent with his secretary Aemma and he despised him for it. He always found it highly unprofessional when he caught his brother Aegon in his office with his secretary jumping on his dick or with his head between her thighs. He kicked out most of those girls because they didn’t do their jobs they were only entertaining his brother.  So office romance was something like a dirty word for Aemond Targaryen until you came into picture. He wanted you and he wanted you badly. It took him few weeks of inner struggle but he decided that he can’t deny his feelings any longer. He was not focusing on his work as he was used to, he kept thinking about you, your name escaped his lips when he was stroking his cock in his bed before he went to sleep every night. He subtly tried to touch you or get close to you to get your reaction and you didn’t disappoint him. You reacted so good to him. He loved to watch your flushed cheeks. And your almost silent gasps when he touched your skin went straight to his cock. He decided that tonight is the night he tells you that he needs you to stay with him in his office after the office hours because he needs your help with the contract with Lannister corp. You didn’t protest like a loyal, hardworking employee.

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

You walked nervously through the empty building. Mr. Targaryen gave you two hours to have a dinner and refresh and now you were walking back towards his office, feeling really nervous for some reason. Maybe it was because he was acting so strangely lately with all the touches and hidden looks. You knocked on his door politely and he invited you in. “Good evening, Mr. Targaryen,” you smiled politely at him and sat on the chair across the table from him as usual. “Good evening miss Y/L/N, sorry to ruin your evening but this has to be done today,” he explained and you nodded. “That’s not a problem, sir,” you said and immediately started studying the contract in front of you. You suddenly felt his eyes on you, you looked up but he was reading something on his phone, you shrugged that feeling off and started reading when you felt that again. You kept reading, ignoring the feeling of being watched for a while. You kept focusing on the papers in front of you subconsciously biting your lower lip which didn’t escape Aemond’s attention, he was indeed staring at you, admiring your beauty. You suddenly looked up catching him staring at you intently. “Is everything alright, sir?” “Yes, keep reading, please, don’t get yourself distracted, Miss Y/L/N,” he smirked slightly. “It’s not easy when you stare at me,” you mumbled but he heard you. “Do I make you nervous, Miss Y/L/N?” he asked you slowly. ���A little bit,” you admitted, immediately regretting your words. “Should I leave my own office, so you can focus on your work?” he mocked and you shook your head. “No, of course not, I just thought that I am doing something wrong,” you tried to explain. “You are my good little employee, Miss Y/L/N, just keep reading,” he watched you intently as you squirmed on the chair as you got back to reading. Did he just call you HIS LITTLE employee? Why did it sound so sexy? You noticed some motion in front of you and it was Aemond casually placing his hand on the desk, his long delicate fingers started silently drumming on the surface. Was he impatient that it took you so long to read it? But you couldn’t focus when you felt his eyes on you and now his fingers were moving in front of you.  You didn’t think that fingers could be sexy before you met this man. They were long, elegant, adorned with silver rings with Targaryen crest and on his left wrist sat very expensive watch. You kept glancing at it and he noticed that. Aemond was very pleased with himself, you obviously wasn’t immune to his charms. He kept teasing you for a while at one point he took anti stress ball and started to roll it on the desk with very suggestive moves. You subtly pressed your thighs together, trying to get some friction, feeling that you were getting wet by his actions. Aemond was very patient man and he loved to play with you like this, but he felt he need to finally have his hands on you. He slowly stood up and walked behind you, looking over your shoulder, pretending that he is studying the contract. You felt his presence behind you and the small hair on your neck stood up.   “What do you think about this part, don’t you think that I am too generous when I offered to give them 30%? Don’t you think that 25% would be enough?” he asked casually as if this was a normal situation. “If you want to make this deal with Lannisters you have to give them at least 30% they are too proud to be happy with anything less, especially Mr. Tywin,” you stuttered when he leaned even closer to your body.  “You are right, Miss Y/L/N. That’s the main reason why are you my favorite, you are very smart and observant,” he praised you and you almost moaned when his lips brushed against your ear. It was like a touch of the ghost but you felt it. Suddenly he was gone from your personal space and you felt like you need to get out of here or you will do something stupid. You thought that he stepped away from you so you quickly took your purse and stood up, ready to go home, but to your surprise he was standing right behind you. “Are you rushing somewhere, Miss Y/L/N? I don’t recall telling you that we are done for today,” he said and watched you with hungry, intent gaze. “I thought that all you need from me today is review your deal with Lannisters,” you tried to say calmly but your voice and knees were trembling. You have never been this close to him. Fuck, he was even more beautiful this close. He looked more like a fairy tale Prince than an heir to a business empire. You looked up at him since he was much taller than you.  “Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?” you asked him shyly and gods, he loved the word SIR coming out of your mouth. You always said it in such submissive way that he wanted to have you on your knees in front of him, sucking his cock while you look at him with respect and adoration. “Yes, Miss Y/L/N, there is something you can do for me. But it’s something that is not part of your job duties,” he smirked and stepped closer to you, his big hand gently touched the side of your face, his thumb pressed against your bottom lip. “You drive me crazy,” he confessed and continued when he saw your confused look. “You walked into my life with your happy smiles, bubbly nature and warm personality, slowly melting my walls with your genius ideas, perfect business ideas, witty comebacks and professional attitude. I can’t stop thinking about you, Y/N. You are constantly on my mind, I can’t focus on my work, all I can think about is you,” he continued and you watched him with your eyes full of shock but also with growing desire. Because truth to be told, he was also constantly on your mind, you imagined so many times how it would feel to feel his lips on yours. "Will you let me kiss you, bunny? But I am warning you, once I start I won't stop until I devour you whole," he finally said and let go of your lip, looking at you questionably. You trembled but you got on your tiptoes and kissed him softly on his thin lips. He wrapped his long arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him, parting your lips with his tongue, kissing you back, slowly at first but with each passing second the kiss became more intense, you had to bite his lip in desperate need to take a breath and it was like if you woke up a beast inside him. He let you take a breathe and then kissed you deeply, his tongue exploring your hot mouth, your lips molding into each other. You felt his hand on the hem of your tight skirt, he lifted it up so he could place you on the desk, he throw away the documents without care, stepping between your legs, tilting your head back so he could have better control over the kiss. His long pale fingers started slowly unbuttoning your blouse. He loved the little whimpers coming out of your mouth when his fingers brushed against the delicate skin of your breasts. "So fucking beautiful, so perfect," he gently bit and kissed his way down the column of your throat slowly, kissing you with a slightly open mouth up and down you neck, brushing along your collar bone, continuing to the top of your breasts. "Can I take it off?" he asked you in husky voice. "Yes, sir, please sir," you moaned out and Aemond loved that you called him sir in this hoarse voice. He unclasped your bra with skilful ease. Aemond didn't waste time and cupped your breast onto his big hand, it covered it perfectly, his thumb rubbed against your hard nipple. "So pretty," he kept mumbling before he latched his mouth on your other breast sucking your hard bud into his mouth.  "Oh my god, it feels so good, sir," you moaned loudly, your hand messing up his usually neat hair, as you tugged at it in need to pull him closer to your chest. He feasted on your chest for a while and his hand slipped into your soaked panties.  "Look at you, little bunny. You are so fucking wet for me. Tell me, are you usually dripping like this for me? Are you horny for me, when we work together like this, late into the night?" he asked you as his fingers played with your clit, smearing your wetness all over it. "Yes, sir. Sometimes I dreamed about your long fingers inside me, or about your lips eating me out," you admitted without any shame and he loved it. "Let me also confess something, do you have any idea how many times I imagined having you bent over my desk while I fuck you from behind, bunny? With your panties in your mouth so you won't scream my name and alert everyone in the building? Or how many times I imagined you riding my cock on this leather chair?" he whispered into your ear while his long fingers slid into your pussy. "Fuck bunny, you are so tight. I will barely fit, but you will be my good girl and take it all, won't you?" he groaned as your pussy clenched around his fingers. "You love it, when I call you my good girl, don't you?" he smirked when you nodded. "I need words Y/N, talk to me," he demanded. "Yes sir, I love it," you whined when he curled his fingers, hitting your g-spot. "That's it, bunny. Can my girl take another finger?" He asked you and when you eagerly nodded he added third finger to stretch you out for him. "Such a good girl, such an obedient bunny, I am so proud of you, little one," he praised you and you almost cum at that moment, he felt it and immediately pulled out his fingers. You protested loudly and he chuckled. "Stop being little brat, I am in charge here, you will cum when I say you can. And I want you to cum on my tongue, bunny," he smirked and before you had a chance to process his words he knelt in front of you and took off your panties, spread your legs wide so he could fit there with his broad shoulders. “Such a pretty pussy, let's find out if it taste as good as it looks," he smirked and licked you pussy from the bottom to the top, sucking your clit gently inside his hot mouth. Your moans and his groans made a perfect symphony. "So fucking delicious, bunny. I want to eat your pussy on every lunch break from now on," he announced and started devouring your cunt with his tongue and lips, he kept licking and sucking it until you were begging for him to let you cum, with tears in your eyes. "Please sir, please, I will be a good girl, I will do anything, but please let me cum, please I can't take it anymore, it feels too good, sir please," your pleads made his cock rock hard but he wanted to taste all of you before he will drive his cock into this tight cunt. “You can cum bunny, soak my face with your juices, you were a good girl, you deserve this," he finally let you cum and you exploded, riding his face, moaning something incoherent. "Get yourself together, bunny. We barely started," he chuckled and you watched him, still out of breathe as he started slowly taking of his tie and black shirt. You watched in awe as he revealed his strong chest and muscled abdomen to your eager eyes. It was really mouthwatering sight. When he reached for his belt you stopped him. "Can I do it, sir?" you asked him while biting your lower lip, looking so hot that he considered fucking your mouth, but then he only nodded watching you hopping down from the desk, your trembling fingers reaching for his belt. You slowly unbuckled it and took off his pants. You gasped when you saw his cock hidden in his briefs. You could tell it was really big, he wasn’t kidding about it barely fitting inside you. You slowly dragged the last piece of his clothes down and his cock sprung free, hitting his abdomen. You wrapped your hand around it, giving it an experimental stroke. "Fuck bunny, don't be a tease," he groaned. You grabbed him more firmly, your hand moving up and down his impressive length. He watched you intently, his eye never leaving yours. He stopped you when you wanted to wrap your lips around him. “Later, I need to be inside you, bunny,” he announced and placed you back on his desk. He reached out for a condom but you told him that you are on the pill. He didn’t waste more time, he gave his hard cock two firm strokes before he lined himself up with your soaked cunt and he looked you deep in the eyes as he slowly pushed his cock inside you. You opened your mouth, cursing lowly, he was really big and it hurt but it was delicious pain mixed with growing pleasure. “You are doing great, bunny. Such a good girl for me, taking my big cock inside your tight cunt without protests,” he praised you, making you even wetter than you already were. It took him a while before he slipped his entire cock inside you. He waited few seconds giving you time to adjust to his size. “Please, move, sir, or I will go crazy,” you begged him and wrapped your legs around his waist. “Are you ready, bunny? I’m gonna fuck this pretty cunt so good,” he groaned and pushed his two fingers inside your mouth, groaning in satisfaction when you swirled your tongue around them, wetting them for him, he pulled them out and started playing with your clit. He finally started moving his hips, in deep and slow thrusts, Aemond formed a maddening pace. You were moaning and screaming under him, desperately trying to grab something to hold onto. “Fuck, Mr. Targaryen, you feel so good, you fuck me so good,” you whined and he chuckled darkly. “Call me Aemond when I am balls deep inside you, little bunny,” he told you and hit your g-spot, draining a loud moan from your swollen lips. “Aemond!! It feels so good!! I am so close, you will make me cum again, please say that I can cum,” you begged him again. “Hold it, bunny. Be a good girl for me, and wait for me,” he ordered and you tried your best to obey him, but the pleasure was overwhelming. He tortured you even more and pulled you up to his chest and started sucking on your nipples, his hips kept thrusting inside your pussy, the wet sounds were echoing through the office walls. “I c…can’t,” you sobbed, feeling your orgasm coming like a train, you couldn’t hold it any longer, but Aemond was also on the point of exploding. “Cum for me, bunny. Cum on your boss's thick cock. Give it to me,” he finally allowed you to let it go and you cried out and exploded around him. It was so intense that you almost blacked out, you moaned his name, your walls squeezed his cock, making him groan in your ear, biting your shoulder as he spilled his hot seed inside you. His thrusts became sloppy and he kissed away the tears from your face. “You did great, little bunny. I am so proud of you,” he praised you and you hugged him tightly, your heart still beating in insane speed, your legs were trembling. He slipped out of you and reached for a box of tissues to clean you up as best as he could. “I want you to know, that I am strongly against boss/assistant flings. So Miss Y/N/L, I am officially asking you, if you want to be my girlfriend and continue to work as my assistant.” You were speechless for a moment by his straight proposal but you were happy that he didn’t see this as a onetime thing which would make working together very awkward.   “I would love to be your girlfriend, Aemond,” you smiled happily at him and he seemed satisfied with your answer. “And as your assistant I advise you to make another copy of your contract with Lannisters because I don’t think that they would appreciate crumpled pages with cum stains,” you giggled and he laughed along with you.

Since that day you two were inseparable. Aemond was as always very professional and focused on the work and you tried your best to do the same but sometimes it was hard. Especially when he looked like a ancient god, dressed in all black, his trousers were fitting his strong legs and fine ass perfectly, his black shirt and tie were also fitting his body perfectly, his hair was in a neat bun as always. You kept staring at the rings on his fingers, remembering the feeling of the cold metal on your skin, when Aemond wraps his fingers around your neck or when he fingers you and the cold rings brushes against your hot clit. You clenched your thighs and tried to ignore the rising desire inside you. Aemond fucked you many times at his office, but always after office hours. Right now it was a lunch break, the whole building was practically empty and Aemond was at his office, making a phone call to one of his business partners in Spain, he was speaking Spanish and it get you even hornier. You got up and slowly walked to the door and locked it. Aemond watched you with a raised eyebrow but he didn’t say anything. You slowly approached his sitting figure, getting down on your knees in front of him. You reached for his belt and you hesitated when you saw the dark warning in his blue eye. But you were adventurous and you wanted him badly today. You ignored him and opened his zipper fly and took out his already growing cock out. You licked his head, keeping an eye contact with him. You swirled your tongue around the leaking tip, sucking it like it’s a delicious lollipop. Aemond kept talking in Spanish with his partner but you could say that it took a lot of self restraint to keep his voice steady. You slid your mouth down half his cock before pulling back up and teasing his tip as you kept your eyes on him, eager to see his usually calm and composed face twist into pleasure. You kept teasing his tip before sinking your head back down, taking as much of him as you could into your mouth. You placed your hands at the base of his thick cock, stroking the parts you couldn't fit in your mouth. He was talking much slower now, in short sentences, you felt his walls crumbling down at the moment he brought his big hand down to yank at your hair, guiding your mouth deeper down on his hard cock, controlling the movements of your head, he shoved it down to take his entire length, causing you to moan and gag around him, the vibrations of your voice went straight to his cock. You hollowed your cheeks to give him even better pleasure and sucked him harder. You heard that he ended the call with his Spanish partner. “You horny little brat, that was very important phone call… fuck,” he cursed as you took him even deeper, gagging around him as his tip hit the back of your throat. “Are you so desperate for my cock, that you have to suck me off in the middle of the day,” he asked you darkly and you moaned in answer. “Do you want me to cum inside your mouth, bunny? Is it what you want?” he asked and you nodded, your tongue licking the underside of his throbbing cock. “I don’t think you deserve that, Y/N. You are a naughty girl who is disobeying her boss, you should know that I don’t tolerate disobedience,” he said and yanked at your hair, pulling you off his cock his hand wrapped around your neck, bringing your face in front of his. “Do you know, what happens to girls who disobey their bosses, bunny? They get punished!” he smirked and took off his tie slowly. “Turn around, my little cum slut,” he ordered and ignored your disappointed whines that he didn’t finish in your throat. “Place your hands behind your back, Y/N,” he ordered and you obeyed immediately. He tied them up with his tie, making sure that they won’t hurt your skin. He bent you over his desk, hiked up your skirt and pulled down you panties. “Look at you, you are soaked, bunny. Do you enjoyed sucking my cock so much that it made you this wet?” he asked and rubbed his fingers against your pussy lips. “Yes, sir!” you whimpered, trying to rub your clit against the edge of the desk to get some friction which didn’t go unnoticed by Aemond. He didn’t say anything but you yelped when his big hand landed on your ass. “Aemond,” you moaned loudly, surprised by his action. He has never spanked you before. You were shocked but also extremely aroused. “You are acting” slap, “like a spoilt” another slap “little brat, bunny,” two more slaps landed on your ass cheeks and you were dripping. He caressed your red cheeks lovingly, examining his work. “I have to say that I love to see my handprints on your ass, my love,” he chuckled and gave you another two spanks. “I see that my naughty little bunny likes it, when I spank her when she misbehave,” he slipped his fingers inside your pussy, groaning at how wet you were for him. “Yes sir, I love it!” you groaned and rolled your hips against his fingers in desperate need for more friction. “The lunch break is almost over, fuck me please, Aemond. Please, baby, I need it. I am so desperate for your cock to fill my pussy, Aemond please!!” you begged him, knowing that in 10 minutes your colleagues will start coming back to their offices next to his. “You beg me so nicely, bunny. You almost made me forget how unprofessionally you were behaving earlier, and you know how much I hate that,” he growled and you felt the tip of his cock against your entrance. “You don’t deserve my cock, Y/N,” he teased you, brushing his tip along your entrance, coating it with your juices. “I will be good, please. It was a moment of weakness. Aemond, don’t be this cruel, please, baby, please,” the tears were running down your face now as you were truly desperate. “I love it when you beg me like this, bunny. Who am I to resist you,” he sighed and slammed into you in one swift movement. You were so wet that it almost didn’t sting like usually. “Fuck, bunny. So tight, so soft, you were made for me, my perfect little fuck bunny,” he grabbed your tied up hands for support and started pounding into you from behind, you were laying on the desk, completely at his mercy and you loved it, the feeling of being dominated like this by him, he groaned loudly and spanked your ass again, your pussy clenched around him tightly. “Fuck bunny, you are my perfect little slut, don’t you?” he demanded and you eagerly nodded. “Yes, sir. I am your slut, only yours, use me as you wish,” you babbled and he cum inside you, spurred by your words and by the way your pussy was clenching around him. His thrusts became sloppy and he slowly pulled out of you. You started protesting while he put your panties back. “I know you didn’t cum, bunny. But you need to learn, that as much as I enjoyed your little adventure, this is a working space and you can’t distract me like this. So as a punishment you will go around with my cum leaking out from your pussy. And no, you are not allowed to make yourself cum in the bathroom, you need to wait until we get home and I will fuck you against the door as soon as we walk inside because you are so fucking hot when you are this horny and desperate, bunny,” he kissed you lovingly and untied your hands, sending you back to your desk with playful smack on your ass.

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen fanfic

[blondeboyfriend]

𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐄 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈

[ PAIRING ] Eren Yeager x f!reader [ AUTHOR'S NOTE ] Another oldie. Shout out to Mica for beta reading this for me. [ SYNOPSIS ] You return home from college to housesit while your mother is away. Everything seems rather mundane until you have a chance meeting with a strange yet alluring man. [ WORD COUNT ] 4.1k [ CONTENT ] Dark content, modern AU, Eren's fucking awful in this, manipulation, stalking, masturbation, dubcon bordering on noncon, degradation, vaginal fingering.

“Thank you so much for watching the house, little one,” your mother said, pinching your cheek.

An action that would usually leave you aggravated was welcome intimacy. College made you miss everyone. Mundane things became beacons of light in a darkened sea of melancholy. It was hard not to internalize the pain, the loneliness that plagued you and turned your stomach into a bottomless pit.

Even as you stood in front of your mother and her kind eyes, you couldn’t help but think of how eventually you would leave this isolated exurb and return to hell itself. You’d wrestle with complicated coursework, cry in the communal bathroom when your roommate refused to stop blasting Post Malone, and sit through lectures with lecherous professors that asked you “to go on walks and discuss poetry.”

“Of course, you think I’m gonna turn down a chance to throw a massive party? I’m trying to relive my teenage fantasy.”

She rolled her eyes and gave you a hug.

“I transferred some money into your bank account for food. Please don’t spend it all on junk.”

Bags of Cheetos danced through your mind.

“You got it,” you lied.

She grabbed her suitcase and floated out the door, leaving you to your own devices. You watched her drive off through the front window, a puff of exhaust lingering as she sped off to the airport. You strode into the kitchen and rummaged through the fridge. The only contents being two jars of artisan mustard, a Greek yogurt, an absurd amount of spaghetti, and a bag of Rainier cherries.

“Pantry’s gotta be better.”

You flung the door to it and were confronted with a hard sourdough baguette and a box of generic Frosted Flakes. You sighed and closed the door dejectedly. Biking to the convenience store sounded woefully unappealing in 90 degree weather especially when the entire ride was sun-soaked.

“Eh, fuck it.”

You scrambled through your overnight bag and pulled out your sunscreen, slathering it all over you. You pocketed your wallet, grabbed your bike, and began your journey.

The second you opened the door, sunlight irradiated you. Quickly you put on your sunglasses and cautiously biked along the hyper heated concrete. Sweat oozed from your pores, sunscreen melting off your face and weaseling its way into your eyes. Wiping them crossed your mind but your hands were busy. You blinked repeatedly hoping to mitigate the problem but it was a thankless task.

When you finally got to the convenience store you dropped your bike in front of the entrance, growing more exhausted and thirsty by the second. A large “cash only” sign flashed in your face.

“Since when?” You asked no one in particular.

You stumbled inside the store over to the ATM and took out $40 from your bank account. The machine decided to take its sweet time, whirring for a good five minutes before spitting out your cash. After waiting for what felt like hours you trudged to the back and struggled to find anything that remotely looked like what you wanted.

“No, no, no,” you said as you peered into every fridge. “Fuck my ass. Come on.”

A stifled laugh brought you out of your trance.

“Watch out, some creep might try to take you up on that offer.”

“Oh shit, my bad!” You deferred.

The man turned his attention towards you. He was inhumanly gorgeous. His skin sun kissed, long espresso colored hair piled on top of his head in a messy bun, eyes greener than any field you’d seen. He wore a red tropical print button-up with short sleeves and fitted denim shorts. His smile was wide and jovial, one you could trust.

“’S all good,” he said, his eyes lingering on your lips.

“I, uh… Hey, have you seen anything that isn’t a Red Bull or a bottle of St Ides? I’d ask the guy at the counter but he seems rather engrossed in his reading.”

You slyly pointed at the cashier whose nose was buried in a vintage Playboy.

“I have, follow me,” he said, his voice like velvet. A siren’s song.

He wrapped an arm around you and led you to a fridge full of your favorite shit.

“Oh wow, thank you!”

His hands trailed down to your waist. “No problem. Hate to see a pretty thing like you look so lost.”

He looked you over one last time and headed over to the cashier. He pointed at a small bottle of silver Bacardi and slunk out the door after making his purchase. He slowly drove off in a burgundy 1970 Ford Galaxie.

The man was kind yet odd. A face you wouldn’t mind seeing again but one you’d likely run from if you encountered it in a dark alley.

You grabbed a couple bags of chips and one of the bananas that sat on the front counter. The ride home felt significantly easier this time around, your feet less heavy. Just a brief moment of social interaction was enough to make your day.

The pleasantness of your ride quickly dissipated as you noticed a car trailing behind you. You glanced over your shoulder, but as you turned your head to get a better look the car made a sharp u-turn, speeding off in the other direction. Unease crept up on you, making your hands tremble ever so slightly.

All you saw was a flash of burgundy.

The housing development your mother bought into was initially supposed to be a dream-like landscape of exurban bliss. Pastel tract homes with detached garages and green lawns thriving despite nature’s uninhabitable wrath. The money hungry builders saw the arid valley and thought “upscale homes with a golf course and an outdoor mall.”

Of course it never took off. Living in the rain shadow of a massive mountain range was a tough sell and anyone with a brain knew the cotton candy colored homes wouldn’t last in the heat. However those desperate to own land bought them up at auction, your mother being one of them. She ended up with the best one, in her opinion.

“Some of them were worth more than others,” she said, as if she got away with a crime.

The house sat at the edge of the development, a clear view of the towering, jagged mountains to the east. The only thing that separated you from the wilds of the valley was the shoddy fencing your mother haphazardly fixed from time to time. Your closest neighbor, Hannes, lived comically far away on the other side of the development.

You stared down a pile of empty chip bags, regretting your decision to buy straight up junk and a banana. Delivery options were limited to pizza and Thai food; not many restaurants liked driving to the edge of the earth for a single order.

You grabbed your laptop ultimately deciding to order pizza.

“Ugh, of course my credit card info isn’t saved,” you whined.

You patted your pocket where you had previously stored your wallet but nothing was there.

“The fuck?”

You tore off your shorts and shook them. Nothing. No wallet.

“Shit. Guess I’ll call the store.”

You called the convenience store guy and he was utterly useless. Your stomach grumbled, reverberating throughout your body. Hunger took hold of you. You decided to toast the stale bread and eat it with olive oil. You figured you should save the rest of your cash for actual groceries.

“’Hey little one, what’d you eat when I was gone?’ Oh nothing, mama, just fucking croutons.”

The kitchen was bathed in a pinkish glow. The sun settled behind the mountains leaving the sky shades of pink, orange, and blue. It was a loveliness you missed, something you couldn’t find in overly pruned parks and crowded campus cafes. You preheated the oven and struggled to break the bread into bite-sized pieces.

“Fuck,” you muttered as a particularly hard bit of crust works its way under your fingernail.

You held your hand up to examine it and breathed a sigh of relief, no blood. Your relief was short lived as you noticed something rustling in the checkerblooms. You leaned over the counter to get a better look but you saw nothing. Just purple flowers ebbing in the evening breeze.

“Coulda been an elk,” you said to calm your nerves.

That morning you found used condoms outside the kitchen window filled to the brim with milky cum. You didn’t mention it to Hannes when you biked down to his house for money and socializing.

The days were easy to get through. You biked around the development when the heat was at its kindest. You bitched to Hannes about how isolated you were but also how you were far too lazy to remedy the situation. You watched game shows and soap operas. Immersing yourself in daytime television was a welcomed, mind numbing distraction.

The nights were what got the best of you.

You called your mother when the fear became too much, when you’d hear footsteps outside your window. But her advice was always the same.

“Drink a Pabst and turn on Golden Girls! Or ask the delivery guy to hang out with you.”

“Don’t you have a security system?”

“Is this what college has done to you? I remember just last year you couldn’t even remember to lock the front door.”

A million thoughts ran rampant through your brain. She was right after all; you were rather careless growing up in the mundanity of the valley. You sought excitement by skipping through the alkali flats, kicking up rancid dust. You ran around with stray dogs and even got bit by one. A lonely, little girl like you was a professional at putting yourself in questionable circumstances.

“Whatever. I still can’t find my wallet though,” you whined.

“Did you try calling the store again?”

“Why would I call them again?”

“I don’t know,” she said, voice filled with exasperation. “The money I sent should get to you soon.”

“Still don’t think it was smart to literally mail me money.”

She laughed. “Alright, little one. Call me tomorrow.”

And with that your mother hung up. You gazed outside the window as a tule elk meandered by, sniffing the ground occasionally stopping to nibble on a shrub. It lifted its head and jerked it around quickly, an urgent look in its eye. Before you blinked it bounded off into the distance, almost like it was never there in the first place. Curiosity got the better of you and you decided to investigate. You grabbed a kitchen knife and held it like you’d seen all those final girls do in slasher movies.

“I can’t die like this,” you whispered to yourself. “I haven’t even had a threesome yet.”

You crept towards the front door and looked through the peephole. Not a thing, just dead grass and concrete. You sighed and dropped the knife, feeling silly for even grabbing it in the first place. With this new found peace you stepped into the kitchen to brew some tea only to be startled by a faceless figure.

“Holy shit!” You shrieked, ducking under the kitchen table knowing full well you were still visible. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” you muttered.

“Hi, didn’t mean to scare you,” he said.

His voice was oddly friendly, but not so much that you were willing to respond.

“I, uh, found your wallet. Sorry it took me a bit, you just live so far out here.”

You poked your head out from under the table and looked up.

It was the handsome man from the convenience store. He looked decidedly less gorgeous, but a babe all the same. His hair now hung past his shoulders, partially obscuring his face. He wore the same tropical print shirt and shorts you saw him in previously but they were now paired with a faded denim jacket lined with cream Sherpa.

“You want it back or can I keep it?” He asked, his voice as velvety as ever.

“I—I definitely need it.”

You crawled out from under the table and gestured for him to meet you at the front door. As you opened it you saw him leaning on his car, arms crossed.

“Hey, so my wallet?” You shouted at him.

“I, uh, left it at home.”

“Oh.”

He grinned. “Didn’t realize it until I checked my pocket. It’s back at my place if you wanna take a ride.”

Your stomach dropped.

“I—I have Thai food coming and like, so, I gotta be here when it shows up.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “I’ll drop by tomorrow then, that alright?”

No was the first word to enter your mind but you wanted your damn wallet.

“That sounds fine. Thanks, uh…”

“Eren,” he purred.

You forced a smile. “Thank you, Eren. I’ll see you tomorrow. Just gimme a call when you’re close, okay?”

He nodded and waved as you turned to go back inside. Once safe and locked in the house you watched him linger, his eyes still fixed on the spot you previously stood in. He waited around for a good five minutes before he got in his car and sped off.

That night, as you struggled to drift asleep, you reluctantly thought of Eren. You slipped your hand in your underwear and rubbed your clit, pretending that it was him doing so. You bit down on your bottom lip as you traced your fingers down your folds, coating them with your fluids. You slid your hand under your t-shirt and pinched your nipple.

“E—eren,” you whimpered, thrusting up against your hand.

You pictured his strong arms around you, plunging his throbbing cock deeper and deeper inside you. The look of unbridled lust in his emerald eyes as he held you close, pumping you full of his cum.

Your breathing quickened and your toes curled as your orgasm rushed through your body. You continued to mewl his name, your body going limp as your lust subsided. Shame immediately hit you and you rolled over onto your side in a fetal position.

“Why am I like this?” You asked as you tried to will yourself unconscious.

That morning you were greeted with a lack of cell service.

“Seriously?”

You made a few attempts to call your mother, groaning every time it was dropped. Eventually you resigned yourself to being even more cut off from the world. It’s not like you’d be alone for long. Eren did say he’d be dropping by with your wallet, though he never specified when that would be.

The day dragged on and your patience waned. You sat in the kitchen, eating cherries and scowling out the window. Eren finally arrived just as the sun started to lower itself.

He tapped on the door, with his car keys.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he crooned.

You cautiously opened the door and let him in. He smelled like rum and cheap deodorant. His shirt was dingier every time you saw it, it’s once bright hue losing saturation. His denim shorts were dappled with white stains and dirt. Everything about him screamed freak but you welcomed him inside anyway.

“Hey, so…”

“Ah, yeah,” he said, pulling your wallet out of his pocket.

He held it out of reach the second you went to grab it from him.

“Work for it.”

There was something inherently ominous about his grin. It wasn’t a particularly creepy one, in fact it was rather lovely. But his eyes hid something, there was a blankness to them. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, utterly unreadable.

“Come on.”

You attempted to grab it again but he again jerked it out of reach.

“You come on,” he teased.

His eyes looked through you. It was as if he didn’t register you as a person, a human, an equal. You struggled to hide your fear which softened his demeanor.

“I’m sorry. I see a pretty girl and all I wanna do is fuck with her.”

He finally handed you your wallet, his fingers brushing yours.

“Those are some nice hands.”

You gulped and tried your best to look unbothered.

“Uh, thanks.”

“Any chance you could gimme one?”

“Excuse me?”

He flashed you another grin.

“My car’s having some trouble, thing’s old as fuck. Could you lend me a hand?”

“I don’t know much about cars honestly.”

“Having another pair of eyes on it will help. Maybe you’ll catch something I missed.”

You followed him out the door even though your conscious screamed for you to turn around, to go back inside and lock your door. He led you over to his car, the hood was already lifted. You stared into it not sure what to look at.

“See anything strange?” He said, wrapping his arms around your waist.

You laughed nervously.

“N—no, not really.”

He leaned closer to your ear and whispered, his breath reeked of rum.

“Oh come on, baby. Take a better look.”

He pushed you against the car, his semi-hard cock rubbing against your ass. You froze as he rocked his hips against you. Eren groaned as he continued to thrust.

Run, you thought to yourself. Get the fuck away from him. But instead you stood there, clenching your fists, fighting the urge to grind up against him.

“Oh you like that, huh?” He whispered, his tongue flicking your ear.

You arched your back and bit your lip as he rutted against you, his cock now fully erect. A small moan exited your lips as Eren shoved his hands down your shorts. He rubbed your clit through your underwear.

“Ye—yes,” you mumbled.

He leaned in and sniffed your hair, his breath hitching as he savored the smell of your shampoo. His fingers pulled your underwear to the side and he coated them with your fluids.

“You’re this wet already?”

You kept quiet, you were afraid of what depraved things would leave your lips if you opened them. It had been so long and you were so lonely. You couldn’t trust yourself to speak.

“It’s okay, baby. Open your mouth for me.”

He took his fingers out of your cunt and forced them into your mouth.

“Suck them clean.”

You ran your tongue on the underside of his rough fingers.

“Good girl,” he rasped. “Tell me how good this feels.”

He shoved them back down into your shorts and started to finger you. Stifling your moans was out of the question.

“Ohhh, Eren,” you whined. “Feels s—so good.”

“How would you like it if I fucked you in the back seat, baby?”

You nodded feebly. He let you go and led you to the back. You glanced inside and saw zip ties, duct tape, and a mallet on the floor partially hidden under the driver’s seat.

“I have to go!” You shouted abruptly as you ran back to the house, tripping on the porch.

Eren glared at you, his eyes losing any semblance of sanity.

“I’m gonna get you. You think runnin’ from me is gonna do you any favors?”

You sat there like a wounded doe, clutching your bleeding knee. You wanted to get up and run but fear had you in a chokehold.

“J—just leave, please,” you said, trying to sound brave. “My neighbor’s supposed to check on me any minute now. You don’t wanna deal with him.”

Lies. Hannes wasn’t coming and Eren didn’t move a muscle.

“You think I’m scared of some drunk that lives up the road? Hannes ain’t gonna do shit,” he hissed.

How the fuck did he know Hannes? Eren’s words were like poison. Whatever pleasantness you imagined was gone. He was a monster, a menace.

“Just go!” You screamed, voice cracking. “Get the fuck out of here!”

He stood completely still, not even his facial expression changed. You got to your feet and scrambled inside, locking the door behind you.

You watched Eren through the window as you attempted to call Hannes but the call refused to go through. Calling the cops crossed your mind but they were always useless so you refrained.

Eren lingered around for about a half an hour before he finally drove off, his car running perfectly.

You didn’t sleep that night. Didn’t even shut an eye. You sat on the floor, your phone dead in your hand. There was still no service. You felt more shut off than ever, haunted by your loneliness and what it made you do. It made you sick. Nausea plagued you all night, the lingering feeling of his hands on your body made the room spin. It was all too much to bear.

When you saw Eren drive up at dawn you barely had a reaction. You were too tired to be afraid. He got out of his car, still in the same outfit, his stringy hair hanging in his face. The sun shined behind him and his features seemed distorted in the early morning light. Maybe it was the lack of sleep or maybe there was something truly wrong with this man.

He sat on the hood of his car, staring at the front door. You were sure he could see through it, see your pathetic form on the floor. You hoped he’d leave, but he didn’t.

He sat there for an hour before you finally decided to peek your head out the door.

“Hey, baby, did you miss me?”

“No,” you said, opening the door completely.

“You invitin’ me in?”

“Absolutely not. Stay back.”

There wasn’t much space between you and Eren. The front lawn was of average size and it’s not like the sidewalk was very wide. He could snatch you up easy.

“Alright, alright,” he acquiesced.

“What do you want?”

He batted his eyelashes at you, clearly trying to disarm you.

“Come take a ride with me.”

“You’re insane. No. Now go.”

You pointed at the road. You tried to mirror how your mother told off overzealous evangelists that pounded on her door every so often.

“I’m not leaving without you.”

“Well I’m not leaving this house,” you said firmly.

“What do you think I’m gonna do to you, huh?”

“I saw what was in your car.”

“I keep a lotta things in there.”

“I called the cops the second you drove up,” you lied.

He smirked.

“They would’ve been here by now. Guess they’re not coming,” he mused, calling your bluff.

“I called Hannes too and my mom. The—they’re gonna be here soon.”

“Your mom’s out of the country last time I checked.”

“How—”

“And if I remember correctly the little jammer I set up shoulda been blocking your cell signal. So unless you got a landline you haven’t called shit.”

You wanted to puke.

“I—I—why?”

“Look at you,” he cheered. “Such a cutie, and so alone!”

He got up off the hood of his car and opened the door to the backseat.

“Hop in.” He said with a sick smile on his face.

“No, I’m not going.”

“You want me to grab you by the hair and force you in? I will if I have to.”

“Leave me alone.”

“I’ll rip that shit from your scalp. Wouldn’t bother me any,” he sneered. “I’d still fuck you.”

“I have a gun.”

Another lie. You didn’t have any weapons, not even a kitchen knife. You were defenseless.

“You think I’m afraid of some little slut with a gun? Get in the car.”

Tears fell from your eyes, but you didn’t make a sound. You just stared at the ground.

“Come on, it’s only a ride.”

“Okay,” you said in a small voice.

“Hmm?” Eren’s eyes widened.

“I’ll go. I just wanna grab some things. That okay?”

He nodded and you scurried inside. You grabbed your bag and tossed your wallet in it. Eren stood outside, checking his phone. You frantically yanked your phone charger from the wall and tossed it in along with your phone.

The sun still hung low in the sky. Eren honked his horn an obnoxious amount of times, each iteration filling you with more and more anxiety. You flung the back door open and hopped over the fence, your sock catching on it. Your ankle twisted ever so slightly.

“Sh—shit,” you groaned.

Eren continued to honk his horn. You stood up and sprinted away from the yard, your ankle throbbing the whole time. You knew civilization was in the other direction, but so was Eren. Avoiding him was more important. Escape was what you wanted, safety be damned. Every inch of the development was tainted with his presence, even your mother’s home. You knew running into the shadows of the mountains was a bad idea, but you didn’t care. You’d run forever if you had to.

Don't ask me for a part 2, y/n died of exposure. xoxo gossip finn

#eren yeager x reader #eren jaeger x reader #aot smut #snk smut #attack on titan smut #shingeki no kyojin smut #eren yeager smut #eren jaeger smut #.fics #.aot #.eren #x reader #reader insert

[moiraineswife]

Moiraine And Lan - The Inability To Communicate Trauma

Hello friends. It has been quite some time. Quite some time since I have: absolutely lost all my fucking shit over my blorbos at great length via a long and quotation filled tumblr meta. Fear not: the status quo of the universe returns, and I am once again: back on my bullshit (literally hours before the next episode airs and this gets drowned/replaced with New Content. Because I’m smart like that). ANYWAY.

Today we’re going to discuss: Mo and Lan and the singular moron-flavoured braincell they share, bond or no bond. More seriously, however: I’ve noticed a few bits of commentary/takes/analysis of the current state of their…well state, let’s be frank here, and realised that my contrary ass has: Different Opinions. So I figured I’d share them. Bc that’s what I do.

(Obligatory disclaimer that there is no right or wrong way to interpret something - that’s why it’s an interpretation, and this is not a call out or a “oh wow you’re wrong and here’s why!!!!” post directed at anyone or anything. Just my observation that I am going against the grain of what I’ve seen and thus throwing out: a new chew toy for us to gnaw on).

Also: please do note that this post will cover, rather extensively/in-depth, the trauma arc that Lan and Moiraine are going through at the moment and will contain trigger warnings for: depression, PTSD, trauma response, rape (in the context of the analogy that Verin presented), suicide, suicidal ideation, suicidal attempt (again: all in the context of the show/previous events), and everything related to the topics that have been raised in the first two episodes for these characters. Be safe and tap out if you need to!

So. Obligatory wiffle aside: what shall we discuss? In a nutshell (bc I’m real good at that) I’m covering how, as I see it/am fascinated by it: the responses that they’re having to each other at the moment are mirrors/insights into the responses that they’re each having to the recent traumas that they’ve both suffered. In more depth/the points where I think I differ from the norm we’re going to cover: 

1)-why Lan is: not an idiot, actually. I see it as him being still perfectly capable of READING/understanding Moiraine without the bond; what he’s having difficulty with is COMMUNICATING with her without the bond

2)- that Moiraine is actually: ALSO failing dismally at communicating with Lan, and that she’s doing: a real fucking bad job of manipulating him. (is she HURTING him? Yes. 100%. Is she MANIPULATING him into doing what she wants? Given that she clearly wants nothing more than for him to: leave her, and that after 5 solid months he has: not left, I’m just going to put out the idea that maybe she’s not quite meeting her all of her targets in this area.

3)- wow they’re both doing incredibly stupid things, and they’re doing them for the same incredibly stupid reasons, and they are, in fact: INCREDIBLY THE SAME. See: singular moron-flavoured brain cell. This manifests slightly differently, due to their own individual traumas influencing the specifics of their actions/thought processes - but the general underlying thesis is the same for both.

The TL;DR here is that: these weirdos still know each other, and love each other, and understand each other without their bond. Can they communicate any of what they want to communicate in any kind of effective way? No. No they cannot. They BOTH suck. (I say that with legitimately all the love in the world).

So. Let’s start with Lan. Purely because I think my takes on him are the most Spicy/differ the most from everyone else’s and, let’s be honest, everything here feeds into everything else and this is going to get complicated where I start SO. Drama first. (I think it’s what they would want).

Okay so first and foremost I want to try and establish/explain what I mentioned at the outset of this thing which is: Lan is not blind, he’s not stupid, and he is not suddenly completely and utterly incapable of understanding a single feel that Moiraine feels if he can’t feel it with her via bond.

The largest and most obvious piece of evidence for this feels like the best one to start with and, for me, this is the fact that: HE DIRECTLY AND COMPLETELY CALLS HER OUT ON HER BULLSHIT, TO HER FACE, TWICE!!! 

“Don’t smile at me. You can shut me out, try to drive me away, but don’t you dare smile at me. As though everything is fine. As though you don’t know exactly what you’re doing.”

This is from episode 1, where he finally snaps at her after she gives him that fake ass little smile and is like ‘is an aes sedai not allowed her secrets’ when he tries to talk to her/get her to explain: literally anything to him. And THAT is what pushes him over the edge. 

She has been cold. She has been dismissive. She has flat out ignored him like he’s not even present. He has taken it all. Not happily, and with obvious frustration, but he hasn’t said a peep. Not when she gives him one brusque, dismissive one-word orders (“door”) like a dog. Or when she deliberately turns away from him and refuses to so much as look at them - he endures all of that and just takes it and let’s her do it. Because he understands that this is her current expression of: not being fine. 

If she WAS fine, she would not be doing these things, and he knows that, and I think sees it as something like a storm to weather? It is something that will pass (he hopes) if he has the patience and the strength to wait it out. When she smiles at him? When she tries to make a JOKE out of what she’s doing? Out of the secrets that she’s been keeping from him - secrets like the fact that she was planning on going to the Eye of the World to die without him - THAT is not acceptable. She’s smiling at him and trying to joke with him as though they’re still capable of that - as though they can still tease each other the way they did, as though things are fine, both in herself, and between them, and they are NOT. When she’s treating him like a slave, or a stranger, or an annoyance - that is strangely better - because it’s this unspoken acknowledgement/agreement (the only one they’ve been able to achieve) that this is because things are not fine. She treats him badly because she’s not fine, he KNOWS she’s treating him badly because she’s not fine - is a strange kind of shared truth. Like sarcasm - something said/done where both parties know that the meaning/intent is completely different. Smiling, joking, pretending she’s fine? That is an insult, because he knows damn well she is NOT in that place.

Okay, so let’s look at the second instance of this, which occurs in episode 2 (oh how quaint) and is as follows: 

L: “Then tell me! You and I have walked this path together. Every step, every choice, every sacrifice.”

M: “We have never walked this path together. You have never seen the forest for the trees because I have never shown it to you.”

L: “I know what you’re trying to do. You can’t push me away.”

Again, as with the previous scene, he tries to get her to talk to him, to stop keeping secrets from him, to share this with her and let him help her carry her burdens the way they always have. She puts him walls, she, again, tries to force distance - she tells him that they have never been together as he says. And he calls her out. AGAIN. He knows what she’s trying to do. It hasn’t changed. She’s still just doing the same thing she’s been doing from the start of episode 1 - trying to force him away, because she’s desperate, and she’s suffering, and she doesn’t have anything else but this - even if he knows what she’s doing, even if it hasn’t worked so far. 

Both of them are guilty of this - both of them get one idea stuck in their minds of how to handle this situation/how to fix everything, and they both refuse to change. They both dig their heels in, plant their stakes, pick their hills to die on, and are refuse to budge for love, money, or common sense. For Lan it’s in trying to get her to talk, to open up, to push back on the destructive coping mechanisms she’s got - trying to force her to include him, tying to force her to include herself and come to dinner with them etc. For Mo it’s this: it’s pushing him away, because she is no longer worthy of him (and believes she never was) and protecting him.

(to continue this: unhinged adventure, pls continue under the cut!)

So she commits to this, even if she honestly knows it probably won’t work now, either. (she empties her entire quiver on him in this scene, and the atomic bomb she had in her back pocket too for good measure. These things she’s been holding back in reserve, the last cards to play - that she misled him about Rand’s death, that she has discovered they (and notice that she still says “we” when she talks about this - even though she went to the Eye alone, even though she made that choice alone, even though she rejects the idea that they have been together on this quest, as he says - when she is not actively choosing every word to hurt him, she thinks of them and what they’ve done as an unconscious “we” and a unit) have freed Ishamael/possibly other Forsaken - one after the other, meant to just overwhelm him and be the final coup de grace. And it STILL doesn’t work. She unleashes everything she has on him and he STILL insists that he’s not leaving her. And it’s because he knows - as he just said - what she’s doing, and why. And he will not let her. And he says that to her “I’m not letting you walk away from me again” - because the last time he did: she went to the Eye to get herself killed. And it’s only by some miracle and twist of cruelty that she was left alive to suffer instead.

Also I’m going to take a brief sidebar here, before we move on to Further Evidence/thoughts on this. But I think that it’s really important to consider LAN’S trauma in what he’s doing and why? Like, I think people are doing this for Mo already? They recognise that she wouldn’t be behaving this way if she 1)- wasn’t trying to protect Lan (her intention) and 2)- wasn’t suffering the effects of her trauma/being cut off from the Power at the Eye. Lan is a little less obvious (both in that his trauma is not a single fixed point/event that’s very obvious and easy to refer back to; and that he’s a bit less blunt Lan Mo’s “brick to the face” techniques and motivations) but, as I said at the start: his reactions to Mo are a direct reflection/window into his own trauma responses.

So, as I just mentioned - Lan is SO adamant about not leaving Moiraine, not giving her the opportunity to distance them/push him away - because the last time she did that, in just nudging him, like, an inch to the left, she used that to mask their bond and skip off into the Blight to go get herself killed with Rand. And there is: no doubt, and no question, and no room for wiggling or negotiation on this. They BOTH were FULLY aware that that was a suicide mission. The first thing he says to her when he finds her is “you’re alive” - because he was sure that history was repeating on him.

Because I think that it’s very important to not just consider Mo’s actions here, I think it’s important to remember Lan’s experience with Stepin as well. The two played out very similarly for him/parallel each other almost exactly. They both talked to him about Nynaeve, encouraging him to seek a love and a life with her. They both manipulated him/the circumstances to make it impossible for him to try and protect them - Stepin by drugging him, and Moiraine by masking the bond so he was unable to sense her, so that they could leave him. They both had clear plans and intentions - and both of their ultimate goals was for it to end in their death (obviously the REASONS behind this are very different - Mo was trying to save the world; while Stepin’s had already ended). But in both cases, Lan wakes up alone, realising that they’ve left him, realising, instantly, what they intend to do and in both cases: he was too late and he feels that he failed. Stepin he finds dead - and the only reason that he DOESN’T find that has happened to Mo is not because of something he did, it’s not because he got to her in time, it’s not because he protected her, it’s not because HE did anything at all - it’s just because some whim of cruelty decided to spare her. And these two events happen within, like, a week of each other I want to say? Like that’s…That’s an incredibly damaging and traumatising thing to go through ONCE - but back to back? How guilty must he have felt? How ANGRY with himself? Because how could he not have learned? How could he have let this happen AGAIN?

Of course he’s terrified now. Of course he’s terrified that if he leaves she’s going to die. Of course he refuses - past the point of any sense or reason - to just back down and leave. He is certain that if he does it will mean the death of the person that he loves the most in this world. And it will be HIS fault. She’s being cruel to him, she’s pushing him away, she’s ignoring him, she’s ordering him around, she’s deliberately pushing every button he’s got, and stabbing her knife in every sensitive spot she’s discovered over the last twenty years. And what kind of weak, selfish, useless person would he be to let that be all it takes for him to just say ‘well fine, I’ll just abandon you and let you kill yourself without me’. He cannot fail again. He WILL NOT fail again. He has been here, history is repeating on him again and he will not let it. Whatever she says to him. However she hurts him. Whatever he has to endure to weather this storm with her he will. Because none of this pain even comes CLOSE to what it will be like if he leaves her and she hurts herself and that is entirely his fault.

(Note: I do not actually think that Moiraine is actively suicidal at this point. As Verin notes - she chooses to fight every day. She wakes up, she fills her buckets, she puts one foot in front of the other and she clearly keeps going. It’s wobbly, and it’s messy, and she’s clearly grieving and depressed and traumatised - but she is not suicidal. Does LAN know that? Can Lan, without the bond, and with Stepin, and the Eye, haunting him even begin to scrape together the required rationality to see that? No. Lan sees Moiraine as being in just as much danger as she sees him being in and all he can do, all he has left to do in this world is protect her. And so he will).

To conclude the wrap of: the most painful breakup scene in the history of the world (for me and my present blorbos at this present moment in time, anyway) I want to just talk about the infamous “we were never equals”. And a lot of it has been covered, and I agree with the takes that Moiraine does not believe herself equal to Lan (and never did (SELF ESTEEM ISSUES!? IN MY CODEPENDENT PLATONIC SOULMATE RELATIONSHIP!? NOOOOO!!!!!!! NEVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)) and that is how she’s able to say this oath wise. I just want to touch on the fact that some people seem to be like ‘bro how can u not see what she’s saying DIRECTLY TO UR FACE, BRO!? COME ON LAN. LISTEN!!!!’ and like. So, to bring up a controversial and possible shocking observation: Lan is, in fact: still a human being! Emotions are messy, and logic is a fine and wonderful thing from a couch, yelling at your tv screen, and with the delightful ability to rewind and replay conversations/moments in time to be able to link them together nicely.

But Moiraine has been cruel to him for months at this point in an effort to drive him away. And, as discussed - he knows what she’s doing. He knows WHY she’s doing it. He is enduring it and putting up with it and stomaching it without throwing things at her because he knows it’s an expression of pain and is a reaction to what she’s been through. But he’s also hurt by it. Not least because: even if she’s only SAYING these things to hurt him/drive him away - she still believes them enough that they’re true for her to be able to actually get them out of her mouth. That HURTS. That’s going to break you down, that’s going to GET to you, that’s going to be thing that keeps him up at night and just echoes in his head over and over again and like - my man’s self-esteem and self-worth wasn’t actually sitting up at the peak of Dragonmount BEFORE 5 months of this, like dear Light people.

To have the person you love the most in this world tell you that “I don’t want my saddle to slip” (I don’t trust you to do this for me), to have her admit that she deliberately misled him, that she has actively kept important, possibly world-changing events from you, that she says, to your face - the thing that you are MOST afraid of, the thing that tormented him via Machin Shin, the thing that torments him still about Stepin - that he FAILED her? For her to believe that so firmly that it’s truth to her? Of course he doesn’t think he’s worthy of her? Of course he’s willing to take what she says at face value. SHE CAN’T FUCKING LIE!!!! And the set-up to this is so important, because she goes right for the jugular in this scene, and she does so repeatedly, in quick succession.

So she hits him with: ‘actually I lied when I said before that WE were going to the Tower - I’m going on my own without you. We yote a forsaken out into the world OOPS. -I refuse to explain anything to you. -We have never been walking this path together. -I have never showed you everything, I have always hidden things from you. -OH also ur lil sheepherder dude is actually: not dead and never was, I #lied to ur face abt that. -I am loyal to the Dragon - and ONLY him. -You can’t protect me anymore without the bond. -No, you’re not my Warder, you failed me, and I would be dead in spite of you if not for the help of people more competent than you. -ALSO here’s our good buddy Alanna and I am going to THREATEN TO HAVE HER TAKE YOUR BOND BY FORCE IF YOU KEEP REFUSING ME and I arranged this ahead of time to make this right. ALL of this gets dumped on his head in the space of LITERALLY AROUND TWO MINUTES. Like damn Mo the bloody Fades were less efficient than that.

He has just had all of that thrown in his face - the things she’s been holding back, keeping in case she needed them - her lying to him, her isolating him, her NEVER walking this path with him or ever showing him all that she saw, telling him that he is not her Warder anymore, that he has FAILED to protect her, that she will have him bonded against his will just to get rid of him. And he stands there on the ground, while she gazes down at him from on top of her horse (which she mounted - for the first time we’ve seen on screen - without his aid (which is a GUTTING little touch, because we see him smoothly and seamlessly help her mount a couple of times in season 1)) and she just says, to his face, the TRUTH, as he asked for: they were never equals.

And she can say that because she believes that he is better than her, and we know that, but can you blame him for not quite catching that in the moment????? She’s just told him that he’s a failure, that she’d be dead and he didn’t do a damn thing to protect her, that she will have someone bond him forcibly - and in this moment she just says what he’s been thinking for months, for YEARS honestly, given what machin shin torments him with “you can’t protect her. You’ll watch her die.” Of course he believes it. He is ALREADY taking an irrational level of responsibility over all of this, over what he perceives as his failures.

Adeleas calls him out for this and tells him he’s taking it too personally (and he IS) - he is assuming responsibility for not preventing something as though that means that he caused it. And again: this is a trauma response. This is an overreaction to a perceived series of circumstances that led to the death of a friend he’s had for possibly decades, to the one person he is supposed to protect, who he let go on a suicide mission alone so that he could get fucking laid, who he let slip away from him AGAIN to get attacked by Fades - where he failed her FOR A THIRD TIME. But like…He starts this little conversation off with her by apologising because he didn’t sense the Fades. He has: absolutely no way, reasonable or other ways, to sense INVISIBLE CREATURES THAT MOVE THROUGH SHADOW without the bond giving him the ability to do so. It’s a ridiculous thing to say. It has no logic to it at all and that’s the POINT. He is not capable of logic about this situation. He is blaming himself for everything - every single thing he can think of, whether it’s reasonable or not, is his fault, and his responsibility - he should have sensed the fades, he should have sensed her leaving, he should have stopped her going to the Eye, he should have stopped her from being cut off. He is trying to assert control, he is trying to assign blame and reason to the things that have happened to him - to the losses he has suffered - so that he can stop suffering them. And he can’t. He can’t. It happens over. And over. And over. AND OVER again. The trolloc blade that hit Moiraine in the Two Rivers and nearly killing her. Logain’s shield exploding and the axe handle piercing her side and nearly killing her. Being drugged by Stepin who killed himself while Lan was absent. Letting himself be distracted by Nynaeve while Mo went to the Eye. Missing Mo leaving AGAIN and her being attacked by the Fades. Actually getting there while the attack was in progress finally at LAST being able to DO something, to STOP something - and he can’t even fucking manage that. Over and over and over he fails people and he loses them and it’s his fault and he can’t stop it. He’s been retraumatised by circumstance, and is now retraumatising HIMSELF by adding even more perceived failings to the existing tally. Of course he believes her. He’s just been waiting for her to say that to him from the day they bonded. NO ONE IN THIS DYNAMIC HAS ANY SELF-ESTEEM. LIKE THEY STARTED WITH ZERO TOTAL AND SOMEHOW IT’S GOTTEN WORSE.

Okay so shifting focus slightly for the last thing I want to say about Lan, but still related, because: the problem (for me) is not that they cannot read/understand each other, it’s that they cannot COMMUNICATE with each other. And there is a distinction here. Lan’s issue is not lack of understanding where Mo is at - he sees her suffering, knows she’s not fine, understands she is reacting to the loss she endured at the Eye, he gets that. He’s known her for twenty years - bond or no bond - he knows what pain looks like when he sees it in her eyes. That’s not it. What he’s struggling with, and what he’s frustrated by is that they are not TALKING. He knows how she’s feeling - he doesn’t know what to do about that. He doesn’t know how to TALK about that with her. He doesn’t know how to fix it because she refuses to engage with it at all - and they’re SO bad at this that they don’t even get to the part where she can ignore him trying to talk abt the actual problem, bc she just nips it in the bud and ignores him/deflects him from the opening bland ‘small-talk’ set-up questions to start making forrays into that. 

Because before all of that would have happened instinctively via the bond - she feels the bad feels, he knows why, he sends the required good feels back/makes her tea/gives her an extra blanket/just responds without having to think about and, and this is the key point: without having to talk. Because, let’s be real here: these idiots BOTH suck at talking about their emotions/needs. Genuinely think they would both just lie on the ground and fucking die rather than say ‘I need a bandage because I’m BLEEDING PROFUSELY FROM EVERY ORIFICE.’ Because they’re deeply repressed, traumatised people who were never given the tools/language/space they needed to be able to safely and healthily learn to express their feels (but that…is a different piece of meta for another day). 

THE POINT IS: we’re now going to turn to my beloved, my man, my favourite, the myth, the legend, the ICON: Tomas and his tomatoes. And by this I do of course mean that we’re doing a deep dive of the scene where Tomas gives Lan some advice after they go out to the (absolutely THRIVING - good job my man) garden to pick some tomatoes for dinner (or at least….Tomas goes out to pick tomatoes for dinner; and Lan goes out to brood in his proximity while he does so. ) But eh. Tomayto, tomahto….) ANYWAY: 

So this scene gives Lan a chance to talk about losing the bond - and I think that is important as well? Likely obviously Moiraine is Going Through It here, and Lan hasn’t been cut off from the Power/isn’t dealing with that experience but WE DON’T PLAY TRAUMA OLYMPICS IN THIS HOUSE!!! PAIN IS PAIN AND IT SHOULD ALL BE VALIDATED AND DEALT WITH IN A CONSTRUCTIVE AND POSITIVE WAY. Ahem. Anyway. It’s the moment you’ve all been waiting for: QUOTE TIME AGAIN;

“The bond made things easier. It was like a friend walking along with us chatting away so we never had to.”

I think this is a really interesting (and honestly fascinating) way to describe the bond - to personify it and see it as another individual existing between them and making things easier by doing the things that they both struggle to do - use their goddamn words. 

“She’s tired, she’s hungry, she’s angry, she’s afraid. Now silence.”

This part, too, I think is really telling. Because if I had to put money on it and pick out the Top 4 Feelings Moiraine Is Having I think I could do a lot worse than ‘tired, hungry, angry, and afraid’. He KNOWS how she’s feeling. He can read that in her still. He doesn’t need the bond to tell him that. That’s not what he’s missing. He doesn’t need the bond to point out what she’s feeling to him, and he doesn’t miss that aspect, he misses the ‘chatting away’, he misses the noise, he misses the COMMUNICATION, and he is struggling with the silence.

THAT is what the bond used to do for them - it used to ‘chat away so they never had to’. A friend, a helper, who facilitated between them and allowed them to communicate when they couldn’t speak/didn’t have the words. We see this over and over and OVER again in season 1. They have whole ass conversations without making a single peep. Most notably in extremely tense or emotional moments - Kerene’s funeral and the look they share, Lan struggling with Stepin’s grief, coming to Moiraine, kneeling beside her, holding her hand - so much happens in that scene in particular. Without saying a word he communicates an exhaustion, a fatigue, a grief and a sorrow - a need for comfort and support - and she gives it. At Stepin’s funeral - the lookk that he gives her, the way he seeks her in the crowd, again needing her strength, which she gives to him through their bond and across a room. THAT’S what’s gone. That’s what he keeps trying to get back. 

Because he gives her that same look - that same obvious cry for help and look of desperation at the end of ep 1 with the Fade battle. He is WRECKED he is DONE, he’s disarmed, he cannot stand, he can barely crawl - he NEEDS her, he needs her strength, he needs her help. She tries to channel - she reaches for the power, as she would once have reached for him through their bond - and it does not come. It is not there. It cannot help them. And the words that he speaks to her then echo a repeated sentiment he’s had for her throughout: “what aren’t you telling me?”

The bond isn’t there to talk for her anymore. And she refuses. Consistently. Verin and Adeleas comment on Bayle visiting - and Lan notes that she doesn’t tell him any more than she tells them. After Bayle is gone, Lan tries to small talk, he slaps on a casual little smile and he asks a mundane ‘let’s start the ball rolling on that conversation thing’ question, easy to answer, nothing tense, nothing painful, a very common “how did it go?” she ignores him. He presses further - asks who that person was? She gives him the bare minimum (and doesn’t answer the question he’s ACTUALLY asking) and then he tries to push again - what did she want. At which point she hits him with that fake smile and the ‘can an aes sedai not have her secrets?’ - and he’s not even really asking for much. He’s not asking what he actually wants to ask which is: how are you? Are you okay? What can I do? What do you need? What are you thinking? And this idea repeats - in ep 2, when he tries to point out it takes 8 aes sedai to cut someone off, she snaps that he has no conception of the power the forsaken have - so he snaps at her to tell him then. And she refuses. 

They are both FEELING - and their feelings are seen. Lan sees how Mo struggles he sees how she shuts herself away, he sees that she’s not eating, and not sleeping, that she’s frustrated, and she’s frightened. Mo sees that she’s hurting him, she sees that he’s frustrated as well. They know this. But they’re not TALKING. They’re not COMMUNICATING. And at the dinner sequence - this is what Verin, Adeleas and Tomas try to give them advice about - their history is the “common language” that they are; maybe he needs to listen to what she IS saying and not try and demand her to say other things. They don’t know how to talk about things like this - they’re not good at that ANYWAY - but with each other? When they’ve never had to before? When for once, for the first time for both of them, it was effortless to share these things and communicate these deep insecurities and emotions that they struggle to give to others? THAT’S what they’re lacking and that’s what the biggest problem is.

Alright let’s leave poor Lan be for now, I have tormented him enough. On to Momo. This will (hopefully, dear god) be shorter, because people have covered Mo before. We know that she’s traumatised, we know she’s trying to push Lan away to protect him, we know she’s trying to regain control, she feels powerless, she feels helpless, she is trying to deal with something life-altering, something that made her vulnerable and helpless, she’s being reckless with her safety, she’s taking foolish risks etc etc.

The point I want to touch on here is the idea around her ‘manipulating’ Lan, because I usually see this go hand-in-hand with the Lan stuff I talked about already. Largely: how ironic that without the bond Lan doesn’t understand her/cannot read her, but Moiraine is doing it so well with him and i must: respectfully decline to go along with that perspective. And this is (I imagine u know what im going to say now) *inhales deeply* because they SUCK AT COMMUNICATING!!!! 

It doesn’t really MATTER that he is trying to open her up/communicate that he loves her, and he’s there for her, and he wants to support her; while she is trying to communicate the same - she loves him, she cares about him, she wants to protect him. They are both: failing dismally. Lan’s incessant pestering of Mo to talk to him is just making her clam up more and more because she can’t and what’s more: she doesn’t bloody want to. She wants to shove her trauma under a rug in the corner of Verin’s study, and then she wants to drag a bookshelf over the top of it, and then she wants to fill the bookcase with books, and then she wants to put a whole bunch of extra things on top of the bookcase, and then she wants to flee the country and forget that any of that ever exists because she does not want to deal with it. And Lan keeps pushing. He keeps trying to make her talk, because he’s desperate, and he misses the chattering of their friend the bond, and he wants to help, her wants her to let him back in, and it’s just pissing her off. Which is what the cottage squad calls him out for (when will Mo get her ‘come to jesus’ talk?? For Fairness? Like i need this too).

So Lan is coming at this: far too softly, and far too indirectly in a lot of ways. He never asks about what he actually wants to ask about. He talks about the weather, or how shiny Aldieb’s coat is this morning, or how nice and red and juicy Tomas’s tomatoes are. He never actually just says what he wants to say which is: “I love you, and I’m worried about you, and I’m failing you more and more every day and I’m sorry and I need you” he pussyfoots around it and avoids it and lets her shut him down because that hurts and, well, he deserves that hurt so alright then.

And then there’s Mo. Who has managed to somehow twist the logic of the universe so that she can say “I love you” by, uh *checks notes*: Not saying anything at all/ignoring him. Or by saying things like “you failed me” instead. Because she is just THAT powerful. Okay I’m being a bit sarcastic here, clearly, but she has convinced herself (based on how her trauma is affecting her) that she: 1)- does not deserve Lan/is not worthy of him and so he should leave her so he can be happy and 2)- she needs to protect him and so he should leave her and go and be safe.

Maybe she tried to articulate this at some point? Sit him and down and be like ‘okay Allan so I know u have a lot of trauma abt, like, being abandoned/being left behind so ppl u love can go do themselves great harm but…it would REALLY be just swell for me if u left me all by myself while i go through possibly the worst things that’s ever happened to me: alone. Okay? Okay.” However I doubt this. Bc, as previously and repeatedly discussed: these two can’t communicate for SHIT right now.

I think she probably made some sort of roundabout suggestion? Like she didn’t directly say ‘you need to leave me because reasons’ but she probably…asked him to go the White Tower and watch over Nyn and Eggy, or maybe go with Perrin and the Shienarans to help, or even ‘hey remember Mat? The little scrungly one?? I wonder where he is’ and he just told her ‘absolutely fucking not’ (or words to that effect) so she had to try something else instead. Which is: being mean af.

So far so good and I think we’re all (relatively) in agreement to this point. But then people think…She’s being successful here? And she’s reading him well - largely because she knows EXACTLY what to say to hurt him? And yes, she absolutely does, I will 100% give you that. Blade directly to the heart each and every time, she never misses. HOWEVER. This is not the actual point. Causing Lan pain is not her endgame - it’s actually just the painful middle step that’s hurting her too to try and get her to her endgame.

Manipulation essentially involves doing ‘y’ (in this case being deliberately cruel/causing Lan pain) to make the person do ‘x’ (in this case: push Lan away and make him leave her), in theory/if it’s super successful: without the person realising that you’ve orchestrated this/making it seem like it was all their idea/decision. This is, uh, not working too great. It’s been 5 months and Lan is probably less likely to leave her now than he was when she started (because he now has 5 months worth of knowing that she is actively trying to get him to leave so she can do the Light only knows what and if that’s what she wants him to do while she’s in this state then it’s absolutely the last thing that he feels he should do - so in that sense this has actually backfired kinda spectacularly on Mo. Because: SHE’S COMMUNICATING JUST AS BADLY AS HE IS!!!!!!!!!! Just. On the COMPLETE opposite end of the spectrum to him. Because they’re drama and aesthetic that way.

And the added bonus content of this is: she CAN do this. She can (and does) manipulate people spectacularly well. Take Bayle for example (god she needed that little win SO badly, bless her and her buckets). She wanted: to see/examine the broken heartstone - but what is she actually going to DO with it? She doesn’t want to put it in a fancy display case or collect it, she wants to know WHY it broke. So what she ACTUALLY wants from him is information. Information such as: the poem. So she haggles with him on the thing she actually wants - makes him feel like he’s getting a win when he agrees to budge on that, far cheaper, item - but then he counters and says that he won’t move on the heartstone chunk itself - which she has no interest in. So she gets her essential infodump poem for a bargain price, and takes Bayle down like six pegs in the process. 10/10, excellently managed misdirection, making him do all the work and lowering the price of the poem so she didn’t even have to ask for it, and making himself look like a plonker into the bargain. Delicious. She CAN manipulate people - she just cannot manipulate Lan (not in this instance/about this anyway) because she’s as wrongfooted as he is, and is scrambling as much as he is without the bond, to try and find a language she never thought she’d need to try and speak with him.

And so if we now consider BOTH of them: they’re in this very weird space here, where the traumas that they have suffered, and the reactions they’re having are placing them in this fundamental position of opposition. Because their needs/the things they believe/have convinced themselves they have to do put them in direct conflict with one another. They’re like an immovable object meets an unstoppable force, right? And this idea reveals itself in several smaller ways - eg: Lan thinking that Mo needs company and to not isolate herself to get better; while for Mo that just feels completely intolerable and she wants to be alone and in Her Space, her study, where she is in control and can pretend to her visitors/informants that all is well and nothing has changed. But I think the biggest point it revolves around/where it’s most obvious is that, ultimately, their absolute overall goal is to protect the other person?

The difference/tragedy of this is that: Moiraine believes fundamentally that Lan is in danger WITH her, and that she has to make him leave in order to protect him. Lan believes fundamentally that Moiraine will be in danger WITHOUT him and that he has to stay in order to protect her. And this is the hill they’ve both chosen as their last stand/thing to die for. So she is going to push him and push him and push him, and she is going to hurt HERSELF by being crueller and crueller and crueller to him to protect him. And all the while he is going to endure and endure and endure and let himself be hurt to protect her.

AND THEN IT GETS WORSE (or better if ur twisted and u enjoy these kinds of parallels the way i do) because: they are both stubbornly trying to protect the other; but they’re also both feeling like they’re martyring themselves/are hurting themselves more and more to do so. She feels like he is being stubborn and forcing her to hurt him more and more every day - which she does not want to do - when he could just go, just let this end, just leave her the way she clearly wants him to! But this will make her stronger. She will be stronger for this, for having let him go, and for knowing that at least she managed to protect him. So she will just keep going - tomorrow, that will do it, he has to break tomorrow, he has to finally break tomorrow. And this goes on. The next day. Maybe the next day. The next–

And then HE feels like he is enduring, and that the pain she is inflicting on him is his cross to bear, and he has to endure it because he will NOT leave her, no matter what she throws at him. And it’s almost a test of his will and his love and his devotion (even though I think he knows it’s not: but it’s kind of become his own little personal quest. Because yes. Yes he SHOULD suffer this way. She SHOULD hurt him like this. He deserves it after how he failed her. He has to take this pain. He has to prove what he’s willing to go through for her, prove how dedicated he is, how much he will suffer for her, how even she cannot break him). And he too is thinking that next day it will get better. If he can just endure, just survive this onslaught, it will end. It will get better. She will get better. This will pass. He just has to prove his strength and last as long as he needs to in order to see that through.

And, to bring us back to the start of this extremely long and rambling essay I present you my final, deeply insightful, deeply professional, deeply ~meta~ thought which is that: they are BOTH. SO. FUCKING. S T U P I D!!!! (in a genuinely really interesting and complex and  fascinating way, as i have hopefully discussed/explained - the idea that their lost bond/connection makes them mirror/echo each other but now in a destructive way? That instead of seamlessly and instinctively meeting each others’ needs they are both unconsciously and unintentionally triggering the other person’s trauma and making things WORSE? What an absolutely fascinating take/an incredibly subtle but profound way to show the depth of exactly what they’ve lost/how much it has affected them while ALSO rooting the entire thing in their individual traumas, experiences, and characters - like who ever wrote/conceived of this NEEDS A GODDAMN RAISE I SWEAR) But also yes they are: morons. Absolutely. Without a doubt. One singular moron brain cell that ping pongs between the two of them but is, fundamentally: the same. Absolutely fucking delighted. Can’t wait to see where this goes from here. Join me again in the future for me: ‘wow Rowyn that’s a whole lotta thoughts u got there buddy’.

Also I swear I’m friendly and I like engaging/talking with ppl! Pls feel free to comment/reblog/message!!! And do note that if u reblog i WILL read and appreciate ur tags bc im: one of those Old People. 

OKAY BYEEEEEE!!!

#moiraine damodred #moiraine sedai #lan mandragoran #molan #wheel of time #wheel of time prime #wot #wotprime #wotspoilers #wotshowspoilers #rosamund pike #daniel henney #wheel of time season 2 #wot s2 #wot meta #molan meta #my meta #look at all dat trauma #once again pls remember this was: stream of consciousness written with no forethought or afterthought #so no planning no editing no HINGES #yes i AM aware that this is about to get DEVOURED by content/posts abt the new ep but u know what? #i didnt claim to be smart #i just claimed to be unhinged #anyway i had a gr8 time with this im sure you'll all deeply appreciate my angsty insights making this all: Worse #pls enjoy #also pray for the readmore cut #i know this is long as shit #i TRIED #i TRIED REAL HARD TO PROTECT Y'ALL FROM THE ENDLESS SCROLL #but tumblr is: not a functional website

[peachy-panic]

I Want To Stay

DO NO HARM. Followup to The Incident last chapter. Sebastian and Jaime have some shit to work out. 

WARNINGS: BBU/BBU-adjacent, discussion of past sexual assault/abuse, self-victim-blaming thoughts, panic attack, some dehumanizing thoughts

Ezra is quiet for several long moments after Sebastian stops talking, the line crackling with static.

God, it’s even worse when he recounts the story out loud.

Part of him wonders if he made the right call, suggesting he and Jaime wait until the morning to talk. But after Jaime got dressed last night, Sebastian took one look at him perched on the edge of his bed, puffy eyes fighting to stay open, and he knew that the kid needed sleep more than he needed whatever weak reassurances Sebastian could offer him in the moment. Neither one of them were in the right headspace for the kind of talk they needed to have.

Not that Sebastian got much sleep in the end. A couple of broken hours at best. But that, at least, gave him the advantage of being awake before Jaime. He needed a window of time to get his head together, and the best way to find some clarity in this tangle was to dial Ezra’s number. And of course, despite the early hour, his call was answered.

“I recognize,” Ezra finally says slowly, “that this is not a comfortable subject, but I think it’s best if I speak freely now.”

“Please,” Sebastian says, a little too eagerly.

“I don’t think it will come as any surprise to you that there is a high probability he has been sexually abused by his previous contract holders.”

Sebastian pulls in a breath. He does not tell Ezra that he knows this for a fact. Even if the law does not uphold doctor-patient privileges for people like Jaime, Sebastian would never betray his confidence. Still, having the words spelled out between them in black and white, after the horror show in the living room, stings like a slap to the face.

Fortunately, Ezra doesn’t seem to expect a response.

“The first few weeks of a contract are incredibly difficult, no matter how long you’ve been at it. There is never any guarantee of what you’re walking into. I had…”

There is a brief, uncharacteristic pause, and Sebastian panics, because the last thing he wants to do is drag his friend into the murky waters of his own past to fix something that is Sebastian’s problem. But Ezra recovers quickly, moving on before he can call the whole thing off.

“I was contracted out a lot,” he says. “Early on, I learned that humans can always come up with new and unique ways of hurting each other. This boy… He is young. He is only beginning to find this out for himself. To him, right now, everyone in power is a threat to his safety. And nobody has more power in his life, right now, than you.”

Ezra gives that a moment to sink in, then asks, “Have the two of you had a clear conversation about your expectations?”

“I try to make it clear that I don’t expect anything from him.”

Ezra breathes out something that might be a laugh. “That is a nice sentiment, Sebastian, but not very helpful in practice. Expecting ‘nothing’ is rather vague, and is sort of an expectation in itself, is it not?”

Yes, it is. Of course it is.

Sebastian tries again. “I gave him a list of guidelines, like you suggested. Something he can reference if he gets nervous. I told him he doesn’t need to address me as a superior, that he is welcome to anything in the apartment and isn’t obligated to work around the house or… or serve me in any way.”

“I’m going to be blunt again,” Ezra says, “which is probably what you should do with him as well. Have you told him outright that you have no intention of having sex with him?”

Sebastian closes his eyes. “I… I told him that I would never hurt him. I didn’t specify—I mean, I would never even think about touching him like that, you know I wouldn’t.”

“Yes,” he interrupts gently. “I do know that. He, very clearly, does not. And given what you’ve told me, and what I already know about the system, he is going into this contract with every reasonable expectation that he will be assaulted at some point. It’s likely he still will believe that, even after you talk to him. But that trust has to start somewhere, and this is one promise that I know you’ll keep.”

Sebastian feels very suddenly like he might cry again, but Jaime could wake up any minute, and he doesn't want him to see his bloodshot eyes. He cannot go into this conversation framing himself as the victim.

“I thought he was starting to trust me.” It sounds as pathetic as he feels. “We’ve made so much progress in a few short weeks, and still, he… Jesus, Ezra, I’m doing exactly the opposite of what I wanted to do. You should have seen him last night. He’s terrified, and I didn’t even notice. He’s been spending—god, weeks just waiting for the moment I would…” He swallows back a gag. “He must have been so scared, and I didn’t even see it.”

“You see it now,” Ezra says—and isn’t that putting it mildly? “Now, you can address it.”

“Yeah,” Sebastian agrees. He just hopes it isn’t too late to reverse the damage.

****

For the first time in weeks, Jaime wakes to a morning that is even more grim than the night that preceded it. The memory from the night before slams into him before he even opens his eyes, sharper and meaner than any nightmare could be. Because last night, the demons weren’t just in his head. Last night, Jaime let them out into the open, laid them bare for Sebastian to see, and now he has ruined everything that could have been good.

Dread turns him to stone where he lay. From his tight ball on top of the blanket, he looks around the room—at the clothes hanging in the closet, the borrowed book on the nightstand next to the full glass of water Sebastian brought him the night before—all the tangible tokens of kindness that will be ripped away if Sebastian, justifiably, decides to sever their contract early. Jaime wishes he could turn back time. He knows that there will never be another assignment like this one. This was his best case scenario, far and above, and he has thrown it away.

The thought of sitting quietly in Sebastian’s passenger seat, empty handed as he drives him back to the facility, hollows his chest. He thinks about what it would be like, seeing him in the facility—passing him in the hallway with his head bowed, being brought into the clinic to be examined after a new contract—and Sebastian looking through him like a stranger.

Jaime swipes angrily at the tears that try to burn their way out. He has no right to cry about it now. There is no one to blame but himself.

He doesn’t know how many minutes pass, only that the sunlight coming in through the curtains has tinted gradually warmer over time.  From the kitchen, he hears the muffled signs of life and knows Sebastian is up. Still, Jaime avoids the clock on the nightstand, desperately wishing to play ignorant for as long as he can. It’s selfish to hide himself away when Sebastian said he wanted to talk this morning, but the thought of facing him feels insurmountable.

Finally, the guilt outweighs his anxiety, and he can no longer delay the inevitable. Even if he really, really wants to.

He takes more time than strictly necessary picking out his clothes for the day, and even more pulling each article into place, but eventually there is nothing more he can do to stall. Standing in the middle of the room, Jaime turns to face the door and draws one slow breath after another. He does it again, and then again, and again, until suddenly the breaths are controlling him and not the other way around. They come faster and more shallow, and suddenly he’s not getting enough air at all. He jams one fist against his stomach and the other against his chest, digging his knuckles hard enough to bruise. Breathe. You have to breathe.  

When he finally gains control, or some semblance of it, his knees are on the carpet, but he doesn’t remember hitting the floor.

He allows himself only the amount of time it takes for his breathing to level out, then he pushes himself up, rolls his shoulders back, and leaves the room.

Sebastian is sitting at the kitchen table, phone to his ear, when Jaime stops in the doorway. He looks up at him, eyes widening slightly, but covering the expression with a quick smile. “Hey, I’ve got to go,” he says to whoever is on the line, followed by a pause. “Yeah. Yes. I’ll ask him. Thank you again.”

He sets the phone facedown on the table and turns his full attention to Jaime. “Hey. Good morning,” he says, making half a move to stand, then seeming to think better of it.

“Good morning,” Jaime echoes numbly. Before he can start gushing whatever useless apologies his brain can come up with, Sebastian nudges a plate and a mug toward Jaime’s side of the table.

“I made some coffee and toast. It’s still warm.”

This is his way of softening the blow, a voice in the back of his head whispers. Still, Jaime obediently folds himself into the chair and thanks him. Not wanting to add ingratitude to his list of offenses, he nibbles on a piece of toast slathered in butter and honey. His favorite, he notes with a twinge of sadness.

A long silence overtakes the table. Both of them chew a little longer than they need to, taking extra sips of their coffee to buy time. Finally, when the tension feels tight enough to snap, Jaime blurts “I’m sorry I kissed you,” at the exact moment Sebastian says, “We should really talk about what happened.”

There is, inevitably, another long silence.

“Sorry, you go ahead,” Sebastian says quickly.

Jaime’s eyes fix to a spot on the table’s wood grain and don’t deviate from there. Somehow it’s even harder saying the words a second time, but this is the most important part. Jaime has been on the receiving end of a lot of kisses that he didn’t want. He needs Sebastian to know that he means it.

“I’m sorry for kissing you. You didn’t want to, and I… I was selfish. And I’m sorry.”

“Jaime,” Sebastian says gently, because even now, of course his first instinct is to meet Jaime with undue kindness. “It’s o—I mean, no, it’s not okay. But I don’t think you have a selfish bone in your body. I know you didn’t do it to hurt me.”

“I shouldn’t have done it,” Jaime whispers.

“No,” Sebastian agrees. “But I am not angry with you, or upset with you in any way. Okay? I just… I’m hoping you can help me understand how we got here.”

Jaime’s mouth clamps shut. He stares at the wood grain until his vision goes unfocused. A couple of times, he tries to pry his mouth open, but no words make it out.

“Okay.” Sebastian says patiently. “It’s okay. I know that was kind of a broad request. Maybe… maybe we can start with last night?” Jaime nods. “To be clear—It’s not that you’re not allowed, or that I’m in any way upset by it, but you were up pretty late. Is that… unusual for you?”

There is no point in lying now. “No.”

“Oh.” Sebastian sounds so sad, he wishes he could take back his answer immediately. “I’m sorry that I didn’t notice before.”

Jaime inclines his head. “I try not to wake you.”

Sebastian hesitates long enough for Jaime to look up, then says, “You can, you know. If you ever want to or need to. I’m no stranger to late nights. I know they can get pretty lonely sometimes. I won’t ever be mad at you for waking me up.”

Jaime doesn’t know what to say to that, as he doesn’t think Sebastian would appreciate a thank you, so he just nods.

The kitchen chair creaks as Sebastian shifts his weight across from him. “Jaime, I—” He stops, then starts again. “It’s okay that you couldn’t answer me last night, but I really need to know. Have I done something—even by accident, even something small—to make you feel like I wanted that from you last night?”

“It’s not you,” he says honestly. Not this version of you, at least. Not the real you. “You’ve been… you’ve been so nice to me.”

It doesn’t earn the smile he hoped for . “That’s… I’m glad you think so,” Sebastian says, “but obviously I haven’t been doing as well as I should, to let things get as far as they did last night.”

Jaime shakes his head, a bit frantically. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Haven’t I, though?” A bit of frustration seeps into Sebastian’s voice, and Jaime can’t help but wince. Immediately, Sebastian retracts. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Jaime feels dangerously close to tears again. He’s clenching his fists under the table hard enough to make his joints ache, but the words tumble out of him anyway.

“I’ve been having nightmares.”

He doesn’t know what he thought he would achieve by telling him this, and he’s not sure how he’s supposed to elaborate without making it worse for everyone, but the words are out there now and Sebastian seems to latch onto them.

“Oh,” he says softly, his copper brows drawing together above his glasses. “Do you want to tell me about them?”

He bites down on his cheek until he tastes blood. He doesn’t want that. He really, really doesn’t, but his silence seems to fill in the blanks that he doesn’t say out loud. He can almost feel the moment it clicks.

“Jaime?” Sebastian says. “Are these nightmares about me?”

He will not cry again. He won’t.

“I…” Jaime’s throat is dry. He swallows, trying to wet it. “I’m not allowed to talk about it, but you already know. What they did. The…” He’s treading dangerous waters, and his body knows it, if the trembling in his hands is any indication. It’s like the conditioning they forced on him is a physical part of his chemical makeup, rejecting the attempt to override it. “My Keepers, before you. You know what they did to me.”

At the time, in the clinic, it was humiliating to have all his secrets bared to Sebastian as his doctor. Now, he is grateful he doesn’t need to say the words aloud.

Slowly, Sebastian nods. “I do know. And Jaime?” He ducks his head so that he is closer to his line of sight. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that it happened to you then, and I’m… I’m so sorry that I didn’t make it crystal clear to you until now—but I will never, never, do anything like that to you. I will never expect anything like that from you, nor would I want it, and just like last night, I would stop you if you tried.”

The conviction in his voice is hard to deny, though there is still a part of Jaime’s fucked up mind that tries to fight it. “Thank you,” he says anyway.

“Don’t—” Sebastian’s eyes clamp shut. “That is not something worth thanking me for.” When he looks at Jaime again, he studies him with an unreadable expression. “You know what they did to you was wrong, right? It was fucking evil. You know that, right?”

Hesitantly, Jaime nods.

“They had no right to touch you, and neither do I.”

Legally speaking, that might be true. But they both know that it is not the law that determines what is allowed and forbidden, but the systems that uphold it. And this system has been broken since its inception. Still, something about hearing the words out loud soothes some broken, desperate part of him that aches to believe it’s true. The part of him that’s been aching to believe it since he stepped through the door.  

Sebastian has given him reason after reason to believe it. He realizes now, more than ever, how much he doesn’t want to lose that.

“Are you going to take me back?” He rips off the bandaid, clean and quick. He needs to know the answer now, before his hopes can climb any higher.

For a moment, Sebastian stares at him with the kind of quiet you expect to hear before a bomb goes off.

“Jaime,” he says, and there are tears in his eyes. “You’re not a… You aren’t a fucking toaster. I’m not just going to dump you off on WRU the second something goes wrong. You are a human being, and I… I care about you. The only thing that would make me take you back to those people is if you told me you wanted to go, and even then, I would insist that we explore every other possible fucking option first.”

Jaime doesn’t know what other options there are, and he doesn’t ask, because right now his brain is reverberating with one single thought: I get to stay. I get to stay. I get to stay.

“I want to stay,” Jaime says.

Sebastian nods. “Good. Okay. Good. I want you to stay, too.”

This time, when they return to their toast, the quiet is much lighter than before, the tension slackening along with their posture. They take their time, finishing their food before either of them speaks again.

“I know that you’re not allowed to talk about what happened with your… on your past contracts,” Sebastian says suddenly. “But for what it’s worth? I promise that I’ll never tell a soul if you decide you want to talk about it with me. You deserve to have that option, whatever you decide.”

Jaime briefly entertains the thought of unloading those stories, what it might feel like to share that weight with someone who cares about him, if only for a little while. But the darkness will slip in fast if he allows it, and he doesn’t want to bring Mr. Torley or Bryan or Thomas or Handler Smith or any of the others anywhere near this moment.

“Okay,” he says.

Sebastian nods, accepting that answer easily. He collects both their empty plates and carries them to the sink, turning his back to Jaime.

“There is something else I wanted to talk about,” he says over the running tap. “Do you remember the friend I told you about? The one who mentioned wanting to meet you?”

He does remember. At the time, the idea of meeting another one of his Keeper’s friends filled him with cold dread, too fresh off the memory of Football Sundays at the Torley house. Now, after the night behind them and the conversation they had, Jaime tries his hand at trusting him.

“Yes, I remember.”

Sebastian turns back to him and leans against the counter, drying his hands on his sweater. “I think it would be good for you to know you have someone else on your side. Someone besides me, I mean.”

Jaime’s confusion must be apparent on his face, because Sebastian elaborates, albeit somewhat uneasily.

“He gave me permission—or… well, an instruction, really, to tell you this before you make your decision about meeting him. And let me be clear, it is completely your decision.”

He seems to wait for some sort of confirmation, so Jaime nods again, fighting against the instinct that tells him the rug is about to be ripped out from under him.

“Ezra is… Ezra was in the system, too.”

Jaime blinks, truly lost now. “He’s a companion?”

“No, he isn’t,” Sebastian says, and there is the slightest tug at the corner of his mouth. “But he used to be.”

***

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#do no harm: jaime & sebastian #bbu #like bbu adjacent? #whump #whumplr #whump writing #THIS WAS A HARD ONE #it's a hard conversation to have and to write #hope i did it some justice

[apprenticestanheight]

Can I get number 10 "Will you marry me?" For Mark Hoffman? And maybe for Adam

Onions- Mark Hoffman x gn! reader

Hi!! I went ahead and did this one for Mark as I feel I don't write for him nearly enough, but if you'd like me to do this prompt with Adam, just feel free to let me know (be that through a response to this fic or an ask in my inbox! I don't know when it'll be done as I still have a lot of writing to get through before I consider myself on top of the reqs I currently have to do, but at the very least I can promise it'll be done either before christmas, on christmas, or the day after!)

Thank you for sending this one in and here's the obligatory but still wholly genuine apology--I am so sorry that this has taken me so long! A lot of the time things get buried in my inbox and that fact in combination with a bad record with object permanence usually go together in a rather inefficient way. Life has also just kind of done it's thing and demotivation has kind of kicked me in the back a little bit. While it sucks that I can't say that super long wait times for requests are out of the norm, I hope this one was worth the wait!!

Fic type- this is super fluffy!

Warnings- kissing happens a lot and sex is passively mentioned once. This fic is also edited but I've been awake for eleven hours and had written it while awake for something like fourteen so the editing might be a bit off regardless--I apologize if it is and if it is, please feel free to let me know and I'll fix it right up!!

In the week or so leading up to the proposal, Mark was doing everything he could to make it seem like nothing special was happening on the getaway he'd planned for the two of you that weekend.

You both worked in the precinct but in different areas--Mark was a detective and you worked with the CSI team--so keeping the news from spreading really wasn't all that difficult.

Perez and Strahm had been the only ones who knew a lick of Marks plan, and while Strahm had asked him teasing questions about the ring and the plan for the proposal with a shit-eating grin on his face, Perez seemed genuinely happy for him. She asked about the location and if he'd written some big, sappy speech, reminded him to make sure that all of the camera angles would be perfect and not unflattering, jokingly asked if she was invited and told him to ease up on the coffee during the week before the getaway as too much of it could cause jitters.

So then the weekend came and you and Mark drove to a cottage that had previously been owned by Marks parents in the outskirts of the city. They'd given it to him but he'd never had much cause to use it before that weekend, and he was glad to see that it was just as nice as it had been when he'd last seen it.

You settled in, objecting to spend that Friday night in nothing more than a pair of boxers and one of Marks old NJPD sweaters, hugging him from behind as he made dinner and you talked about anything except for work because of how exhaustive talking and thinking about work had become after how long that week had felt.

Mark was trying to search for the time to do it--the ring was in the pocket of his sweatpants, and you'd discussed proposals before anyway so he knew there was no big expectation to do it somewhere good or while wearing anything exceptional. Your plan for that weekend was mostly just to eat good food and have good sex and Mark had honestly planned to do the proposal somewhere after you'd accomplished both of those goals.

But, on a Friday night somewhere in December of the year 2004, your lips are pressing against the back of Marks shoulder and he can feel them spread out in a grin as your hands move to his hips, and you've been together for a decade and Mark is wondering why he didn't propose sooner.

"I love you," you whisper against the skin of his neck, laughing a little as you watch Mark brace himself by pressing his palms into the granite countertops.

"Will you marry me?"

Mark kind of hates the way it comes out--he wanted to at least have it somewhat planned before he popped the big question, not say it over a pan of onions that were in the process of caramelizing while the sky displays the dark of a Decembers four o'clock. He wanted to look at you while he asked, get down on one knee and at least try to do the old fashioned stuff.

"What?" You ask, laughing a bit more. "Mark Hoffman, are you playing some kind of cruel joke on me? I like it when you get funny but not like this."

"No," Mark rushes the words out. "No! I'm being serious--I swear I meant for it to be less spontaneous than this but your fucking lips--I wanna get married to you. I have a ring and everything, but you kissed me and you know how I'll get when you kiss me the right way. I promise I meant to propose in a more serious way, all right? Not while you're in one of my NJPD sweaters from when we first started dating and a pair of boxers I bought you for christmas so that you'd stop stealing mine to wear as shorts."

You let him go, step away.

"Well, if you're so serious about doing it properly, I invite you to go ahead," you're grinning, and Mark wants to kiss it off your face more than anything, but he doesn't. Instead, the cook in him turns to the pan as you take his hand in yours and interlace your fingers.

"The onions might burn--"

"They'll be fine without your eyes for a sec," your grin widens. "Mark--I appreciate that you proposed the way you did but if you're gonna make a stink about not being able to propose all proper and gentlemanly, then I invite you to do so. I promise I won't change my answer."

Mark snorts, gets down on one knee and pulls out the ring.

"Perez told me that a big, soppy speech would make you more likely to say yes but I never believed that," he takes a breath in. "I just want to emphasize that, well--we've been together for ten years now and I've wanted to marry you for at least four but work has been so busy that I haven't really gotten the chance to do it. I love you, Y/N, and that is why I'm doing this and why I was so hellbent upon doing it right."

"Yes," you blurt, grinning like an idiot.

Mark scoffs, laugh falling from his lips. "You made a stink about me making a stink about proposing wrong, and you've answered before I even asked!"

You laugh, covering your smile with your hand. Mark feels the urge to pull your hand away but doesn't, instead lets himself smile so hard that it hurts.

"Will you marry me?" He asks. "Will you make me the happiest guy in the history of the--well--ever, and marry me, Y/N L/N?"

"Mhm," you hum, nodding quickly. "Yeah, Mark Hoffman. Absolutely."

Mark rises, slips the ring onto your finger and hums as he pulls you into a tender kiss, palms resting on your elbows as he presses you lightly against the fridge.

You pull away, and both of you are grinning like idiots but that doesn't really matter.

What matters to you is the fact that Mark has just proposed, and you've accepted, which means that you're engaged. That fact alone is enough to make you elated, and such is what you feel as you go back to your previous position, Mark watching the onions and occasionally stirring while you hug him from behind, hands on his hips as your lips rest against the back of his shoulder.

Mark is grinning at the onions, just as elated as you. It is the perfect ending to a perfect night.

#mark hoffman #mark hoffman x reader #saw franchise #sawposting

[even-disco-baby]

PERCEPTION (Smell) — You wake up from your half-sleep to the faint scent of cigarette smoke.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — A pang of longing, stronger than expected. While not quite as effective as drouamine, a cigarette would help take your mind off the pain in your thigh.

VOLITION — No. That is the *last* thing you need right now. Stick to what the doctor ordered.

YOU — Look around the room.

WHIRLING-IN-RAGS — It’s still dark out. The pale darkness of the first hours of early morning. The clock on the table informs you that it’s just past four.

PERCEPTION (Sight) — Though it’s dark, you don’t see anyone in the room with you.

LOGIC — And you certainly weren’t smoking in your sleep.

PERCEPTION [Easy: Success] — A cold draft makes you shiver. It blows in through the hole in your window.

VOLITION — A cigarette is probably not the best thing for you right now. But a chat might be an equally welcome distraction.

INLAND EMPIRE — It’s lonely to be sick and in pain. To be alone in your body.

YOU — “…Is that you, Kim?”

PERCEPTION (Hearing) — A faint shuffle of nylon. You guessed correctly.

KIM KITSURAGI — “What the… oh.” The lieutenant lets out a sigh. Despite the dark, you can see a vaguely Kim-shaped silhouette out the window. “I forgot about the hole in your window. I thought I was hearing things…”

His sentence trails as you hear him take another drag of the cigarette. “Oh— wait, is the smell bothering you?”

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Far from it. Only thing bothering you is that you’re not the one smoking it.

VOLITION — Try not to think about it, Harry. Just talk.

“Not at all. A smoke sounds great right now, actually.”

“Of course it is! Can’t you do that somewhere else?”

“It’s okay. I thought you only smoked one a day, though?” (Change the subject)

KIM KITSURAGI — You can almost hear his wry smile. “I thought I could go without one tonight. So much for that.”

ESPIRIT DE CORPS — He’s amazed that you’ve gone without as long as you have.

PAIN THRESHOLD — So are you.

YOU — “Couldn’t sleep without it, huh?”

KIM KITSURAGI — “Mhm.” Another drag of the cigarette. “Something like that.”

DRAMA — Something *like* that. In other words, close but no cigar, sire.

LOGIC — The lieutenant is a creature of habit. It is unusual for him to break from his routine. Especially one of the few parts of it that he enjoys.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Surely he knew he wouldn’t be able to relax without a cigarette. Was he trying to keep himself up on purpose?

“Do you get lonely at night, too?”

“Do you worry you’ll fall asleep and never wake up, too?”

“Do you have nightmares, too?”

KIM KITSURAGI — There’s a pause before he answers.

COMPOSURE — A *long* pause. You’ve hit the nail on the head.

KIM KITSURAGI — “Everyone does from time to time,” he says slowly. “Especially in our line of work.” He hesitates again. “Are yours… bothering you?”

EMPATHY — He is uncomfortable with these sorts of conversations. But he would much rather discuss your nightmares than his own.

“Not really. Life’s a ceaseless nightmare anyway, am I right?”

“No. What kind of grown man gets upset about bad dreams?”

“They make me wonder if I died and this is hell.”

“I don’t have nightmares. I have premonitions. I know how everything will end. I’ve seen it over and over again.”

“I think it’s probably too late for me to be bothered.”

KIM KITSURAGI — “Khm…” He clears his throat awkwardly, and you think you see his silhouette turn away from the window.

EMPATHY — He doesn’t want to agree, but he understands what you mean. You both must lie in the beds you’ve made. There is no getting around that.

KIM KITSURAGI — “…It’s not entirely too late,” the lieutenant offers cautiously. “You’re alive. You have time.”

YOU — “Thanks to you.”

KIM KITSURAGI — Another drag of the cigarette. “Back at you,” he says softly.

ESPIRIT DE CORPS [Legendary: Success] — In his nightmares, he has failed. It is your body that he finds on the boardwalk, alone. You asked him to call her, and so he does. She hears about it on the phone.

INLAND EMPIRE — She may yet. You’ve saddled him with a heavy responsibility.

COMPOSURE — It’s silly to talk through the window like this. You could invite him into your room. Talk with him about anything. Everything.

EMPATHY — Or he could invite you out to the balcony. But he prefers it this way: there is a hole in the window to see each other through, but the wall still stands between you.

“Do you want to come inside, Kim? I could use some company.”

“Mind if I join you on the balcony?”

Say nothing.

KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant doesn’t speak another word. You hear only the occasional soft puff of the cigarette, lulling you into an uneasy sleep. You have no idea how long he spends out on the balcony, trying to avoid the bed he’s made.

#disco elysium #kim kitsuragi #harry du bois #many thoughts about the mejeans and ‘’please call her kim’’ and ‘’she will hear about it on the phone’’… head full…… #smoking tw #death mention

[horrorscoupes]

speaking of hush

i know the “hush is a shade” theories are already RIFE on here, but i wanted to suggest my own idea for some variety :] (timestamped as always)

as an avid lover of the sovereigns and all of their shenanigans, there have been a few things gnawing at my thoughts for quite some time:

1. if the sovereigns under the river used the inversion as a feeding frenzy to glean more power than they typically would get from the natural progression of death via the river (“Was this your plan all along? Not to invade—but to feast? How much stronger will this harvest leave you? How long before something greater than Shades breaks loose?” [All Along 30:36]), then why, almost two years later, havent we seen ANYTHING else about that?

2. When Min’ara and E’Laetum are discussing the things that “lie bound in Death” they say this particularly interesting thing: “Their Prima seeks freedom from their prison.” “Give him a new prison instead.” [Held by Ancient Gods 5:29] which, of course, has always been assumed to be referring to one particular sovereign separate from the bunch

obviously this could be way off the mark, and i’m totally game to accept it if i’m wrong here, but i wonder (since they very easily created daemons and then, once rebelled against, experimented on humanity until they created vampires and empowered humans) if during their time in jail under the river, the sovereigns began to create something else. brachium refers to something “greater than” the shades that ravaged the E&E games during the inversion, which leads me to believe he was either talking about the sovereign themselves escaping OR that he referred to something else created by the trapped sovereigns to use kind of like they use shades to carry messages out of death (“Crafted, by what lies beneath the River, made out of the magic they siphon out of the waters. When they first climb back into the realm of the living, they’re weak. Running on pure instinct, draining anyone close to sustain themselves. To build up their strength. If they get enough, they become tangible, like this one. And if they get even more—a lot more, really gorge themselves… they start to actually remember their purpose. To be a messenger. An envoy. A voice, for what lies beneath.” [Blakes Truth 13:30]).

it’s been two years since the wolf/vamp storylines have seen the inversion and still we haven’t heard anything about the re-emergence of the sovereigns, because i really don’t think that the power absorption was solely to start breaking out. obv we don’t know where hush falls on the timeline just yet, but i think the fact that we also don’t know where certain people (project meridian cast, vega, regulus, blake to an extent, etc) were the night of the inversion is ALSO very important and interesting. <- i can talk about how weird and intriguing it is that we haven’t seen anything past inversion for vega and regulus for hours </3

so, if they’re using all the energy for creation rather than destruction it would have been incredibly smart to leave hush core-less. he isn’t a daemon, and without a core he has no threads linking him to aria. this means that not only can his powers be tethered to the metric fuck-ton of power that the sovereigns just absorbed by killing 1500 empowered people, in order to “rift” (idk what to call it. or if he did at all. anyways) he wouldn’t have to pass through the meridian at all.

so if he IS a new creation of the sovereigns forged from their power and energy, then it would make sense that E’Laetum and Min’Ara may want a bite out of him. they are starving and rotting away alone between terra and aria, and he is looking like a snack. which brings me to my second point: do E’laetum and Min’Ara want someone to bring them hush (in this theory a piece of the sovereigns waning power) to tide them over and perhaps lure a sovereign out of death? that’s a little bit of a stretch (and so is my theory linking hush and project meridian), but think that it’s something we could all stand to consider.

ALSO sidenote: i think that hush surfaces after the inversion while D.U.M.P. is still spinning over all of the deaths and distrusting the Chorus, hence why the deaths of several “articulates” (erik tell me what this means NEOW) seem to be going completely ignored/unnoticed. during the aftermath of inversion, D.U.M.P. and the Chorus are not friends, and it would make sense for them to overlook d(a)emon deaths while they’re still trying to decide if the Chorus knew that the inversion was coming

sidenote #2: the spellsong, which i’ve seen people questioning, has been defined as the binding between magic users and magic/daemons and aria/magic users to one another/magic to the world. to Me it seems like a somewhat broad term used to fill spaces, since no one in universe really knows where magic came from in its entirety. daemons use the term most often in canon, describing it as something they can “hear,” hence why i defined it as the binding between magic and the world. (“I can hear them. Every voice in the spellsong going silent. Every emotion being felt inside this… trap.” [Voices Gone Silent 5:08], “Your kind is a part of the Spellsong. Our harmony. And even if time has made some of my people callous, we still feel the loss of any voice, be it demonic or human.” [Comforted by Your Demon 14:15], “Most of the Chorus was… genuinely horrified to hear what had happened. They’d felt those losses. Heard those voices in the Spellsong as they went silent. Our people don’t always get along, yours and mine. In fact, I’d go so far as to say they usually don’t. But there’s a bond there that neither of our people can deny. And in those that I could read, they felt that pain.” [Consoling an Elemental and an Incubus 27:27], and “When you bit into him and he bit into you, your blood met each other’s cores. Each of your spellsongs met a counterpoint.” [You Bond With a Vampire 19:45]) <- these are the ones i found on short notice, i would be beyond thrilled to add more quotes to the collection

this is by no means me trying to shit on other theories, i think it’s so wonderful that we’re all here guessing. stay curious

#redacted audio #redacted asmr #redacted hush #long ass post. sorry

[to-the-stars8]

Learning to Love Slowly

Jason Todd x Reader All Chapters AO3

23- Dad and Long Lost Smiles

Lately, Bruce had noticed something was different about his second eldest son. He seemed more untroubled, almost happy. Still, Jason was hesitant to answer any questions about his life outside the manor, but now he was answering with more interest. Questioned enough and given time, he told Bruce about the new book he had been reading or what he experienced while out. It wasn’t much, but he appreciated everything his son told him. 

The two of them had been sitting on opposite ends of the couch, both reading. Bruce hadn’t meant to invade Jason’s space when he entered the library, but couldn’t help the want to spend time with his son. 

“Do you mind if I sit?” Bruce asked, patting the cushion opposite of him. 

Jason nodded, eyes not moving off the book as he spoke, “Sure, I don’t care.”

For the next hour, Bruce sat on the couch looking between his book and son, wondering if he should say something. Earlier that week Dick had suggested that he be more open with Jason, that maybe it would be the bridge to mend something that felt almost lost. Still, Bruce had no idea what to say, in all honesty. 

Truth be told with all regret, Bruce didn’t really know much about Jason other than his past, his love for his siblings, the fact that he liked reading books, along with a few other things. He wished that after Jason returned he would have gotten to know his son for who he was now, but so often they seemed to butt heads. Jason thought Bruce didn’t trust him, but really he wanted nothing more than his son--his little boy-- to be safe. 

“Are…” He started, finally realizing he had a topic to discuss. “Are you coming to family dinner Friday night?”

Jason bit the inside of his cheek, something he had done since he was little when he was thinking about what to say. His book dropped in his hand a bit before looking over. “Yeah.”

Bruce wasn’t surprised by the answer because he had been attending most, if not all, the family dinners. Jason’s excuse was that he was only there because of Alfred and Dick, but often Bruce found him playing around with his younger siblings. Another fact, he noted, Jason also liked family dinners. 

After a moment, Jason continued, “Do you care if I invite my girlfriend?”

Now, that surprised Bruce. He didn’t doubt that Jason could get a girlfriend, he was smart and kind--something he often bragged about to the other Justice League members--but rather that he felt comfortable enough to introduce her to the family. There were a lot of them, and it couldn’t be denied that sometimes the Wayne household was just a bit too much. 

It took a bit too long for him to answer and Jason started to rescind his question. “If you don’t want her here or something like that, I don’t have to…”

“No. No!” Bruce wasn’t thinking that all. “Of course, you can. I’d love to meet her.”

Jason looked back down at his book, trying not to smile, nodding. Oh, now this was something Bruce liked. A little smile that had been so long lost. 

“I…I hope she doesn’t mind the crowd.”

His son laughed, just a little, but it was a low rumble that made Bruce cherish the fact that he opened his mouth. He had so many questions about you, but when Jason spoke again they died. Slow, Bruce reminded himself. One step at a time or Jason might clam up. 

“I think she’ll like it,” Jason looked back down at his book again, fingering the pages. Now, the smile was clear on his face, like he wasn’t even thinking about it. “She’s…she’s great, Bruce.”

“Good. I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Bruce said, trying to bite his tongue so a million words wouldn’t spill from him. 

That was something. And between the thousand questions swirling around in his mind and the distance between the two of them, Bruce was pleased for what little he could get. Now, he knew what made Jason so happy, so he was looking forward to meeting you so much that Friday couldn’t come soon enough.

#robin jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd #jason todd fanfiction #jason fluff #red hood x reader #red hood #bruce wayne #bruce wayne being a good dad #batman comics #batfamily #alfred pennyworth #dick grayson