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#might have done this already i dunno
awetistic-things · 1 year
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awetistic things {571}
easily getting emotional over fictional people, but having trouble doing the same for people you actually know
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oworaiibu · 11 months
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s/i: i don't get good morning texts from you anymore :(
f/o: ...we sleep in the same bed
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lillipupz · 2 days
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”I don’t ship Liechtenstein and Swiss” 💀 If you don’t ship them, then what’s with your weird obsession with them? 😭 You avoided answering my other asks as well where I literally pointed out that you’ve drawn them scarily close to each other’s faces in a pose that is normally depicted as romantic. You also say they’re your “favorite siblings” while drawing them in couples poses. A little weird, right? You can just admit to being a weird proship sibling fetishist and move on. And actually fuck you for tagging them as “neutral siblings” none of us want to see that incest fantasy shit kys
hey what the fuck is wrong with you
#listen i. really hate bringing drama onto my account because that’s not me but you (or perhaps friends of yours because this has all been—#—the same typing style and almost the exact same format despite blocking 2 anons already) will not leave me alone??#you’re so delusional and obsessed with sending me DEATH THREATS and accusing me of so many things? do you not have anything better to do?#also i didn’t respond to your other anons because they were fucking stupid and reaching. you say that my art has “incestuous tones” where?#if i may ask where is the incest? because at this point you just seem to not even look at what i post of them and just hate for no reason?#and did you not see a single thing weird with sending nearly 7 separate asks ALL ON ANON about neutral siblings art?#at this point seems like you might be the one who’s “obsessed w incest” man!!!#this has gotten to the point where im turning off anon so unless you wanna send smth off anon#—you have like. nothing to gain from this#i love liech and i love swi as brother and sister. they are actually my favorite siblings. is every sibling relationship to you incest?#do you see brother and sister art and think “time to send death threats and doxxing attempts to this random person online!!”#you could have like. oh i dunno… dm’d me with concerns… maybe have talked to me…. literally anything#but nope!!!! time to tell tumblr user lillipupz to kts and “film it for a comedy movie” ????? what is wrong with you?#rant over sorry; this fandom has done great things for me but it’s also just been hard being in it due to people like this#please if you don’t like me or my art please just block me. unfollow. don’t send threats to me anonymously.#thank you to my friends for giving me input on this ask as well & how to respond to it#this ask is maybe a few days old idk i just saw it but still. what the fuck!!!!!
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frozenhi-chews · 4 months
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flame-shadow · 5 months
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today has been a good day. started earlier than usual and didn't follow the typical routine, but for once, that wasn't a bad thing. I got some sculpting done, I streamed a game with some cool folks, I handled some obligations. I have a few more things to do today, and there are a few things that I wrote down which won't get done, but that's okay. it's been a good day
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monty-glasses-roxy · 6 months
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One last note before I go to sleep...
Credit where it's due, the pieces of the puzzle are mostly all there in terms of the connection between The Storyteller story and The Mimic. The pieces missing aren't relevant to Mimic at all, and can be gleaned from what makes sense/what's interesting for the characters to do. Things like why the Storyteller lacks stripes and where all of the behaviours the animatronics gain were learned by Mimic before, are things you can piece together by thinking about it for a long enough time...
But the execution of the actual story makes this process incredibly unsatisfying. The pieces were there in a lot of cases, and then everything else flopped. It's amazing just how much I can figure out about Mimic's behaviour from these two stories purely because of how amazingly underwhelming these things are. Like yeah I can piece this stuff together on my own... But the vagueness of it all has impacted the story so much that I almost don't care. I'm literally only doing any of this for AU purposes for my GAME blorbos not the typically horribly made book ones. I literally would not be thinking about this anymore if I wasn't compelled by just how fucking awful it is and my game blorbos.
Like... Come on... There's even gaps in between all of these puzzle pieces too like... It's so unsatisfying to put the pieces together man... Oh yay! I understand why Mimic did that! ... I want to do something else... Let me live please this sucks...
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wander-wren · 1 year
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trying so so so hard to do my little quizzes for class but i can’t stop THINKING about eraserhead coming across this devastated-looking middle schooler on a roof, and sitting next to him even though oh god he doesn’t know how to comfort a random child, and fumbling through talking him off the edge
the kid shying away because he’s quirkless, useless, not good enough, and his life is over. and eraserhead, alarmed, asks why he would think any of that.
well. all might told him he can’t be a hero. and if all might says it, then everyone else must have been right all along, too.
within 5 hours aizawa has a new student to mentor after school and bruised knuckles from punching the number one hero in the face. within four years the world has its first quirkless pro hero.
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danothan · 2 years
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i wanna do succession handcanons (bc ofc i do) but i also realized that i have never and will never get anywhere close to wealth to even guess the way rich ppl dress or keep up their appearances. would they all regularly get manicures
#succ#danbles#i would love to make this one a bit more collaborative since i feel like i dont understand succession as well as my usual hypfixes#too serious + i dont have a wealth consultant + im not at s3 yet#but i wouldve def made tom the most likely to get a manicure out of everyone#idk i dunno how rich ppl work so feel free to chime in#but he makes me think of those guys that come into a salon and dont know what to expect#so when i ask them if they want their nails polished they always think im joking (it’s not 2007 anymore guys 😭)#and then i explain we have clear polish if they’re apprehensive abt colors#and that always gets their attention bc theyre like hmmm… that Would be shiny#and im like hell yeah youre already here might as well treat yourself!#anyway i think thats what tom’s first salon experience was like and now he always goes clear polish#sorry this turned into like a tom self-insert concept is it so bad to wanna hold his hand 😒#as for greg… i can see them going to a salon together (forced by tom) and tom giving him this exact rundown ive just given you#and greg would ofc laugh in that uncomfortable way that he does bc he thinks tom is making a jab at his masculinity#and yk he’s younger and more Hip with the kids but he doesn’t know tom’s intentions by asking#which tbf are muddied as hell#bc yes it’s a jab but also grow up man it’s 2022 guys get their nails done all the time#it’d be in that way where tom does say AND mean it as a jest but get fully offended when greg interprets it as such#so i guess what im saying is that up-to-date greg might also have clear polish??#but not like tom’s bc greg’s is already chipping due to his fidgeting + forgetting they were even polished#im gonna go out on a limb and say kendall roman and maybe connor dont care#they prob get manis (unlike tom they wouldnt go to a salon they’d have their own personal nail techs) but not polish#bc you can also keep your nails shiny without polish by buffing them#ohhh my god but tom would still choose the polish. he would still choose. wait hold on i need a second#and greg would ask why he has to get them painted like can’t he just get them buffed instead#like theyre always chipping and it ends up just looking worse#and tom is like wth man i thought we were in this together. not my fault you can’t take care of your hands.#jfc that was a lot of tags ​i hope you guys enjoyed getting a glimpse of my handcanon-making process
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itsukicoded · 2 years
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❣️.
#can i be annoying on main???? i would love some validation n reassurance from time to time#idk why i feel so weird rn haha#it just feels like…#a mix between ‘damn is this all there is’ ‘damn it’s already over?’ ‘damn there’s so much left to do’ and ‘damn im running out of time’#kind of this ‘god……what have I even done with my life’ with a little bit of ‘nothing ive ever done has meaning’#so like. existential crisis in the summer like always <3#but hurts more after she had said to me ‘u just say stuff bc u wanna feel special’ really sent me into a ‘i mean nothing’ type of spiral aha#which ik only bothers me bc of my aquarius moon but also how can u not think your friends are special???? neither here nor there neither her#nor there regardless im constantly worrying abt wasting my life by not doing the things i wish for…i do feel like damn i guess i really cant#do anything guess im really not good at anything at all! nothing abt me is different than anyone else i just get snubbed out like i always#do maybe this is just a big family kind of issue i don’t have any talents so all the things i want to do will never get recognized in the#way i want them to—that’s how that one tiny little sentence made me feel isn’t tht so fucked and dramatic?#and so im sitting here spiraling wondering what else there is left for me here#i dunno i don’t feel well rn idk why i agreed to call my friend but she really might help me feel better in her own way i never feel worse#after talking with her so maybe this is smart#ah wow am i 14??? this is so
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pinkrelish · 1 year
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𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐬, 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐬.
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ex-con!linecook!eddie x fem!reader
✶Steve messed up. He assured you over and over again that you could have the spare bedroom in his apartment, but while you took your time mulling over his offer, someone else moved in: his down-and-out best friend who needed a place to stay. When you show up at Steve's door with little warning due to your job relocating you, he suggests you and Eddie share the bedroom. Nothing wrong with that, right?
Besides the fact Eddie hated you, and in turn, you hated Eddie.✶
NSFW — smut, masturbation, eddie watches porn, dry humping, cumming in pants, reader flashes her bra & wears a pencil skirt, enemies to lovers, forced proximity, there was only one bed(room)
↳ teaser oneshot | [wc: 9.3k] | series tba!
⋅line cook hc from @bewilderedbunny⋅
Steve was a nice guy. Really.
He was your pen pal since meeting at summer camp when you were both eight-years-old. He was sweet, and wrote you back within a week, without fail. He was your first kiss one sweltering afternoon on the dock over the lake; a quick peck when the counselors weren’t looking. He was one of your first contacts in your flip phone, and his picture occupied the first circle when you got a smartphone, after pestering him to meet up with you in Indianapolis, snapping the pic at a crosswalk; a day where your conversations spanned nothing and everything. What was there to talk about when you talked via pencil, pen, markers, emojis, and photos for years, and suddenly forgot the past decade when you encircled your arms around each other?
He was a nice guy throughout all of college. He’d text you during class. You’d text him from states away, falling asleep at your dormroom desk. He worked at his father’s business. You started as an unpaid intern collecting coffee orders, and pulling all-nighters doing spreadsheet grunt work your superiors didn’t deem worthy of their time.
Stevie 🌞: just quit your job and live with me!
Stevie 🌞: I still have that spare bedroom
Stevie 🌞: rent free
Year after year, you always declined. Climbing the ranks at your job was important to you; and one day it paid off. They were relocating you to the Chicago, and if you didn’t take their pitiful relocation package, you’d get a decent advance on your next paycheck (which was dire considering your salary was roughly the same, despite the ever increasing cost of living); and knowing Steve always had that spare furnished bedroom, and most of your belongings could fit into your car (as long as you didn’t need to see out the rear window), it seemed like a done deal.
Until you surprised him.
You: hey! can i move in w you? my jobs relocating me to chicago and i might already be two hours out. sorry i didn’t text sooner. i had to leave my apartment asap. fuck paying for the damage cindy’s doberman did to that place 😬
Stevie 🌞: Lets talk when you get here
Stevie 🌞: I’ll meet you for coffee
Let’s talk? Never a good sign, even when he was smiling at you from over his latte.
————
“My friend needed the spare room, but he’s a good guy, I swear,” he told you.
“He’s just a little rough around the edges,” he told you.
“He’s understanding; I’m sure you two will get along,” he told you.
“He can make space in the closet for your stuff, and one of you can sleep on the couch,” he told you. “Maybe you can alternate! Bed, couch. It's not like I’m charging him rent, so he should be cool with you living with us until you can afford to move out, or whatever. No big deal. I don’t really care when, you know that. No rush.”
Right. Just share the room.
You weren’t present for the conversation; Steve and Eddie were in the bedroom while you stood awkwardly in the living room, but the result of the exchange made quite the first impression.
“I dunno,” Steve’s voice carried, “maybe you could work something out like you get the room Monday through Wednesday, and she gets it Thursday through Saturday. Sunday’s up in the air?”
“Oh, just share the room like I used to, huh?” Eddie asked, alluding to the life he lived several months ago. “Finally got some privacy to breathe around here, and now you’ve invited some chick to live with us without telling me? Actually–no–you invited her to live here. In my room. No heads up.”
Steve’s wince was audible in his heavy sigh. “You work weird hours, you probably won’t even have to interact with her. C’mon, man. She’s been my friend since we were kids, and it’s just until she finds her own place. She’s cool. She’ll sleep on the couch, or whatever if it really bothers you; just like, let her keep her clothes and shit in here, and let her use the computer for work.”
“Whatever, man.”
“Eddie, wait!”
Thunderous footsteps and a seething, “Fuck this,” followed the heightened emotions, and before you could straighten your spine, you were introduced to your new roommate.
His pace faltered, not expecting you to be standing there. The fine wrinkles in the outer corner of his eyes pinched tighter, and his long hair flowed around a faded black snake tattoo on his throat, stretching across the strained tendons it was inked over, reaching the twitching muscle in his jaw from his clenched teeth. It took him a narrow-eyed glance to sum you and your pink luggage up, and place you firmly in the ‘I don’t like you’ category in his mind, and he continued his march.
“Hi! I’m–”
Your outstretched hand went ignored as he passed you.
He shoved on his boots, and slammed the front door behind him, rattling every piece of metal in the apartment. You stared at where he was just standing, vision marked with a black silhouette of the good guy you’d be sharing intimate space with for the next.. however long, and still with your hand out, you swiveled to Steve. “Yeah, he seems nice.”
————
Eddie Munson glared at your very existence. He wore a permanent crease between his brows when you were in his vicinity. Apprehension tensed his muscles when your soft gaze slid from Steve, to him. There was distaste in his frown. He rolled his eyes when you laughed too loud at the TV. His voice was vitriol, words clipped when he had to speak to you. His shoulders hiked to his ears when you entered the kitchen for a glass of water and caught him mid-chew on his peanut butter and jelly sandwich after he got home from work. When it was your turn to sleep in the bed, he made it a point to come home as loud as possible–yanking open the drawers on the dresser, waking the computer to blazing home screen, and leaving the light on when he went to shower across the hallway, pretending he didn’t hear you grumble at him to turn it off.
You wore a sleep mask to bed after that.
And when you slept on the couch, it was the only time he cooked for himself. Scraping pans across the burners, clinking silverware, gathering his hair off his neck and twisting it between his laced fingers, creating a cradle for him to drop his head back and sigh at the ceiling, just loud enough to stir you from your sleep.
You wore earplugs to bed after that.
Eddie Munson made it known you were not welcomed in his territory, and saw your accidental warm smile thrown vaguely in his direction as a threat to his well being.
But as much as he ensured misery every second you had the fortune of spending in his presence, you weren’t so innocent of terrorizing his every waking moment either..
Soon, Monday through Wednesday, and Thursday through Saturday, and a chance at a lazy Sunday were not enough.
————
When Steve was home, he acted as the mediator when it came to you two being at each other’s throats after another vicious stare-off. Currently, Eddie was standing with his arms crossed, leaned against the counter with his cheeks darkened to a fleshy red, and you were pacing the kitchen, wrapped in a bath towel, stating your case to Steve. You argued since most of the hair clogging the drain belonged to Eddie, he should be the one to clean it. And Steve, not knowing how to interpret Eddie’s steely focus on the fridge as if you didn’t exist, nor the fact a woman was dripping wet and yelling at him, he put his hands up in defense.
He edged away from your ire until he was at the cabinet housing a toothpick dispenser, and depressed the mechanism for one to roll out. He snapped it, put his hands behind his back, and shuffled the two ends into his palm, and had you choose one. Eddie kept his gaze averted, but grasped the other.
You held the long end of the toothpick above your head with a smile to rival the kitchen’s daylight bulbs searing into your retinas. You were the winner, and Eddie was the loser who had to clean the bathroom.
This worked swell when Steve was around to mitigate the tension. But when he was on a business trip, or out on a date, the Bed Schedule was a formality at best, and largely ignored at worst.
Meaning, the bets, deals, and favors began.
They started small: Rock, paper, scissors; winner gets dibs on those just-washed sheets. Flip a coin and see who has to rough it in the living room for the next two nights. Draw the shorter toothpick and try not to stab it in Eddie’s eye when he smirked.
But those were childish games. It was the deals and favors that proved more interesting.
“Can you help me punch holes in these?” you asked, voice high and urgent as you rushed to grab your color coded pie charts from the printer and clip them into a presentation binder.
He scoffed from the bedroom doorway, smelling of fryer oil and bacon grease. “What makes you think I want to help you after cooking for assholes all night?”
“Because you’re nice, and you love me.”
“I despise you,” he corrected, crossing his arms tight over his chest. He shifted his weight from foot to foot while you organized the pages, resisting the bait to give him what he wants, but you knew in your heart it was the only way to not be late for work this morning.
“Fine. You can have the bed tonight.”
He stayed put. “Nope. You know I’m working the overnight shift until Thursday.” That way, he slept while you were at work, and you slept while he was at work.
You glanced at the blue dawn creeping in from the window, then red the time on your watch. “Okay, fine, whatever! Have it all next week. I don’t give a fuck, just help me!”
Reveling in his victory, his plush lips stretched into a wide grin, showing too much teeth. He sauntered at his leisure, closing his eyes half-way, and gazing at you down the long slope of his nose. “Good girl, I knew you could do it,” he mocked.
You wanted to strangle him.
–And another time–
“Shut the fuck up for an entire day, and you can have to whole fucking closet,” Eddie snapped after your fifth instance of complaining about your professional office clothes not having available hangers due to him taking them for his old, ratty band tees.
Centering yourself, you brushed the dust off your favorite pants after finding them wadded up on the floor, and whispered, “I hope a rogue knife finds its way into your thumb again tomorrow.”
You swore you saw his hand flex out the corner of your eye, reacting to your curse.
–And the week after that–
You: come help me bring up these groceries
You: elevators broken
You: we can race up the stairs
You: loser washes dishes and takes out the trash
😒dumb: as long as the loser doesn’t cry about it when she sleeps on the couch
You: whatever
😒dumb: i’ll even give you a head start to make it fair
Struck with being that person grinning down at your phone in the stuffy underground parking garage, you gilded your thumbs over the keyboard in a fluttery tease.
You: you just want an excuse to stare at my ass
It took Eddie longer to reply, fumbling with his phone to find the emoji keyboard, only to send–
😒dumb: 🙄
–And the week after that–
“Get a life, you fucking loser,” you yelled from within the metal cylinder of the dryer, bent over on your hands and knees to wrestle your silk blouse free from where it was tangled in a rope of bedsheets, after you told him–explicitly–to never wash it because he’d do it wrong.
He merely watched you struggle from the sidelines, informing you, “You’re the one who asked me to do laundry. Don’t toss your precious, delicate shirts on the bathroom floor if you don’t want them thrown in with everything else. And by the way, I did my part of the deal, so the room is still mine tonight.” As a bonus, he added as he walked away, “Suck my dick, sweetheart.”
Your gums ached from how hard you clenched your teeth. You didn’t leave your blouse on the floor. He did, when he went hunting for his wallet he left in his jeans, and dumped all the clothes out of both baskets, mixing your work clothes with his.
That night, you locked him out of the bedroom. Fuck him.
————
After tireless days of the same back and forth, the juvenile deals and favors were losing their significance. Someone needed to up the ante. And a certain line you two skirted taunted you both, but remained uncrossed until..
————
The hallway leading to your apartment was stale with inactivity. Most people had been home for hours, or were back from bars and crashed on the couch, drooling on their girlfriend’s favorite decorative pillow–the kind with the pom poms. You thought of them with envy. Snoring, dreaming of some blissful shit like sheep hopping a pasture fence. But not you. Your 9 to 5 extended far past those numbers on the clock. It skipped right over them, just like you were skipped over in meetings, being told the extra burden you were taking on was good for the company, and the programs you were learning would be paid in experience. Bullshit. You were tired, and the last thing you needed was some long haired man stubbing his toe on the coffee table to wake you up–morning or night.
But perhaps you were blessed.
You opened the door to near-darkness. Not a lamp, or TV on inside to show someone was home. Not a groan, sigh, or blast of music funneling from a set of oversized headphones. Not a creak of movement from the hallway, or bathroom; surrendering your heartbeat as the loudest feedback.
It appeared you were alone. What a wonderful thing.
The muffled thud of the low pile rug under your heels gave way to silky sweeps of plush carpet welcoming your aching pantyhose-covered feet. Moving further into the apartment, you knew the shapes to avoid in the dim light coming from above the stove, casting the coffee table and scattered stools at the breakfast bar in shadow.
Groggy from exhaustion, you blinked at the spice cabinet door Eddie left open before leaving for his shift. During a conversation with Steve, you let it slip that people who leave the cabinet doors open annoy you, so of course he began leaving one open as a greeting when you came home.
You closed it with your right hand, swinging your laptop bag wildly, and before you could react, the strap caught the top of the glass sugar jar and knocked it over in a wincing crash. Luckily, after peeping one eye open, you assessed nothing broke, but now there was a streak of glittery white dust on the countertop you definitely weren’t going to clean up.
Maybe you could strike a deal with Eddie to wipe it up for you. It was–in a way–his fault, since he left the cabinet door open. If you didn’t need to close it, none of this would’ve happened..
You made a gagging sound.
Since when did your immediate thought process swing to him, and how do you get it to stop? It was bad enough you peeked around the corner into the hallway, praying, praying, praying the bedroom light was off, and feeling your body slump with utter relief when it was. Being on the same planet as him was hell, you didn’t need your private thoughts to linger on him, too.
Mentally dismissing Eddie Munson from your brainspace, you invited yourself into the bedroom. You sought the cushy mattress to cradle your weary body after a long day, and the nest of cozy fleece blankets to swaddle you as you drifted to sleep. Unfortunately, the idiot’s pillow smelled far too much like him; cigarettes and cheap vanilla cologne combined with his hair products, burning your nose like toasted sugar. Despicable. Just the worst. You should exchange it with your own pillow, but you forgot it on the couch, and the couch was so very, very far away..
~~~
Eddie sat crouched in the alleyway outside of Benny’s Diner with a stubby cigarette balanced between his lips, blowing the smoke out in a slow exhale like a roll of fog on a misty morning. Cold emanated from the bricks pricking the expanse of his shoulders, and the night air chilled his damp shirt to his sticky skin, erupting goosebumps along his forearms. Standing around him were the other cooks on break. He didn’t share a common language with them outside of gestures, curse words, and kitchen lingo, but they gathered in a semi-circle as if to include him.
His shift was over. He’d technically clocked out, but he loitered until their vices were stomped under their shoes, and he snuffed his glowing ash on the wall behind him, and followed them inside.
Washing his hands first, he dried them on the towel tucked under the string of his apron tied around his waist, and set up a space on the flat top for him to occupy since the dinner rush had long since died, and the only patrons on the floor were drunks wandering in for greasy hashbrowns. He grabbed the four quart Cambro from the fridge beneath the prep area, and ladled enough batter for two large pancakes. Borrowing a station, he sliced up a ripe banana from the walk-in, and dropped it into a hot pan with a bit of butter, caramelizing them on the range while he waited for the pancakes to be flipped.
The guys behind him read off the few tickets, and carried their conversation from earlier. Eddie caught some of it, learning a few words here or there, but regardless of the language barrier, he knew they were talking about him. They were snickering with their heads together, pointing at the pancakes he was making despite being clocked out.
Eddie spoke with a sneaky grin, “If I make them for her, she’ll leave me the fuck alone on my day off.”
The guys may not have understood entirely what he meant, but his sunny disposition juxtaposed by his wry gaze communicated a universal plight: girls.
One of their hands landed hard between Eddie’s shoulder blades when they doubled over in a belly laugh, and the other one made whip-cracking sounds, calling him the same slang word he called the married cooks. It wasn’t worth it to attempt to correct them that these pancakes were not for his girl, but for his future migraine, so he hummed along with them, and flipped the pancakes with his right hand while tossing the bananas with a swift jerk of his left.
After their gossip, they went back to work, and Eddie grabbed a to-go container, loading it with the two pancakes and sliding the caramelized bananas on top. He brought it to the prep area to drizzle with chocolate sauce, and finished it off with heart-shaped strawberries, a dusting of powdered sugar, and a sprig of mint. He didn’t cut the strawberries that way with ulterior motives, it was just something he did when he had spare time in the morning. Cutting a wedge out of the stemmed top, and slicing them vertical. The customers liked it. It was cute, supposedly. There were no hidden intentions to him taking his time to place them just so around the box; it was merely him taking pride in how he plated his dish.
Clamping the container shut, he untied his apron, changed his shoes, and left out the back entrance, kicking pebbles under the crescent moon, and walking through the front door of the next building over. Gray concrete, a faulty elevator, ugly rugs to feign elegance, and high rise as far as ‘high rise when you live next a bunch of squatty buildings’ went. It was home, and it was blissfully dark inside.
Eddie worked his feet out of his tied-once-and-never-untied street shoes, and dropped his non-slip clogs next to them in a loud clatter.
He breathed. Inhaled deep. Sighed through his nose.
Quiet. Peaceful respite behind his eyelids.
The adrenaline ebbed. The hours of shouting and being shouted at, metal on metal clangs, timer beeps, and mechanical whirr of a ticket being printed out would never cease haunting his mind, but he should stop flinching from the imaginary sounds after a few hours. The pain stretching the length of his back should ease under a hot shower. The throbbing ache in his knees should lessen once he sleeps. The fatigue, like needles driven into his bones, should heal so he could be on his feet for thirteen more hours tomorrow.
Warmth worked its way beyond the calluses creating a barrier in his palm supporting the styrofoam container. Syrupy sweet hot sugar invaded his nostrils from the pancake bribe, battling the stench of his dried sweat and body odor baked into his t-shirt. The tiled entryway beneath his feet woke him out of his daze, and he slid his heavy-lidded gaze to the vacant couch; the comforter was folded, and the pillow was propped up, unslept on.
Briefly he wondered if you went out with your friends after work. But as he approached the kitchen, his dreams were crushed by a single closed cabinet door.
You were home.
You were home, and you weren’t on the couch, nor in the shower.
Eddie allowed his eyes to flutter closed as he hung his head back. In that position, he rolled the disappointment out of his shoulders, and braced them with something new.
Irritation.
Tamping the frustration in the pit of his stomach from bubbling up, he exhaled another calming breath, and opened the fridge, placing the pancakes exactly front and center amongst the fresh produce he was sometimes excited to create with, and sometimes slammed to the bottom of the trash when he was too exhausted and uninspired to do anything with their rotten corpses.
He prepared his expression into one of unbudging indifference. Flat, and unwilling to back down.
And yet, his nose scrunched when he pushed open the bedroom door, and there you were, as predicted, lounging amongst your hideous blankets spilling out from under you as if you were an opulent pearl nestled within an oyster shell.
The resentment built as he assessed your form delicately painted in a red glow from the ugly neon sign in the shape of a lipstick kiss tacked alongside his favorite band posters. He’d only lived with Steve long enough to feel comfortable decorating the blank walls, and you ruined the Rob Halford flow three days into your invasion. Your face was highlighted by the dim blue light of your laptop resting on your stomach, rising and falling with each gentle breath, and you were haloed by the Himalayan salt lamp crowding the nightstand. It’s trendy, you explained.
With vehemence, he flickered the light switch.
You cringed from the bright assault, and clacked your fingers on the keyboard, pretending you weren’t dozing off a second ago. “Can you go away?”
“What’re you doing in here?”
Unimpressed by his tone, you glazed your response in insolence. “What’s it look like I’m doing? I’m minding my own business.” At that, your attitude was solidified, along with how this interaction would go.
Eddie stared at you for a long minute. Not once did you acknowledge him. He watched your eyes dart across the screen, probably watching one of those Youtube videos where girls walked around exciting cities with a camera way too close to their face, and he dragged his gaze downwards, noticing you were still in your work clothes; though, your blouse and skirt were disheveled, and your pantyhose were discarded on the floor, still holding the vague shape of your legs, resembling a flattened rotisserie chicken.
He focused on your eyes again. Bloodshot, rimmed in red with a suggestion of water clinging to the outer corners where your eyelashes met, and sporting a hefty burden of bags beneath them.
“It’s Wednesday,” he reminded you, voice heavy in his chest, but sounding scratchy, and hollow. His throat was shot.
“Mm,” you hummed and glanced at the clock in the corner of your screen, “it’s Thursday, actually.”
White hot anger boiled in his veins, striking his skin like a leather lash. It simmered, popped, sizzled, boiled over. The yelling, the timers, the cacophonous clanging. The ticket machine, the keyboard, the stinging cut on his thumb. Smug fucking brat laying in his bed on his night to have it. It was sudden, it was stark, and it was hatred.
“Make a deal.”
“A deal?”
“A fucking deal,” he repeated. “You know, like we’ve been making?” He stopped himself short of calling you a dirty name, but you must’ve gathered it from his tongue’s hesitation, because you turned your head a few degrees to challenge his temper.
“Oh, lucky for you, there was a two-for-one deal at the store.”
You waved two middle fingers at him, showing a bit of teeth with your crooked grin.
The hatred festered, but not as vicious. The anger was there–oh, the anger was there–but the energy to keep this going hit its peak, and fizzled. There was no sense in reasoning with you. The pancakes in the fridge were for a different occasion, he couldn’t waste them on this, and he was too tired to come up with his own bet, deal, or favor. “Just think of something so we can get this over with,” he nearly begged.
After some consideration, you held your fist out for rock, paper, scissors.
“Where’s the option for a gun in my mouth?”
“Harsh,” you pouted. Instead, you pointed at the 20 sided die on the desk. He inclined his head, shaking it with a slow sort of intention, eyes wide to express his warning to knock it off, and give him a true answer, something to make this worthwhile.
Finding the whole ordeal dull, you returned your attention to your laptop, pressing the white earbud into your ear before unpausing the video.
It took seconds off his life, but you finally spoke again.
“How long were you in prison? Six years? Bet it’s been a while since you’ve seen one of these in the flesh.” Due to your satin cream blouse being unbuttoned at the neck, you dipped your thumb under the collar, and traced the vibrant temptation of your red bra strap in a long, deliberate stroke. You hooked the soft pad of your thumb under the luxury, and brought it out for his viewing pleasure. A moment later, you snapped it to your skin, and went back to typing, not once breaking concentration with your video.
Eddie’s fascination, however, was trained on the dainty crimson gift slipping under the shimmery cream, sliding against the soft slope of your shoulder.
Heat thrummed in his chest. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, sloshing his blood like viscous tidal waves, muting the clacky sound of your keyboard. Anger mixed with something more, something worse. It warmed his cheeks, and reignited the cold sweat prickling his back. It honed his curiosity, sinking every detail of the second tortoiseshell button on your blouse into his mind. Memorizing how the fabric around it went taut, and glinted honey at the height of your breath. Noticing how the bottom of your shirt was wrinkled and pulled slack, but still tucked into your pencil skirt. Remembering how the tight material hugged your thighs when you traipsed around the apartment. Although, the navy blue number was less defined now, fitting looser around your hips.
He didn’t know how long he was fixated by your clothing, until you sighed.
“Not enough for you?”
You asked it with forced casualness, he could tell. Your voice was too even, tone too polite, eyebrows too raised in mock indifference. You were introducing a line that had yet to be crossed. A door which, when opened, would give access to more possibilities than the usual bets, deals, and favors. An enticing offer, and he didn’t deny the nervous flutter of intrigue arousing his blood elsewhere.
But past the line was dangerous territory. Right? That’s where things got muddied, and feelings got involved.
Or maybe not. Because, above all else, he hated you, and you hated him.
This was a deal like any other.
“Maybe this’ll help,” you said, never breaking eyesight from the screen, its colors reflecting in your pupils.
You were the epitome of cool pinching the blouse between your fingers and slotting the buttons through the holes one after the other. Down, down, down to your navel, tugging either side of the shirt open, letting the elegant cream frame the aggressive scarlet.
Eddie was taken off guard.
The bra was more akin to lingerie than he expected. Its cups contained you like a poorly kept secret. Curves of red peonies covered your nipples–hard bud pressing against the center of the flower from the thrill of exploring a new end to your daily arguments. Your areolas peeked from between the petals, where the intricate lacework went see through, granting him a preview to the smooth flesh beneath.
Click clack, click clack, space bar, space bar, space bar, he swore you pressed your arms together to make your breasts rounder. Actually, he didn’t need to second guess. He saw the cusp of cleavage squish before his very eyes.
“Satisfied?” you inquired.
No, he ached.
The voice in his head was so automatic, so sure, he didn’t question it, either.
When he refused to verbalize the things which made him nauseous, his opulent pearl rolled onto her shoulder and lifted the laptop the pillow, turning over onto her stomach to engage with it solely, circling a manicured fingernail over the trackpad, and clicking.
To his surprise, the video on screen wasn’t of the vapid people you watched, but of a troubleshooting guide to the program your company was having you learn in order to teach it to the higher ups next week. (Or so he heard when you told Steve yesterday.) You tabbed out of the video, fixed a property in a column, checked the statistic it was evaluating, and added in an aesthetically pleasing green color before tabbing back.
He couldn’t parse how he felt about you having to do more thankless tasks off the clock, especially when you were clearly tired, but something else stole the last of his fiery anger, and doused his willpower to resist a glance.
Your habit of unzipping your skirt as soon as you walked into the apartment proved evident when you rolled over. The silky polyester lining slipped against your skin, shifting the long zipper from your hip to your backside. The halves parted, showing the end of the cream blouse, and a peek of skin. You adjusted how you laid, rocking your hips back and forth until you sank into the plush blankets, and propped your chin in your palm when you weren’t typing. Small movements working the skirt higher, and higher, bunching the fabric around the fat of your ass. Squirming, and stretching, tugging on your blouse, pulling, pulling, blouse, skirt, blouse, skirt, and then he saw it..
Red.
Delicate, feminine.
Tucked, hidden from anyone’s view but his, were the matching red panties to your bra. Trapped in a valley between thighs and ass, and stretching over the swell of your heat, embellishing the mouth watering desire in opaque lace strained firm against the outline of his treasure.
Eddie swallowed.
“Why’re you still in here?” you asked with a bite of annoyance. “You got to see a girl’s bra for the first time ever, probably. You should be celebrating, throwing yourself a party. In the living room. On the couch.”
The anger had returned like a slap of reality across his cheek. He narrowed his eyes at the back of your head, remembering why he loathed you with every fiber of his being. “I’ve seen a bra before.”
“Pictures don’t count.”
“Whatever, bitch.”
Your body jolted with a snort, and he flung open the door hard enough for it to bounce off the door stop. He heard your infuriating inhale, and slapped the lightswitch off, shutting the door behind him with excessive force before you could ask more demands of him. Gladly, he closed himself out of his own bedroom. The physical barrier under his trembling fist had never felt better, still gripping the knob as if he’d go back in there.
He wouldn’t.
He let go of the chilled metal and stalked down the hall, curbing himself from stomping out his frustration, only to throw himself onto the couch. Stomach burning with hunger, hatred. Chest heaving with rage. Pulse rising in his throat, beating against the ball chain necklace he wore. Breathing so hard, sounding as if he’d ran laps before collapsing onto his bed for the night, crossing his arms to squeeze his biceps, massaging his fingers down the muscle. Occupying himself. Distracting himself.
It wasn’t working.
He was mad.
Furious.
Draping his hand over his eyes, he gave himself a moment to make a decision, and pushed his bangs off his forehead. They stayed in their gravity defying position due to the oil. He needed to shower. He needed to clean himself of this day, and go to sleep. But he couldn’t.
The fever in his veins was too distracting. He needed to take care of it. Get rid of it.
Sitting up, he unfolded the comforter from the end of the couch, and propped the pillow against the armrest to angle his head slightly up, where he could see the hallway.
From his front pocket, he collected his phone and laid it on his stomach while he unbuttoned his pants, pinching the waistband together and pulling the zipper down, sighing through his nose at the relief of the lines he was crossing.
He grasped his phone and brought it close to his face. Cupped in one palm, and using the other hand to tap it twice. A streak of perspiration was left on the screen where he swiped in his passcode, using his index finger to open a private browser and type in a porn site. Any porn site. Whichever variation of the word porn + noun he thought of first. It didn’t matter much to him; that’s not where his preferences lie.
office worker
co-worker
secretary
office worker tight skirt
office worker pov skirt grinding
His brain went stupid for synonyms trying to narrow down his search. He didn’t know exactly what he was looking for, but he knew the ultra HD, professionally lit, fakey acting wasn’t it. He scrolled, and scrolled. Narrowed his search again. Ticked off boxes on the side. Tried broader genres. Went back to the results he was on, and traveled down the rabbit hole a few more pages until, at last, he found what suited him.
The thumbnail appeared promising. Dimly lit, sorta bad quality, and clearly shot at home with a woman whose body type wasn’t far off from what he was hoping for. He even appreciated the visual similarities in the amateur actress’ navy blue skirt, and off-white blouse. As long as he scrolled down a tad to crop out her face, it was perfect. Plus, it was easier to insert himself into the scene that way.
He clicked it, and– ”Jesus Christ,” he turned down the volume as quickly as he could, accidentally pressing down the two buttons on the side that took a screenshot and saved it to his gallery.
The video started a little further into the act than he anticipated.
Such a fucking idiot, Eddie, Jesus Christ. Sitting in thick silence, he waited to see if you’d heard, and once his face calmed of the embarrassed flush stinging his cheeks, he moved on.
Eddie worked his right hand under the comforter, but heeded his boxers as a layer of separation. At the first contact with the parts of him he denied aching for the bane of his existence, he allowed his eyes to flutter closed. Gently, he raked his fingernails down the base of his shaft, and over his balls. He cupped them. Felt their heft. Cradled them and dragged them softly upwards, letting them fall and stretch before repeating the motion, enjoying the tickly sensation of being the first thing he touched. His most sensitive, most susceptible part of himself. Meanly ignoring the other part of him twitching, throbbing, begging to be catered to.
He kept some fraction of his brain alert to the hallway, senses sharpened by the spike of adrenaline, listening out for any sound of you exiting the room. But most of him was focused on hitting the play button, sticking to his decision that he couldn’t wait to do this in the shower. He needed it now.
It started with the woman already in motion. Shot from the guy’s point of view laying on the bed, his obvious hardon pressing through his slacks into her pussy grinding down on him. Her skirt lifted with each motion, showing her black underwear. Not that he was complaining they weren’t red, but he didn’t concentrate on them.
He switched from playing with his balls to gripping his cock. Finally. It buzzed with the rush of pleasure, harder than it had ever been, even in his youth. His fingers hardly met through his boxers, but he encircled them the best he could, and started with fast, desperate, stunted strokes, getting himself to where the guy in the video was in a matter of pent-up seconds, clenching his ass to buck his hips up. Heart pounding. Inhales shaky from the speed at which he took care of his problem, exhales interrupted by muted huffs.
Maybe he should be embarrassed, but it didn’t take him long to feel that encouragement to keep going, keep going, keep going. Where each frantic pump along his length was better than the last. Where each accidental graze of his fingers over the lipped edge of his tip sprinted towards his bliss.
In the video, the woman dipped a finger between her lips and moved her panties aside.
There was a low hum in the back of his throat, engrossed by the wet warmth opposed to his dry fist.
Metal knob turning–door creaking–carpet groaning, step, step, step–
It was a fucking miracle he managed to close out of the window in his panic. His thumb missed it the first two times as fear coated him in a cold sweat, and the phone fell out of his palm, smacking him in the chin as you rounded the corner.
You didn’t spare him the time of day as you walked into the kitchen and got a glass from the cabinet. Didn’t bother looking at him as you stood at the fridge with your hip cocked out, holding the cup under the outer dispenser and depressing the button for ice.
The fridge made a mechanical whirr, and filled your glass. Ker-chunk, ker-chunk, ker-chunk, the ice cubes tinked into the cup for the longest seconds of his life. His hand was frozen mid-tug on his dick, and you were wearing an oversized t-shirt, and nothing else. Truly, it hardly covered your ass. It clung to your hips, brushed the height of your thighs, and suddenly, he was checking how obvious the bulk of the comforter was over his lap, and if it creased when he moved his hand upwards.
Nothing. Not a fold out of place. He could keep it up. Stroke, by stroke, brushing his fingers over the head only, testing his limits to keep discreet while you switched to the other spout on the fridge for water.
Even when you turned to him, he massaged himself over his boxers, soaking the sticky slick beads of precum into the fabric.
“What?”
Your tone didn’t deter him from tracing the underside of his swollen head, caressing the glans with the same sort of sentiment he experienced in the homemade porn between a real couple–all gentle and nice.
He mustered enough brain cells to respond, “What? I’m already sleeping on the couch. Can’t you leave me alone for one night? Or are you that desperate for attention?”
None the wiser, you took a sip from your glass, and folded your other arm across your stomach, making it obvious from the natural sway that you weren’t wearing a bra. Probably weren’t wearing panties either..
Swallowing the ice cold water with a satisfied ‘ah’, you went on your merry way. “Just came to gawk at the bridge troll, is all. Night night!” Your annoying farewell was followed by the creak of the door, and the faint click of it closing.
What a fucking irritating person.
The anger bristled again. Definitely anger. It was there, lurking, when he rubbed at the sore spot on his chin and picked up his phone, unlocking it to stare at the homescreen.
There was no patience within him to find the video. Besides, the sanitized professional thumbnails on the homepage were enough to have him dropping his phone to the cushion crevices beside him, surrendering himself to his imagination. Nothing lived up to the scenarios in his head, anyway.
Before getting ahead of himself, he slid his fingers beneath the elastic waistband, and gripped himself wholly. There was no sense in denying what he wanted: the raw desire of his hand wrapped firmly around his cock, not caring about creating a mess. It could be cleaned up later. He needed this. Now.
He immersed himself in the fantasy.
The visuals took place minutes ago, if he hadn’t backed down. It was based on you refusing to give him the bed, and instead of walking away from your bratty attitude, he lifted his chin, and broadened his chest with a confidence he didn’t possess. Fantasy Eddie had the courage to kneel on the mattress like he belonged there. Your body would dip, rock towards his imposing knees straddling either side of your calves, and in his strongest dreams, he acted out what should’ve happened.
If he had his way, he would begin with your hips. A single strong palm on the curve would have you hiking them up to greet him, and he was a gentleman. As soon as you presented him with the opportunity, he was scrambling to spread your legs so he could dip between them, eager to please. He wanted to know the sensation of coarse red lace scratching across his tongue; it would be a novelty only he would know. His hands would be on your upper thighs, bringing you closer, closer, to where his mouth awaited you. Persuading your face to the sheets. Putting a wicked arch in your back, granting him permission.
He’d angle his mouth to your clothed clit and collect spit to his bottom lip, parting, and lapping his tongue over the pretty thing, suckling it through the fabric. His nose would be to your cunt, inhaling the musky pheromones. Didn’t matter how long you’d been at work, proving yourself to people who would never appreciate you like he did. He cherished every bit of you so much. The heady scent intoxicated him like a drug, the dimples when he smashed the fat of your ass around his face, your silly whine when he pressed kisses up your pretty pussy. The anger was gone. Like that, he adored you. After all, you craved him. And it’d been a long time since he was wanted. It felt nice to not be rejected.
Eddie, Fantasy You gasped when the wet sound of him sucking your clit through your panties grew in fervor. He was drunk on you. Trying hard. Giving more. Licking at the dark patch he created. God, he loved it. He loved the evidence. He could suckle, moan, flatten his tongue like torture and just breathe on you until he fell asleep, waking up to nudge his teeth over the sensitive areas you presented to him. Spending hours getting you to your peak, over and over.
But in reality, he was approaching his end rather quickly.
My turn, sweetheart, he regretfully informed you.
Getting to his knees, he positioned himself behind you. His cock slotted so nicely against you; red lace meeting unzipped gray uniform pants, and he wasted no time stoking the flames from where he left off.
He clapped your cheeks around the hard outline of his cock. His black boxers stretched to their limits to contain him. There was a dark patch at the tip peeking out between your ass, growing with each slow, assertive grind he committed to, fucking himself into the curve of your cunt with ragged breaths. Losing himself. Mouth agape, and eyebrows pinched as his needy head was swallowed when he rocked his hips back, and reappeared with a rough thrust.
Again, it didn’t take long until he needed a break to make himself last longer.
He draped his weight over you as he slid his rough, calloused palms up the backs of your thighs, creating goosebumps along the sensitive flesh on his way to your sorry excuse for skirt. He bunched the pitiful thing to your waist, and reached for the hem of your shirt.
You hummed in approval, pressing against his lap.
It was hard to balance, but you supported him as he yanked your blouse up–sucking in a sharp breath when you moaned, and rutted yourself on his length–and he brushed his fingers along your soft skin in search for the bra clasp, and when he found it, he pulled the band tight. The latch gave. He caught sudden heft in his palm, cupping you and the bra together, massaging lightly until your nipple slotted between the base of two of his fingers, and he applied the gentlest pressure.
Oh fuck, you whined so nicely for him.
They’re extra sensitive after being caged all day, you explained.
Yeah? Does it feel good?
You nodded, cheek smashed against the wrinkled sheets.
He pinched harder.
Saliva gathered at the corner of your lips, spilling in a sticky string as you dragged your head in another nod, heavy-lidded eyes just visible through your lashes, open mouth panting for him.
True satisfaction spread like weightlessness from the pit of anger in his stomach. He wasn’t supposed to be making you feel good, not the person ruining the one place he found peace after six years of paranoia, but here he was, wishing the taste of your pussy lasted longer in his mouth. Here he was, anchoring his forearm alongside yours, gripping the same sheet you gripped while he beared his weight down on you, and pressed kisses to your clothed shoulders.
His other hand was trapped between you and the bed, but each pulse around your nipple was another long stroke on his cock.
The scene had been set. The build up and story line were crafted. Now, he could play.
He worked kisses under your collar, tasting the sheen of sweat at your hairline, leaving trails of spit to cool as he lolled his head on top of yours, resting his forehead amongst your hair, and he put his lips to the shell of your ear, feeling you shiver beneath him.
Do you think you can treat me that way, and get away with it? Fantasy Him asked. Think you can boss me around whenever you want? He punctuated his question with a hard, unexpected thrust, earning a gasp from your pretty mouth.
Turn over. He didn’t command it verbally, but when he took away his hand to smack the side of your ass, and sat back, you were aware of his unstated switch in position.
You laid on your back, legs spread for him. Skirt bunched around your hips, blouse fallen open, except for the one button remaining. He grasped his cock, and stroked himself through his boxers for you. His brows were drawn together in a gentle question, gaze locked onto yours. This was supposed to be about him, but he still asked, Is this okay? Is this what you want?
The source of his anger, his rage, his frustration–all the blame, burdens, and negativity he attributed to a single woman–opened her arms to him, and nodded.
He passed over your pussy to praise kisses to your stomach. Deft fingers working to undo the last button on your blouse, and explore upwards. Wet smacks of his sloppy gifts arched your back the higher he traveled, molding his large hands to your body. Brushing his rough fingers to the junction of your inner thigh and hip, and spreading you open so your pussy swallowed the fabric, wedging the red lace tight to your clit for later. Up, up, his kisses covered you, until he nosed at the underwire of your bra, and lifted it out of the way.
Fuck, Eddie.
You pushed his hair out of his face. The shorter curls fell from the low bun at his nape, and you tucked them behind his ear so you could watch his tongue lap and swirl at your nipple. Your fluttery moans were heaven, as were your tits being shoved in his mouth. You squirmed for him, clamored for him. You wanted him, needed him. Did you care that his hair was greasy? Did you care that dried salt crystals from sweat scratched your fingers when you cradled his jaw? Did you care about his smell from thirteen hours of being in a hot kitchen when you cupped him under the armpits, encouraging him with a buck of your hips to get back to business?
He supposed not, since it was his fantasy.
But just like reality, you were trying to boss him around.
Want me to fuck you, sweetheart?
You could hardly meet his gaze, eyes so heavy with lust you couldn’t keep them open long enough to beg.
He aligned himself, nudging the tip of his cock to your clit, and he savored the experience of watching the bliss wash over you. It took him a beat to realize, but he moaned in response to your moan. Watching you react from where he picked up his head from your chest, memorizing the fake vision of your face losing the usual harsh distaste for him. Your lips were better this way–lush, and making an effort to sound out his name as he drew his hips back–not sneering because you had the displeasure of asking him a question.
Still, he drove forward with haste. Cotton on lace. Layers of separation. Anything else was too intimate for how he wanted to fuck you, rough and fast, caring only about himself and not about your poor neglected clit, swollen and pleading for his soft tongue, only to get rough, unmeasured thrusts. Messy, and unintentional, and denying. Until you made them work for you.
You used the meat of his shoulders as leverage. Digging your fingers in, holding tight as you rocked with him and raised your legs, wrapping them around his ass. The squeeze of your thighs, and pressure built from your locked ankles tipped you into a better position, and now, his entire length was flush to your clit, not simply passing over the top of it.
All of him was touching you, touching you, touching you. Trapping his cock between your stomachs, damp with reignited sweat. Back to rutting against one another at a desperate pace, chasing the tension, the high. The snap of his hips. Your stuttered groans for more. The anger, the hatred. Festering under the surface, bubbling in your insolence. Present in his teeth grazing your throat, nipping at the pulse, kissing, sucking, licking, tasting.
You’re gonna make me cum. Even Fantasy You said it in a lower register, reaching where the molten resentment laid dormant.
He found the same gravelly animosity and warned you, “I’m too close, I’m too close.”
You cradled him tighter, burying your heads in each other’s embrace. Muscles quivering from effort, burning with each grind, tensing under curious hands finding new places to cling to, curves to admire. Until they stayed put.
Nails bit flesh. Strong fingers dug painfully at bone. Mouths fell open. Eyes closed. Writhing flesh on fabric, and flesh, you trembled under him.
I’m–mm, Eddie–I’m cumming–
His thrusts faltered, jerking into short bursts, and his gracious moans went high and tight in his throat, spilling out as he panted, “You make me feel so good, baby. Fucked you so good. I can’t–I’m cumming–fuck–”
Fuck, Eddie–Fuck, Eddie–Fuck, Eddie–
–”Fuck,” he babbled aloud.
The climax took him to the dark apartment. The overwhelming shadows of sleeping in the lonely living room on the flat couch under an extra blanket not yet broken of its factory starch, scratchy on the skin. His muscles were still tensed into him curling in on himself, lifting his aching neck and shoulders off the pillow for a few more pumps of his hand sliding over his slick shaft, spreading the warmth oozing towards his hip, no doubt tangling the curly thatch of hair above the base. In lip-biting silence, he stroked himself, not daring to breathe after he knew he said something out loud from his imagination. He listened. Eyes straining to see the hallway.
His bangs stuck to the heavy sweat on his forehead.
His entire body was heated beyond belief.
Anticipation sat heavy on his tongue.
But as he came down from his peak, nothing happened. He stayed lonely. His heartbeat pounded against the guitar pick sticking to his chest, and that was it. Now his head was cleared of distractions, and he could sleep. The fantasy was a fantasy, and in this reality, he wouldn’t do this again. It was too weird to muddy the multitude of negative feelings he had for you with.. whatever this was.
A release, that’s what this was.
Kicking the blanket off, he swung his legs to the side to sit up, socked feet softened by the plush carpet. He pressed his palm over the sticky substance dripping downward, and soaked it up to the best of his ability. And as his cum hit the fresh air, and his inhale was cut short as he smelled his shirt, he thought about the shower he needed. And he thought about the dark patch on his boxers. And he thought about his clothes in the dresser in the bedroom.
Looking down, he inspected his gray pants, and groaned.
They were ruined.
So, so ruined and obvious as to what he was doing.
There was no way he could go into there and grab new clothes for a shower. The thought of facing you after this, and you seeing him in this pathetic state–and God, if you knew it was because of you, and because he couldn’t control himself–he’d rather die than admit you did this to him.
Fuck.
Couldn’t even go to his own room for some fucking clothes so he could shower after working all day.
Yeah, that confirmed it. He fucking hated you.
Hated you even more when he thought about you sleeping on his mattress, wrapped snug in his bedsheets wearing only a t-shirt with nothing else to cover you, and his dick twitched again for that red lace he knew was discarded in the laundry basket.
“Fuck my life.”
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lee-blogs · 2 years
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Sometimes,,, drawing something self-indulgent,,,,,,, is good.
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mountttmase · 3 months
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Someone You Can Trust
Note - so this was actually a request from @carlottawllms 🤭 thank you for trusting me so much with your ideas and I hope this lives up to your expectations 🩷 feedback would be appreciated pleaseeeeeee
Pairing - Mason Mount × Reader
Word count - 4.6k
Warnings - smutty and fluffy
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Visiting Mason in Manchester was always a good time.
No matter what you were doing it was just good to be back in his company with all of your shared friends, catching up on everything you’d missed and with it being international break he had a bit more time to spend with you guys now. Taking you all out for dinner at his new favourite restaurant before going out for a few drinks. You weren’t out long though, everyone complaining that they were tired after the long journey that day so you all made your way back to Masons to get ready for bed.
Everyone else had gone up already but you and Mason had made home in the kitchen. Chatting away like time meant nothing but before long he was pulling you upstairs and into his room as he was getting a little uncomfortable sat on the kitchen stools.
‘Wow, Mason Mount's bedroom, I’m honoured’ you laughed, flopping down next to him but the groan and roll of his eyes let you know he wasn’t entirely happy with your sarcasm.
‘You should be. First girl I’ve had in here I’ll have you know’ he huffed, taking his jeans off before collapsing down next to you. To anyone else it might of looked a bit weird but the pair of you were close and before long he was turning on his side so you could face each other but you noticed his cheeky smile was missing.
‘Yeah like I’m gonna believe that’ you teased, knowing Mason had always been a bit of a ladies man but the pair of you never really discussed any of that.
‘It’s true. I’m a changed man’ he laughed ‘Not that I was sleeping with the world and his wife before but you know what I mean…’ he laughed awkwardly.
‘So what’s changed?’
‘Dunno, just don’t fancy it anymore. It’s not… fun’
‘You were flirting with that girl all night, you can’t tell me you weren’t having a good time then’ you teased, watching his cheeks flush slightly but his cheeky smile returned and you felt better. ‘I really thought you were gonna get her number at least’
‘Well yeah I can talk the talk but I can’t seem to walk the walk right now’ he huffed, shuffling so he could lie on his back and look up at the ceiling. The prospect of having this conversation whilst having to look at you clearly was too much for him so you followed suit and laid down on your back next to him. ‘Flirting’s fine, I can talk for England but anything more it’s like I panic lately. Like I’ve put all this pressure on myself and it’s messing me up. It’s like I’m sabotaging myself so we don’t make it to the main event’
‘So you’re not enjoying it? Sex I mean’
‘I guess’ he laughed awkwardly and you could see his face was as red as a tomato from the corner of your eye. You wanted to push him to talk about it some more but you also didn’t want to make him uncomfortable so without a second thought you reached over to try and find his hand on the bed. Linking your pinkies together and you were surprised he held yours tightly.
‘You don’t have to be awkward about it, Mase. We’re friends right? And we’ve all done it’
‘Yeah I guess so’
‘So what don’t you like?’
‘I dunno like… I always feel rushed. There’s a lot of pressure to… you know. Get them where they need to go but it’s like I don’t know what I like anymore. I focus so much on the other person that when it gets to the main event it’s all I can think about and it’s like I put myself off. Sometimes it feels a bit underwhelming and tense and the more I try the worse it gets’
‘So you wanna be a bit selfish huh?’ You smiled, turning your head to face him but he refused to look at you.
‘N-no I just-‘
‘I’m kidding Mase’ you laughed watching his face fall slightly before turning his head away from you.
‘It doesn’t matter anyway, let’s just go to sleep. You can stay here if you want or the room over the hall is free’ he told you, turning fully onto his side and away from you and you felt your heart sink.
You hadn’t meant to upset him, you just wanted to get to the bottom of why he wasn’t feeling it but in the process you’d made him feel awkward. Not that he ever needed to be around you, you’d been best friends for years and whilst the furthest you’d gone with him was a drunken three second kiss in a club once, in the back of your mind you liked to think you knew what he would like and what he would want.
That didn’t make you feel any better though, looking at him now. His body slumped into the mattress as he sulked, the back of his neck as red as his cheeks out of embarrassment and all you wanted was to apologise and let him know he had nothing to be embarrassed of.
In the end you shuffled up to him, you front pressed into his back as you snaked an arm around his waist to hold him close and you smiled as you felt him relax into you.
‘Sorry Mase, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad or awkward or anything’ you told him quietly. Pressing a small kiss to the back of his neck to let him know how sorry you were and you were surprised to feel him shiver at the contact. ‘You know you’ve got nothing to be ashamed of and all I want is to help’
‘I know’ he sighed, threading his fingers through yours that were settled on his tummy before you dropped another kiss on the same spot on his neck. Pride filling you as you a shuddery breath left his lips and all you wanted was to carry on making him feel good.
‘You’re allowed to want to be a bit selfish. Sex is a two way street and you shouldn't feel pressured about worrying if the other person is enjoying it to the detriment of your own pleasure. You need someone who’ll look after you too’
He didn’t answer, only a short breath passing his lips that let you know he’d heard you and you knew you needed to work a little harder.
‘These girls, you don’t really know them do you? You don���t know what they like and they don’t know what you like and that’s the issue really isn’t it? You wanna be relaxed but your too focused on figuring each other out’
‘Basically’ he uttered, his head nodding into the pillow and you lent up just a smidge so you could place another kiss just behind his ear this time. His nervous gulp making his whole body move but soon enough he was relaxing back into you.
‘You need someone you can trust. Someone who knows you and you can’t trust them can you? You want a connection and you can’t give them the time to figure you out and know what buttons to press. That’s what you want isn’t it?’
‘Yeah’ he gulped, his breathing changing the more you spoke to him and you knew it was now or never or you’d back out. I’m
‘They don’t know you like I do Mason. They can’t give you what I can’ you told him. The words falling from your lips before you’d even thought about it but as soon as they had you knew what you had to do. What you wanted to do for your best friend even though this wasn’t typically what best friends did.
‘You can trust me Mase. And I bet I can make you feel so good’ you told him, lightly scratching your nails over his abs as you felt them tense under your touch. ‘Will you let me try?’
‘Y/n I- I don’t know’ he mumbled, his voice sounding conflicted but he hadn’t said yes so you started to pull away just in case he was feeling uncomfortable with your touches.
‘That’s okay, I’ll stop’ you told him, pulling back as you didn’t want to push him and make him feel weird but you were surprised to feel him grab your wrist and pull you back into him.
‘No i… I don’t want you to stop, I just…’
‘Mase it’s okay’ you told him, keeping your voice light so he didn’t think you were upset. ‘We can just go to sleep and forget about it’
‘No’ he huffed, turning in your grasp so he could face you but there was an unreadable expression on his features. ‘I’m just a little nervous, like what would it mean?’
‘It doesn’t have to mean anything’ you reassured him, reaching out to stroke his cheek. ‘You’re my friend Mase, I care about you a lot and I wanna make you feel good’ you whispered. ‘Sex is supposed to be fun and sometimes we just need a little reminder. I’m happy to be the one to remind you if that’s what you want. But if you don’t want to, that's alright too. No pressure’
‘Well how am I supposed to say no to that?’ he chuckled. Hands finally reaching for your waist and you let him stroke your skin lightly. ‘I just don’t want you to feel like you have to’
‘That’s not it at all, Mase. I want to’ you told him, reaching over to kiss his cheek lightly and you revelled in the way his eyes fluttered shut. ‘Lay back for me?’
He did as you said, laying on his back as he looked at you with a tense expression but you knew just how to relax him. Curling into the side of his body so you could tuck your face into his neck and as soon as you felt him relax you started peppering kisses along his jaw and down his neck.
You started slow, now wanting to overwhelm him with lots of affection but you knew you were starting to drive him wild. Noticing his breath getting shallow with each kiss and when you discreetly nipped his collarbone he let out a hiss. The sound making butterflies erupt in your tummy and you knew you wanted to make him do it again.
Mason's arm that was around your body was gripping your waist tightly but there was something else you wanted him to hold so you took his wrist and moved it down so he could grip your bum instead. Feeling him give it a light squeeze and you hummed in satisfaction to let him know it was okay.
‘Can I take this off please, mase?’ you asked, fingers gripping the hem of his shirt in hopes you could access more of his skin and when he nodded in agreement you hoisted yourself up so you could straddle him. Pulling the fabric from his body and letting him lay back down before you decided what you wanted to do to him.
You knew Mason was a sucker for touch, no matter who he was with he'd have his hands on them in some way so you figured he’d like it to be reciprocated. And who wouldn't want to touch him? He was flawless in every way from the smattering of hair on his chest to the mole that sat on his abs that you wanted to kiss everytime you caught a glimpse of it.
You stared off trailing your fingertips over his body, your barely there touches effecting him immediately as his abs clenched and his breath got caught in his throat but the way he gripped your bum with both hands now let you knew he was loving it.
‘Is this okay Mason?’
’y-yeah’ he stuttered, trying to keep his voice steady but you knew him and you knew he was feeling good. ‘That feels really nice’
‘Yeah?’ you smiled, pride washing over you as you'd read him so well, but little did he know he hadn't seen anything yet. ‘You just stay relaxed, okay? i’ll make it worth your while’
You noticed it instantly, your words making him panic already as was clearly thinking about skipping to the end and whether he could get there but you just kept on touching him and relaxing him as best you could.
‘Just relax for me Mase, there’s no rush okay? We’ll take as long as we want’ you murmured, feeling his hands move to the hem of your shirt now. Biting your lip as you pulled it over your head but little did he know you had nothing on underneath and the sight of your bare chest made him whimper.
‘Jesus Christ, y/n. Warn a guy’ he chuckled but you still gave him no warning when you covered his hands with your own so you could drag them up your body and cup your chest. Rocking your hips over his in hopes of riling him up a bit but to your surprise he was already rock hard under you.
‘You like that masey?’ You teased, feeling him squeeze your warm skin as he dragged his bottom lip through his teeth
‘Fuck’ he whispered, eyes rolling back in his head before he moved his hands to wrap around your back. Pulling you forward so your bare chest was pressed up against his and the shy smile on his face made your heart thump. ‘I’ve always wanted to know what you were hiding under there’ he laughed, feeling shy as he looked right into your eyes. ‘I know we’re friends and everything but I’ve always been curious’
‘Well I hope I didn’t disappoint’
‘Nuh uh’ he smiled. The tips of his fingers running up and down your back just how you’d done to his chest and the realisation that he probably wanted to touch as well as be touched made you smile.
Without another word, you placed your lips back on his neck. Remembering the place he’d reacted to the most just before and you sucked on it lightly until he was bucking his hips.
Mason's body deserved to be worshipped and that’s exactly what we’re about to do. Shuffling yourself over to straddle just one thigh now but it gave you a bit more movement to do what you needed to. Kissing every inch of his skin you could and finally making your way down to the mole on his tummy. Flicking your tongue over it before licking a stripe up his body to his nipple so you could give it a playful bite.
‘You’re a tease’ he laughed, his hands threading through your hair at the sides so he could feel you but you carried on, giving the other side the same attention before trailing your kisses back down his body until you got to the waistband of his boxers. You kissed along the fabric before dipping your tongue just past the elastic waistband so you could lick a stripe across his skin again just under his belly button, but you could feel him tense before laughing and pulling you up to look at him. ‘If the mission was to make me cum then you every nearly almost did’
‘Sorry’ you chuckled, hiding your face in his neck but the quick squeeze he gave you let you know you had nothing to be sorry for.
‘Don’t be, whatever you’re doing’s obviously working’
‘Can I take these off?’ You asked, fingers running back running along the waistband of boxers again and you felt him nod but he stopped you as you sat up so he could look at you properly.
‘You can, but I want yours off too, yeah?’ He told you, eyes flickering down to your bottom half that was currently covered by your jeans as you were only meant to be in here for a chat and you knew he was only asking so he wouldn’t be the only one without anything on.
‘Okay’ you whispered, rolling off the side of the bed so you could stand up and undress yourself first but Mason wasn’t happy about this. Sitting up and reaching for you so he could pull you between his legs and unbutton them for you.
You should have realised he had ulterior motives but it was still a shock when you felt his mouth close over your nipple as he tugged your jeans down and you moaned louder than you intended to. Your fingers hiding in his hair so he couldn’t move but there was no need as he seemed content on sucking and flicking your skin with his tongue until your knees were going weak and you had to pull him off.
‘You sound so pretty when you moan for me’ he whispered, kissing the space between your breasts before peppering them down your skin as far as he could.
‘Stop it, this is supposed to be about you’ you scolded, trying to bat his hands away but he just held you tighter.
‘I know, and I wanna touch you’ he smirked. Giving your bum another gentle squeeze before finally pulling your underwear down to your ankles to join your jeans.
You thought it might be weird being completely naked in front of your best friend but he made you feel so at ease that you didn’t bat an eyelid. Letting his eyes explore all the parts of you he’d never seen before you gripped his chin so he’d look into your eyes and you were surprised at how dark they were. He looked hungry for you and all you wanted was to give him what he needed.
‘Lay down’ you whispered. Head nodding back towards the pillows and you watched him shuffle back before you placed yourself back in between his legs so you could pull his underwear from him. The gentle thud of his length hitting his tummy was like music to your ears and you were glad to see the effect you were having on him.
You still didn't want to go in all guns blazing so you carried on pressing kisses to his skin. Your fingers scratching over his tummy and thighs before you finally gave him what he wanted. Licking a stripe up the length of him before taking what you could of him in your mouth. He was big and you needed a hand to tackle all of him but you got a steady rhythm going and you could feel his thigh muscles dancing under his skin as you moved your mouth over him.
Him telling you he wanted to touch you was still ringing in your ears and you could see him fisting the sheets next to you as your mouth worked on him so you grabbed one of them. Placing it in your hair so he could touch you in some way and you were pleased to find he didn’t seem to want to alter your movements or force you to go faster. He just wanted to touch you and you moaned when he started to massage your scalp lightly.
‘Fuck, y/n. That feels so insane’ he whimpered. The sound making your tummy flutter. ‘Always knew that mouth would come in useful one day’
‘Fuck off’ you laughed after coming off of him with a pop but you knew he was only joking. Mason always described you as a chatterbox when you were with him, telling you he thought you saved up all your words for when you were next to him but you were only like that with him because you were comfortable enough with him to be yourself.
‘Sorry’ he chuckled, running his thumb under your lip to clean you up but you were ready to let him have it with both barrels now as some form of punishment so without a second thought you lowered yourself back down and took him back in your mouth. Making sure to stick your bum in the air more so he could get a good view of it and you could tell he liked it as he groaned even louder than before.
You could tell he was loving you slowing it all down, letting him feel every drag of your lips and flick of your tongue as he came apart underneath you until he couldn’t take it anymore. Pulling you up and off of him so your faces were level but he could clearly see the confusion in your eyes.
‘Sorry, I’m just really close and I don’t wanna finish there’ he told you sheepishly.
‘Where do you wanna finish Mase?’ You asked seductively but he answered you with his eyes. Watching and they flashed down to your core and the fact he wanted to fully have you made your heart race. ‘Oh, you want the full package then huh?’ You laughed with a wink before he nodded.
‘Well it is all about me’ he teased. Hands running up your arms before he gripped the back of your neck gently. ‘Is that okay?’
‘Yeah’ you whispered, attempting to move your legs so you could straddle him but the feeling of him pulling your face closer to his stopped you.
You hadn’t wanted to kiss him, not because you didn’t want to but because you thought it might have been too intimate for him. You were only friends at the end of the day and no matter how far this had gone or was going to go a proper kiss felt like it crossed some sort of line however Mason was now ready to plough right through it. Attaching his lips to yours in a soft kiss, wondering if he’d just got caught up in the moment before you realised that was more of a thank you than anything else and you kissed him back with a smile.
Still in a teasing mood you moved to sit over his lap. Not getting down to business just yet but you allowed yourself to feel him bare under you. Sliding up and down his length as his face contorted in pleasure and you knew you wanted to make him beg for you a little bit, half because you thought it might get him off but also for your own enjoyment.
‘Please, y/n’ he suddenly whimpered, the sound making your spine tingle in excitement.
‘What is it, Mase?’
‘Please don’t tease, I wanna be inside you’
‘Are you sure that’s what you want?’ You asked playfully, watching him nod at you frantically as he tried to lift your hips up but you wouldn’t budge. ‘Is it what you deserve?’
‘Yes, f-fuck yes please. Please let me fuck you baby’ he whined, squeezing your waist as you felt your legs give way at how needy he was being but you knew you needed to put him out of his misery. Lifting your hips and lining him up with your entrance before you slowly sank down on him. Both sighing in what sounded life relief as you took all of him in.
‘Do that feel good, Mase?’
‘F-fuck yeah it does’
‘I’m gonna take my time with you okay? I wanna feel every part of you’ you told him, resting your palms flat on his chest before rolling your hips once. His hands were squeezing your bum selfishly as he moaned into the air and the sound only made you want to bounce up and down on him faster.
‘Fuck Mase, that’s it’ you whimpered, noticing your praise was getting him off as much as you actions so you carried on. Wanting to blow his mind in every conceivable way. ‘You’re so good Mase’
‘Fuck’
‘That’s it, you feel so good’
The main aim of this whole thing was to remind Mason how to enjoy sex again and you could see just by looking down at him that he was having the time of his life. His bottom lip trapped between his teeth as his eyes rolled back in his head but it was the small smile that he couldn't hide that was filling you with pleasure the most. He wasn’t thinking about anyone but himself and what he liked and felt good and all you wanted was for him to reach his high. Little did you know what with the mix of your mouth being on him and now being inside of you, he was closer than you thought.
‘Y/n, p-please I-I…’
‘What Masey, what do you need’
‘It feels s-so good I c-can’t hold it’ he stuttered, hands travelling up to hold your waist in order to try and move your body up and down on him even faster and the sudden change in pace had you clenching around him even tighter.
‘Don’t hold it then, yeah? I want you to cum for me Masey’ you told him, looking down at him through your hazy eyes.
‘But you-‘
‘Don’t worry about me or where I'm at, just cum for me. This is about you remember so just do what feels good and cum’
That was all it took for him to let himself go, stuttering your name into the air as he reached his high and you looked down at him in awe. Mason was always attractive but seeing him right now, flushed and glowing after you’d just made him feel good made your heart flutter so you gently climbed off of him so you could lay next to his body. Letting him wrap you up in his embrace but you noticed he was hiding his face in your neck and no matter what you did he wouldn’t look at you.
‘Mase?’ You laughed, trying to push on his shoulder but he wasn’t having any of it. ‘Mase? What is it?’
‘Nothing’ he laughed, finally looking back at you and you could tell from his blushy cheeks that he was a little embarrassed and overwhelmed. ‘Just, thank you’
‘No need to thank me, it’s what best friends do’
‘I don’t think Dec would be too happy if I asked him to do the same’ he chuckled and you laughed along with him before he got a little more serious again. ‘Was I okay?’
‘It wasn’t about you being okay, Mase. It was about you enjoying sex again. Did you enjoy it?’
‘I did, yeah. A lot’ he told you, fingers touching your cheek lightly and you smiled at how gentle he was bending with you. ‘But I wanted you to enjoy it too’
‘I did’
‘But you didn’t cum’
‘That’s okay’ you smiled, trying to reassure him. ‘That's not why we did this’
‘Would you let me try though? I hate the thought of leaving you hanging’
‘Mase-‘
You were cut off when he pressed his lips to yours for the second time that night. Shock flooding you as this time he definitely wasn’t caught up in the moment but you relaxed into the kiss and were surprised at how much you enjoyed it.
‘Please’ he whispered, peppering kisses across your jaw to try and convince you, and as you were only human and accepted straight away. Nodding lightly as he rolled you onto your back ready to repay you for everything you’d done for him tonight.
515 notes · View notes
reiding-writing · 3 months
Note
not the same anon but “sit down” “i’m sat” angsty spencer sounds like an amazing idea my god, like i dunno post-prison spencer just feels so, not the same? 😭 i know a lot people see the sex-appeal but i also really like seeing the broken side of spence after s12
change [ s.r ]
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Summary:
Spencer changed after he was released from prison, and an unintentional late-night scare from you leads to a conversation that neither of you ever thought you would have.
WARNINGS: mentions of spencer’s addiction, mentions of maeve’s death, mentions of spencer’s prison treatment, harsh arguments, emotional breakdowns
pairing: post-prison!spencer x gn!reader
genre: ANGST with an optimistic ending
wc: 4.2k
masterlist!!
a/n: you understand me. everyone is so focused on spencer being sexy post prison i feel like the emotional side of what he went through is completely forgotten-
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Spencer had changed a lot after his incarceration.
None of the team were really surprised. They might not have known the details but they knew he didn’t have a good experience; That the ripple effects of what happened would change his personality.
You could still see the flickers of the man you’d met those twelve years ago in his demeanour.
But sometimes even the most minor of things would remind you just how different he actually was.
Spencer’s elbow almost catches you right between your eyes as he turns around sharply, and if it wasn’t for you reflexively pulling your head backwards you’re sure you would’ve fallen over with a red mark planted on your forehead.
“Woah-” Your hands join your reflexes as they instinctively come up to protect your skull from the bone of his elbow, and you take a few steps backwards from him as they fall back to your sides. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,”
You’d done nothing more than walk up behind him to read what he had been jotting down on the large whiteboard at the edge of the room, but Spencer’s seemingly unconscious response told you that he didn’t see it the same way, and you could see the flicker of apprehension in his eyes as his arm gradually dropped back down to rest against his thigh.
“No, it’s okay, i’m sorry for over reacting,” Spencer offered you an awkward half-smile before turning back to the white board, and you have to consciously suppress a sigh at his demeanour.
You knew he’d been through a lot. Of course he had.
But that didn’t stop you from mourning the sweet innocent Spencer you’d met when he was just barely 23 and innocently oblivious about what the next decade would put him through.
You find yourself gazing at the back of his head for a little too long, and Spencer again turns around to look at you, his sweet socially-awkward roots deftly hidden under a mask of feigned strength and confidence.
“Are you okay? Did you need something?” Spencer’s voice cuts you from your internal analysis of his change in wellbeing, and you physically shake the thoughts from your mind as you reply to him.
“Yeah- Yeah, sorry i’m fine, just got lost in thought is all,” You gesture your words with your hands like it’ll distract from your lingering gaze. “I was just uh- coming to see your progress is all, it’s getting pretty late and the rest of the team have already left for the hotel,”
“Ah, well.” he gestures vaguely, to the board behind him, as if he wasn’t sure he actually wanted you to see it. “Yeah i’ve made.. progress.”
You look at the board behind him. It’s nowhere near as filled out as much as it should be.
"I think we’re all struggling with this one," You try to offer him a soft reassurance along with a gentle hand on his shoulder, but the minute you lift your hand Spencer jerks away again from the touch, causing him to lose his footing and nearly fall to the floor.
"I- i’m sorry I didn’t-" You instinctively move to try and help Spencer not fall over, but catch yourself as you figure that physically reaching out towards him is doing much more harm than good, and you take a few steps back from him with your hands clasped behind your back.
He looks away, and you can’t help the pity you feel. The man in front of you is not the same man Spencer was even a year ago. He might have physically recovered from his time in that hellhole, but mentally he would take years to recover.
You can still see the shame in his eyes as he tries to brush himself off and regain the composure he can’t seem to keep when he’s around you.
He turns his attention back to the board, trying desperately to make up for the lack of progress he’s made.
He’s usually good at hiding his emotions and feelings when he’s working, but even with a mask on you can tell that he’s not well.
"I’ll- leave you be now-" You forced out the words through pursed lips as you begin to retreat slowly towards the door, eyes locked on Spencer’s expression and how it changes at your words. "Sorry-"
“No- No it’s okay-“ Reid shakes his head and looks up at you again, forcing himself to meet your eyes, to force away the shame that floods his body whenever you get near him. “Please stay-“
"I don’t want to make you uncomfortable Spencer I can-" You gesture towards the door awkwardly with your hand.
“You’re not- It’s fine- Just stay.”
Reid forces out the words, and this time you can tell from his expression that this is a genuine demand.
He looks away from you again, his hand clenching and unclenching around the pen as he glares at his writing on the board.
"You’re sure? i know you don’t like people watching you whilst you work and-"
“Just sit down.” Reid bites out the words before he can catch himself, his emotions briefly winning out over his rationale.
He immediately calms down though, and forces out an apology. “It- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell- Just- please sit down,”
"It’s okay, i’m sat-" You’re not entirely surprised by Spencer’s proclivity to snap at the start of a disagreement due to the protective nature he was still harbouring from his time in prison, but it truly cements the fact that he’s not the Spencer that you’d met all those years ago.
The Spencer you knew twelve years ago was timid and scared. The Spencer in front of you right now is angry and frustrated, his patience thin and his nerves frayed.
But you can still see the man you once knew in there- a flicker of a smile, a soft sigh, a gentle gesture. It’s just buried beneath all the trauma, the pain, the anger.
"Are you- okay?" You take a seat on top of the small conference table, resting your feet on one of the chairs.
He sighs, and you see his hands grip around the end of the pen tight enough that you can see the skin under his fingernails turn pale.
Without speaking, he gestures to the board, to the mostly unfinished profile that he should’ve been at least halfway through by now. Then he looks back at you and shakes his head with a look of defeat written across his face.
"In general Spencer,"
You shake your head softly at his gesture. You didn’t want to know if he was okay with the profile progress, you wanted to know if he was okay.
He doesn’t respond at first, not knowing how to.
He takes a deep breath and looks away from you, his eyes closing and his lip curling in thought.
He wants to say ‘I’m okay’, he really does, but he’s not.
He’s not okay and he doesn’t know how to get back there again.
“I’m trying to be.” he finally says, his words coming out strained.
You don’t reply to his statement to anything more than a small nod.
Logically you knew it. The whole team did. But hearing Spencer inadvertently tell you that he wasn’t alright from his own mouth made it feel much more real.
“Does- Does it bother you that i’m.. broken? That i’m not the same?” He’s trying his hardest to get back to normal, and to a lot of extent he is. But there are some behaviours that just won’t go away.
He’s more jumpy, and more skittish than he used to be; His reaction to being touched is more aggressive, and he snaps more easily than he ever used to. “Do you resent me for it?”
"Of course I don’t-" Your denial is immediate, a shake of your head joining your answer. "Everyone changes Spencer, it’s a natural reaction to the things that happens to us,"
“But- But i’m not who I used to be.” He knows he’s repeating himself, but he can’t help but dwell on that point just a little bit.
Spencer had lost such an immense part of himself, and he knows it. He stares at you for a moment, waiting for some form of reassurance he knows you can’t give.
"You’re still you Spencer, that’ll never change,"
“I’m not the sweet innocent boy I was back then.” He speaks again without thinking of filtering himself, his eyes falling down to the ground in frustration as he struggles to keep his emotions in check.
His voice wavers briefly as he adds on a low tone,
“You liked me better before.”
"That’s not true,” You shut down his statement immediately.
“It is,” Spencer is certain of it, and the way you’ve reacted to his trauma speaks volumes.
His eyes look at you defiantly, his voice low as he continues. “You miss the nice naïve Spencer, the one who got flustered and stuttered when you looked at him too long, the one who was shy enough to barely speak to anyone new.”
"Spencer-”
“He’s dead. That Spencer died in that farm shed ten years ago.” Spencer’s voice is hard as marble, and his words come out sharp enough to cut through glass.
Spencer was no longer sweet or shy or awkward or innocent.
He was an emotional wreck.
Any minute he could snap, and his words are laced with a pain that you know is too agonising for him to express any other way.
"I- know that, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t care, that the whole team doesn’t care, because we do. We care about you Spencer. I care about you."
“But you do miss him.” Spencer’s voice is low again as he meets your eyes with the pain of a thousand regrets and hurt behind them.
He can tell you do miss that version of him. He can see it in the way that you look at him when you don’t realise he can see you, that look you get whenever you see him in anything but a work context.
You miss the old him. The younger and nicer and less damaged version of himself.
"I miss all of you." You purse your gaze as your eyes travel across his face, a soft sigh falling from your lips. "I just want to be able to talk to you properly again,"
“That’s not going to happen,” Spencer’s voice is just as blunt as before, and he can’t seem to soften it for anything. “You want the sweet, sensitive Spencer back, but he’s not coming back.”
"I don’t want any ‘specific’ side of you, I just want… something, anything-" You can feel your emotions threatening to ruin your words as you speak to him, the details of his face blurring as your eyes begin to glass over.
Spencer just stares at you, his words catching in his throat as he struggles to come up with something to say.
His eyes stay fixated on your face, on the tears that threaten to form, and your inability to keep them at bay.
His heart beats so quickly as he wants to say something, to reach out and comfort you.
He wants to hug you.
He wants to say he was wrong.
He wants to say he doesn’t mean any of it.
He wants to tell you that the two of you can go back to having meaningless conversations that could last for hours without getting boring or awkward.
But every time he tries it he backs out, unable to admit to the vulnerability.
"I’m sorry," You take a few steps away from him towards the door of the room, knowing that you won’t be able to have a composed conversation with him if you were to continue talking.
“Wait-” Reid’s voice is loud as he grabs your arm and stops you from leaving.
He realises almost as soon as his fingers brush your skin that he’s being more aggressive again, and he doesn’t want to repeat that behaviour even if that is who he’s conditioned himself to be.
Spencer meets your eyes for a split second before looking back at the table- the flicker of vulnerability disappeared from his eyes, replaced with shame. “Where are you going-“
You can feel his hand consciously loosen its grasp on your wrist, following the sudden soften of his tone, and you gently try to pry his hand from you completely to take another step back from him to regain the distance between you. "I don’t think you know what you want right now Spencer, you need some time to think by yourself…"
“Just- Please listen for a second-“ He doesn’t want you to leave, and the mere thought of you doing exactly that makes him feel as if his heart is being ripped to shreds.
“I was wrong, okay, I was angry and I snapped and I was wrong.” Spencer is trying his hardest to keep himself composed, to control the anger and regret that’s starting to bubble. “Please stay.”
"You were right in some aspects Spencer,” It was very clear by now that you were both emotionally overwhelmed, you so much to the point where you could barely see through the blur of tears that threatened to spill from your eyes. “The past you is gone, and with it goes what we used to have, and as- upsetting… as it is to accept that fact, that’s just how it is,"
Spencer’s grip tightens again as you speak, his teeth gritting together.
He’s trying not to scream, trying not to hold onto your wrist so hard that it bruises and snap at you again.
You are refusing to look back up at him, refusing to look him in the eyes.
His entire world is crashing down on top of him in the form of the one person he still has and it’s ruining any mental resolve he has left. “Please- Please look at me,”
Your eyes hesitantly tilt up towards his face, joined by a flow of tears that slide over the skin of your cheeks and pool under your chin as they breach your eyelids. "I can’t bare to watch you hurt anymore,"
“So you’re just giving up on me?” The moment you make eye-contact, Spencer feels something shift in his heart. The emotions inside him feel almost physical, and each one is more painful than the last.
He can feel his temper rising, and he finds himself clenching his free fist tightly and squeezing out a sharp breath before he starts to speak again. “I thought- I thought you cared about me.”
"I love you Spencer Reid. I love you so god damn much and I can’t keep pretending that seeing you like this doesn’t break my heart-"
You are way past any semblance of composure by now, tears pouring down your cheeks and your voice trembling with every word you speak.
The moment you say those words, Spencer starts to feel something he thought he killed.
An immense feeling of guilt, grief, and regret washes over him at the utterance of those three words.
You do love him, even with all of his flaws that he's currently trying to repress. But at the cost of his own sanity and well-being.
Spencer stares at you desperately, wanting to be close to you. His entire body aches at the thought of you leaving.
“I loved you ten years ago when you were recovering from your addiction. I loved you four years ago when you were infatuated with someone you’d never met and cried on my shoulder for weeks after she died. I loved you whilst you were imprisoned and I still love you now.”
You shake your head at Spencer as you pull your wrist from his grasp. “But I can’t do this anymore…”
Reid's hands grasp for your wrists, desperation and regret radiating off of his body at the loss of your contact mixing with the finality of your words.
“Please- please don’t leave. I can- I can change, I promise I can-“ He wants to cry in your arms like he’d done so many times in the past and have you tell him everything is going to be okay like you always do.
But he doesn’t.
He just stares at you, silently hoping that you’ll change your mind and that he wouldn’t have to face the world alone again.
"I don’t want you to change Spencer.." You wipe the tears from your eyes with the back of your hand. You didn’t want both of you to lose your composure. One of you had to stay strong. "I just want you to be alright.."
"I can be alright, just don't-" He wants to say more, so much more. It's like every word he's ever spoken is pouring out of his lips and hitting him straight in the face.
Spencer wants to beg.
He wants to cry.
He wants to tell you exactly how much he hates everything right now and that his entire body aches for you.
"don't- don't go...."
Your body silently pleads you to just take him in your arms and hug him until all of his problems disappear, but you know that if you do it’ll break you until you’re unrecognisable.
You just stand there with your back to him and your hand on the doorknob to leave, tears threatening to drop against your outstretched hand.
Spencer can practically feel your emotions. Each shake of your shoulders is like a piece of his heart being ripped out of his chest.
He wants nothing more than to grab you and never let go, to take back all of the nasty words he said and just wrap you up in his arms.
In the next heartbeat he's going after you, desperately grabbing onto your wrist as you reach for the doorknob yet again. "Please...."
You turn around as Spencer grasps at your wrist again, and you’re looking at his face for no longer than a second before your tears come back with a vengeance and start running down your face again, all semblance of composure completely lost.
Spencer's eyes follow a tear rolling down your cheek, and all he wants to do right now is give you the biggest, warmest embrace that he can manage.
He looks absolutely desolate knowing he's responsible for all of these tears, and the mere thought that you're leaving him alone makes him feel worse than anything he’d experienced in the three months he’d spent in those concrete walls.
Spencer's words are muffled and hoarse as he tries to speak again through his own tears. "I can be better... I can..."
Spencer can see the pain on your face, and as much as he's trying to keep it together his heart is too heavy to stay afloat from the sheer guilt he feels.
It's clear that he's not dealing well with the knowledge that he could lose you.
"I can be like before....I can be the Spencer you fell in love with....Please..."
The sight of Spencer being so willing, so desperate to change who he is and go back to who he used to be so that you don’t leave him is such a broken feeling, and it makes your heart shatter into tiny shards at the thought of it.
"i don’t want you to be like before Spencer… that’s not who you are anymore.."
Every word you say feels like a stab to his heart, but he knows it’s the truth.
He’s lost the boy you used to know, the happy, sweet, gentle boy who just wanted to be accepted and loved by those around him, to be useful and make a positive difference in the world.
He wants to fight back and beg you to stay, to refuse to believe that this is the end for you two.
But he can’t fight it.
He can’t hold on to someone who doesn’t want him anymore.
"I still love you…"
Your voice is quiet, barely more than a whisper, and you’re not even sure you actually said it out loud as your gaze lowers back down to the floor.
Spencer’s eyes widen as your words ring through the room, and with an abrupt motion he moves towards you and wraps his arms around your body in a tight embrace.
He's trying not to cry again, but the emotional weight of your words is too much for him to handle and his tears are falling freely.
His head rests against your shoulder, his entire body trembling as he begins to tear up in earnest.
The minute your face meets his chest any physical resolve completely shatters and you essentially crumble into his arms, your legs giving out underneath you until the two of you are sat in a heap on the floor, relying on each other for support.
Spencer doesn’t mind at all. Your body’s pressed up against his at an angle that’s oddly comforting for both of you, as if you’re meant to be there.
And he’s not going to let you go.
Spencer buries his face in your neck as you sit huddled against each other, the two of you shaking while your tears spill over one another’s shoulders.
Your arms grasp desperately at the fabric of his shirt, hands curled into fists against his back as your face burrows against his collar to muffle the sobs and whimpers leaving your throat.
You’ve never felt more comfortable before in your life, despite your situation.
It’s as if Spencer’s body is moulding to every inch of you, fitting you into him as flawlessly as pieces of a puzzle.
Your legs feel warm where they’re pressed up against his body.
You can feel his heartbeat beating in his chest.
Your arms wrap tightly around his torso to pull him closer even though you’re close enough already.
"I don’t want to leave you..” Your words are quiet, desperate.
“Then don’t.” The words fall from his mouth before he even manages to think about them.
He doesn’t care how selfish he’s being or if it ends in this same conversation in a couple of months time, all he wants in this moment is to be close to you again. “Just- say that you won’t and i’ll get better, i’ll get better right now for you I promise.”
"Don’t do it for me Spencer…" You muster the energy to pull your head away from Spencer’s shoulder and do the same to his with your hand, deftly wiping the pad of your thumb over his cheek to rid of the tear stain lingering there. "You have to want to get better for yourself,"
Spencer nods his head. He does want to get better, he wants to make you proud of him again, he wants you to not worry about each and every thing that might plague him over the upcoming months.
The man you fell in love with is still there and he doesn’t want to go anywhere ever again.
“I don’t care what I have to do, I don’t care if I have to go to therapy every single goddamn day for the rest of my life as long as you stay.”
You bury your head back into his neck at the sentiment, clamping your eyes shut with a shaky inhale. "I’m not going anywhere.."
Spencer wraps his arms around you to prevent you from pulling away again, the relief visible on his face now that you’ve decided to stay.
He’s content with being here, with getting better for both of you.
Your bodies are moulded around each other and there’s nothing more he could ask for in an embrace.
And for what feels like forever, you just sit there, savouring the warmth of each other’s bodies as if you’re never going to feel it again if you let go.
You hope that this marks the end of the rift in your communication.
You hope this means the two of you actually have a chance.
And you desperately pray that Spencer will manage to heal with the help of having someone by his side.
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mobsuma · 8 months
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"You know," Xisuma said, peering cautiously over Cub's shoulder at the museum's latest addition, "When you said you wanted to show me a new exhibit, I wasn't expecting…" He trailed off.
Evil Xisuma glowered at him from inside their enclosure.
"…This."
To say Evil X looked a little miffed about the situation would be an understatement. At least Cub had done a nice job decorating, Xisuma thought, between the blackstone and crimson wood, Evil X looked right at home - if they weren't sitting grumpily in their 2-by-1 lava pool, surrounded by the mangled remains of whatever Cub had put in there for enrichment.
"Surprise!" Cub grinned, doing jazz hands at the enclosure, "I know what you might be thinking-"
Xisuma doubted that somehow.
"- 'Cub, Evil Xisuma hasn't done anything this season! They aren't a historic artefact! They shouldn't be in a museum!' But!" Cub wagged a finger triumphantly, "They are important to the history of Hermitcraft as a whole. So really, if you think about it, they definitely belong in a museum."
"… Okay?"
"Glad we're on the same page."
Xisuma wasn't sure if anyone was ever on the same page as Cub. Except maybe Scar.
"Now! As you can see, I've been decorating their enclosure, trying to add some interactive elements for guests and such." Cub pointed towards a line of redstone lamps at the top of Evil Xisuma's enclosure, "These show you how much electricity they're generating when they do their lightning hands thing. I'll be honest with you, it's broken a few times already so it's still a work in progress-"
"… Is that what all the lightning rods are for?" Xisuma frowned, eyeing the entirely lightning rod-ed ceiling.
"It is indeed!" Cub said, ignoring the twinge of concern in Xisuma's voice, "Well, a little. Mostly it's a safety thing, it wouldn't be good to have guests being electrocuted, now would it?"
"I suppose not… And it definitely works?"
"Oh yeah, it's been very thoroughly tested. Hey, Evil Xisuma," Cub walked up to the glass and tapped on it a few times, much to Xisuma's silent horror, "Wanna show X how the lightning rods work?"
In response, Evil Xisuma stuck their middle finger up at him and yelled something muffled to almost inaudibility that sounded a little like: "When I get out of here, I'm going to rip your head off and use it as a coffee mug, you stupid e-boy twink."
The pair on the other side of the glass blinked.
"… That's a no then." Cub turned back to Xisuma, "They do this a lot."
"They certainly do," Xisuma nodded faintly.
"You can probably tell the glass is uh... Mostly noise-cancelling, had to install that because Helsknight is in the next enclosure over and he's still hibernating. You know how Wels gets when you wake him up early, don't wanna find out how that guy is."
"… Of course," Xisuma sighed, pinching the nose bridge of his helmet, "Do I want to know how you got hold of those two?"
Cub laughed in the slightly unhinged way that gave Xisuma visions of Cub spending several weeks toying with the evil hermits as he hunted them for sport, "Nah man, it's not an interesting story."
Somehow, Xisuma doubted that.
"Anyway," Cub said, changing the topic before Xisuma could ask if he knew there was still someone's blood on his left sleeve, "What I really called you for is that I need an Evil Xisuma expert, and you're the man to ask about all things Evil Xisuma."
"Except for Evil Xisuma."
"Except for Evil Xisuma, yes." Cub nodded sagely, "So. Obviously I wanna make sure everything is nice for our new residents, give them plenty of enrichment and all that, but it hasn't been working out so far."
"I can see that."
"Soo… Any suggestions? What kind of thing does Evil X like? Food? Blocks? I dunno, fake derpcoin or something?"
Xisuma hummed, tilting his head in thought as he gazed at Evil Xisuma, who had clambered out of the lava pool to press their hands against the glass and give Xisuma the saddest, most pathetic puppy dog eyes their LED screen could muster (which, admittedly, were very sad and pathetic) in a silent plea to not leave them here with that madman, they'll be good for realsies this time they promise-
"Well," Xisuma said, turning to Cub, "They like to knit, so maybe they'd like some wool… Oh! And if you can find any old Wormman merch, they'll love that too."
Evil Xisuma's head hit the glass with a despairing thunk.
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bifuriouswaterbender · 7 months
Text
@steddieholidaydrabbles is doing some warm up rounds. This is for the Round One prompt "High School or College AU," rated T, 685 words.
"You sure your roommate won't mind?" Robin had asked.
"No," Steve had answered automatically. "He's cool."
Maybe that was proving incorrect because while they'd already been asleep curled up together in Steve's bed when Eddie got home, this morning he was being incredibly weird about it.
"You didn't leave a sock or text me or anything," Eddie hissed in his ear when Robin was using the en-suite bathroom that Steve praised for existing every single day.
He'd done the communal shower thing for sports in high school. He didn't mind avoiding it now.
Steve just shrugged and kept digging in his dresser for a shirt he knew Robin had jokingly tucked in his bags before they'd moved in. "I didn't need to. We weren't doing anything but sleeping."
"Right." Eddie sounded doubtful, but Steve ignored him.
He knocked on the bathroom door. "Got a shirt for you."
It opened a crack and Robin's arm stuck through like some kind of little raccoon. Steve laughed as he handed it over.
The door shut firmly behind him, he turned back around, surprised at the look on Eddie's face. "What?"
Eddie shrugged and flopped down in his desk chair, barely avoiding hitting his head on the underside of his bed. "I dunno, I guess I'm just surprised."
"By what?"
Eddie's eyes darted to the door before settling back at Steve. "I mean this definitely doesn't feel like it was a random hookup or anything."
Steve snorted. "It definitely wasn't."
Eddie nodded, his face grim. He dropped his voice as he said, "And that means you've put me in a fucked up and really awkward place, man. You talk all the time about going out and maybe finding somebody at a party to hook up with. I don't think you really have hooked up with anyone, but am I supposed to keep that a secret from your girlfriend?"
Steve opened and closed his mouth a few times before getting out, "Girlfriend?" Then he lost it.
The bathroom door opened behind him, and Steve heard Robin move closer. "What's so funny?" she asked.
Eddie looked stricken, but Steve managed to get out between his chuckles, "Eddie thinks we're dating."
Steve turned to see her face directly, and the priceless way she wrinkled her nose in disgust sent him into another wave of laughter, this one hard enough to force tears from his eyes.
"What the fuck," Eddie deadpanned.
"Sorry," Steve sputtered, even as Robin shook her head.
"We're not dating," she said flatly.
"I, um, am gathering that," Eddie said, his eyes rapidly flicking between them.
"Platonic," Robin said.
"With a capital P," Steve added, still wheezing.
"Besides," Robin continued, "I'm not interested in men. I'm a lesbian."
For a moment, the room was still. Then Steve found himself throwing her into a hug. "I'm so proud of you! Oh my god, you said it in front of someone!"
Robin's face turned pink, but she hugged him back. "Yeah, and you're kinda ruining that moment, dingus."
Steve sobered up immediately. He pulled back but didn't let go of her completely. With the way she leaned against his side, Steve had to assume she approved. "Sorry." He turned his gaze back to Eddie. "Well?"
Eddie, clearly unsure how he was supposed to react, blurted out, "I'm gay."
"Really?"
Robin elbowed Steve in the side for that, but he stayed focused on Eddie's panicked expression.
"Is that going to be a problem?" Eddie asked. He moved like he was trying to sound tough, but it did not come out that way.
Steve felt a stab of guilt for making him think he might be in danger.
"No, absolutely not!" Steve insisted. "I'm bisexual!"
This time Robin squealed. She was in his face before Steve could even process Eddie's reaction. "And now I'm proud of you!" she declared. "Have you told anybody but me? That's so awesome!"
Steve made eye contact with Eddie around her as a slow smile spread across his roommate's face.
"Yeah," Steve said. "I think it is."
With the way Eddie was looking at him now, it was going to be.
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drachenmagier · 2 months
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How to make a mimic Christmas ornament~.
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Materials needed
Fimo White for behind the eyes
Fimo White for the body (or pick any colour you want, there are glitter options!)
Fimo Translucent White (for the teeth)
Clear glass Christmas bauble
Glass eyes. Roughly 9 per mimic. Do not use plastic, those need to be able to take the oven baking of roughly 100°.
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First step: Make a bunch of teeth from the Translucent White Fimo. I use a baking pan, because it has the perfect curved edge to make the teefies curved.
Bake. Repeat till you have a bunch of teefies.
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Put a noodle of white fimo on the baubles. This is the general shape of the mouth.
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Add the already hardened teefies.
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Once you have added enough teeth, add lips with White Fimo. Personally, I flattened a noodle and put two layers of that on. It's a fantasy creature, do whatever you feel is right for you. :D
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Bake at 100°.
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While this is baking the teeth and later the lips, you can prep the glass eyes. If your eyes come with wire hoops, clip those off and embed them in the Fimo.
I use roughly 9 glass eyes of different sizes per mimic.
I placed the eyes on a flattened bit of white fimo. Use white in any case if your eyes are see through: The white fimo here will make them look their colour. Then add lids. Same deal as with the lips, it's a fantasy creature, there is no right or wrong approach. Go wild.
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Once the baubles with the lips finished baking and are hardened, place the eyes on the bauble, where you feel they might work for you.
Do that on ONE HALF of the bauble. Not both, will be hard to hold the bauble and not squish what you already sculpted if you do both halfs at the same time.
If you don't feel confident about how to get it right yet, start at the bottom.
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Fill the space between the eyes and lips with white fimo.
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Smooth it. I used the back end of a round pencil for that, since I don't have tools for sculpting, I just improvise.
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Add whatever texture you feel like. I like swirls.
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Since I'm not too great at smoothing out rough bits, I put some texture and warts on it.
One side done.
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Bake at 100°.
Careful, the glass eyes get hot and stay hot longer than the rest of the sculpt or the bauble.
Repeat the eye-fitting and sculpting on the other side. NEARLY THERE!
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Bake at 100° for the last time! :D (yes, this is the same image every time. <3 )
Congrats to your finished mimic!
Personal request: please do share your mimics with me! <3 I would love to see them all~! <3
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I only made six though. Dunno where the seventh one came from.
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