#hope x doc | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

beesspacedotorg · 3 months

Text

Handle With Care

Summary: You've had a truly awful day, luckily, your adoring boyfriend Minho is there to make it better. 2.5k words

Warnings: there's sex, but honestly it feels like someone accidentally got porn in my fluff so do with that what you will. reader is as gender neutral as physically possible. reader is also lowkey a crybaby, sorry but actually I'm not

Notes: Hello adoring public. It turns out, I can write fanfiction, and with the encouragement of Juno and Ems, I can also post it! There is a cat in this, she was inspired by a cat my family used to have and a cat my family currently has. They're both calico which I think explains everything you need to know about them.

There’s a lot you can say about the day you had today, and most of them start with sh- and end in -itty. You’re thinking on this as you dive head first onto the rough material of your couch, great for sitting, bad for face planting. You hear a scratching by your head and absentmindedly bat your cat away from the arm of the couch, mumbling something about how she has a perfectly good cat tree two feet away before resuming your completely justified sulking.

“Oh, hello. I didn’t hear you come home. How was your day?” There’s a voice above you and you can picture him in your mind's eye, leaning against the back of the couch as he stares at your limp form, probably eyeing the shoes you didn’t take off by the door. You mumble something half hearted in response and he huffs before the sound of walking hits your ears and all the breath leaves your body at once. He’s sitting on you. This motherfucker is sitting on you.

“Get off, Minho” You had to tilt your head to the side, it’s hard enough to breathe through couch fabric as is, much less when there’s a full grown man sitting on your back.

“You should answer people when they try to talk to you, jagiya.”

“You shouldn’t sit on people while they’re laying down, yeobo.” Your voice is a lot more acidic than his was and a twinge of guilt settles on you before it dissipates as he shifts and manages to place more weight on your back.

“Hmm. I guess we’re both doing things that we shouldn’t then. How tragic.” His voice is deadpan, and you still can’t see him from where your head is turned- your view is limited to the back of the couch and his arm in your periphery- but you can feel the dead stare he’s aiming at your skull. There’s a silence for a few moments while you engage in a war of attrition, neither of you willing to give up just yet, but it’s getting genuinely hard to breathe and your back is starting to hurt.

“It sucked, please get off.” He does, patting your back consolingly.

“See? Was that so hard?” He guides your head to his lap as you both sit back down, petting over your hair like he would his cats. “Tell me, what’s got my baby in such a tizzy?”

You grumble at him, rolling over to shove your face into his stomach, tired and petulant. He sighs softly, but keeps patting your head, so you know he’s mostly just doing it for show.

“That kind of day, hmm, jagi?” And you nod again. Honestly, it wasn’t much different from a normal day, it’s just that the right things managed to go very wrong and subsequently ruined your day in a way that has pressure forming behind your eyes and your voice cracking stupidly every time you try to talk.

You both sit for a while before he puts something on the TV and gently shoves your head off his lap.

“Hey-”

“Do you want the dinner I worked so hard on to go cold?” He has his hands on his hips in front of you and you laugh slightly at how funny he looks. He rolls his eyes and goes, coming back with two bowls of something before he forcefully sits you up and shoves it in your hands.

“Eat.”

“Yes, chef.”

The food is delicious, it always is when Minho cooks it, he’s got a talent for it you’ve never really seen firsthand, and you consider yourself truly blessed to be able to eat it as often as he’s able to make it for you. Still, gratefulness and taste aside, your day was shitty enough that every mouthful tastes like ash and turns to rot in your stomach, leaving you with an unsettling queasiness that shouldn’t ever be attributed to your boyfriend’s cooking. You’re shoving the contents around with a spoon before he huffs- a real one this time- and takes the bowl from you, setting it on the coffee table next to his own before he mutes the TV.

“Okay. Quite clearly something is wrong. What can I do to help you?” You think he knows, but you like that he asks anyway. Minho always asks, always lets you talk and sort out whatever’s going on before he tries to help. Even if your answer is a simple shake of the head, a simple, I don’t feel like it, become a mind reader, he always asks before he helps. Sometimes you wonder how he always knows what you need, others you just decide to not look a gift horse in the mouth.

You huff and your lip wobbles pathetically and he coos, slightly condescending.

“Crying already? I haven’t even done anything.” He’s teasing, but his hands are gentle as he pulls you into his lap, his hands are gentle as they find their way under your shirt, his mouth is gentle as it kisses down the side of your face to your neck.

“‘M sorry,” you’re not the biggest fan of crying, neither is he, but for different reasons. He’s not someone who’s brought to tears easily, you are, but there’s an inherent shame in it, you think. Something so embarrassing about getting worked up enough to start crying like a baby, and so as much and as often as you feel like crying, you don’t. This he also knows, because he knows everything.

“Aish, why are you sorry for? I didn’t tell you to apologize, did I?” He taps your cheek lightly, causing you to look up at him, he plants a kiss on your nose, then your mouth.

“Sweet thing, don’t worry about anything except for what I tell you to, okay?” And you nod and he smiles.

You’re not much for talking in times like these, everything is so sensitive and soft and talking feels like a cheese grater on this cloudlike moment so you don’t and he knows, so he doesn’t chide you for it. Usually, he would. He’d crack a hand down on your ass or grab a fistful of your hair and tell you that he asked you a question so he expects an answer, but that’s not what you need right now, so he doesn’t. He just kisses your jaw again before he puts both of his warm hands under your shirt and lets his fingers poke at your chest.

He always says his hands are small, but really, you wouldn’t be able to tell, not with the way he cups your chest in his hand and lets his thumb brush over your nipple, gentle and reverent. It’s not much, not as much as he usually gives you, but it’s enough to have your mouth dropping open with a gasp and your back arching into his hand, it’s enough to have him giggling softly at your reaction.

“Sensitive today?” He’s teasing again, as soft as he is right now, he’s still Minho, he still likes to poke fun. You huff, biting at his shoulder softly in retaliation and he lets you, pinching your nipple just this side of too much in retribution before one of his hands wanders down to your ass, groping and squishing the flesh. Your breath stutters in your chest as he pushes your hips forward onto his, friction sending sparks up your spine.

“Min-” You’re desperate and he hasn’t even done anything yet, not really. A few stray touches and you already feel yourself shattering to pieces in his grasp, you’re not afraid though, and not quite ashamed. He’ll take care of you, he always does.

He does it again, guides your hips forward until you’ve gotten the hint to keep going by yourself and you’re struck with the urge to kiss him, so you do, removing your head from the home it’s made on his shoulder and making a go at his mouth. It’s messy, your coordination shot already, and you almost smash your forehead into his nose before he catches your head with a laugh.

“Easy there. Bloody noses aren’t exactly sexy.” You disagree, he could make anything sexy, but you don’t have time to voice that thought as he pushes his mouth onto yours and lovingly shoves his tongue down your throat. The kiss is messy, they always are. However gentle he is, he can never seem to stop himself from kissing you until your face is covered in drool and spit, and if it were anyone else, you’d be mildly repulsed, but you like the way he looks at your mouth after it’s over, so you let it slide.

You pull away, chest burning and heaving and look at him before you still, eyes drawn to something by his head.

“Baby? What’s wrong?” You don’t answer, gaze still drawn away from him.

“There’s a little white girl staring at me.” He turns his head to the side and laughs as he comes face to face with your cat, her green eyes boring into him. He scratches her head affectionately and lets her headbutt him before your center of gravity is shifting drastically and you’re clinging onto him for dear life.

The bedroom door shuts before you’re very aware of it and suddenly there’s a mattress under your back and a Minho over your front and his hands are up your shirt again, this time shoving it off of you until your chest is bare. You shiver slightly from the cold and then there’s a blanket being shoved around your shoulders and you smile up at him. He knows you so well, he loves you so much and your eyes are welling with tears.

“Aigoo, my little crybaby. It’s just a blanket,” there’s a kiss on each of your cheek bones, “silly thing. Save your tears for when my cock is in you, hmm?” Your breath stutters again and your hands are tugging at his shirt until he takes it off, he laughs again when your hands immediately find his chest.

“I’m glad someone appreciates my hard work.”

“They’re nice boobs.” The sentence catches him off guard, makes him laugh hard enough that he loses his balance a little and his weight settles onto you more. It’s comforting, like a weighted blanket that can talk and walk and kiss you silly.

Then, his hands are under your bottoms, tugging them off your legs and you’re suddenly wearing nothing and he’s still in his pants, which you find disgustingly unfair. You reach down and tug on the hem off his sweats, pouting and huffing until he gets the message and tugs those off too.

“You just want to get me naked,” he starts. “I can’t believe you just want me for my body.” You nod cheekily in response and he smacks your shoulder.

“Yah! See if I’m ever nice to you again!” But he’s kissing your neck again as his hands guide your legs to cross over his hips before he’s touching you in a way that steals the breath from your lungs and makes your head tip back into the pillows.

“There we go. So pretty when you’re like this, hmm? So soft and sweet for me.” His fingers are in you now, pressing insistently against that spot that makes white splash in your vision and reflexively forces your legs shut. He grunts slightly as your thighs squeeze around his hips, pressure just this side of uncomfortable. He doesn’t say anything though, just keeps his pace steady inside you until you’re almost tipping over and he stops. You look at him with something akin to betrayal, fresh tears springing to your eyes, but before you can open your mouth to complain he’s sliding home and you don’t have enough air to say anything anyway.

He catches it though, rolls his eyes as he sees the way your attitude was about to flare up.

“What did I tell you earlier, jagiya? Don’t worry about anything unless I tell you to worry about it. I always take care of you, don’t I?” He does, he’s good to you like that. He sounds slightly out of breath already, unusual for him, but you don’t mind because it feels like you’re seconds away from God’s doorstep yourself.

His pace is slow and deep, bass knock steady even as you squirm under him. If this were a normal situation, he’d stop, hands gripping your hips unforgivingly until you stayed still, but this isn’t a normal situation so he lets you wiggle, only huffing in mild irritation before he leans down to kiss you again.

“You’re gonna knock us off the damn bed, baby.” But he doesn’t make any move to stop you, and you feel too good to really process his words anyway. You love him, you really do, and you’re struck with the overwhelming urge to tell him, to let him know, to make him know. You grip his shoulders tightly, nails digging in until he hisses and levels you with a glare, one that instantly softens when he meets your eyes.

“I love you,” it comes out of you as a sob, like it was wrenched from your vocal chords before you gave yourself permission to think it. “I love you so much.” You’re rambling now, repeating those three words over and over and Minho coos, hips faltering just slightly. He always goes weak when you tell him you love him, and you keep it in your back pocket like a weapon for the times that you’re in trouble.

“I love you, too, jagiya. ‘S that why you’re crying? Hmm? Love me so much it’s gotta spill out from your pretty eyes?” You nod in response, breath hitching from the pleasure and the tears and his hand drifts from its place on your hip to touch you again and you’re spilling liquid heat before you can really register what’s happening. You feel him inside you, too, insides suddenly molten warm but you’re floating too high for it to feel like it’s happening to you, like you’ve been temporarily ejected from your body.

When your soul settles back into your bones, Minho is laying next to you, staring at you with his wide eyes, you look over at him and smile.

“Is boba really worth it?” He looks confused at your question before you poke him on the eyelid and he laughs.

“Feel better?” You consider for a moment. Your teeth don’t feel like they’re too big for their sockets and your bones no longer feel itchy. You’re hungry, but mostly, your mind is quiet. There’s no overwhelming pressure behind your eyes and when you talk your voice cracks from sleep instead of from the force of choking back tears.

“Much. I’m hungry, though.” You give your best impression of puppy eyes at him and watch as his eyes roll to the back of his skull. You’ve been told that your pleading face looks mildly perturbing, but Minho always says you remind him of Soonie when you do it. It makes you feel slightly bad for Soonie, soon the cat isn’t going to be able to get anything off of Minho because you’ll have rendered him immune.

He comes back with your reheated bowl in one hand and your cat in the other.

“She screamed at me until I picked her up. Stood on my feet and hollered.” He winces slightly. “I should’ve put on boxers because she almost mistook my dick for a toy.”

#bee blurbs #ft.lino #lee know smut #lee know x reader #lee know x you #skz smut #skz x reader #skz x you #lee minho x reader #the last time i wrote fanfiction and posted it it was very mid langst so lets hope this is better #this is saved in my google docs as “Sorry to God and also Myself” btw

976 notes · View notes

hotluncheddie · 11 days

Text

Day 4: Edging

"Bi Freak"

Ao3

wc: 3.5 | rated: E | tags: Sub Eddie Munson, established relationship, bisexual Eddie Munson & Steve Harrington, mean dom Steve Harrington (kinda), degradation, sub top Eddie

written for @subeddieweek <3

📸 📸 📸 📸 📸

‘Jesus, are you hard?’ Steve asks, incredulous at how fucking ridiculous Eddie’s cock can be at times. Even walking just behind him Steve must spot how Eddie’s hands shift to tug at his belt buckle, the way his gait is a little more awkward than usual.

Eddie freezes, readjusting again as Steve saunters past. Cheeks feeling a little hot over being caught. He was Subtle, or so he thought, but his jeans must just not be tight enough to hide his boner.

They're walking back to the beamer after eating at the diner in town. A few familiar faces around since its summer. The two of them included, back over from Indi for a visit to see Wayne for his birthday.

Unfortunately, seeing Wayne means staying with Wayne and while that is wonderful, the walls of the trailer are still, absolutely, the width of paper mache. So, Steve had decided the concept of sex was much too mortifying in those conditions. A different consensus from when they first got together, Eddie had pointed out. But, Steve had just laughed and kissed him, in that condescending way that just made the whole situation so so much harder, figuratively and literally.

Its been a week, basically, and Eddie’s getting desperate, and Steve is getting mean.

Eddie jogs to catch up to Steve's long strides. ‘Did you see her though? Christ Steve she, she's a vision. A fucking goddess dude.’

‘I saw I saw.’ Steve shoves his hands in his jacket, Eddie looming in close at his side.

‘Like she was something then, but now? Bigger and better, did you see? You saw them right?’ Eddie moves his arms around, cups his hands, clenches his fingers. A horny interpretive dance.

Steve sighs, faux wistfully. ‘Every day I almost forget how much of a tits guy you are, and everyday you just gotta remind me, huh? Munson? What's up with that?’ Steve jabs his elbow into Eddie’s side. Grins at the cackle it elicits.

‘You know I fundamentally disagree with that question, Stevie. No one should be subjected to a choice like that.’ Eddie laughs, swooping in close to Steve's neck for a moment, in that way he loves. Steve’s elbow coming out to make him back away.

Steve pulls his keys out of his pocket, the car coming into view, parked in the furthest corner.

‘Your tits are amazing by the way.’

Steve laughs again. ‘Thanks dude, I know. Lucky for you my ego is big enough to handle your crazy libido.’

Eddie grumbles, kicking at a can. ‘Only crazy because of the damn “no touching” rule you set.’

‘Aww’ Steve coos, ‘baby cant handle a little teasing anymore?’ He smirks at Eddie, unlocking the car but not opening the door, instead watching Eddie slump over, pouting.

Steve stalks around to the passenger side, opening the door for him and pulling his arm, shoving Eddie down onto the seat with a hand on his head.

Eddie whimpers, feels pre-cum leak out of his tip and soak into his boxers. Fuck, he’s hard - worse now. Steve’s not let him have more than a peck, more than a nighttime spoon, for days.

‘Wanna know a secret?’ Steve asks.

Eddie’s slumped on the passenger seat, feet still on concrete. He rubs his hands over his burning cheeks and peeks up at the sunshine being blocked from above. Steve leaning a forearm in the car hood, looming over Eddie, caging him in.

Steve steps right up into Eddie space, shoving his knee onto the seat right between Eddies thighs. crushing his cock. Steve leans in even closer, breath ghosting over Eddie's ear, making him shiver.

‘I know how she tastes.’

Eddie feels like all his air gets gut punched out of him, feels his fucking pupils dilate so much his vision goes blurry. He makes a strangled sort of moan. His boxers flooding with cum.

‘…Did? Did you just?’

Eddies panting so hard all he can really do is nod his head.

‘You’re so pretty.’ He slurs, staring up at Steve, haloed and lovely and how did Eddie get so lucky?

Steve huffs and rolls his eyes, but he smiles down at him, strokes his cheek and looks at him with eyes full of stars. ‘You can go again through right?’ He asks.

Eddie beams. ‘Fuck yeah!’

Steve laughs, shaking his head. He closes Eddie’s door and gets behind the wheel. Puts on his sunglasses and lays his hand on Eddie’s thigh. ‘No touching while I’m driving. Let's go break into my parents house.’

Eddie leans back in the headrest, grinning. ‘By break in, do you mean use the spare key?’

‘Sure do baby. They won't even be there.’ Steve says, and pulls out of the diner parking lot.

Back at Steves Eddie sprawls out in his bedroom, familiar in its ugliness but the mattress has always been to die for.

Eddie listens to the sound of Steve moving through the house, not sure what he’s doing. But they’ve fallen into routines like this before, Eddie waiting upstairs while Steve did whatever it was that made a big empty house like this run smooth. He works the same magic on their apartment; structuring Eddie enough to not get overwhelmed by chores and eventually listening to Eddie’s please to not do it all himself. Steve could work himself to the bone and still ask if Eddie needed a glass of water. But now they have a chart, and Eddie’s always had a knack for laundry.

But, at times like these, brain directly attached to his dick and almost nowhere else, Eddie wants to be directed.He wants Steve to do exactly as much as he wants, do so exactly as he pleases, Eddie almost an afterthought.

Yeah, Eddie wants that. He shivers, hears Steves footsteps on the staircase.

‘Unzip your jeans but don’t take them off.’ Steve says, coming into the room, searching for something.

Eddie complies quickly, standing. Steve walks out of the room.

Steve walks back in with his shirt off. Looking Eddie up and down, face blank.

He lifts the hem of Eddie’s t-shirt and shoves it in his mouth, saliva soaking the fabric between his teeth, cool air hitting his exposed nipples. ‘Show me.’ Steve says, calm and neutral, like Eddie is his doll to play with.

He pulls at the waistband of his boxers and his eyes burn as he watches Steve. Refusing to blink, refusing to miss the look on his face once he sees the mess.

Steve’s eyes roam Eddie’s face for a moment, steely and almost cold. He looks down, raises his eyebrows. Eddie feels his cock twitch at the attention, at the judgment.

Steve looks back up. ‘Look at it.’ And Eddie glances down, breath hitching at the sight of his cock covered in his own cum, some of it starting to crust but the tip still shiny and wet, leaning against the sodden fabric of his boxers.

Eddie looks back up at Steve, sees that he watched his whole reaction. Pupils blown wide and Steve's hand has migrated up to tweak at his own nipple. Jealousy burns in Eddie’s gut; that he’s not allowed to touch Steve like that, not yet.

Eddie whimpers again, he wants to kiss him, wants to eat him.

‘Fuck’ Steve murmurs, like he can read Eddie’s mind. Maybe he can, or it’s just how good Steve has gotten at reading Eddie’s face.

‘Colour?’ Steve asks.

‘Super fuckin’ green.’ Eddie says around the fabric, grinning, watching Steves smile bloom right back

‘Good’ Steve pecs his top lip. Eddie surging forward, chasing, letting the wet hem fall.

Steve stops him with a finger on his chest. His expression smoothing back into one of mild disgust. ‘So needy.’ Steve drawls. ‘Take off everything but your boxers.’ And he’s gone again, leaving Eddie to struggle out of his clothes in a rush.

Steve walks back in, now only in his boxers too, Eddie can see the outline of his cock through the material and it makes his mouth water. It takes him a second to register that Steve’s holding the Polaroid camera now too.

‘Show me, like you did before.’ Steve says, fiddling with the camera, waiting.

Eddie does as he’s told and he feels goosebumps dabble over his skin, heat rushing south so fast it makes his nipples hard.

Steve takes a photo of eddies cock covered in his own, slightly crusted, cum. The flash taking Eddie’s breath away.

But Steve just leaves again, without a word. Eddie stands stock still and hears the shower turn on, the faint sound of the camera again.

Steve comes back in flapping the polaroids. He sets the camera down and walks back over to Eddie, handing him a damp wash cloth.

‘Clean yourself off.’ He says, leaning on one hip, looking board. ‘And fold your clothes on the desk, boxers on top, they need washing.’ Eyes flashing to Eddie’s, bitchy and judgmental. Eddie moans, even more heat rushing south, his gut churning.

But Eddie does as he’s told, ignoring the heat between his thighs, Steve’s eyes on him as he settles the clothes in a neat pile. ‘Good. Now grab a pillow and kneel down. You’re gonna watch my photos develop while I shower. That sound okay?’ He asks, condensing, but the question is laced with sweetness, infused with the knowledge that Steve knows Eddie loves him like this, loves being talked to like this. But he can end it any time. Any time either of them want.

Eddie just nods, bites his lip, turning to the bed to grab a pillow and situate himself on the floor.

Steve bends and lays the photos in front of where Eddie’s kneeled. Then strokes his cheek with a thumb, making Eddie preen, blinking his eyes closed slowly.

The crack of the slap registers after the feeling, Eddie’s head turned slightly to the side. Low moan distant to his own ears.

He blinks his eyes back open, looking up at Steve’s and his pretty face. He thinks there must be spit sliding down his chin, because Steve’s thumb comes to wipe something away, dipping into Eddie’s parted lips gently, for a moment.

And then Steve turns swiftly for the door, stopping just at the threshold. Eddie eyes snapping back up from where they were looking at his ass and Steve’s stifles a smile. Eddie’s own growing slow and dopey on his face.

‘You can touch, I want you hard once I’m back. But if you cum again I’m not doing anything with you for a week.’ He says and Eddie blinks at him. Nodding as the words filter through his brain.

He closes his eyes once Steve leaves and the water turns on. Lets his fingers dance towards his cock, cheek hot and tight and he moves it at the same time he wraps around himself, shoulders hunching around another guttural moan.

Then he remembers the photos.

He looks down and laying in front of his bent knees there’s two polaroids. The one of Eddie is almost fully developed, his dark thatch of hair speckled with globs of his own cum, white in contrast and just as noticeable in half crusted patches over the pink flush of his cock. It’s a mess.

Eddie works himself at the sight, getting to full hardness with a strangled gasp. Remembering Steve eyeing it, remembering what he’d said that caused Eddie to finish so quick.

The other is still only half developed. But the photos edges are rendering sections of the familiar Harrington bathroom, white tiles and blue walls, shower curtain and the edge of the large ornate mirror. Tan skin starts to become clear, Steve’s big hand holding the camera aloft, taking his own photo using the mirrors reflection, the back of his head.

Eddie’s hand speeds up and he watches, wide eyed, as Steve’s broad shoulders come into view, the arch and strong length of his back. Eddie bites his lip again, harder, as Steve’s back ends in his bare ass perched on the counter.

The dark ring of a plug just visible between his cheeks.

Eddie strangles a cry, gripping himself hard at the base, stifling his orgasm and feeling tears spring at his eyes. Steve’s must’ve been wearing that all through their time at the diner, all through the day. Stretched and wet and Eddie clenches his thighs together, covers his mouth with his palm and squeezes his eyes shut.

‘Fuck. Fuck!’ He mumbles behind his hand, breathing shakily through his nose. Steve is something else.

Finally the shower shuts off and Steve returns. Eddie still kneeling, panting heavily, cock hard and leaking between his thighs. Still coming down from the brink. Steve just smirks at him, running a towel through his hair.

He lays down on the bed, settling against the headboard. He trails his fingers over himself, tracing his nipple and stomach before giving his cock a few tugs, getting it hard.

Eddie watches the whole thing, hands still gripping his thighs.

Eventually Steve’s eyes slide open, that little smirk on his face. He opens his arms for Eddie, motioning him in.

Eddie scrambles up and into them, kissing and sucking at Steve’s neck and shoulders. Cock already grinding desperately between Steve’s damp cheeks.

‘You liked the pictures baby?’ Steve whispers, smile in his voice, mouth hot on Eddie’s ear.

Eddie shivers and pulls back, disbelief on his face. ‘I can’t believe you.’ He gushes.

Steve smiles at him and his cheeks are flush from the shower, his damp hair is falling into his forehead. ‘Fuck, you’re so pretty.’ Eddie says, always always amazed by Steve. He needs him, wants to be inside.

He grinds again, catching Steve’s hole, relishing in Steve’s eyes rolling slightly. ‘Get me wet first.’ Steve demands pulling at Eddie’s hair, shoving his head away.

Eddie bites his lip, cock twitching, he pulls at Steve’s thighs, bending him in half. Dips low to lick a long wet stripe across his ass. Tongue pressing at Steves hole, breaching the already stretched muscle and fucking his tongue in until there’s spit sliding down Steve’s crack.

Eventually Steve pulls Eddie off by his hair, chest all flushed and nipples hard.

Reaching over Steve gets the condom and lube from his bedside table. He doesn’t live here anymore, hasn’t for years. But the remnants of their sneaking around before Steve up and left with Eddie and Robin are still there. He never completely fell out with his parents, but he didn’t really tell them where he was going either. They continue to essentially ignore Steve and Steve continues to sneak into their house whenever he’s in Hawkins and fuck his boyfriend in whichever room he pleases. It’s not ideal, but it works.

‘Gonna show me what that useless cock can do?’ Steve goads, sitting up to roll the condom onto Eddie and slicking him with lube.

Eddie whines.

He hitches Steve’s thighs up, forcing him Back flat, hands beneath his knees. Steve sighs into the touch and Eddie watches his length get slowly swallowed by Steve’s tight, wet heat.

Eddie bottoms out, watching his length disappear. He feels his balls draw up, ears ringing and he’s so close. He’s so close.

The slap makes him stutter, eye wide as he stare at Steve. ‘Do not cum.’ Steve seethes, finger in eddies face, like he’s a misbehaving child. Eddie moans, gripping Steves thighs to hold himself still, breathing deeply through his nose to stave off his orgasm.

He stays buried in Steve, willing himself back down. Panting, he feels tears prickle at his eyes again. ‘That’s it.’ Steve soothes, hand coming up to stroke over the red mark he left on Eddie’s face.

Eddie breaths, eyes closed, feels the tendrils in his gut uncoil slightly. No longer right on the brink.

Eventually he opens them, Steve’s eyes on him. Eddie leans down, hands either side of Steve’s face. He starts moving his hips again, building a steady pace.

‘You should’ve touched yourself in front of her today.’ Steve says, looking up at Eddie with that closed off look again, haughty and judgmental. Eddie moans. ‘What do you think she would’ve done? If you got your stupid needy cock out in the diner, you think she would’ve laughed?’ Steve asks, voice mean and even, the only sign of arousal the flutter of his eyelashes as Eddie thrusts especially deep.

‘Fuck Steve.’ Eddie pants, thinking about it. ‘I used to think about that while you were at Scoops’ He admits, eyes watching Steve, watching his smirk broaden.

‘Yeah? You would’ve got your big dumb cock out on the counter for me while I scooped ice cream?’

Eddie’s hips stutter, he’s getting close again. ‘Yeah, used, u-used to go jack off in the bathrooms after seeing you at that mall. In that outfit. Fuck Steve, wanted you so bad.’ Eddie whines.

Steve coos, finger trailing up Eddie’s sweaty neck. ‘Who knew the freak would be so needy’

Eddie whimpers feeling a blush spread down his chest. He moves his hips faster, wanting to get in deeper.

Steve cracks, moaning. ‘Fuck, make me cum baby, get me there.’ Steve says, gripping his own cock now. Other hand holding him in place with the headboard. Eddie going faster, deeper, grazing that spot he knows so well inside Steve.

Steve throws his head back, releasing all over himself with a shout, soft hair splayed across the pillow and cheeks flushed pink. Eddie slows, grinding. He’s so close again, so achingly hard he can feel his pre dripping out, filling the condom.

‘I think I would’ve let you. Maybe Played with your cock while I worked.’ Steve pants. ‘But only if you cleaned up after yourself.’ And he scoops up some of the cum from his stomach and chest, feeding it into Eddie’s slack mouth.

Eddie sucks, swallowing and tasting salt, flooding his mouth with saliva, some slipping out down his chin. ‘’Teve.’ He pleads, garbled. Begging for permission. His eyes wide and wet, hips unable to stop.

‘You wanna cum baby?’ Steve asks, holding Eddie’s jaw with his spit slick fingers, fucking his own hips down onto Eddie’s cock.

Eddie nods, whining, digging his fingers into the sheets, trying not to think about what will happen if he comes too soon.

‘What are you baby? Are you my little freak, my little perv?’ Steve teases.

Eddie shivers, nodding, his whole body shaking in an attempt to stave off his orgasm. Shame writhing filthily in his gut, threatening to spill.

Steve pulls Eddie closer, kissing his cheek and letting him burrow his face in Steve’s neck. Eddie licks over his moles, wants to mark him, burrow his cock inside and never leave. ‘Thats it, my dumb thing, fucking me so good.’ Steve pets over Eddie’s hair as his hips speed up, thrusting into Steve harder, the sounds of skin slapping echoing through the house.

‘Cum for me.’ Steve whispers, hot breath sending shivers down his back. Eddie’s rhythm turning sloppy and desperate as he thrusts deep one last time. Cumming and crying out into Steve’s neck, tears slipping onto Steve’s skin and Eddie clenches his teeth so hard his jaw cracks.

He cums for so long he’s almost numb, shaky and boneless as he falls on top of Steve.

Steve holds him close, threading his fingers through Eddie’s sweaty hair and whispering praise in his ear.

Eventually Eddie moves slightly from on top of Steve, letting his softening cock slip out and his head rest on Steve’s chest. Listening to his heart beat. ‘Good boy, you’re my good boy Eddie.’ Steve says softly, threading his fingers into Eddie’s curls to massage his scalp.

Eddie groans, boneless and satiated. ‘Was I too mean?’ Steve asks from above him.

‘Fuck no. Made me cum my whole brain out.’ Eddie slurs, pressing his forehead between Steve’s hairy pecs.

Steve tsks him, tugging at Eddie’s hair. The sharp pain making Eddie hiss and he sucks one of Steve’s nipples into his mouth, clamping down on top of him so he can’t wriggle away.

‘Okay, okay! Quit it, you monster.’ Steve laughs, shoving Eddie’s face off.

Eddie sits back in his heels, laughing, finally taking the condom off and tossing it onto the floor. ‘You want another shower before we head back to Wayne’s?’ He asks, petting distractedly at Steve’s pink hole, still shiny with lube.

‘Ye just gimme a sec.’ Steve says, stretching, making Eddie’s fingertip slip inside. ‘And quit playing with that, what are you, a perv?’ He asks, smirking up at him.

Eddie grins, lunging back on top of Steve and biting his shoulder.

Steve yelps and Eddie scoops him up, carrying him bridal style to the bathroom.

‘Oh! Stevie, remind me to put those polaroids in my wallet. I think I’ll get a lot of use out of ‘em.’ Eddie says, dumping Steve on the closed toilet and turning the shower on.

📸 📸 📸 📸 📸

Tag List: @pearynice @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @scoops-aboy86 @chickensinrainboots @cheesedoctor @marvel-ous-m

#longer one today #the doc for this used to be called 'bi freak wet and needy'#so had to keep the history #its finally done omg this has been on the back burner for SO long #i hope u enjoy 🥺#hotlunch #steddie #steve x eddie #steddie fic #sub eddie week #subeddieweek #my fic #<3

248 notes · View notes

kermahillway · 7 months

Text

I really like the dynamic of them both having so many demons but both of them try to look on the bright side of things... Such as having each other! :D EDIT: It's a bit hard to see wth is going on so I added some close ups <3

#art #my art #procreate #artwork #illustration #green goblin #otto x norman #otto octavius #doc ock #spiderman #spiderman no way home #ship art #norman osborn #I wonder how long this fixation is going to last...#I really hope it ends soon #There is not enough octogoblin enjoyers #Octogoblin #doctor octopus

686 notes · View notes

saphushia · 1 year

Text

haii!!! time to be tortured by another comic for @shepscapades DBHC AU!!

i need to point out, this scene is ✨~NONCANON~✨ to the au, and is kinda just. well i really wanted to create a hypothetical 'what if' scenario to torture shep, honestly. That scenario being, in this case, "hey, what if when Doc and X reboot etho on s9 after the moon crash and he wakes up Wrong and Angry and Bloodlusty, he gets loose on the server before they can shut him down?"

so uh. yeah ^_^ also, look below the cut for ✨fun bonus facts!!✨ (because they got too long to put in the tags)

NUMBER 1!! it got hidden by the text bubble, but in the first panel bdubs is holding his phone. this is because, well, when etho gets out, doc and x immediately start warning ppl. sending messages in chat basically saying 'etho awake, he got out of the lab, something's wrong, he's glitched, he's dangerous, if you see him tell one of us immediately, and BE CAREFUL' and bdubs, of course, processes up to "etho's awake" before dropping everything and going to look everywhere for him. because that's his buddy! etho's been down for repairs for a while he misses him!! he's going to go see his buddy!

2!! in dbh (the actual game), when an android's stress level gets too high, they pretty much start looking for a way to terminate themselves. of course, i'm sure this holds no bearing to the comic! definitely no relation with etho throwing himself into pvp as his stress level skyrockets...

and 3! there's a couple of ways this can end. either, doc and x arriving and one of them having to hold bdubs back as the other deactivates etho, or, option 2, well... at least bdubs will respawn far away and not have to watch :) i'm sure this won't be traumatizing for either of them ^_^

#one more time just bc i don't want shep to get a bunch of confused asks;#this is NOT CANON this DOES NOT HAPPEN in the au.#in canon etho does not get out of X n Doc's lab (or wherever they were working on him)#hermitcraft #dbhc #dbhc au #ethoslab #bdoubleo100 #bdubs #art #fanart #comic #hermitcrap #tw panic attack #i hope thats the right format for trigger tags #a few more smaller facts as well;#etho was originally gonna be burning smth down but uh #well none of grian's early s9 builds are flammable aufdhgkjh #so explosives it is #etho definitely got all the materials for that as well as his sword and probably more from rifling through chests #good ol theft baby!! that's the life series mentality for ya #also. i very nearly used the splatoon font for that last text bubble. honestly you should all be grateful it's not comic sans #oh yeah i originally colored everything in pink instead of red btw. definitely added smth to the panic attack lmao #last one; my discord icon is now etho in the last panel of pg1 ^_^#spreading torture and violcence heehoo #ok i've been workign on making this post for like an hour take it away from me

2K notes · View notes

dappervoided · 4 months

Text

Docs vacation to Quesadilla Island!

So I watched Docm77 last Hermitcraft season 9 episode today and RAN to make this.

More so on the topic!

He needed to take a break and get his creative juices flowing? What's a better break (nightmare) than to come enjoy the island for a short while!

I've been spinning around the idea of Qsmp and Hermitcraft crossover since the start of Qsmp. There's so many ideas in my brain about this topic even though it'll never actually happen! I'm so sorry, but some things are bound to get out of my daydreams and materialize into doodles!

I think Doc would LOVE the eggs! Not to mention all the cute creatures they'd show him! He'd get attached instantly, they're too adorable!

I could only fit 3 here without making it too busy, but I wanna expand on what I could see the interactions being. Massive ramblings, often grammatically incorrect ahead:

Sunny - now we all know she's a material princess, they'd love Docs bedtime stories about the diamond pillar wars and his incredible contraptions made of diamond in the Perimeter and all the riches he had. Now Tubbo not only has Pierre to watch out for, but Doc also, cause Sunny would beg him to make stuff out of diamonds to show off!

Empanada - she'd clock in instantly that Doc is a German and would try speaking to him in German every moment she got. Now she has both her mom Niki and Doc to talk in her language to! It's not much of an expansion, but she appreciates it a lot! They'd have many delightful conversations and Doc is always happy to have her build little things together. They learn from each other!

Ramon - besides finally having another redstone genius with an entire Hivemind on the server, Ramon would be interested in how Doc works - both in a cyborg way and in the way he creates mind-blowing, game breaking contraptions. If they're not destroying the server together for fun, they're not making the most of their time! Jk, but it do be nice when both of them get to hang out and show each other what they discovered that's scuffed on the server.

Some eggs that aren't drawn:

Chayanne - finally! Another farmer came around! Chayanne would show off his impressive potato farm and cooking skills to Doc, who will always be amazed at the kids dedication! Doc can finally have his tomato farm in a Minecraft world now, since the mods allow it! It is too free for everyone to use

Tallulah - If she would show Doc the incredible builds she made and her and her papas place, he would be moved to tears! Everything is made with such love and incredible amounts of effort and thought! From her farm of all possible plants, to her garden and to El Cielo De Las Tortugas. Such incredible places to visit and appreciate! And Tallulahs amazing way of storytelling would only serve to amplify those feelings

Dapper - now besides trying cage trap Doc 1000x times, Dapper would definitely show off everything he got once he discovers that Doc is deeply amused and surprised by all the non vanilla things! They would invite Doc to their base to show everything and I mean EVERYTHING there is for show. It's definitely too much, but Doc is very impressed by her and would praise how much work she puts in! Dapper do be the definition of GRIND!

Leo - Leo and her dads made so many incredible builds, Doc would be amazed at how much they did in such a short time! Besides that Leo herself is an incredibly, theatrically even, good at body language and expression! He'd die of cuteness and laughter like all of us already do!

Pomme - we all know that Pomme has so many talents! From being a little musician, to an incredible warrior, to a thought out builder and a spectacularly emotional writer. There's a lot Doc will have to slowly discover about Pomme! And each time the scale and depths of things will get more and more impressive, because the share amounts of time and effort she puts into her creations, passions and loved ones is massive!

Pepito - this kid! Pepito is such an incredible character to be around! Pepito is so dedicated to whatever Pepito does, especially if it's with friends! Whenever Pepito has fun, it always radiates outwards in many different ways! You can't really help yourself but get charged up with energy when you're around. And Doc does just that!

Richarlyson- Richas is a lot in the best ways possible! But we all know he's very much a jokester, he wouldn't miss a beat trying to mess with the goat! And once he finds out what kinds of retaliations Docs is capable of? OH IT'S WAR (for fun, cause that's what it's all about!)

I'm sorry if this is chaotic at some parts or lacking in others, I have to write this all in one go before my battery dies. I haven't been able to watch many streams so I'm sorry if Im not up to date with the characters, but that is what I remember them as! Any corrections or lore updates are always welcome! I want to learn more, especially now that I can't watch!

Anyhow, now that I look back on that drawing why do I feel like I've done something terrible.... I've seen those designs before......

OH NO

#voidedart #qsmp #q!sunny #q!empanada #q!ramon #hermitcraft doc #docm77 #This is loooooooong #I hope I'm not the only one obsessed with QSMP x Hermitcraft #hermitcraft

240 notes · View notes

starry-bi-sky · 8 months

Text

Childhood Friends Au: Danny's in Gotham Again

when the wool is off your eyes you'll stop counting sheep at night cause you'll eat your fill of them during the daytime

A few weeks after Danny’s visit to Gotham, he buys an apartment in the city. It’s this little thing, a studio apartment on the same street he grew up in. In Crime Alley. When he tells his parents, they protest heavily. They don’t think it's safe. They think he should reconsider. There were plenty of apartments and places to live somewhere else. And what about college?

Danny doesn’t think he’ll go to college. He isn’t sure what he wants to do, now that being an astronaut is off the table. It’d be a waste of money to go without a goal in mind, he thinks. He says he’ll take a gap year and apply at one of the community colleges funded by the Wayne Corporation, possibly. It just wasn’t in the cards right now.

“If things get tough,” He says at dinner that night, “then I can talk to the Waynes. I’m friends with the family, remember?” He ended up getting Bruce’s number in his phone again before he left, and in the process got Tim’s as well. They don’t talk much, Danny isn’t sure what to say. But he sends Tim memes whenever he comes across one and thinks he’ll like. Tim sends memes back in return.

His parents do remember. They remember. They also remember the horrified shriek that echoed through the house when Danny learned of Jason’s passing. They remember running up the stairs and bursting into their son’s room and finding him sobbing into his bed, curled up like a little kid, like he was in pain. He lost his voice that day, stuck between screaming out his grief and sobbing it.

They’re still not sure if they should let him go.

In the end, Danny wins them out, and he lets them help him search for an apartment. They take a break from their lab work to help search for cheap furniture to buy. They may have more money than when they were in Gotham, but that frugal part of you never fully goes away. They all agree that they don’t want Danny to be seen carrying in nice-looking furniture when he moves in.

He ends up with a basic furniture set, all mismatched, and in the warm summer of June, his parents rent out a u-haul and drive him down to Gotham to move in. They meet the landlord when they arrive, a skinny and frail old man with wispy white hair and a wrinkled face. He gives Danny the keys and tells him what apartment number he is, and then he leaves.

His parents help him move in. They help him carry his heavy furniture up to the second floor, where his apartment is. Danny isn’t sure if he wants them to help. His mom and dad are strong, but they are getting old, closer to their fifties now that their children are grown. His dad’s hair is slowly beginning to thin, and rather than the white eating at the sides of his head, it now streaks through his hair like salt-and-pepper. His mom’s hair is graying out too, and there are more lines in their faces than he remembers there being.

When he voices his concerns, his mom laughs spiritedly and says that they may be getting old, but they are still as spry as when they were in their twenties. Danny isn’t sure if he believes them or not. He can see his dad struggle a bit when they return to get his bed frame, and they have to take a break before they go back down for the rest of their things.

Five years ago, his dad could do this without breaking a sweat. It forces a heavy thing in the back of Danny’s throat. (He is less afraid of his own death than he is of his loved ones, and while he has always felt rocky with his parents, he still loves them more than anything else.)

Danny’s apartment is exactly as he would have expected it to be: shabby and worn through. The entire room smells like stale cigarette smoke and weed, nicotine stains the wall with poorly covered bullet holes, and stains in the carpet that are a color he can’t discern. The fridge has a broken light and when he tries to turn on the gas stove, it click-click-clicks before lighting, fire fwooshing out while the smell of gas fills the air. There’s rat droppings in the cupboards and the closet-like bathroom is just as bad.

The ghostly part of him can sense the heavy stench of death in the room; people have died in this room. People have died in every room of this building, he thinks. They have died on the streets outside and in the alleys squeezed between them. He can feel it like a heavy fog in the air.

It is painfully nostalgic, a bittersweet feeling in his chest that he grimaces to.

When the last box is placed in his apartment, his parents offer to help unpack. They are hesitant to leave and Danny knows it, although he doesn’t know if it’s from empty nest syndrome or because it's Gotham. He thinks it might be both. He is their youngest child finally leaving home to a city known for its danger.

“Are you sure you don’t want us to stay behind, sweetie?” His mother asks, a frown she tries to hide settled in the creases of her face. She fiddles with her hands, a nervous habit Danny has since noticed when she feels truly unsure and doesn’t need to hide it. Hesitancy looms over her like a heavy cloud.

His dad jumps in hastily, splaying his hands and smiling painfully wide to hide the glistening in his eyes. “You’re mother’s right! We can help you get everything set up, champ. I could probably do something with that stove of yours to make it faster!” He says, his voice still booming like it always does even if there’s a stumble in his words.

It makes his heart squeeze, knowing just how much they care. It was hard last summer, telling him that he was the Phantom. Terrifying, actually. They couldn’t comprehend it. He hadn’t felt his heart beat that fast in years when he stood in front of them at the kitchen table and told them he was a halfa, begging them to believe that ghosts weren’t inherently evil.

His parents were people of science, however, and after much, much shock, they slowly came to terms with it. How could they not? The evidence was right in front of them. Their son was dead-alive, alive-dead. Somewhere stuck in the between. The tears they shed that night could fill a river, moving from the kitchen to the living room as Danny explains how he died.

(When Danny tells them that he died after a week Jason did, his mom and dad look horrified. His mom covers her mouth when he adds that it was his idea to go inside it, his dad looks ashy pale, gripping his pant legs so tight that his knuckles turn white. There is a conclusion coming to their minds that he can tell they don’t like.)

(“You’ve always hated our inventions, Danny.” Mom says in a hushed voice, and Danny winces at the wording, sinking into the back of the cushions in shame. He never thought that his parents noticed. Mom quickly grabs his arm, “No, no, there’s nothing to be ashamed of Danny. We were… perhaps too careless with our inventions, too enthusiastic. You had every right to hate the things we made when they had a tendency to… to malfunction.”)

(Malfunction is a delicate way of putting it, when Danny remembers every time they had to evacuate their old apartment complex because whatever half-baked creation his parents made inevitably blew up into ash and smoke. There were soot marks permanently stained into the ceiling.)

(Her hand slides down and grabs his, and she cups it in both of her hands, squeezing tightly. He forces himself to look up, and there is a look like her heart breaking when he looks into his mother’s eyes. “You’ve always avoided the lab after we moved, Danny. And you had every right to, so why on Earth did you ever think about going into the portal?”)

(Danny struggles to come up with an adequate answer, a way to verbalize what came over him that day five years ago. The answer is there, hanging in the air like a knot in a noose. He opens his mouth, and then closes it.)

(Finally, with a tongue made of lead, he shrugs lamely and looks away. “I didn’t know there was an on button inside it.” He mumbles, and despite being the truth it feels like a lie. But that is the truth. He didn’t know there was an on button inside it. So he didn’t care what happened.)

(Something dulls in mom’s eyes, like she thought of something else that Danny hadn’t said. Her eyes shimmer, and she squeezes them shut, breathing in so deep that it shakes. And then she pulls him into a hug, a hand burying into his hair and pressing him close. “It must have hurt so much, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.”)

(It is something that Danny doesn’t expect her to say, like missing the last step of the stairs. It startles him so much he laughs this short, bark of a thing. He feels his dad press against his back and wrap his big arms around them, his nose pushed into his hair.)

(Because yeah. Yeah, it did hurt. It hurt more than anything else he’s ever felt before. It had torn him apart and sewn him back together again, only to rinse and repeat. The pain was nothing he ever spoke to Sam or Tucker about, and it was something they never brought up. No, that’s not true. If they ever brought it up, Tucker would call it a zap. As if Danny only experienced a mild static shock. Like it was painless. It’s a pretty lie that Danny lets him and Sam believe.)

(His eyes sting and water immediately wobbles into his vision, coming up with such a force that he doesn’t even need to blink before it spills over. “Yeah.” He forces out, voice unexpectedly rough and cracking. “Yeah, it- it hurt. A lot.”)

He tells them about fighting the Lunch Lady a month later. He tells them about finding Jason. It comes spilling out like a waterfall. “I found him, mom.” He says, holding onto her tight while she keeps him tucked under his chin like a little kid. The secret of Jason being Robin stays hidden under his tongue, it is not his secret to tell. Not his identity to expose. He grips her tighter. “I found him, mom. Right there in the Ghost Zone, and he was my Jason. He wasn’t an echo or a— an imprint of him.”

Mom is silent; quiet and attentive, and so is dad, who rubs his large hands up and down Danny’s spine in an attempt to soothe him. It only works a little. Danny breathes in like a gasp as the urge to cry overcomes him again. He always avoids talking about Jason, his grief is like a never-healing scab that can be picked off at any time. It is ingrained into his core.

“And then I lost him.” He forces out, a sob layering under his words that he chokes on and swallows. The hand on his back stills, and he can feel mom and dad breathe in like a question. He turns his head and pushes it into mom’s shoulder. “He disappeared, mom. Just— just gone.”

“And he didn’t move on.” He says, voice snarling like teeth biting before his mom can ask, because he knows that’s what she was going to ask. It’s what Sam and Tucker asked when he came to them in tears hours after he found Jason gone. It’s what Jazz said when he finally told her about it. It’s what every one of his ghosts asked when he told them about it and begged for their help.

Danny grits his teeth and tries not to dig his nails into mom’s clothes as a fresh wave of tears run down his face. “His haunt is still there. If Jason really moved on it would have disappeared with him. That’s how it works. But it’s still in the zone, so Jason’s out there I just don’t know where.”

(Sam once asks him why Danny didn’t just move on from it a year after Jason’s disappearance. She asked him why he didn’t give it up. Danny nearly saw red, and nearly bit her head off for it. It was incomprehensible to him to just stop looking for Jason, to give up. Not when he was out in the zone somewhere. Because he had to be in the zone.)

(Danny once tried to take Jason through the portal with him, and much like what happened to Kitty, it didn’t work. Jason was too tied to the ghost zone to leave.)

(Some bonds are just unbreakable, he thinks. Bonds forged through blood and time and trust, and when you’re on the streets of Gotham, you hoard what little trust you have in someone like a dragon with its gold. It is scarcely given and fiercely kept.)

“I’ve been looking for him.” Danny whispers when talking becomes too hard for him, when it runs the risk of him crying. “When- when I’m not fighting ghosts or, or in school or with my friends, I’ve been looking for him.” He has explored the Ghost Zone in every reach he can. He has met so many people. He’s met the ghosts of aliens from planets in every corner of the galaxy. He has met gods or god-like beings and their disciples.

He’s met famous scholars and writers (he’s gotten the autographs of all of Jason’s favorite writers). He has found entire cities that have so much life in it that it's been permanently etched into the ghost zone, like a mirror version of itself.

He’s visited the ghostly vision of Gotham so many times, and he avoids the imprint of Wayne Manor like the plague. There are ghostly newspapers that he reads. There are the ghosts of Martha and Thomas Wayne in many of them.

Jason’s haunt connects to Wayne Manor, but it is also the street they grew up in. It is a small brick building with a door that leads to Jason’s room. A ghost knows when someone enters their haunt, it alerts them like a doorbell in the back of their mind. A foreign ecto-signature in a place drenched in your own.

Danny visits it every time he goes into the Ghost Zone. It’s always his first stop.

He tells his parents all of it. He tells them of the ghosts he’s met, of the places he’s seen. And when he feels brave, he tells them about Rath and the terror that his future self brings him. He keeps some details hidden, the ones that he can afford to keep without muddling up the story.

(Rath is a tall, spindly thing, like a funhouse mirror version of Danny himself. He has arms that are much too long and legs that are much too tall, with skinny fingers that extend into claws.He wears his suit the same as Danny does, with it partially undone and the sleeves wrapped around his waist.)

(There is a black hole in his chest that is much bigger than Danny’s own. It takes up his chest cavity and drips the same, viscous black liquid as the tears falling from his eyes. Danny never forgets his voice; a scraping, quiet thing like he’s screamed himself hoarse. Rath has a voice like goosebumps, and it haunts Danny like a bump in the night.)

Danny speaks and speaks and speaks until he can’t think of anything else to speak of. He is tired and sad, and it feels like his heart has been ripped out and rubbed raw again. And yet, he also feels so much better. Like a long heavy weight has been taken off his chest.

Yeah, last summer was hard. His parents walked on eggshells around him, and they forced themselves to unlearn their bias of ghosts. It was more than Danny could have ever dreamed of, and when they felt ready for it, they asked him more about the ghost zone.

He smiles sadly at his dad, “I think fixing the stove can be a priority another time, dad.” He says, watching him wilt and his smile fall. Jack Fenton was always so good at making himself look like a kicked puppy. “I can handle unpacking by myself, I promise.”

His parents still look so unsure, like they want to argue. Danny watches his mom purse her lips tightly, confliction running across her face like a datastream. She takes dad’s hand, squeezing their fingers together despite the droop in her shoulders.

“Oh, alright then, I suppose.” She relents, her hand placing on Jack’s arm. “I guess we could go, we’re just going to miss you so much, Danny.”

Tears seem to have won over his dad, and Jack Fenton sniffs back before he can cry properly. “Our little boy, all grown up.” He says, voice wobbling. It makes Danny laugh, and it makes his heart pang. His smile grows impossibly wider and so much fonder. “You’ve become such a kind, wonderful young man, Danno. We’re so proud of you.”

Danny laughs again, and it cracks. “You’re gonna make me cry, dad.” (He feels a welling of guilt in his gut that he ignores — he doesn’t feel like a kind man. He doesn’t feel like a good one either. Not with what he plans to do.)

His father holds out his arms in hopefulness, “One last hug for your old man before we head out?” He asks, mustering up a smile on his face.

Danny barrels into him, nearly knocking his dad over with an oomph. He’s as tall as him now, but he still feels little in his bear hugs. With arms wrapping around his middle, Danny hugs his father tight and breathes him in one last time.

“Careful there, Danno.” He laughs, patting Danny’s back roughly. “You’ll break my ribs with that ghostly strength of yours!” But he holds on just as tight.

Out of spite, Danny bends back and lifts him off his feet, laughing when Jack tenses up and nearly scrambles out of surprise. His mom laughs with him, stepping back to give them room for the few seconds that dad is in the air.

When it’s his mom’s turn, Danny has to hunch to hug her. Something bittersweet to him as she plants a kiss on his forehead and says that he’ll always be her baby. “Even if you do have that horrid smoking habit.” She adds on with a disapproving eyebrow raise.

Danny turns red in embarrassment, and walks them back to the GAV. Gothamites of all kinds slow to stop and boggle at the monstrous, road-illegal thing that is parallel-parked next to the curbside. In the past, Danny would have died with mortification to be seen with it. Now it just makes him laugh. Before he goes back into the apartment building, he buys a newspaper from a nearby convenience store.

The first thing he does when he gets back up to his room is one: make a mental note to buy a bicycle chain lock for the door. The locks jiggle and there are splinters along the side that show signs of it being broken into in the past. The second thing he does is pull his cigarettes out of his pocket and light one.

Danny starts to unpack with a cigarette hanging from his mouth, placing the newspaper he bought onto the counter. He has a cheap loveseat that he pushes off to the side, and he moves the boxes into the kitchen. It’s a matter of organization that Danny has to think about before he does anything.

It’s as he’s pushing the sofa up against the wall facing the windows that his phone rings a familiar tune: Sam. The phone is fished out before he can think about it and when he stares down at the screen, he realizes it's a facetime call.

He presses answer and walks over to prop his phone up onto the counter. The smiling faces of Sam and Tucker greet him, rather than just Sam. Immediately, Danny grins. “Hey Danny.” Sam greets, smiling a dark-painted lazy thing. From the background it looks like they’re in Tucker’s room. Sam is in Tucker’s desk chair, and Tucker is behind her, leaning against it. “Have you moved in yet?”

Danny pulls the cigarette from his mouth and huffs, a cloud of smoke following his breath. “Yeah! It’s a shithole.” He grins lopsidedly, and his feet carry him off to the side to allow Sam and Tucker view of his apartment. He lets thirty seconds pass, allowing the both of them to really see the rest of the room. And then he steps back into frame.

Sam and Tucker both look like they’re trying not to look judgemental, like they’re trying to hide a grimace that Danny sees anyway with the small turns at the corner of their mouths. He grins wider, mirth filling his lungs. “I know, it looks awful doesn’t it?”

“It’s— it’s not so bad.” Sam says with a strain in her voice, a forced smile on her face that tries to be reassuring. Tucker nods along readily, and he looks just as unsure as Sam does. Danny stifles laughter behind his teeth.

“No, no, it looks bad,” He takes a drag of his cigarette, shaking his head. “You can say it, I won’t get offended. It’s a fucking apartment in crime alley. Of course it looks bad.”

Sam remains silent, a rearing of her stubbornness showing itself. Tucker takes a different approach, and heaves a dramatic sigh of relief, slumping like a weight. “Okay, you’re right. It looks bad.” He frowns, “Sorry, man.”

While Danny snorts, Sam sighs. “Yeah, it looks bad. What even are those stains?” She asks, and both she and Tucker lean closer in tandem to the screen, eyes squinting at the floor behind him. Danny glances at the floor, and shrugs.

“Blood, probably.” He says, and while years in Amity Park have accustomed him to a clean environment, the desensitization of Gotham still remains. Tucker and Sam both make faces and lean away, as if the stain itself was capable of passing through to them. “Yeah, there are bullet holes in the walls.”

“Are you sure it’s safe to be there?” Tucker asks, a furrow appearing between his brows. He adjusts his glasses and leans against the chair. Sam is frowning heavily, and Danny can already see her thinking up of a new way to fix the problem.

“Oh, I never said this place was safe.” Danny tells him cheerily, taking a last hit of his cigarette before placing the dead stick onto the counter. He itches for another one. Instead he walks over to the shelf his parents brought in and starts moving it. “It’s Crime Alley, Tuck. Safe isn’t even in its vocabulary.”

Tucker and Sam look like they’ve both swallowed a lemon.

“But it’s where I want to be right now.” He says, grunting quietly when the shelf is against the wall he wants it to be, near the short hallway leading to the front door. He can push it in front of it if someone tries to break in. “And Crime Alley’s apartments are the only ones I can really afford right now without mooching off my parents, and I’d rather not depend on them.”

He can hear the disapproving hesitance from where he stands. And he ignores it.

Danny walks back into frame, lifting up a box onto the counter. He hums lightly, fingers run over the tape keeping it shut. “Why do you even want to be in Gotham, Danny?” Sam asks, and she sounds genuinely perplexed. Danny stills. “I thought this place only had bad memories for you.”

His blood turns cold, and like a dime being flipped his slow heartbeat fills his ears. “It does.” He replies automatically, before he can think. Shit, shit. He knows that Sam or Tucker would ask that question, and yet he still feels unprepared for it. His heart pulses quickly against his ribcage, knocking, asking him what he’s going to tell them that isn’t the truth.

Danny stammers, “I mean— I just— I guess I felt nostalgic.” He says, and it sounds like a weak defense. He looks away, finding himself instinctively scratching his jaw. A new tick of his when he’s nervous. From the corner of his eye, he sees Sam and Tucker both narrow their eyes at him.

He cannot tell them the real reason why he’s moved back to Gotham. He can’t tell them of the little secret and vow he told himself five years ago, the one that’s been left to fester and burn like an open wound close to his core. The one that, if he thinks too much about it, sends a searing hot electricity through him, filling him from crown to toe top-full of direst wrath.

(Danny was always the angrier one in the duo of Jason and Danny. He was always the one with glass in his mouth, cutting his teeth and tongue so that he could spit blood at the world around them. His knuckles had more blood and bruises on it than skin, once upon a time. All because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. He has grown from it, that fury has turned to a small simmering candle.) (But sometimes, sometimes it rears its head, and electricity will buzz under Danny’s skin. There is lightning before the thunder, the second before a fist pulled to punch lands, the spark before it becomes a blaze.)

He stumbles over his words, and then sighs long and low, drooping his head. “I… was thinking that I can’t avoid this place forever.” He says, and the best lies always have the truth in it. Because it’s not a lie, not completely. But it’s not close enough to the truth either. “And that maybe if I came back, I’d be able to do something about those bad memories. Make them better or make it hurt less.”

Like wool over their eyes, it fools Sam and Tucker. Their narrowed eyes soften, and Danny feels like a snake is in his lungs as they both adopt their own versions of gentleness on their faces. “Oh, Danny.” Sam breathes out, and the snake squeezes, “Of course, we understand.”

Tucker nods, smiling at him. “Yeah, bro, that’s really brave of you. I know it can’t be easy coming back.” He says, “Maybe you can reconnect with the Waynes again, you always thought well of Mister Wayne whenever you came back from visiting.”

Danny smiles weakly, the gesture cutting into his cheeks like a knife. Perhaps he could. He was still upset with Bruce for hiding Jason’s killer from him. But he doesn’t hate him. Maybe five years ago, he did, when the death of Jason was still fresh in his mind and freshly bleeding in his heart. Now he just doesn’t know what to think of him. He was Batman. Jason was Robin, and the Joker killed Robin.

It would need to be something he’d have to speak to Bruce about in person, he thinks, in order to resolve it. To hear his judgment on it and make an opinion from there. Danny has learned in the last five years, much to Jazz’s smug delight, that talking to people about something he was upset about did make him feel better.

The conversation slips on from there into something more light, more breathable. And while they talk, Danny unpacks. He sets up his bed in the corner of the room, adjacent to the windows, and unpacks his cheap TV and table stand. It’s directly across from the couch, in front of the windows. He puts up knicks and knacks he’s collected over the years on the shelves.

When he puts up the curtains, he notices that more than one frame jiggles loosely. Sam makes a comment on the musty stains permanently dyed into the glass, and Danny talks about getting something to fix the cracks. Gotham winters can get brutal, and even if he can withstand the cold, doesn’t mean everything else in his apartment can.

“Oh, watch this.” He says halfway through unpacking, and pulls out a stick of thick white chalk from a box. “This is something I learned from Clockwork a while back; I think he knew I was going to move to Gotham.” He grins sillily, popping into the camera frame to show them. “I wonder how?”

Sam rolls her eyes, smiling while Tucker huffs. “It’s not like he’s the Master of Time and can see all past, present, and future.” Tucker snarks.

Danny hums lightly, curt like he isn’t sure he believes Tucker, and walks to a piece of bare wall not yet blocked by furniture. He starts to draw on it. The chalk shimmers with faint ectoplasm on the wall.

“Uhh…” Tucker’s voice cuts through, “Are you sure you should be doing that? Won’t you get in trouble for that?”

“There are bullet holes in the plaster, Tucker.” Danny retorts dryly, arching his hand to make a big circle. “I don’t think the landlord is gonna care if I get washable chalk on his walls.” Inside the circle, he inscribes the symbols of the Infinite Realms. “I don’t think he’d be able to see it anyways, he was really old.”

When he is done, Danny steps back to admire his work. It’s not bad, he thinks, for a lack of practice. He tosses the chalk off to the side, it lands on the couch and rolls back into the cushions. Ectoplasm heats under his hand, slowly glowing from his fingertips before stretching down the rest of his palm.

Danny’s fingers press against the wall, into the center of the circle. The result is immediate, ectoplasm is siphoned off his hand and into the circle. It glows, and then swirls. He steps off to the side for Sam and Tucker to watch its transformation. The circle fills with a swirling pool of ectoplasm, like a smaller version of the basement portal, and then it warps and stretches.

It fills out a rectangular shape, shifting like taffy being pulled this way and that, before settling into a solid shape. It solidifies, and instead of a wall there is a glowing purple door, warped in nature and seemingly shifting like a trick of the eyes. He can hear the gentle hum of the zone standing next to it, and can see the carving of the circle in the wood.

He gestures dramatically, grinning from ear to ear. “Ta-da~” He sings, “A door to my haunt! For whenever I feel like visiting it.” He pats the wood, making a strange thunk-thunk sound. “And then watch this.”

Danny touches the circle again, and the door twists and recedes like water going down a drain. The circle flashes bright green, and then fades into nothing on the wall, invisible to the naked eye. “I can hide it whenever I want! So if I ever invite someone over—” which he doubts, “—I won’t have to worry about them asking, ‘Hey Danny? Why is there a creepy fucking door in your studio apartment?’”

He gets a pair of laughs for his efforts, and Danny grins wider.

Sam and Tucker have to end the call when Danny is nearly done unpacking, leaving him alone with only his thoughts and the Gotham ambience outside. There were only a few boxes left, and they promise to call him tomorrow. He tells them that they better keep that promise.

The silence that follows after they leave feels somberly, as if the reality of moving in has finally set in and filled the air with its loneliness. With its change. Finally, Danny lets the strangeness of moving back to Gotham hit him when he reaches the last box, and he stops to take another smoke break to let it settle.

It feels so strange to be back in Gotham, he thinks. He’s all grown up, or almost grown up. He can vote and pay taxes, but he doesn’t feel much older than he was at fourteen. There’s a disconnect that makes him feel sad.

There are cars running outside, driving by. He can only catch glimpses of them, his apartment faces an alleyway. There are dogs barking in the distance, strays he bets. It’s already dark out, and he wonders if he looks out the window he would see the bat-signal shining through the night and staining the permanent cloud that hangs over Gotham.

Bruce would be so disappointed if he learned the reason for Danny’s return to Gotham. But Danny’s not here for him. He’s here for someone far more important. And like that, the simmering anger that has tucked itself into the furthest corners of his heart starts slipping through. His heart has teeth, ready to strike and snarl and bite.

He crushes the cigarette in his hand and throws it away. When he opens the last box, it is with hands that tremble and with a face of stone. With a delicateness he does not feel, he reaches in and pulls a corkboard from the box. On the corner frame is a small, near inconspicuous carving of another ghost rune.

Danny hangs it up on an empty space on the wall, out of sight from the window. It’s plain, and he has nothing to pin to it. He presses the small rune on the corner, pushing ectoplasm into it. Unlike the door, it does not twist and warp and shape itself into something new. Instead it bursts into green flame, eating away at the board and revealing the same thing underneath it, just in dark blue-black-purple.

Now this board, this board Danny has something to pin to it. The newspaper he bought earlier sits abandoned on the counter, and Danny unrolls it with something like viciousness in his chest. On the front page is an image of a damaged street, and above it is titled: “JOKER STRIKES AGAIN, 3 DEAD AND 27 INJURED”

Danny rips out the first page, he rips out every mention of him. His hands shake and threaten to crumple the paper as he turns back to the board, there is hot blood pounding in his ears. There is an impending sense of finally in his chest, like a setting sun giving the stage to a starless night. There is a stern set in his jaw, five years of festering rage rushing forth like a tidal wave, threatening to make his vision swim.

It would be so easy, he thinks, to go out as Phantom right now and hunt the clown down. It would only take a night. All it would take is a night, and then he could sink his hands into the Joker’s chest and rip out his heart where he stood. It would be so easy.

The thought alone forces Danny to stop as he is hit with another rush of fury, really making his head and vision swim. Thorny vines wrap around his throat, making it hard to breathe. He stares at a spot on the wall until the shaking passes.

If he wants to be discreet about this, then he can’t do it now. Even if he wants to. He doesn’t want witnesses. He doesn’t want an audience. He made a mistake, telling Red Hood about his plan. He wasn’t sure what he was thinking. Perhaps he wasn’t thinking at all. But he can only hope that the Hood hasn’t mentioned it to Bruce. He knows it hasn’t been long since they started working together. He hopes that the Hood has already forgotten about it.

He pins the newspaper clippings onto the black-blue-board, and stands back. It’s bare now, but it won’t be forever.

He presses the circle again, and the pinboard reverts back to its original blank state.

-----

Was I expecting to make a third part?? No. No I was not. I was also not expecting to make an entire google doc filled with summaries for short story ideas about this au that all tie into each other so that way if i DO continue this i have a skeleton pathway to follow rather than making everything up from scratch and potentially cornering myself

you can find this on ao3 or on tumblr 1 2 :)

#dp x dc #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dpxdc crossover #childhood friends au #cw swearing #cw smoking #im calling them short stories bc if i call them chapters i might intimidate myself #fun fact every single chapter will have a crane wives lyric on it i am DETERMINED #i hope yall are subscribed to this on ao3 bc i almost didnt post this on tumblr #the fentons being good parents were a surprise to me too but also i never really planned on them being BAD parents #okay so they appear as negligent in the first post but we'll just call that a plothole #i had the idea that danny was the angrier one out of the duo earlier today and it felt like an epiphany #there's no guarantee of a next part but yk immm kinda hoping there is #on the docs the ending bullet point for this chapter was #'make it feel like a tv show where the seemingly inconspicuous and friendly character has something sinister up their sleeve'#WE know that danny's not inconspicuous in the least he's been thinking of this murder for the last five years. but nobody but red hood know #i had to come up with a in-story reason why danny doesnt kill the joker NOW but my out-of-story excuse is: there'd be no tension otherwise #its about the BUILD UP. Its about the RISING TENSION. Its about KNOWING that danny is planning to kill the Joker but you dont know WHEN #its about knowing that something is going to explode but never knowing when #i made the doc yesterday and spent my entire pluralism for educators class going thru the crane wives albums and looking up the lyrics and #matching them to the *checks doc* 18 short story prompts i have prepared #i am still missing one :((#its the tim and danny story and i have NOTHING PLANNED FOR THEM. i cant think of a thing for them to bond over :(( so i cant match a CW son #even DICK has a story and that was also a surprise #my favorite lines: He was always the one with glass in his mouth cutting his teeth and tongue so that he could spit blood at the world #aND danny slapping his door like a used car salesman and going 'now people wont ask why i have a creepy fucking door in my studio aptm :)'

237 notes · View notes

strawberry789 · 1 month

Text

Rough comic of an idea I had in mind: Stephen forgets about any multiversal threat shenanigans because Otto is hot

78 notes · View notes

obsolescent · 2 months

Text

An Eye for an Eye

Pairing: Trans!Jill Valentine x GN!Reader

Summary: You’re a stay at home partner. You cook and clean, keeping the apartment tidy and things looked after while your partner works. Most nights, they’re out longer than they should be. You don’t buy the excuses they feed you, knowing deep down what’s occurring. One night your neighbor comes over for dinner and your suspicions are proven right, but she has quite the idea of getting them back.

Author’s Note: Coming back swinging lol. I’ve been sitting on this idea for a while (wrote this out months ago and I’ve just been staring at it). It's been at the forefront of my mind recently and I had to get it out. It got sadder than I thought it would, oof. Don’t worry, I do make up for it.

Content Warnings: Gender neutral language used for reader and your partner, trans Jill Valentine, RE5 Jill, angst, mentions of anxiety and depression, mentions of disordered eating, vomiting, cheating, distant/neglectful partner, P in V sex, revenge sex, unprotected sex.

|| Disclaimer: Jill Valentine is trans in this story. Keep your transphobic remarks to yourself and don’t read this if that bothers you. ||

The dining table is set, the plates sat upon their placemats, silverware aligned on one side, glasses of wine on the other. You had just finished cooking, plating the food and sitting in your seat, staring at the empty chair across from you.

Jaw tensed, nose scrunched as you will your useless tears away.

There’s no use in them any longer. You would’ve thought you had cried them all out after the months, after all the distance that had grown between you and your partner.

Anger, confusion, and sadness have flitted through your mind ever since this started. The emotions are undulating, leaving you riddled with anxiety and nerves shot to hell and back.

You stare down at your food, fork in hand gripped so tightly it threatens to warp. A door closing causes the fork to fall from your clutches, the utensil clattering to the table.

Your neighbor’s door.

Your gaze settles on the fixed plate at the other end of the table, the steam still rising from the freshly cooked meal.

No use in letting another meal go to waste.

You’re out of your chair and opening the door, crossing the hall. The minuscule corridor, a mere 15 feet, and a couple doors, is what separates the two of you. You rap your knuckles against the wood, listening to shuffling inside.

The light through the peephole shifts, someone gazing out into the hallway, and the door swings open.

Jill stands at the threshold, one hand holding the door and the other propped against the frame. She says your name, followed by, “Everything okay?”

You fix your posture, standing up straight and meeting her artic eyes. You take a deep breath.

“Yeah, I reckon everything’s good. Wanted to ask if you’d join me for supper?”

Jill’s face shows surprise, before her eyebrows furrow. “Your partner isn’t home again?”

You grimace. She’s noticed. Your eyes squeeze shut as you nod your head, before looking away. The feeling of being unsure of your decision to invite her over starts to seep in. Her expression softens as she smiles at you. “Sure, I’d love to.”

Your gaze moves back to her face, her eyes crinkling in the corners as she pulls the door closed, stepping into the hallway with you. The air releases from your lungs.

You give your own small smile and turn back towards your apartment, guiding her inside. You close the door while Jill removes her jacket and shoes. You make your way back to the table and she takes the seat where your partner would usually occupy.

“You caught me at a good time, I was about to start making my own dinner,” Jill says with a small laugh. You chuckle, “Well, I hope it’s as good as what you were gonna make.”

She picks up the fork and begins to eat, a noise of satisfaction leaving her lips.

“Damn, this is good. I really appreciate you for inviting me to dinner.” Face burning at the noise she made along with the praise, you nod and thank her for the compliment.

Light chatter is exchanged as the two of you eat. The discussion starts off with basic things, for her it’s her work. You, it’s what you got up to at home, which was a load of nothing today, the typical tidying up of the place and whatever else you could find to fill up the time.

Quiet falls over the apartment as the two of you focus on finishing your food. It’s a comfortable silence, one that almost has a sense of domesticity to it.

You feel some of the anxiety ebb away, the knots in your gut loosen, eased by Jill’s mere presence. It’s surprising that that’s all it takes for you to settle down, having someone in your home, even if it isn’t who’s supposed to be here.

It helps you finish your food. Most days now you feel nauseous, unable to eat full meals or much at all these days. It’s led to some weight loss these last few months since it all started, a habit you’ve noticed that occurs whenever life becomes turbulous.

Jill clears her throat, bringing you out of your thoughts to see her troubled expression.

“I…need to tell you something,” Jill starts, hands squeezing together.

Your stomach clenches, bile rising.

“O-okay, yeah,” inhaling, exhaling slowly, you nod.

She shifts in her seat, leaning forward. “I…” She shakes her head, blonde locks shifting, falling over one of her eyes. She takes a deep breath and begins speaking.

“I saw your partner, with someone else. A bar downtown.”

You stare at her, face blank.

Lips pressed into a thin line, she breaks eye contact and turns her face up, towards the ceiling.

Her hands move to grip the edges of the table, knuckles white.

“They were kissing.”

A feeling akin to a fire poker that had just been removed from the embers pierces your heart. A choked noise leaves you as your hand flies to cover your mouth.

Of course you had your suspicions, an inkling to what was happening. The way your body had been wound up these countless days that seemed to crawl by. Questions innumerable, so many you kept to yourself, for the dread that would come thereupon the answers.

Now, the truth has been revealed and it gores your soul.

Your body is making its way towards the toilet as you heave, rushing into the room. Knees slamming onto the tile, the contents of your stomach spilling into the bowl.

Jill stands, gripping the back of the chair before she follows after you, guilt striking her so hard she feels unsteady. Not knowing you would have such a visceral reaction to the news, she assumed your partner’s infidelity was known.

Now, as she walks into the bathroom and crouches beside you, laying a comforting hand on your back as your weeping saturates the room, rage replaces the regret. Jill puts that anger on hold to help you regain your composure, assisting you in getting back on your feet and leaving you be as you clean yourself up.

She shuts the door to the bathroom and props herself up against the wall across from you, in thought. Ideas begin to form. Of course, she’d go over them with you once you’ve calmed down, but for now she lets herself brainstorm.

Jill, a woman who hates injustice, cheaters, and liars, especially ones who don’t see how good they have it, is irate. But also, still taken aback.

She remembers that night at the bar, out with Chris after work, when she had been doing her typical scan of the place, securing potential exits when her head had snapped back towards one area so hard she felt like she’d given herself whiplash.

There, she had seen your partner with another person, all over each other. It wouldn’t have been an understatement to say the two were literally “sucking faces”. She grimaced and turned away, having seen enough with just a single glance. Chris had seen where Jill’s gaze had landed and whistled low, chuckling. “Damn, just going at it in public like that.”

Jill groaned, hand cupping her forehead as she propped her elbow on the bar’s counter. “That’s my neighbor’s partner…with someone else.” She had mentioned you before to him, about how kind you had treated Jill, and had confessed to having a crush on you. She had also mentioned how odd your partner’s patterns were, but after a glance at the romantic exchange taking place across the bar, it all made sense.

Chris sucked in a breath between his teeth, a hissing sound while he also cringed.

“Fuck, you gonna tell ‘em?” He asked, finishing off his glass, the ice clinking together as he set it back down. “Of course I am. They deserve a shit ton better than that. I just…don’t know how I’m going to do it.” Jill says, rubbing her temple. Chris hummed and patted Jill’s shoulder, “The right time will come.”

Indeed, it had. Jill had been lost in the memory until you opened the bathroom door, face blotchy and sniffling still. “Hey,” she said softly, leaving her perch against the wall and guiding you into the living room to sit on the couch. “Is there anything you want to talk about?” She asks, “I’m here for you, whatever you need,” Jill pats your arm while she speaks, hoping to soothe you.

You nod, taking a deep breath.

“I…guess I shouldn’t be surprised?” You start, wincing at the crack in your voice, throat raw. Jill nods, urging you to continue. “I knew there was something going on, I just ignored it. Didn’t want to face the truth,” you mumble, squeezing your eyes shut at the new wave of emotions. You grip at your arms, grounding yourself.

“What would I even do if we split up? I don’t work, don’t have a career, and I’m far away from home.” Panic rises and your breathing quickens, a sickening realization washing over you. “I ignored it because…I—“ you suck in a harsh breath, “I thank you, Jill, for telling me, but…” you trail off, avoiding her gaze. “There’s not anything I can do.”

“Bullshit.”

It leaves Jill’s mouth before she can register it.

You blink, meeting her icy gaze. Your mouth opens to respond, but Jill continues, “Of course there’s something you can do, there always is.” She grabs your hand and squeezes it.

Your eyes remain glued to your entwined grip.

Jill bites her lip, an answer on her tongue. Fuck it.

“Get them back.”

Your brain lags for a moment, confusion painting your face, not registering her response before your mouth opens into an “O”, eyes fixated on where you’re connected.

Is she…insinuating what I think she is?

Jill inhales and begins speaking once more, “It seems like your partner can’t, or doesn’t want to leave, either. If that’s the case, then why not play them at their own game?”

Your mouth snaps shut, biting your lip as you think on her words.

“So…give them a taste of their own medicine?” You ask.

Jill nods, “Yeah, exactly.”

“Are you…wanting to help?”

Well, that’s out there.

You feel Jill stiffen beside you, and regret immediately fills you.

“I-I’m sorry, I thought that earlier when you said–and when you–”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

Jill cuts you off and your mouth hangs open, words halting in their tracks.

She clears her throat and shifts, turning towards you some more, thumb running over the skin covering your knuckles.

Jill had grown an infatuation for you. Unfortunate due to you being married, but how could she not? Always going out of your way to help your neighbors, her included. Your kindness didn’t stop there. Overflowing into the streets below, to anyone and anything. One time she caught you feeding the stray animals that would wander by the complex, your generosity knows no limits. But knowing you had a spouse, she would never infringe on you and your partner’s relationship. But now…

Jill typically wouldn’t help someone cheat, never. But…

“An eye for an eye.”

You both sit in silence for a moment, taking the other in. The two of you capturing miniscule details neither had the time to see before.

Jill speaks once more, clearing her throat.

“Now, we don’t have to do anything right now, only when you’re comfortable and ready to, if you even want to later on–” she begins to pull herself away from your hold but you grip her tighter, drawing her closer.

“Wait!” Your voice raised, Jill’s eyes widened slightly at your reaction.

“Just, wait…I want to, now. Don’t…let go of me, please.”

Jill allows you to keep her close, fingers entwining.

“You’re very pretty,” you murmur, eyes taking long sweeps over the contours of her face. She blushes, happy to know you find her attractive, like she does you.

“Hey,” Jill starts, a whisper. “Let’s go over to my place, if that’s okay with you? No chance of…disruptions.”

You nod, letting her guide you to the front door, stopping to grab her belongings. The two of you cross the short distance from your door to her’s, and Jill locks the door once you’re inside.

We’re here, in her house to…This is really happening.

You glance over what you can see so far, a living room and kitchen, same layout as your own, but a lot more scarce in terms of personalization.

Jill watches you take everything in, the feeling of self-consciousness blooming.

She begins to fidget with her hands. You look over at her, taking in her change in demeanor and walk over to her, touching her arm. “Hey, I think it’s lovely,” you say with a smile that melts away any doubt in Jill.

She chuckles, rubbing her own arm, “Would’ve done some decorating if I’d known you’d be coming over. Buy some flowers, light some candles…” Jill trails off, feeling a bit awkward. She’s never done something like this before. She’d had sex before, one night stands here and there, but hardly had time for a relationship with her work.

This would be the first in a long time if this became more than an act of revenge against an unfaithful lover.

You could sense it as well, mixing in with your own doubts. Jill takes a deep breath and takes your hands in hers.

She says your name, “Why don’t we start off slow, okay? See where it goes?” She suggests, leading you to the couch. “Yeah,” you say while nodding, settling down while she walks back towards the kitchen, the soft sounds of her rummaging through her cabinets meeting your ears before Jill’s back with two wine glasses and a bottle.

She sets the items down on the coffee table before grabbing the bottle and pouring equal amounts into each glass, before handing one to you. You thank her and take a sip, the dry taste of merlot washing over your taste buds.

Jill’s free hand clasps your own, her thumb rubbing reassuringly over your knuckles. Once more, the sourness of betrayal bubbles up in the back of your throat, and you try to subdue the taste with a mouthful of wine.

Setting the glass down, you relax into the couch, latching onto Jill’s arm while your head settles on her shoulder. Her warmth seeps into you while you take in the smell of her, fresh laundry mixed with a hint of some fruit you can’t quite identify.

Following your lead, Jill relaxes alongside you, her head coming to rest upon yours. Tendrils of her blonde hair dangle in your eyesight, and the smell of eucalyptus mixes with the other scents.

You inhale, breathing her in. Jill’s head turns and she leaves a kiss upon your hair. Her lips remain against your head, strands of your own hair sticking to her face, her lips. Jill’s arm reaches over your body, wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer.

She hasn’t felt the touch of someone else in a long time.

Jill savors this, this closeness. Its significance is all that more unique since it’s you in her presence, in her embrace, finally being here in her own place. A sigh leaves her and she grips you tighter.

You, on the other hand, are alight. From the moment her fingers grip your side, her nails slightly digging in as she pulls you close, all at once arousal shoots through your body. The feeling careening through your blood and tingling your skin.

God, you haven’t been touched like that in…Months.

The realization brings forth a flood of emotions, tears edging along your lashes. A choked noise leaves you before you can suppress it and Jill jerks back, her hand cupping the side of your face to turn it towards her, eyes widening with apprehension.

“What’s wrong? Did I do something that made you uncomfortable? You can tell—“

“No!”

The word choked out of your mouth as you pulled her back to you.

“Please, don’t stop touching me,” you beg.

Her face softens, “Oh, it’s been so long, hasn’t it?” The question leaves Jill, now comprehending your reaction to her touch.

You nod. Jill brings her hands up, holding your face.

“Yeah. Me, too,” she whispered.

You meet in the middle, lips melding together.

Noises created simultaneously at the unity long in creation, neither one of your grasps on the other faltering.

Desperation fills the two of you, pulling and tugging at each other’s clothes, the yearning to be as close as possible overwhelming both of your senses. You find yourselves laying across the couch, Jill’s heat engulfing you.

“Fuck,” Jill grits out between a reprieve for breath, “I’ve been wanting to kiss you for so long. Wish I could come home to you everyday.” Her rambling is like honey to your heart, sweetness pouring in to make it full once again.

“I need you, please, Jill,” you whine, guiding her hand underneath your clothing, her hand cupping your pussy through underwear, the crotch coated with wetness.

“God damn,” Jill moans out, feeling your clit jump at her touch, rock hard.

Your hips lift to meet her touch, seeking more of that divine feeling. You feel her own hardness pressing against your inner thigh, her hips rocking against your plush skin.

“I gotta, fuck, need to,” she rambles once more, hastily undressing you from the waist down, exposing your cunt to her.

Jill bites her lip, hands holding your legs at the back of your knees, pushing your legs apart to have a good look.

You hide your face, biting your lip and she gazes upon your sex, only the second person to do so.

One hand travels down, and Jill takes her thumb and pulls at one side of your lips, opening your hole up and seeing how wet you’ve become by so little.

“Can I taste you?” Jill asks, nearly begs, her voice higher pitch, akin to a whine.

You nod, a yes leaves your lips and not a second more is Jill’s mouth latched onto you, tongue dragging up your folds and sucking your clit into her mouth.

The feeling claws through you and a cry claws its way out as your back arches, and Jill pushes your knees up against your chest, angling your pussy to her desire.

Your fingers interlock with her silken strands, pulling as her mouth works along you, her moans of pleasure at just merely tasting you sending jolts along your spine.

‘Oh God, she’s so fucking good at this’ is the last coherent thought in your mind before two of her fingers slide in and immediately hit the most sublime spot.

Your brain, full of static now as she crooks her fingers and bobs her head, your eyes rolling back.

Jill milks your cunt, squirting onto her face as she encourages you, “Fuck yeah, baby.” “Keep going.” “So good for me.” “Let it all out.”

Your thighs twitch, a sign you’re close. Like a mantra, you’re begging her to “Keep going please I’m so close oh God I’m about to cum!”

She pulls away with a pop, her fingers leaving simultaneously with her mouth. You’re about to scream before she interrupts, “No, not yet. I want you to cum around my cock.”

Oh Lord. You snap your head up as she rips her shirt and bra off, unzips her pants. Pushing her panties down, her dick springs free.

You whimper at the sight, your hips having a mind of their own as they lift off the cushion towards her.

Jill groans at the image of your body, yearning for her’s. She grabs your thighs, pulling you down towards her once more.

She guides her cock to your entrance, dragging it through the mess you’ve made, prodding at your throbbing clit.

You’re sobbing at the point, nails biting into her upper arms as you beg her to slide inside you, but she seems to be having a lot of fun teasing you. Where did that earlier desperation go?

You know what’ll bring it back.

“Jill, please,” you cry, “Make me yours.”

A choked noise comes from her throat, body going rigid at your words.

“Oh fuck, you’re mine. Say it,” Jill growls out, her tip beginning to press into you.

“Yours, all yours, Jill!”

She slides all the way to the hilt, her hips flush against your ass, the two of you exclaiming at the feeling of one other.

You bask in the glory of being one, savoring the way her cock throbs inside you, and Jill at the way you clench against her.

You move as one, her pulling back and thrusting in, moans punched out of you both.

Skin smacking against each other echoes throughout Jill’s apartment. You pull her closer, lips colliding and teeth clacking together, messy and fervent, tongues tangled.

Jill’s hand reaches between, fingers seeking out and grabbing hold of your clit, rubbing in time with her plunging into your pussy.

The familiar twitching is back, and you beg her to keep going, to please let me cum this time I need it so bad please give it to me!

“Cum for me baby, look at me when you fall apart.”

And you do.

Your orgasm pulsates throughout your body, wave after wave of rapture sings through your veins as you hold her gaze and yell her name, legs trembling in her grip.

Your falling apart is her undoing, her movements faltering as her climax cascades over her senses. She chokes out your name, her eyes never leaving yours as her cum fills you, leaking out around your connection.

You pull her down on top of you, holding on to her tightly. She holds you back just as much, forehead against yours.

You ease back to earth together, gulping in as much air as possible. Jill kisses your cheek, your nose, your lips. You sigh and begin to grin, looking up at her.

Jill’s heart skips a beat.

Your cheeks are stained with the blood that flooded them, hair in disarray, sweat making your skin look dewy and shine under the light of the lamp.

God, you’re lovely.

Your eyes flutter, lips part. Oh, that was said aloud.

“Uh, sorry I meant to say that to myself, didn’t mean to—“

You sit up and pull Jill into a kiss, one full of passion and maybe something more, a promise.

Jill sits up and slips out of you, thankful she has leather seats as she sees the mess left behind from your lovemaking.

Lovemaking. It echoes through Jill’s mind.

She helps you up and guides you to the bathroom, sitting you on the edge of the tub and grabbing a cloth to wash the two of you off.

Once cleaned off, she picks you up and lays you down with her against silken sheets, the blue of them contrasting with her eyes.

Limbs tangled, the two of you lay on your sides facing another, taking in each other once more.

Jill cups your cheek, asking, “Was that good revenge sex?”

You laugh and nod, “Absolutely wonderful,” you say, turning to kiss her palm.

Jill pauses for a moment, searching your eyes as she says your name.

“Can it be more than that?”

Your eyes widen, surprised by her question.

“I…want it to be. I really do,” you whisper, your own hand reaching out to her, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“Then let it. This doesn’t have to be a one time thing. We can go slow, whatever you need. You deserve someone who cares, who wants you, who desires you.” Her words leave her mouth with confidence, her face reflecting the same emotion,

Your heart aches at her words. You don’t know when things went wrong with your spouse, but this here, with Jill, feels so right.

“Stay with me,” Jill says.

You nod, “‘m not leaving,” you reply, burying your face into her neck.

Jill smiles, kissing your head.

“Good.”

#this was 12 pages in my docs that's crazy #hope ya'll missed me as much as i missed ya'll #o fics #jill valentine x reader #jill valentine x you #jill valentine x gn!reader #jill valentine smut #trans jill valentine #jill valentine #resident evil #resident evil x reader

79 notes · View notes

moraysoiree · 2 months

Text

homesick

Just my idea of what it feels like to be far away from home.

characters: Floyd Leech x gn!reader (platonic, could be read as romantic), mentions of Jade and Azul word count: 1134

Ramshackle dorm prefect’s life was in no sense easy. Sitting through classes and thinking how you can’t even put all this knowledge to good use because of your ‘magiclessness’ was, for lack of a better term, pure torture. Thank god the classes ended, finally granting you some freedom to wander off in hopes to lift your spirits by hanging out with one of the strange people that were in abundance here.

To your glee, on the way to the first floor you noticed a familiar figure on a terrace just a flight of stairs below: one of the eel guys was standing there, leaning against the guardrail with slumped shoulders. Given the idleness, figuring his current mood was no big feat. The chance was worth taking, though.

‘FLOOOOYD!!’ you started skipping down excitedly, not even bothering to get to the floor and jumping off the middle right onto the unsuspecting victim. ‘Shrimpie!’ wide-eyed, Floyd still managed to catch the falling anvil and laughed, spinning from the momentum. ‘Ye gonna kill us one day,’ he grumbled. ‘I wish I could kill you that easily,’ you pinched his cheeks, causing the displeased eel to click his teeth in a mock threat. ‘A point. You little fishies, on the other hand…’ he trailed off. Both went on to lean onto the banisters, laziness afloat in the sunny spring air. The mood wasn’t as bad as expected. Or, rather, improved rapidly, for that matter. ‘Sup with the classes,’ you tugged on the lilac ribbon hanging from his forearm. ‘Skipping, huh? What would Azul say?!’ you covered your mouth, appearing to be scandalized. Theatrical jests usually amused him, but not today for some reason. Or was it Azul’s name that got on his nerves? Either way, Floyd wasn’t really in the mood for talking, so the clue was taken and both stared off into the distance silently. And was there a lot to stare at, as college’s balconies had the best view onto the sharp cliffs, mercilessly slicing the rumbling waves into white foam.

Something occurred to you, and you asked, fidgeting with the very same ribbon still: ‘Say, don’t you ever get homesick?’. Floyd tore his eyes off the sea and gave you a thoughtful glance, ‘Mm-hhm… not really. There are a lot of things on land. I think Jade got it worse’. ‘Jade?! How come?’ It was hard to believe that Jade, who navigated human society better than the majority of humans, was, in fact, facing some trouble adapting. ‘S’ not like he doesn’t love it here, too, I mean. But y’know how he goes to wander by himself and chew on his plants or whareva-you-call-it. That’s different from me. Gets melancholic ‘nd all.’ Floyd sighed and stretched, crossing arms behind his head. ‘And you don’t? Like ever’. ‘Don’t think so? Lotta interesting things just keep happening around. This school is kinda special tho. Many fishies to squeeze, and jumping right into my jaws, too,’ he shut his eyes in delight, but his general expression shifted into something more sinister, something ascending from the murky depths, prowling and lurking. ‘Kinda like home. Ya kno’ it’s crazy down there. You can never stop or rest. Unless you wanna be eaten, ‘course. Same here,’ he waved at the Night Raven College’s walls. ‘So your bloodlust is what keeps you going? Should’ve known better,’ you scoffed, and Floyd rolled his eyes. ‘Mean! I like many of your things, like clothes, and phones, and the strange food you have. S’ not like I only care about beatin’ up some krill,’ you eyed his messy uniform doubtfully and pondered whether the eel really liked clothes as much as he claimed to.

‘But you’re like Jade, aren’t you, little Shrimp?’ Floyd snapped you from your thoughts forcefully, and you noticed he was staring at you sharply. ‘You get those sour moods and sigh a lot’. Look who’s talking about moods!? But he was right, although it came as a surprise that such things didn’t escape him. He’d always seemed too caught up in his own emotions. Or was it precisely because of it that Floyd had noticed the way his friend was a bit too quiet on one day and a tad too distant on the other... ‘I love you all, but I didn’t really choose to be here, and I don’t even know if there’s a way to go back. Even if there is, will I survive with people overblotting left and right and making it everyone’s problem?!’ Floyd laughed. ‘Nothing to laugh about in my life’, you sighed. ‘You would be shocked how hard it is to live without the little things, like my favourite songs, or the trinkets I’d collected, or the bakeries I’d always visited’. He was listening silently, letting you get it all off your chest. ‘I had friends back home, too. Will I ever see them again? Do they miss me, I wonder.. Maybe I died in my world and got isekai’d here so there’s not really a place for me to return to at all?!’ Floyd scrunched his face up at your outburst. ‘Now you sound just like Firefly Squid.’ Then, however, his expression became serious. ‘You know, Shrimpie. There are a lot of things in this world that are out of our control. You can have a down-to-the-minute detailed plan, covering the next forty years, but what use will it be if a shark gobbles you up tomorrow? You should value the ‘now’, or ya risking to miss all the fun n’ regret it later,’ his hand ruffled your hair. ‘I get that it ain’t easy for ya to be all gung-ho about it all the time, but that kind of thinking is just a waste. Say what, how ‘bout we go make Crowley get his game up with your homeworld instead? I can squeeze him real tight if ya wanna.’ You thought about it for a solid moment, seriously considering the offer. ‘I’m good. Spare the unfortunate soul, he’s got his plate served to him from people throwing hands last week’. ‘And who’s to thank for that ya think?’ Oh. Of course. ‘What a spectacular friend I have, rushing to avenge me before I even ask!’ The phrase might have been a joke, but you put your genuine gratitude for the so much needed reassurance into it. To that display of emotions, Floyd’s eyes glinted mischievously. ‘So you saying you owe me one?’ You regretted your choice of words instantly. ‘Come ooon, ain’t gonna eat ya, Shrimpie. Not yet, anyway. Speaking of food… What a rad way to repay me, huh?’ ‘Mostro Lounge?’ Floyd groaned. ‘Heell naaah if I see Azul today I’ll punch smn. Hard.’ So it WAS about Azul, in the end. ‘Canteen it is then. Takoyaki?’ ‘Ya know me best, Shrimpie.’

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #floyd leech x reader #floyd x reader #floyd leech #jade leech #azul ashengrotto #octavinelle #a repost & a gender neutral ver of the thingie i wrote like. a year ago #istg i've had that tweels x reader draft molding in my google docs for almost a solid year already sorry if ya had your hopes up😝✌️#yume brainrot too strong to think about other guys #i WILL try to finish it. no promises tho bye🎠

88 notes · View notes

grumpy-nyks · 1 year

Text

Since Fernweh Saga [by @lacunafiction 💖] lives rent free in my head, I’ve made some doodles 🙈 it was supposed to be a simple exercise, starting and ending with James, but ofc I couldn’t stop there...

Below you can see every single one of them in separate pics.

#fernweh saga #james corvin #ruby verner #reese verner #sofia dorran #the waiter #beckett warrick #becca warrick #oc: davor messer #oc: agnes sigrun #my art?#yeah i think you can see which James was first XD #Sofia got two different versions because I could not stop imagine her without glasses XD and also freckles I love freckles!!#that's why B has them too... For me there isn't a Bee without freckles XD #i've added only two of my babies because i wanted to post those pieces as soon as possible XD #but i think i will make some posts about them in the near future 👀 maybe there's someone who would like to know about them a little more #Aelsa I've tried to follow your google doc and i hope i gave them justice at least a little X"D

205 notes · View notes

time-slink · 10 months

Text

watching grians episode: wow lol docs gonna kill them this is sure a lot. of chickens. glad that number isn’t going to grow much

watching docs episode: THE FUCKING CHUNK LOADER

#shush slinky #i hope doc eviscerates them. limb from limb #i think he was genuinely close to crying when he talked to zed #feeling chatty these last few days lol X)

71 notes · View notes

plush-rabbit · 1 year

Text

Dating Headcanons - The Riddler

Request: OH MY GOD YES PLEASE GIRL I REALLY WANNA SEE UR TAKE ON THE RIDDLER AKA THE BABYGIRL ILL GET ON MY HANDS AND KNEES FOR U TO MAKE HEADCANONS FOR THAT LITTLE FREAK

TW: Abusive relationships

A/N: I did not rewatch the movie, so this is purely gonna be in vibes and this one batman/riddler fic i read (i feel like it switches a bit in pov but i hope that isn’t too much of a bother!!)

SFW:

Edward is a sweet guy. A bit odd, but sweet- you think to yourself that there’s no real harm in being nice to him. It’s Gotham- people are already on edge and just kind of horrible to one another, and you, being as naïve and hopeful for the best, think that being nice to people is something that won’t do any harm. Especially to some dorky guy who comes in and orders pie at the restaurant that you work in. He tips well, and he isn’t rude to you, nor does he make any type of pass. No harm done in being nice. But then he gets touchy and it feels off. He lets his hand linger on yours for a bit longer than normal, and tries to make conversation that ultimately falls flat. He’s awkward and nervous, and saying yes to a date can’t lead to anything bad because it’s him, your loyal customer who leaves generous tips.

It’s surprising when you find yourself actually dating the lonesome man. The date was sweet- generic, but sweet nonetheless. He was a gentleman all throughout it, taking the subway with you to drop you off at your apartment, kissing your cheek and walking away without a fuss. He doesn’t want to impose himself on you- and now he knows where you live. Purely for innocent reasons of course! He’s clingy. He hadn’t realized just how starved for human connection he was until he met you. It’s as if he can’t get enough of you, latching onto you like a stray cat, always curling against you, never wanting you to rise even if you have to do something important. He loves to hold your hand, to turn it over and trace the lines on your palm, to compare hand sizes, and watch as you interlace your hand with his. Long when you’ve fallen asleep and his hand has grown clammy in yours, he still traces over the lines and kisses every inch of skin from the tips of your fingers down to your wrist. His hands ghost over your body, feeling your pulse thump under his finger, and trace up to your shoulder and to the soft part of your neck and hold his hand around your neck.

Finally, he’s allowed to be himself around you. He’s allowed to be needy and whiny, and that he is. He complains so much, and like the good partner you are, you listen, because you’ve seen him get angry before, and it’s someone you don’t recognize. It’s the little things about him that make him, him. He gets cold easily- from the tip of his nose that turns red and cheeks that soon match, to his hands that can hardly grasp onto anything. It’s during the cold nights at Gotham, where his shabby apartment has lost its heating again, that he remembers he has you. He’ll swallow his pride and take a late train, and stand outside your door, his knuckles red and feeling far more painful with the soft knocking than they should have when you open the door. You usher him in, and warm his hands slowly, and he says nothing during this time, watching you warm his hands with your own, or blowing warm breath against him, and he takes that moment to kiss you, and you yelp because of course, he’s still cold, but when he pulls away, you hold his face with your hands, and deepen the kiss.

There weren’t many warning signs that he was a possessive man, much less an obsessive man. Perhaps what should have tipped you off was the fact that he always broke something whenever you tried to leave during an argument. He asks you about work- if there’s anyone he should be worried about, and you say no. It gets harder and harder to leave his apartment, it takes at least an hour of convincing him that you’ll call him once you get home. It takes longer to convince him that he’s the only one for you. You have to kiss him, hold him, worship the ground that he walks on, lest he gets upset. He complains so much, and like the good partner you are, you listen, because you’ve seen him get angry before, and it’s someone you don’t recognize. He starts with little things- breaking into your home, stealing a few items, pocketing a few of your underwear into his jacket pocket, going through every inch of your drawers to find something, anything really.

Being comfortable in a relationship isn’t something Edward ever thought he could attain. He’s been so preoccupied with other things, that he has grown accustomed to you, he found himself to be far more fond of you than he could have ever imagined. But he still has things to do, and you’ve been getting in the way lately. You pester him about dates, and how he doesn’t spend enough time with you, and he’s been so patient with you. He’s taken you out to eat, he’s listened to you whine about your day- he’s been a good partner. Yet, you’ve still found a way to become more of a nuisance to him, and it would only be fair for him to complain, to bitch and moan like you have. But when he complains about the rich, about children dying in cold, about how people should pay for their wealth in blood, and how he hates that you still try to act like some respectable person when you’re nothing but a waiter, suddenly he’s gone too far. He throws a tantrum when you tell him you want to leave- it doesn’t matter if it’s the location or the relationship, you want to leave him. He smashes your things and calls you awful names until you’re back in a corner and he's holding something heavy, and when you start to cry, he cries harder. He gets on his knees and cries into your stomach, apologizing and telling you never again-just that he’s so stressed, but he cares for you so much that he doesn’t know what he would do if you left him.

NSFW:

Being a virgin isn’t something that he’s proud to admit. Anything close to being sexual makes him anxious- he isn’t sure how to tell you that he’s inexperienced. He’s been close with you, kissed you desperately, teeth clashing and hands scratching at your skin, desperately wanting to touch at your breasts and beneath your underwear. Of course, he’s touched himself, much more than usual now that you’re around, but it doesn't replace human contact- actually being intimate with another person, and knowing what you’re doing. He’s awkward, fumbling around and biting at your skin hard enough to leave his mark. The most Edward has ever gotten with you is going into your room when you aren’t home, careful to not leave a trace of himself anywhere, and sneak into your room and pull out a pair of dirty underwear that still reeks of you. He’s hidden in your closet and watched you undress yourself, watched how you let your hands roam your body and breathe heavily into the air. It’s unnerving how you don’t check in any nooks or crannies, but a blessing for him. He’ll enter your home and rub himself over your items, jerking himself onto your clean clothing, defiling every inch of your home in him, leaving everything in its place and when he gets home with you, he buries your face into a pillow that he’s already used.

He hates how clingy he is with you. It’s pathetic. He’s on top of you rubbing himself over, he’s not even kissing you anymore, he’s just rubbing himself over you. It’s desperate and gross, his mouth wetting at your neck to suck a bruise over your skin, hands pinching and clawing at your belly, giving harsher thrusts when you whine. His hands are over your breasts, pinching at your nipples and twisting them harshly to hear you whine all over again, to hear you curse and squirm underneath him. It’s uncomfortable in the room- too hot, too small, too tense for him to do anything other than rub himself over you. He absolutely loves fucking you. He loves to just hold your body close and leave a trail of wet kisses over your body. He wants to feel you, needs to be buried deep in you and stay there, have you warm his cock and take in the feeling that you’d let someone so vile and righteous to taint your body. Sometimes, he wishes that he could tie you up and leave you in his bedroom, and visit when he feels the world is a bit too much.

Looking at your sex is difficult, it’s just far too much. How you throb, glisten and drool with arousal- all for him- makes his head dizzy. He’s allowed to touch you, and he does so roughly, and poorly. He can make a bomb from scraps, but pleasing you is far too advanced for him, he licks broad strokes, and lets his spit coat all of you in some sort of primal way. He’s obsessed with your scent, pulling you close to him and shame has already left his body when he takes his time inhaling you, leaving his spit coat your sex and biting at the inside of your thighs, at the space too close to where your sex lies. Evidently, he prefers for you to pleasure him, to wrap your lips around his cockhead, and lap at his semen. It does something to him, to see you on your knees before him, spit and arousal coating your chin and mouth in a glistening veil, moaning and grabbing onto his soft thighs with your nails marking him in red crescents. You’re just so pretty when you’re on your knees, he can’t help but want to thrust into you, to hear you choke around him, to finish deep down your throat and hear you sputter out a cough when he’s finally released you.

It’s no surprise that he’s rough. It isn’t so much that he’s trying to be mean, he just can’t help it. He’s watched you at work. Of course, you have to make ends meet, so he doesn’t blame you when you lean over to pick up something on the floor, or let men touch your thigh and curve their hand inside, he has to bear it until he can get them alone. He’s not a mindless killer, but he is possessive, and there’s fear in him that you’d leave him for the next best thing, for someone to sweep you off your feet and provide for you. It’s after those thrills of kills, that he’s rough, pounding into you without any regard, clawing and biting at your skin, desperate to hear you cry his name and see tears in your eyes. He needs to be rough with you, so when you go to work the next day, you have to wear something underneath your work shirt to hide all the love bites. He wants it so you can’t look at your body without thinking of him.

Of course, he cares for you, he cherishes you so much, he loves you so much. But he's negligent and selfish in bed. Maybe it’s because it’s his first time and he’s so scared that you’d leave him that he’s trying to create all good memories for him, how you beg for him to cum, how you whine and roll your hips when he stops. How you slap his chest and lock your legs around him, pleasuring yourself when it’s clear that he’s just treating you like a sex doll. Edward can be so kind, but being deprived of any human touch has tarnished him. It’s made him selfish, seeking out his own pleasure, riding his second wave when you’ve only reached your first. When he rolls over beside you, spent and exhausted, but cock still up and red tipped, he has you ride him, hungry to feel you twitch around him. He wants nothing more than to fuck you, for you to fuck him.

195 notes · View notes

eupheme · 1 year

Text

Somewhere In Between | Day 19: Reading

professor!otto octavius x f!reader

Rated E | 1.4k

Tags: age gap, bossy!otto, fingering, edging, actuators as light restraints, praise kink, cockwarming, implied PiV

Poem referenced is Leves Amores

When you find yourself with writers block, you turn to your lover for help. However, you’re not expecting his approach to be quite so hands-on.

You stare at the blinking cursor, willing the words to manifest in your mind, to form the exact conclusion you need.

All you needed was to wrap things up, tie them in a neat little bow. The outline was there, but the wording never quite felt right. The sharp punch you were looking for just out of reach.

You suppose, it doesn’t help that you’re horribly distracted. That you came over to his apartment, laptop in hand, knowing that he’d keep you on track better than if you were at home, surrounded with possible diversions.

And yet, here you were, with the biggest distraction of all. Each edit had been met with a kiss, as you sat beside his modified, overstuffed armchair. Where he had been going over an upcoming lecture - glancing up from the text to give a murmur of encouragement, a smile.

The kisses turning needy, until you were easing onto his lap - your work quite forgotten. Fingers twisting in the thick wool of his turtleneck sweater, one of his actuators curling behind your back to keep you pressed close.

They always betrayed him. His arms, connected to his unconscious thoughts. Contrasting with his words, his “you should be working, my dear”, while they nudged you just a little closer, until you could feel where he thickened inside his trousers.

“I missed you.” You breathed, “I want you. God, I want you.”

There was the peek of his tongue against his bottom lip, his own gaze heavy-lidded. Thumbs brushing back and forth against the curves of your breast, where you could just feel them over your own clothes.

“What do you want?” He asked, watching beneath those thick brows, eyes that catch everything.

“I want you to take me,” You sighed with need, leaning forward to brush your lips against the coarse strands of his beard, where he had grown it out with the changing of seasons, “Want you to take care of me.”

You ached for him, the feeling of him beneath you winning out over the rest.

He laughed then, a low, rough sound. The skeleton of a smug smile from his past, softened by those dark eyes.

You’re lifted, the metal arm against your back curling around your waist. Flipping you until you’re facing the desk, a second arm nudging over your laptop.

“And I want you to work.” Otto told you firmly, a hand pressing against your belly, holding you snug against him, “That’s why you came here, isn’t it?”

He isn’t wrong. And so, you’re sitting, sullenly.

Editing for the second time, stalling as you pick for clues. Shifting impatiently against him, thinking with a corner of your mind about how you can feel the thick curve of him pressed against your ass.

The hand on your stomach twitches. With each stroke of your keys it inches downward - something that you’re acutely aware of. You wonder if it’s encouragement.

If he’ll touch you, if only you keep writing.

It works. It’s good enough for you.

His palm presses against you, the heel of his hand just shy of where you need him. It makes you gasp, your eyes leaving the screen, drifting down.

Rocking against him, trying to get him to adjust his touch. Feeling where the tips of his fingers brush against you, the middle sliding just down the seam of your leggings. The others tracing against your clothed lips, your inner thighs.

“You stopped.” He rasps, the sound low in your ear, “Keep going.”

With a shaky breath, you do.

Ironic that your essay explored the ideas of decadence and aestheticisms in Victorian poetry - because you certainly felt like you were indulging, giving into pleasure over sense.

It would almost be inspiring… if it wasn’t so distracting. But you try - blinking to keep the words in focus as his fingers drift, touch, press.

Winding you up, until you’re biting your tongue between teeth, rocking your hips into the cup of his hand. Eyes closing, testing just how far you can move, if it would be enough.

“You haven’t mentioned Symons.” His idle comment brings you back, as you frown.

Glancing at the paragraph you’re combing through - realizing he’s been reading along. It prickles you, defensiveness curling with the pleasure in your belly.

“We haven’t covered much from him. I thought my other examples were strong enough.” You explain, just as his hand drifts.

Edging past your waistband, beneath the fabric of your underwear. Enjoying your tone - the debate.

“If you were taking my class-” He begins, but you’re cutting him off, with a shake of your head.

“If I were taking your class, this paper would be on nuclear physics, not poetry.”

Otto laughs at that, the sound rumbling. Before you feel his lips ghost against the back of your neck. Fingers that touch down against bare skin, where you’re warm and wet for him.

“Art and science have always been lovers, darling.” His voice is low, amused. Lips pressing against the hollow under your ear - raising goosebumps in its wake, “A man can be well-versed in both.”

You have no retort, not when he’s touching you like this. A finger parting you, sliding back and forth over your clit. His other hand moving to cup your breast, as an actuator loops around your waist, pinning you against him.

Your kisses, and the way you curl,

Delicious and distracting girl,

Into one's arms, and round about,

Luxuriously in and out-

His breath warm in your ear as his fingers circle, as he quotes poetry to you. The smooth tone of his voice washing over you, your head tilting back against his broad shoulder.

Strong to embrace and long to kiss,

And strenuous for the sharper bliss,

A little tossing sea of sighs,

Till the slow calm seal up your eyes.

You moan, and he can feel just how soaked you are for him, for him alone. Those arms move, then.

Lifting you just off his lap, the careful tip of another tugging at your leggings. Pushing them down mid-thigh as he works open his belt.

Pulling himself out, where he’s heavy and flushed for you. Setting you down against his cock, trapping it between the pillow of your thighs, trapped snugly against your cunt.

He lets you rut against him, slicking him up with each pass. Eyes dropping to watch the flushed head slide against your skin, how you wished it was pressing inside, instead.

You fingers drift down to touch him, but one of the actuators curl around your wrist, gently bringing it back to your keyboard.

“Finish this up, darling, and I’ll give you what you want.” He promises, a chaste kiss against your neck - before he leans back, giving you space.

The thud of your pulse in your ears is still distracting, as is the warm length of him pressed against you.

But you try, thinking about what he said. Adding in a little more detail, encouraged by the subtle rocking of his hips. The slide of him against your clit, though whenever you make a sound he stops.

The slow edging winding you up.

You’d always done well under pressure, under a deadline. Two hover over you now - one tomorrow, another so much closer. The length of time you can last before it’s too much.

Another line flows from you, and then another. Piecing the puzzle of your words and thoughts together. Keying the final line of the conclusion with a little flourish, your head tilting to the side so you can see him.

Where he watches, already reading over your shoulder. A low growl to his voice as he moves again, like before.

“Just look at you. So goddamn clever.”

The praise lances though you, warm and coiling in your belly.

An actuator nudging your laptop to the side as he stands. Another arm bringing you with him, bending you over the heavy wooden desk.

His body, so thick and tall and sturdy behind you - his hand wrapped around his cock as he drags it over you, notching himself right at your entrance.

As he asks, “That’s why you’re my girl, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” You moan, and he’s making a rough, appreciative noise as he presses into you.

Filling you, finally. Nudging his way inch by inch as your fingers curl around the edge of the desk, as to try to rock back to meet him.

As you manage one last gasp before he’s fully sheathed. Before he gives you what you’ve earned.

“Yours.”

[dilfcember masterlist]

(Taglist: @andrewrussgarfield, @luxuryberzatto, @obiknights)

#ahh I am excited for this one I hope you like it 📖💕#wwdilfcember #otto octavius x reader #otto octavius x you #doc ock x reader #doc ock x you #Otto Octavius x f!reader

249 notes · View notes

cherry-bomb-ships · 3 months

Text

Earthly Encounter

Pairing: Q x Counselor Ruby (s/i)

Word Count: 2,797

Warnings: Very light spoilers for Star Trek: TNG S4 E20, none otherwise

AO3 Link

Author's Notes: Wow, it's been a while, hasn't it? It feels very nice to be posting a fic again, to be honest. This is just a cute fluffy story that I started like 3 years ago and abandoned because I didn't like the way it came out. I came back to it recently and kinda wondered what the heck I was thinking. Maybe my self esteem is just better! Either way, this was very fun and very cute to write and to perfect, and I hope you guys enjoy it.

Tag list below the cut. Click here or DM me to be added or removed. Reblogs are all seen and very appreciated!! ❤️

@ava-ships, @bee-ships, @beetleboyfriend, @canongf, @clawfull, @cloudyvoid, @discountwives, @dissonantyote, @edencantstopfallininlove, @final-catboy, @gible-love-nibles, @halsdaisy, @hoppinkiss, @hotrodharts, @hyperionshipping, @iyamifucker, @lex-n-weegie, @little-miss-selfships, @little-shiny-sharpies, @loogi-selfships, @lovebugexe, @mintpecks, @mrs-kelly, @nameless-self-ships, @nerdstreak, @paper-carnation, @patches-and-her-selfships, @reds-self-ships, @rexscanonwife, @ship-trek, @spacestationstorybook, @squips-ship, @tiny-cloud-of-flowers, @toogayforthistoday, @p-i-t-s, @winterworlds, @scroldie

Speckles of dust danced in the beams of light shining through the window of the bookstore that Counselor Ruby Ramirez had found herself in on that peaceful afternoon. She fondly ran her fingers across the spines of the books atop the store’s shelf, remembering all of the journeys she’d been on with those stories as a child. It was no wonder this section was labeled as “classics;” even though the shelf stretched to the ceiling and was filled to the brim with books, she hadn’t seen a single title that she didn’t recognize. She spotted a favorite novel of hers, and she was quick to pull it off the shelf and flip to the first chapter. She remembered it all so fondly: the prison and the rose bush, the first piece of literary symbolism that had truly taught her to analyze…

“Oh, what have you got there? Something actually worthwhile, I hope.” The sudden voice in her ear made Ruby snap out of focus with a startled jolt, but even as she whipped her head around to look behind her, she already knew exactly whose smug face she was going to see staring down at her.

“Q! I’ve told you a hundred times not to sneak up on me like that,” Ruby exclaimed as she playfully tapped his chest with the book.

“Hmph, you've hardly said that more than fifty times, actually," Q said with an exasperated eye-roll. "Besides, you can't really call it 'sneaking up' if I’ve been standing right beside you this entire time, my dear.”

Ruby let out a sigh and turned her back to her partner, putting her attention on the book she'd picked out as she leaned her weight back against him. “Well, then, that’s a problem, isn't it? The point of coming here was so you could explore some of the culture that humanity has to offer,” she explained, gesturing to the shelves of books surrounding them. “That meant exploring the selection here by yourself, sweetheart, not just staying glued to me the whole time.”

Q knew this already, of course; this was the second of a four-day vacation that the couple had agreed on taking together, albeit one more reluctantly than the other. He still remembered when Ruby excitedly came up with the idea months ago, the way she had been beaming about how much she could show Q about what it's like to be human. Although he had protested to the trip's merit, the reality was that Q would have taken any excuse to be with his beloved in a way that wasn't disturbing her duties, so he hadn't needed too much persuading.

When Ruby had brought the request for shore leave to Captain Picard, she had described it as "less of a vacation, and more of an experiment.” She had explained, “We've seen already that Q has a sliver of humanity, a seed of compassion nestled deep within him. Perhaps all that it needs to blossom is the right kind of earth?"

While the captain didn't quite agree with the scientific basis of the proposal - or appreciate the wordplay - the Enterprise would already be making a rare orbit of Earth for a routine crew exchange. Many aboard the Enterprise would be taking a few days to visit their families, so there was no reason to deny the counselor the same privilege.

Back in the bookstore, Q was still doing his best to convince Ruby that their time would be better spent, well, anywhere. He placed both his hands on her shoulders to hold her steady against him as he dramatically nuzzled his face into her hair. “But darling, you’re the only thing worth any of my attention on this entire dreadful planet,” he whined.

He suddenly dipped her backwards, making Ruby balance on her heels as he leaned down a great deal to place his face right next to her own and speak in a provocative whisper, “What do you say we just forget about all this and head back home now instead? I'll even indulge you with that ‘cuddling’ nonsense that you enjoy so very much.”

Ruby could already feel her cheeks getting warmer as she failed to fight back a flustered grin; even after all the time she’d been with Q, she had to admit that she was far from being immune to his charms. It wasn’t only what he was saying, but also the eloquent cadences of his voice and the way he was able to stare her down with that alluring gaze that made her fall so hard for him in the first place. Luckily, by now she was at least able to save his suggestion for later rather than give in right away, and she leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips before replying with a simple, “Very tempting, but no.”

She chose to ignore the way Q rolled his eyes in annoyance for a second time as he pushed her forward again to stand up straight, and instead she showed him the cover of the book in her hands in an attempt to catch his interest. He glanced over the title: The Scarlet Letter. "Look at this, hunny," Ruby said with fondness in her tone, "this was one of the first books I read as a child that sparked my analytical side. I remember the way it made me think about why the author chose to include certain details that might seem pointless, and why the characters would make the choices that they do." She turned her head back up to him and nudged her shoulder against his chest. "It was also the first book that really invested me in romance," she purred with a wink.

Q was not impressed. "It really does sound like a joy, starlight," he huffed sarcastically, "but you have no idea how difficult it is for an omnipotent being like myself to force his imagination to be confined to words on a page."

Ruby had already turned her attention back to the novel at hand. She knew that Q was fond of the sound of his own voice, so allowing him to rant on about the pettiest of inconveniences was the only way he ever felt better about the situation he was in.

Unaware - or just uncaring - that Ruby had turned her attention away, he continued, "Truly, think about it from my perspective. Why would I bother to 'visualize' the events of a novel in my mind, like you lesser beings have to do, when I could simply rewrite reality to bring these events to life? Or better yet, I could probably imagine my own story with a more gripping narrative and satisfying conclusion. In fact, if I may speak honestly, it seems to me that-"

Q's holier-than-thou speech was cut short as he felt a gentle tug on the leg of his trousers, just below the knee. He looked down to see a small child, a boy likely no older than five, staring back up at him with wide hazel eyes. Q grimaced and immediately recoiled his leg, the sudden shift in weight catching Ruby's attention as well. For a moment, there was an intense staredown between the disgusted immortal and the innocent toddler, until at last Q broke the silence and sneered, "Can I help you?"

The child pointed to the top shelf high above his own head. "Can yew get the Robin Hood book for me, mister?" he said politely, a slight lisp to his words as he spoke.

"If I do, will you leave?" Q asked bitterly. The boy's only reply was a thoughtful stare to the side, followed by a smile and enthusiastic nod of his head.

Q hastily located the book on the shelf of the bookcase in front of him, and he didn't hesitate to yank it from the shelving, pinching the very corner of the book between two fingers as he dangled it over the child's head with an outstretched arm, trying to distance himself from the boy as much as possible. "There you are, now please, begone with you."

The boy reached up and took the book into his small hands with a quiet "thank you" as he marveled at the green hardcover and golden cursive lettering. He then looked back up at Q, who had already turned his attention away, hoping for the interaction to be over.

Despite those hopes, the boy suddenly spoke up again. "I like Robin Hood," he lisped.

Q glanced back down with an eyebrow quirked, not even bothering to turn his head as he dryly replied, "Yes, I'm sure you do. Now don't you have somewhere to be?"

The boy shook his head with the same earnest smile on his face, clearly not taking the hint. Before the conversation could continue, though, Ruby - who had been watching this interaction unfold and barely stifling a laugh - stepped forward in front of Q and kneeled down to meet the child's eye level. "You're a fan of Robin Hood, you said?" She asked him with a gentle smile.

The boy gave her another enthusiastic nod and said, “Yeah, my dad tells me the story a lot for bedtime, but he has to go away on a starship, so my mommy said I should read the or… the orange-inal book while he's gone.”

Ruby smiled at his story and adorable mispronunciation. “That's a very good choice. You know, young man,” she said as she reached up behind her to hold onto Q's hand, “my partner Q here is a big fan of Robin Hood too. One time not too long ago, he even made all his friends dress up to act out the story!"

The boy's eyes seemed to sparkle as he looked back up at Q. "Wow, really? Did yew get to be Robin Hood, mister?"

Ruby smiled widely, both because of the boy's reaction and because behind her, she could hear Q faintly saying, "Starlight, what do you think you're doing?" as he recoiled his hand from hers.

But his Starlight wasn't listening; her mischievous side had quickly taken over, and she placed both hands back on her knees as she said with her bottom lip pushed out in an exaggerated pout, "Actually, Q decided to be the big bad Sheriff of Nottingham that taxes all the poor people and makes everyone sad.

"But… that's the guy who Robin Hood fights with," the boy said, staring up at Q curiously. "Why did you wanna be the bad guy, mister Q?"

Ruby turned her head around to meet her partner's eyes. "Yes, why did you want to be the bad guy, Mr. Q?" she parroted the question to him with a cheeky smile.

If all-powerful beings could blush, Q would have been bright red. "Very amusing, Counselor," he huffed, crossing his arms, "but I'm above engaging with this little mindgame of yours. Especially not with this," he gave the small boy a stern glare, "… creature involved."

The boy let out a giggle, making Q arch his eyebrows in shock. It has the audacity to laugh at me?, the immortal brooded in his expansive mind. What could it possibly find so amusing?

"Yew talk funny, mister Q," the child laughed. "I think yew'd be a really funny bad guy."

Ruby chuckled along with him. "Oh, you have no idea, young man."

From around the corner, a soft voice was heard calling out. "Lance? Did you find the book you wanted?" A woman not much older than Ruby stepped forward from behind another aisle of books, and the boy ran to her with his selection brandished above his head.

"Yes, momma! I picked out this Robin Hood book! Mister Q here got it off the shelf for me."

The mother reached down to pick up her child. "Not even gone five minutes and you're already making new friends?"

Q sneered under his breath, "Not quite the word I would use, but-" "That's right!" Ruby addressed the mother, thankful that she hadn't overheard Q's snide remarks. "He's a very sweet boy, he told us all about how he's a big fan of Robin Hood."

"Yep!" The boy beamed proudly. "And, and she said that her partner mister Q played Robin Hood with his friends and, uh, he got to be the Sheriff of Naughty-ham."

"That's Notting-ham," Q enunciated spitefully as he gleaned down at the child. Even if he desperately wanted the interaction to be over, he still would never miss an opportunity to be right about something.

Ruby paid him no mind, in the hopes that the woman would do the same, as she gave both the mother and child a kind grin. "Well, it was lovely to meet you, Lance. I hope you enjoy your book." She took on a tone akin to an ancient English knight as she thumped her a closed hand to her chest theatrically. "Never stop protecting those who can't protect themselves, and fight for justice and truth, just like your Robin Hood."

And unlike Q, she had wanted to say, but she decided that Q had had enough teasing for one day.

Little Lance beamed proudly and copied her motion as he put his own small fist over his chest, clearly taking the words to heart. His mom wore a similar warm grin as she and her son bade the couple farewell and headed toward the checkout counter.

Ruby turned back around to face Q, grinning cheekily up at him as he firmly kept his arms crossed and refused to meet her eye. "That was absolute torture," he groaned, "you know that, right? I'm not sure why I ever agreed to this trip." His partner let out a small laugh at how easy his disposition was to sour, and upon hearing that delightful little giggle of hers that he so dearly adored, he couldn't stop a smile from tugging at the corner of his mouth as he looked back down at her.

She chirped, "I'm sorry, my darling, but you know I can't resist teasing you.” A smirk overtook her face. “Besides, I believe I remember someone very intelligent once saying that one creature's torment is another's delight."

Q's eyebrows shot up in surprise before lowering in satisfaction, a grin snaking its way across his face as he pulled Ruby in close by her hips. If he had to make a list of all of his favorite things about her, the way that she was able to match his wit so effortlessly would easily clear the top three. Q was more than used to looking down on mortals, feeling superior to them, and he was somewhat justified in feeling so; even when encountering creatures cognitive enough to communicate, it was hardly ever that he came across one that didn't immediately bore him. Even with humans, as fascinating as the species itself was, the individuals were hardly worth stopping for. But there were always exceptions, and no exception has seized his attention, gained his respect, and retained his adoration more wholly than his Ruby.

Indifferent to who around may be watching, Q leaned forward and pressed his lips to Ruby's, allowing her to reach up and hold his face as he kissed her slowly and deliberately.

He just barely pulled away to groan against her lips, "I hope you appreciate my generous patience with you in situations like this." Ruby felt a shudder go through her body; as much as she saw and treated Q as an equal, she couldn't deny that, on occasion, she was exhilarated by the power he always had the capability of holding over her. She brushed any growing stimulation aside as she slyly retorted, "Only if you can appreciate me holding back in situations like this."

That comment earned her another kiss, this one much more brief but still holding just as much admiration, before Q stood up fully again. “Well then,” he sighed, “are we done here?”

Ruby chuckled. “Okay, you’ve been very good today. I’ll check out this book, and we can head back home.”

Q watched his partner as she headed toward the counter, an odd - but not unfamiliar - feeling washing over him as he replayed her words in his mind. He’d been very good today. It was still strange to him that such words of affirmation had any effect on him, even if. He’d never needed anyone else’s approval, or encouragement, or affection before meeting Ruby. He still didn’t need it, he supposed; he already knew that he was the most intelligent and powerful being in the universe. But something about hearing those things from her, the confirmation that there was one person who genuinely thought good of him, cared for him, loved him…

It was quite a wonderful feeling.

#ruby's writing #💜: let me bring you down to earth #self shipping #oc x canon #self ship fic #self ship community #i hope you guys enjoy this this has been in my docs for almost 3 years 💀💀💀#im very tired but very happy to be posting it so here you go. goo bye

29 notes · View notes