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otaku553 · 6 months

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Ok so I have been stewing this crossover au in my brain nonstop for the past few days and. I am nothing if not committed to the bit, so. Volume cover redraws :)

Here are the originals:

If you want to read more about my one piece spy x family crossover, keep reading!

So the idea is simple! Crossover reincarnation au where ASL is reborn in Spy x Family. They’re each born separately and none of them are born with the same names as their previous lives, and with no way of finding each other, they each find their own thing to do in the world.

Sabo, too used to the dangers of being a spy, eventually finds a cause to devote himself to again, in preventing war from engulfing the country he was reborn in. Ace, drawn to fire as he was in his previous life, used arson as a means to rob rich people for sustenance and survival, and is eventually scouted and hired by Garden as a fire specialist and assassin. And Luffy, though born in perhaps the poorest condition, grows up happily and takes whatever part time jobs he wants to do.

The thing about Sabo is that, as much as he seems like a young man of good repute and high standing within society, everyone in WISE knows that he is a massive nuisance. Nobody knew in the beginning how a child less than half the age of most of their veteran agents could have the same skills and knowledge in their profession. Sabo was— and still is— hyper competent, and by the time WISE figured out just how much of a menace to society he was, it was too late.

Ace forgot for the first few years of his new life that he wasn’t made of fire, and consequently, received multiple accidental burns. This did not deter him, however, from growing up to be a very skilled arsonist, well-practiced in every which way to start a dumpster fire or house fire. As a teenage he would use this often to draw attention as he robbed rich people blind. When he was caught, he was given an ultimatum by Garden: join them and receive payment for starting fires and causing problems under contract, or face the government and authorities for his crimes. Begrudgingly, he joined Garden, but eventually comes to appreciate that he can make substantial money in his element.

Luffy is Luffy. No telepathy or experimentation, no fancy schools, no gimmicks or secret identities. But he has still lived an extremely colorful life in this world, full of fascinating and kind individuals who have helped him grow up healthy and relatively happy. He goes where he is free, and he takes whatever part time jobs he wants in order to make the minimum he needs to survive.

Ace and Sabo find each other first, in their late teens, and neither of them realize that the other remembers their previous life, but both refuse to separate. (Sabo thinks Ace doesn’t remember, because Ace didn’t recognize him. Ace never saw Sabo grow up past 10, however, so he doesn’t recognize older Sabo immediately. By the time he does realize who exactly Sabo is, Sabo has backtracked and pretends to know Ace from a dream, or from somewhere else.)

Sabo’s attachment to Ace, predictably, causes problems between Sabo and WISE, but by then, Sabo is indispensable to the organization, and they make an exception for Sabo to be able to remain with Ace, so long as Ace never finds out what Sabo’s actual job is. Ace, on the other hand, hides his job because he doesn’t want his brother, who he has just found and who does not know Ace well enough yet, to know that he makes a living from killing people.

And they find Luffy sometime afterwards, prior to the beginning of the Spy x Family canon. Luffy figures out, not long after moving in with his brothers, both of his brothers’ secret occupations and the fact that both of them remember their past memories. He thinks it is common knowledge, however, and so he never brings it up.

#one piece #spy x family crossover #sabo #monkey d luffy #portgas d ace #crossover #I have so many ideas for this au #I’ll probably write like a drabble series for it #maybe. if I get around to it #extra things:#Loid and sabo get paired on a nonzero number of missions as siblings #they are only 6 years apart in age and they’re both blond so WISE is like.. ‘it’s free real estate’#every time this happens sabo finds a way to sneak into conversations that they’re actually cousins instead #this annoys loid a LOT because he thinks sabo can’t keep a cover to save his life. sabo is aware but he only has 2 brothers #and even in disguise he refuses to let someone else take ace and luffy’s place #ace’s codename within Garden is either ‘flame lily’ or ‘pyracantha’#the latter being another name for the firethorn plant #yor has only heard of him in passing and has not met him in person before. but she knows that she is sent whenever he blunders and lets #someone see his face #Luffy is kind of just chilling! he takes a lot of part time jobs everywhere #to the point that loid is briefly worried that he’s a tail or stalker or something since he keeps seeing luffy around #Anya really loves playing with Luffy though because luffy has such vivid thoughts of the ocean and being a pirate #ok that’s it for now #I am very. brainrotting

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randomitemdrop · 2 months

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this definitely belongs on the blog right?

Item: One Day Blinding Stew; a hearty stew that makes a creature that eats it go blind for a day.

Mod note: where did this come from? I saw it referenced in like a dozen different things over the course of a week and then it disappeared. Dang memes are coming and going faster than I can keep track

#food and drink #but watch out

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blindmagdalena · 5 months

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The Drug In Me Is You

18+ 3.2k vampire!homelander x supe f!reader. dacryphilia, noncon, p-in-v, blood drinking, possessive homelander, vampire bites as an aphrodisiac, cunnilingus, fingering, kidnapping, reader is held captive, gaslighting, abuse. dead dove!

Ever since Homelander got his cold dead hands on you, you've been the answer to his every prayer. You exist solely for him, kept safe in his home, delicious to the point where he refuses any blood that isn't yours. He isn't conscious of the extent he's grown to rely on you until the day he comes home to find you gone.

written for Monsterlander Mania! thank you @staarboyyy for the incredible vamplander gif. 🖤

There are few things that Homelander despises more in this world than summer. While the heat doesn’t bother him even beneath the thick layers of his suit, the rest of the world isn’t so lucky.

The meet and greets are by far the worst; a crowded collection of sweaty bodies piling in against one another like directed cattle, stewing in their own filth just long enough to reek of their own humanity by the time they’re touching him with clammy hands.

He’s never more grateful for his suit–especially his gloves–than during these occasions.

On top of that, these sardine can buildings become an echoing cacophony of juicy, throbbing hearts, every single one of them pounding in eager anticipation. Indoor events are better for blocking out the sun, but worse for every other aspect when it comes to his senses.

By the end of the day, his skull is throbbing and his stomach is twisting itself into knots. He needs quiet. He needs home. He needs to eat.

It’s dark by the time he lands on his balcony, the hour late. While he does prefer flying at night, he doesn’t like coming home so late. He tugs off his glove to use the thumbpad, which unlocks his automatic door. Stepping inside, he then hits a switch that triggers his blackout blinds to close behind him alongside the door.

“What a fucking day,” he grouses, making his way to the kitchen. “Twelve hours of this shit. I hate summer,” he says, tossing both of his gloves onto the kitchen counter. He reaches into the fridge and pulls out a bottle of water and a dark, thick green slurry in a tall lidded cup. It’s packed full of everything he both needs and likes, but perhaps most important is the iron content.

He goes through a fair amount of that.

“But I’m glad I’m home,” he says, carrying both beverages to his bedroom. “Because it looks like someone didn’t drink their shake.”

Homelander stops dead in his tracks, staring blankly at his empty bed. Standing perfectly still, he listens for the familiar cadence of your breath. The beat of your heart. Anything to tell him where the fuck you are. When he hears nothing, he drops the drinks unceremoniously to the floor and spins on his heel, instantly tearing through the penthouse.

He doesn’t smell blood or death, but the thought of you dead seizes him anyways, hurling him instantly into a panic. He scans through every wall and ceiling, but you’re not here. He calls your name, shouting it down each hall, but he’s met only with the reverberations of his own distraught voice.

At the front door, Homelander moves to input the code to open it, but halts abruptly. The panel is green. It hasn’t locked. Pulling it open, a thin piece of plastic falls away from the mechanism. It had been blocking the lock from securing.

Wednesday is grocery day, he recalls distantly. A staff member came to restock the fridge. They must have had the door propped open, and you…

Left.

You left.

Homelander rips the door open, nearly yanking it off the hinges, and storms down the hall, fangs bared. You must have waited until it was late and the guard presence was scarce, otherwise someone would have reported you. You can’t have gone far.

When Vought realized that the continued development of Homelander’s powers came with a particular quirk that necessitated the consumption of human blood, they began the process of ensuring he always had a steady supply to keep him from eating his adoring fans. He never really cared about where the blood came from until he tasted yours.

Yours was special. It did something no one else’s ever had; it made him feel alive. He could taste the world in ways he never could before, and if he drank enough, he swore he could feel his heart start to beat. None of the scientists knew why. It didn’t matter to him. From that point on, he wasn’t interested in drinking from anyone other than you.

That was when he decided to keep you close at hand. Cut out the middleman.

You belong to him, and you have for months. He’s taken the utmost care of you, ensuring that you could have everything you need within the confines of his penthouse. The finest foods, every form of entertainment one could dream of, exquisite service at your fingertips and most compellingly of all, the love and adoration of the world’s greatest hero.

So why the fuck would you leave?

Homelander rips through the tower. He’s furious, wounded and hungry. Those few security guards smart enough to get out of his way evade his rampage while a couple of unlucky ones wind up with their own personal craters in various walls.

He can smell the intoxicating allure of you trailing a path through the halls, but the combination of his hunger and his rage makes following it disorienting. He’s in no condition to hunt–he’s become sickeningly complacent in your time together, more reliant on you than he ever would have admitted freely. He’s grown to love the wait, letting himself feel his hunger so that you taste all the sweeter on his tongue.

Now the churn of it in his gut burns like fire.

Nevertheless, he is relentless, and within minutes he finds you in the garden just outside the tower, locked in by looming steel gates. You aren’t even properly dressed, garbed only in the thin loungewear he keeps you in, barefoot and combing your fingers through a tall hedge full of flowers just beginning to wither, their pink petals curled and browning.

You don’t even notice him until he’s upon you, snatching your wrist and whirling you around so sharply, the hedge behind you drops its wilting petals in a flurry. He must be a fearsome sight if your expression is anything to go by, your eyes wide and panicstricken.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” He hisses through his teeth, fangs fully protracted. You take a breath to speak, but he doesn’t want to hear it. He jostles you by your shoulders to cut you off, fingers biting into your arms. “Do you have any idea how fucking worried I was?”

Your pulse is racing. He can hear it, feel it in your wrist beneath his thumb. The sound of it is nearly enough to throw him to the ground, to shred the thin veneer of humanity he wears and give in to the bloodlust. His thumbnail tilts ever so slightly, biting a crescent mark into the supple flesh of your wrist. Never have you felt more tender in his hands. Never has he come so close to tearing you apart.

One slip, and you would be spilling red all over his tongue.

“I just–” you begin, but he pulls you sharply up into his arms, seething so furiously that he can’t stand to hear you speak. He’s too far gone. Too fucking hungry.

“We’ll talk at home,” he grits out, and with a sonic boom that rips the remaining blossoms from the hedge in a flurry, he launches into the sky, purposefully flying too fast to allow for conversation. He holds you to his chest as tightly as he dares, landing back on his balcony with a thud. He uses the thumbpad and damn near tears the door off the hinges pulling it open.

Homelander doesn’t have time to waste. You bounce a few times with the way he drops you onto the bed. Glancing up, he catches sight of himself in the myriad of mirrors. No wonder you looked at him the way you did. He looks crazed, lips parted around his fangs, his usual bright blue eyes shining pure crimson.

It’s fine. It’s fine. Everything will be fine after this.

You scramble up the bed, moving backwards on your hands, but he catches you by the ankle and yanks you back down it, climbing on top of you with a frustrated noise that fades off into a sigh. “Y’see what you do to me?” He asks, voice low and frayed. You yelp when he rips your shirt clean apart, exposing your top half completely. Your skin is adorned beautifully with the history of your night.

You bruise easily for a supe. Your blood just loves to rush to the surface for him, vessels full and bursting under his grip. The memory of inflicting these marks is so intoxicating that even in his frenzy he can’t help but lean down and drag his tongue over one of the bruises that mottle the pretty skin of your chest. Under his tongue, you feel like ripe fruit yearning to be bitten into.

“Please, Homelander, stop,” you plead prettily. He can hear your tears in the tremble of your voice, practically taste the salt in the air.

Good, he thinks viciously. Cry. Regret. Never do this to me again.

“Played a dangerous game tonight, sweetheart,” he tells you, that pet name dripping with affection and venom in equal measure. He forces your legs apart and settles between them, tearing what little clothing remains on your body like paper and tossing it aside. He presses his palms down against your thighs, and the heat of you compared to the chill of his fingers nearly burns. He pushes your legs up and apart, soaking in the sweet smell of your cunt.

Sex and feeding have always gone hand in hand for Homelander. Vought tried for years to satiate him with plastic blood bags and artificial alternatives, but it never fed him the way a meal he could fuck does. Still, all of them paled in comparison to you. Your inner thighs are a mixture of both new and faded punctures that dot your body in matching pairs, scars that he hopes never fade. They mark you as his.

Neither of you will ever settle for another ever again. “I didn’t mean to make you worry, please–please let me explain,” you weep, trying to squirm out of his grasp. With a predatory growl he yanks you back into place, unwilling to listen.

The hunger is driving him to madness. He can feel your pulse like it’s his own, the sound of it thundering in his ears until it threatens to split his skull in half. His nails bite into your skin while he leans in, deaf to your begging as he closes his eyes and opens his mouth wide, sinking his fangs into the soft, succulent meat of your inner thigh.

Your blood spills into his mouth like rich ambrosia. He moans loudly, losing himself to the taste and the heat. Your blood is transcendent, going beyond nourishment. Your pulse reminds his heart to beat. The more he drinks, the more the warmth of you fills his frigid body, thawing out his sanity alongside it. Your heat courses steadily through him, the fervor of it vanishing that nauseating pound from his skull until the only throb he’s left with is the one between his legs.

He sucks in a wet breath when he breaks away from you, panting his delirious pleasure. There’s nothing in this world than the high that comes after being satiated from a frenzy. It’s like he’s floating, his tongue and throat tingling with your sweet nectar.

He isn’t the only one tingling. He can smell the heady musk of your arousal. Your fearful tears are no match for the effect his bite has on your body, how his saliva mingles with your blood and makes you ache for him.

Without his hunger deafening him to the world, he can focus again. He takes a moment to lap at where he’s bitten you, cleaning up the blood that dripped from the wounds. He trails his blood-warmed tongue inward, far from placated.

He pins your thighs down flush to the bed and nestles into the sweet core of you, plunging his tongue eagerly into your cunt. Your body jolts, but he holds you steady, eagerly swirling his tongue, collecting the taste of you to drink down. He sucks hungrily at your clit, pulling off of it with wet little pops, kissing and licking and sucking until you’re writhing beneath him for all the right reasons.

Devouring you like this is working him back up into a different kind of frenzy. He slips one finger into you, then two, mouthing your clit while he fucks you with his fingers, coaxing more and more from you. Your walls feel so fucking soft and velvety around his fingers, and his need to feel you quivering around his cock is rapidly outpacing his hunger for the taste of your cunt. With one last deep plunge of his tongue, he lifts himself over you, reaching down to hurriedly unclasp his belt, staring down at you with lust glazed eyes.

You’re a mess. Your whole body is flushed with heat, and you’ve barely stopped moaning since he bit you. He’s heard the effects of his bite described like a fever, a delirious experience that robs you of your senses and leaves you desperate for more, for anything of him. Even so, you haven’t stopped crying. It makes you look sweet. Vulnerable. Fucking delicious.

“Mmm, you’re pretty when you cry, baby,” he says, running his tongue along his teeth, over the sharp juts of his fangs. He gets his cock free and adjusts himself between your legs, laying over you. “This your way of saying sorry? Because it’s working,” he tells you, bracing one hand on the bed next to you while he uses the other to hold the base of his cock, dragging the head of it up and down through the wet mess of your pretty pussy lips. “Show me how sorry you are, sweetheart. Be good for me,” he murmurs against your skin, nuzzling at your throat.

Opening his mouth, Homelander bites into your neck at the same time he thrusts forward, letting out a muffled, ragged moan as he sinks into you on both fronts, shuddering with how fucking good it feels, tight and wet and hot as sin. Between that and the fresh rush of your blood down his throat, he ascends to a state of goddamn euphoria.

You make a noise somewhere between a sob and a moan. He drinks you up, savors the sound of you as much as he does the taste. He snaps his hips, wastes no time fucking you deep, holding you still with the lock of his jaw while he pounds you into the mattress.

“Oh, ffffuck,” he groans, lips bloodied. He laps at the blood on your neck, the sound of it as wet as his cock hammering your cunt with the relentlessness of a machine, utterly inhuman in the way he takes you. “So good to me, aren’t you? Feeding me, taking me. Mmm, fuck, m’close,” he says, nuzzling at your skin, enamored with the warmth of you.

With the ravenous insanity of his bloodlust fading, his thrusts become less brutal. He hikes your thigh over his hip and holds it there, sliding into a rhythm that’s something closer to making love. Your cunt quivers all around him, and by the noises you’re making he knows you’re electrified, out of your mind with the haze of pleasure that his bite induces. “M’gonna take care of you, too. You know that, don’t you? Yeah, y’do, and you won’t ever fucking leave me again. Don’t know what I’d do if I lost you,” he pants, mouthing at the shell of your ear.

It’s a lie. He knows what he would do. He would punish any world that dared take you from him. The thought alone would be enough to enrage him all over were he not so deeply soothed by your iron on his tongue and your soft body giving into him. If he had breath to give, it would be stolen by the way you seize up against him, orgasm taking hold of you like a possession, capturing your voice and rolling your eyes heavenward.

This is love. This undying hunger, this obsessive compulsion to keep you close. He craves you not just for the ambrosial taste of your blood, but for your soft lips against his and the timbre of your voice. He brought you into his life to satiate his bloodlust, but never could he have fathomed the greater emptiness that you would fill. Knowing you were here waiting for him has made him understand for the first time in his life what it means to come home.

He’ll ruin you before he loses you.

Homelander comes with a low, wrecked moan, kissing you fervently as he stops to empty himself into you as deeply as possible, forehead pressed to yours.

You’re panting, letting out pitchy little wisps of sound with every breath. He gently kisses them from your lips, hushing you. “S’alright, sweetheart. I’ve got you,” he murmurs, kissing your cheek, licking the salt of your tears from his lips. He cups the other side of your face and strokes it with his thumb. You’re shaking all over. He slips an arm around you to draw you close, to comfort you as you come down from your high. “Ssshhhh. Everything’s alright. M’right here, and I love you.”

That wrings a tight little sob out of you. He smiles, dazed on his own lingering ecstasy. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. No one’s going to hurt you,” he assures you, kissing your forehead. “Can’t imagine how scared you must’ve been, wandering alone in the dark like that,” he says, stroking your cheek with the back of his knuckles. “Just happy I found you before anything happened to you.”

What if someone else had found you like that? Confused and vulnerable. He would have found you eventually, but had anyone been unlucky enough to lay their hands on you before then, they wouldn’t have hands for much longer. He kisses you again, firmer, possessive. “Don’t cry, baby. You’re safe now. You’re home.”

Gingerly, he slips from the wet heat of your body and adjusts himself, getting you both situated under the covers. He spends a while soothing you, rubbing your back while you lay in his arms, kissing the top of your head every so often.

“You alright?” He asks eventually. You aren’t shaking anymore, but you haven’t said a word. It makes him a touch… anxious.

“Yes,” you whisper. It’s not very convincing, but he wants to believe it enough that he accepts the answer anyways.

“Good,” he purrs, slipping his hand over the back of your neck. His fingertips brush your menagerie of scars, each bite a reminder of how thoroughly you have allowed him to love you. “That’s my good girl. I love you,” he says with a smile, tipping your head back to kiss your lips.

He waits.

“I love you,” he says again.

“I love you, too,” you finally respond.

His smile broadens. He draws you closer to him, listening to the lively thrum of your body. You are the warmth in his own veins, the beat of his heart. This, too, is love. Kissed lips, bitten limbs, hungering teeth and bodies intertwined. It’s sweeter than anything he has ever known. The need in him is a monstrous thing, he knows. He hadn’t known how monstrous it was until he thought–even for a moment–that he’d lost you.

It won’t happen again.

#homelander x reader #homelander x you #terato #vampire x reader #monster romance #monster x human #it's late af but i FINALLY wrote vamplander!!!! special shoutout to non and calli for helping me with this one #my writing #dark fic

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yandere-toons · 5 months

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Matthew Patel

Romantic Headcanons – Yandere

WARNING: violence, death, implied stalking, mentions of religious concepts, toxic mindset.

From the moment you invite Matthew into your life, he will carry that memory to his deathbed. The bond you forged that day is unbreakable and immortal for him: he will go blind to all other reasons for living, consumed with rage at your absence, and ecstatic at any sign of your favour.

Talk of other suitors sends Matthew into a frenzy from which he will not emerge until this obstacle to his happiness is laid low. Dispute over the value of certain traits leaves Matthew resentful—of himself for not being better, of the other person for possessing what he lacks, and of the universe for cursing him with such horrid luck.

When such a person speaks your name, Matthew is driven by his own insecurities to loathe them. The sound of their voice becomes like a cheese grater to his ears, a reminder of how close he is to losing his world for the second time, and from thence into a sound he will fight to the death to silence.

The look of this person, particularly when they light up at the mere mention of you and receive such a look in kind, is a ghastly thing. Matthew's takeaway is one of doubt and bad memories, of all the similarities to Ramona's waning interest that he had been too immature and inattentive to rectify. He vows not to make the same mistake twice.

Seemingly overnight, Matthew transforms from a brooding presence lurking in your shadow to a wellspring of offers to solve even the smallest of issues. He makes a habit of dropping to one knee and delivering a Pagliacci-esque soliloquy about how deep his affection runs, professing that you've become his whole world and that to lose you would leave him with nothing.

Despite your promise not to "betray" him, as Matthew so graciously puts it, he fears it would be a mistake to let his guard down. He believes you were sincere at the time, but Ramona's flippant attitude has left him anxious that you may change your tune and turn your back on him for no apparent reason.

For years, Matthew sought answers as to why she hurt him: on bad days, he blames her for playing with his emotions; on worse days, he blames himself for not trying hard enough to become someone she wanted. Now that he has another shot at human connection, this earth will burn before it slips away from him.

Matthew's actions arise from a peculiar sense of justice: he views himself as retribution sent down upon all those who have wronged you. By daring to replace him, their way of looking after you is inherently and unforgivably flawed. Someone who could, in reality, be quite decent will devolve in his mind into a parasite who takes advantage of you.

Whether they are cruel or kind-hearted, what obsesses Matthew and keeps him stewing for potentially years is the notion that they've robbed him of his one chance at happiness. So long as they keep you company, he sees his future darkening.

What should be a private affair, Matthew turns into a spectacle: he takes to the stage in his most flamboyant attire and declares war, goading his enemy to meet their doom at his hand. Everything, from the venue to the battle itself, is a power play, a performance art in which he displays his prowess for all to admire and envy.

Once he has struck the first blow, there is no version of events where Matthew shows mercy or admits defeat. The harder they fight, the prouder he is to butcher them. Their death will be a triumph, a testament to the fact that he is strong enough to win this war. Anyone who rolls over in the face of his challenge must not be truly committed to you and therefore deserves to feel his wrath for stringing you along.

Coming to over the shiny remains of his enemy, Matthew forgets his rage and revells in the thought of having the sole being who brings him happiness. Ready to pick up where he left off and confident he's earned that right, Matthew throws himself at you and proclaims how thrilled he is to be together again.

Matthew struggles to move beyond the past and to envision a future where he is alone. Having spent much of his life pursuing others, Matthew has no concept of living for himself. He stakes his survival on the volume of applause at the end of every performance, and in the home environment, his tendency to cling to petty recognition has taken root in all interactions.

This emotional hunger reveals itself in the unnecessary extremes to which Matthew proves his devotion, convinced that the obsequious nature of his company and continual sacrifices gives them meaning. He jumps at every opportunity to be near you, no exceptions, afraid that missing even one will be termed neglect and spell the ruin of his life with you.

At his best, Matthew is an unrelenting thespian who serenades you with ballads and calligraphic poetry. But at his worst, he is an unstable and violent creature full of pent-up rage, who conspires with Daemonettes to bind your soul to his, making it virtually impossible to give him up for another.

Do anything you want with my work, but never make me boring!

#Matthew Patel #Scott Pilgrim #Scott Pilgrim vs the World #Scott Pilgrim Takes Off #Imagines #Reader Insert #Yandere #X Reader #Yandere x Reader #Yandere Imagines #Yandere x You #Yandere Headcanons #Gender Neutral Reader #Scott Pilgrim x Reader #Matthew Patel x Reader #Yandere Scott Pilgrim #Yandere Matthew Patel #Yandere Writing #Fanfiction

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wrixthesley · 8 months

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𝑮𝑨𝒁𝑬 | 𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑨

warnings: dubcon, stalking, yandere childe, alcohol consumption, facial, blow job, fem reader, degradation, cum eating(?), snowballing, breath play

wc: 4.1k

a/n: im baaaaack, also this is for @jozhenji ily bitch mwah

You hate Snezhnaya.

The cold that bites at your cheeks, the way your bones ache if you stand outside too long, and how blinding the snow can be on the days where the sun is the brightest. You hate holding onto candle light to maneuver your way down the hallway of your house, only to hear talk of the Fatui growing in size and manipulating more people into joining under the harbingers from the neighbors that stop by to chat in front of your door late at night.

“They each have their own agenda.” One of them says, as if that’s supposed to justify their actions, like they’re not all connected in some way.

“Did you hear Ajax got into another fight?”

“Again?”

You hate him. Ajax. You hate how he always needs to be the center of attention.

You hate his laughter, his gaze, the way he starts fight after fight and how he doesn’t care if his father cries or threatens to send him to the military. You hate how he knows so much, how he thrives off of the adrenaline that runs through his veins when he knows he’s won, when he can taste it, feel it in his hands and configure it so that it adds fuel to the fire burning brightest in his chest. It’s the one of the only times his smile reaches his eyes.

You hate that it’s the same smile when he looks at you. When he thinks that he can barge in on your walks to get firewood, or when he finds one of your siblings and walks them home. He only wanted to make sure they would get home safe, he swears.

If Ajax could put his pride on a pedestal, he would. He would bellow in letting people watch as it grows and swallows everything in its path to take up more space, thriving on the marvel painted on people’s faces who pass, who watch as he leaves the small village of your hometown to join the Fatui. It shouldn’t have come as a shock when he was recognized because of his ability to fight.

You think about the time that he went missing for three days causing a search party that grew so rapidly in size because his father is a respectable man, it hurt to see how little he slept. It hurt your community to see him attempt to console his other children.

It hurt even more when you were the one Ajax showed up in front of first.

You were looking out to the horizon, the firewood that had been collected by your side, stopping to enjoy the hot stew you had prepared for your siblings in the thermos that had been carefully wrapped to protect it from the bitter temperatures. It wasn’t exactly as hot as you expected but you welcomed the few seconds of warmth brought to your lips. It’s comforting and while looking out to the horizon, you make a silent promise to yourself to move to a nation that is always sunny, where the winds are warm, and the waters are blue. Something that would help your soul feel weightless in contrast to your current surroundings.

When the forest is covered in snow you can hear everything, the branches that fall under the weight of the ice, the crunching of footsteps when someone passes by, and even the curses of the men who were fetching more wood for their wives; tired, exhausted, and numb.

That day he came back, you didn’t expect to hear him, much less see him.

“It’s beautiful isn’t it?” You knew his voice, whipping your head around so fast because you never heard his footsteps approaching. His nose was bleeding, staining his mouth and shirt. “It’s nothing compared to you.” He smiled after wiping the blood off his nose and mouth with his sleeve, watching you in awe of how relieved you must have been when he showed himself to you.

He stumbles forward a little, laughs, “Hey, I lov-I’ve loved you from the moment we met.”

You’re the last thing he sees before he blacks out.

Years have passed since then. You watch when Teucer and Tonia come running by with their new toys, how much easier it gets for his father to take care of himself when he’s promised that Ajax is okay and the financial hardship doesn’t consume his very being. It’s hard not to smile when Teucer looks up at you with a toothy grin, begging you to play with him again.

You’ve never been able to tell him no, even though he has the same eyes as his older brother.

You feel uneasy when Pulcinella knocks at your door one evening.

It’s routine for him to visit Ajax’s home, he is the one who offered him the position in the Fatui, you knew he had good combat skills but never would have guessed it was enough for him to be recognized as one of the harbingers. His name is no longer familiar, replaced with Tartaglia. He erases the name given to him, fully accepting his role.

You open your door for him, it would be rude not to answer when the mayor comes to your door.

He smiles gently at you, it does nothing to relieve your nerves, makes goosebumps run down your spine and you will yourself to meet his gaze and return a smile that you would never call your own.

“For you.”

You let him place the box in your hand, it's rectangular, flat, and wrapped beautifully. It makes your stomach drop when his hand touches yours, you can feel a letter slip in between your hand and his, it reminds you of when your grandmother would place chocolates in your hand when you were a child.

“Thank you.” You mumble, mouth dry and lips chapped from the unexpected visit. He nods, leaving you and waving goodbye at Ajax’s family.

You set the box down next to the fireplace, you can hear the crackles from the wood engulfed in flames, it makes you feel less lonely at night. Now that your siblings have gone and left, you’re left to take care of the house your parents had left behind.

You carefully unwrap the bow that sits on top, folding it neatly beside you. Your palms are sweaty when you peel back the wrapping paper. The outside is revealed with the name of an expensive boutique known for the intricate patterns of beautifully displayed lingerie.

You stare at it in disbelief, the measurements are your size down to the millimeter, you feel like screaming. Like locking yourself in your home, blocking out the windows and doors so that no one, no one else could ever invade your privacy the way that he has.

The black lace is decorated with hints of glitter and the satin lines it feels so, so fine. If it were from anyone else you would be enamored, delighted to wear this for someone that you held feelings for, but the only thing you feel is fear.

You remember the letter that was placed in your hands.

You wish you hadn’t opened it. He only speaks of the past, how he never got to tell you how grateful and happy he was to see you after he had been missing for so long.

When you returned home with Ajax, he was different, asking how many days have passed to everyone that came to visit him during his recovery, contemplating how time passes differently where he was in. When you would see him, you had reassured him over and over that it was three days, though he argued it had been three months. He used to make you retell the story again, and again, and again going over the most miniscule details until you were in tears telling him that it’s all you can remember.

You throw the box and letter into the fire, watching the flames consume it all. You spend the remainder of the night fitting whatever parts of your life that you could in a suitcase.

You leave the next morning.

Your life in Fontaine is calmer than back home, you’re near the ocean and you bask in the warm windy hills during the day or dive into the ocean once you’ve finished your work at the small little dress boutique in the middle of the city.

Your boss teases you about one of the Gardes that have caught your attention when he patrols, you even sparked up a conversation about your favorite flowers you’ve encountered in Fontaine.

“Romaritime flowers!” you exclaim, “They’re beautiful. They look so pure in and out of the water.”

He places one in your hands the next time you meet, promising to take you on a proper date when he finishes patrol.

You assume the bouquet of them at your front door was from him, assume that you would see him that night when you closed the boutique and assume that he would ask where you would like to go next.

You spent that morning getting ready for work. Donning one of your favorite dresses, it compliments you well enough to make you stand out, but still allows you to work comfortably. It’s something your boss had given to you when you first arrived in Fontaine, the excuse was that you also needed something when you would go out. How else would you fit in?

You cried at her kindness, something you had not encountered in years.

You finish work that night, assuring your boss that you would close up. She gives you a hug, tells you that she wants to hear all about it when you come back after your day off.

The clouds start to darken when she leaves. You hope it’s only temporary.

You imagine this is what heartbreak feels like.

To trust someone with your feelings so easily only to be faced with the hard realization that they didn’t seem to care about that trust to begin with. The rain, which you hoped was short lived, only rubs salt in the wound. It’s pouring, your shoes are in your hands and your dress is stuck to your body. You waited for two hours after the boutique closed for him to come by, you waited another hour after his patrol ended. You finally left after ten more minutes, when a young woman knew the look on your face and offered you her umbrella. You politely declined, assured her that you would be okay.

In the end you’re left disappointed, cold, and wet. It reminds you of the numerous times you would come home from the harsh snowfall in Snezhnaya, greeted with silence when you stepped foot into your house shivering and attempting to start a fire. You hated it.

You ignore the stares from couples strolling the night, instead focusing on the cool pavement beneath your bare feet, how the rain feels somewhat cooling to your face and how you can hide your tears.

It’s better this way, to only rely on yourself. You’re all you have after all.

When you return home, you toss your shoes outside to dry. Slamming the door behind you and begin struggling to peel off your dress because the fabric is soaking wet and it’s stubbornly sticking to your skin. You curse when it doesn’t come off, panting and pulling it over your head, you step on something sharp, cursing again when you finally throw your dress off and the tears threaten to spill. You curse and throw the dress into the corner of your living room.

You’re left cold, shivering, and only in your bra and panties when you look at the blood from your foot. You begin to cry.

Your gaze then follows the trail of broken glass on your floor, the pool of water leading up to the broken vase of the Romaritime flowers.

“Do you let others stare at you like this?”

Your blood runs cold. You remember the same feeling back when he found you staring out into the horizon all those years ago.

He places a hand over your mouth, holds you flush against his chest when he sneaks up from behind you. “Shh, s’kay.”

You can’t scream, you squirm in his hold, kicking and clawing at his arm holding your face. He thinks it would be fun to allow you to think he’s off balance.

You shift all your weight onto him, hoping that in the fall you’ll have enough time to run, to hide, to fight. You could run to your neighbor’s house, the nice little old couple that lives behind you and hide in their garden until you’re safe. You wish you were safe, you wish you were home sooner. Oh fuck, if only you hadn’t waited for so long into the night.

He grabs your wrist before you’re able to move, bringing you back to him. You force yourself to find strength to move, to be able to turn around and face him. He anticipates this, he spins you around like a dancing couple would.

He laughs once and you stop.

You no longer want to look, you can only see the boy who was missing smiling and complimenting you with blood running down his nose, you remember the lingerie he sent when you were still in the village, how your stomach dropped when the mayor knocked at your door.

Nothing compares to this, to the goosebumps littering your skin when he peers down at you, blue eyes that don’t ever leave your gaze and make you feel like you’re drowning in the sea waters that surround Fontaine.

“I was waiting for you” he whispers, peppering your face with kisses while you stand there, frozen. It’s similar to the time when he collapsed in front of you, only this time you can’t find the words to scream.

It’s funny how this time he’s found you. Your poor attempt at hiding from him is amusing.

“Missed you so much” he continues to kiss you, makes his way down to your collarbones and doesn’t hesitate to get on his knees to kiss the softness of your stomach or the tops of your breasts that are exposed to him.

“Should have locked you up you know? You ran from me, took me forever to find you.”

“Ajax” you whisper, the tears that sting your eyes are threatening to spill. “Why are you here?”

You hold in a sob, you know why. You’ve always known why he was enamored by you.

“Does it matter?” he breathes, shifting his position so he is behind you again, kissing the tears off the side of your face, watching how your breathing shifts when his cold hands touch the bare skin exposed to him.

“Had to pay that Garde off really well. He wasn’t cheap, you know?”

Your heart breaks further, the sob you were holding building into your throat. “You’re so worth it though, pretty little thing. Look at how I found you, fuck, you missed me too didn’t you?”

He’s guiding you to your couch, laying you down while he towers over you. You feel nauseous when you feel his hardening cock through his pants, “look at you, look at you!” He laughs again, another bout of tears flowing down your cheeks, hot and heavy.

He leans down to kiss you, you turn your head but Ajax isn’t opposed to using force to get what he wants, you know this. You’ve always known this. He takes your face into his hands again, squishing your cheeks together like he did before except his gaze is demanding, icy, and bitter.

“Kiss me back”

You oblige, letting him press his lips against yours and slipping his tongue into your mouth. You flinch at the roll of his lips, clutching at his shirt when he groans into your mouth. He mistakes this as want, giving you more until you’re consumed by him, his presence, his scent, his touch.

He breaks away to let you breathe, smiles at the string of spit that connects both of you and how your eyes are hazing, even though he can’t tell if it’s from crying or from how dizzy he’s made you when he kissed you.

“Let’s celebrate” He’s off of you before you can register what he said, grabbing a bottle of one of Mondstat’s best wines. He’s unceremonious, rogue even, when he pops the cork off and takes a drink straight from the bottle before dipping back down to kiss you.

He didn’t swallow much to your surprise, he let the wine pass from his mouth to yours. Pulling away to watch your face scrunch up at the taste, “s’good” he slurs, taking another drink and swallowing this time.

“Here.” He’s pulling you to sit up, he’s so fast it’s hard to follow what he’s thinking, what he’s doing. He’s taking another drink again, it’s smaller this time, more like a sip that he thinks is adequate for you.

He doesn’t let you pull back, his hand is on the nape of your neck making sure you can’t escape his intensity. You try to keep up, letting his tongue enter your mouth and swirl with his. It’s so sloppy, so hot, and sticky that it makes your head spin. He only gives you a break to drink more wine, to make you both drink more.

He keeps giving you more and more, loves when you get weaker and you don’t protest as much anymore. When you whine and start anticipating the alcohol from his mouth to yours, it makes the taste more bearable and your thoughts aren’t as loud in your head.

The wine keeps spilling from the corners of your mouth, leaving a little trail of purple-red for him to lick up to. He’s sucking at the skin of your neck, finding your pulse point so easily. His teeth nip at your skin, you don’t mean to lean into him, the alcohol is making you slow to react. He swears he hears a small moan escape your lips when he nips at the sensitive skin again.

His hand slides down your chest, feeling your tits through the fabric of your bra, it’s still wet.

“Ajax” you slur, “wanna wait” you say. He looks at you, he notices the tears again. You feel them spill, you’re cold. You cling onto him because at least he’s offering you that sliver of comfort.

“Wait?” He repeats, licking a tear off of your cheek.

“Why would I wait when I know you want me too?” He whispers in your ear, his hands unclasping your bra in one go. His touch is cold, similar to how it feels when you first go into the sea. Your body has to get use to it, it starts to warm up and you feel like you could swim and float for hours.

It’s the same with his touch, the cool tips of his fingers warm up the more he squeezes. He likes the sound you make when he pinches at your nipples, he takes one into his mouth, sucking and licking. Groaning when he hears the little whimpers you try to hold back.

He makes his way back up to your lips again, grabs your hands that are clutching at his sides to guide them down to palm the shape of his cock through his pants.

He’s dreamt of this for so long.

“Oh fuck” he pants, his breath hitting your lips before he’s kissing you again, his tongue feels like he’s lapping into your mouth getting as sloppy as possible as if you’re going to vanish again. His tongue rolls over yours until he’s aching, cock throbbing for attention.

“Hey, feel me here.” He pants, eyes red rimmed and the blue of his irises brighter. You feel like you could drown in them.

He takes your hand and holds it in his, tossing his vision on your table. He’s undoing his belt & pulling his pants down enough for his cock to spring free.

He wraps your hand around the base, guides you in how fast and how much pressure to place around him, when he lets go of your hand you can feel him looking at you. You’re focused on the length of him, how heavy and hot he feels against your hand.

You feel like crying again. You oblige him because at least he’ll leave you alone sooner, you’re just another thing for him to win over, to declare victory before he gets bored with you and moves on to this next challenge.

“More fuck, please more” he pants, hips stuttering into your hand. You can feel the sticky, hot precum that coats the tip of his dick and now your hand. You look up at him and see that he’s got his head tipped back, moaning about how hot you are, how good you are, how he’s thought about this since you saved him. Since you found him, how he’s been in love with you since he found you looking out into the horizon. Even before, he’s been in love with you since the beginning, since he saw you.

“You owe me this.” he breathes.

“What?”

He laughs again, the same one that haunts you.

“Don’t act like you didn’t know. I had you watched wherever you went, I made sure your siblings got into the school they wanted, fuck I even followed you here.”

He takes your hand in his, knows that your hand is coated in his pre cum, takes one of your fingers and licks it up the length. His eyes ever leave yours as he does.

“You should thank me.” He deadpans, cock still throbbing and hard when he stands up at full height.

“Thank me.” He repeats the length of his dick is on your face, rutting against your cheek until the tip meets your lips.

“Yeah, that's how you should do it.” He smiles, the one that meets his eyes. The genuine one.

He’s holding on to the back of your head before you can move. He doesn’t care if your hair is messy, it's almost dry now. He takes your hand again, planting it onto his thigh for leverage.

His grip returns to the base of his cock, tapping the tip on your lips again.

You don’t open your mouth, new tears building up in your waterline. He shows no remorse for what he’s doing, no concern, he thinks he deserves this. It’s the least he deserves for what he’s done for you.

He pinches your nose, catching you when you part your lips to shove his length into your mouth.

You cry, struggling to breathe at the pace he starts at.

“Woulda been so gentle to you if you would have been good, fuck.”

He seethes, eyes rolling into the back of his head when both of his hands are holding your head to match his hips. Your nails are digging into his thighs, your strength unmatched for how you try to push yourself off of him as he pulls you forward on his length. He can’t handle the hot, wet, tightness of the back of your throat.

“Fuck yes, more, more, more” he chants, pinching your nose again to see you panic when you look up again, he loves you like this. When your chin is covered in spit and tears and his balls hit you with every rut of his hips.

“God, gonna paint your fucking face, slut. Gonna cover you in my cum so you can never forget who you belong to”

You can feel that he’s getting close, he grants you grace for only one second before he’s holding your jaw in his hand again.

You take in gulps of air, coughing, and crying while he forces you to look at him.

“Don’t run from me again.” He seethes, forcing you back down on his length.

He’s ruthless this time, uncaring for the way your eyes can’t focus, or how you look like you’re going to pass out. You’re vision keeps going in and out, you can hear yourself. How you choke and gag around his length how he curses with each “ack. ack. ack” of his dick hitting the back of your throat.

“Gonna cum—shit”

He pulls you off, using one of his hands to keep you in place while he jacks himself off with the other.

“Say it, say who you belong to.”

You can’t understand, hazy vision threatening to go black.

“Fuck, say it and I’ll cum. I’ll cover your fucking face and never leave you. You understand? You’re mine. “

You don’t know what he’s rambling on about. You want to plead with him, talk this out and let him know he could pursue someone else.

“Ajax” you rasp.

“Yeah? You belong to me don’t you? Oh fuck—“

He groans, doesn’t hold his voice back, calling you all sorts of names but mostly that you’re his, his, his.

His cum on your face should be enough to prove it. He looks at you like a masterpiece, taking his finger and dragging it through his cum and putting it into his mouth before kissing you.

“Don’t let anyone else see you like this.”

923 notes · View notes

libraryofgage · 4 months

Text

Addams Family B-Side (3)

Part of: Steve Deserves Good Parents, Actually Debbie and Fester Addams One | Two | Three (you're here!) Rick and Evelyn O'Connell One | Two (on the way!) Harley Quinn One 10th Doctor and Rose One | Two (on the way!) Scooby Gang (there are plans for this one lmao, so plz be patient with me orz)

Did I already post today? Yes. Did I also post two chapters of Modern Steve in 80s Hawkins today? Yes. I am just incredibly productive today, who knows when it's gonna happen again lol

Anyway, finally! The next B-Side! This bitch has been stewing my guys, so I hope you enjoy it lol

There are two memes at the very end of this one, so definitely stick around

As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't 😘

--------

For four weeks, Eddie feels himself losing his mind. He finds gifts in his locker every other day, and he's convinced they're from Steve Harrington. He now has a taxidermied bat, a fancy-looking vial with a skull and crossbones embossed in the glass and filled with mysterious liquid, an actual human skull that Eddie immediately incorporates into his next campaign, and a spider. An actual spider. A live spider that, after a little research, he learns is a fucking Black Widow that seems unnaturally friendly.

Eddie can't stress that part enough. Multiple people have mistaken the spider for an intricate vest patch because it just sits perfectly still over his chest pocket. It only moves to rub its head against Eddie's fingers whenever his hand passes over it, and even then it's careful to avoid hurting him with its pincers.

He names her Nox.

Those aren't the only gifts he's received, but they're the most notable, and Eddie is overwhelmed and flustered by the positive attention he's suddenly receiving.

The other thing driving him crazy is Pubert Addams, a guy Eddie had never paid much attention to before but now considers his mortal enemy. He's convinced Pubert is, at worst, potentially abusive or, at best, delusional and taking advantage of Steve's kindness and inability to brutally turn him down. Or maybe Eddie is the crazy one; he doesn't actually know. Whichever it is, Eddie is ready to take the very nice dagger he now has (gift number 15; yes, Eddie has been counting) and stab him with it.

Because he can't get more than two minutes alone with Steve before Pubert appears out of nowhere. Eddie runs into Steve in the hall while everyone else is in class? Pubert shows up with a hall pass two seconds later and literally waltzes Steve away from him. Eddie finds Steve camped out in the library during study hall? Pubert materializes in the chair next to Steve before Eddie can sit down, leaning far too close as he asks Steve to explain something from their shared Gothic Literature class. Eddie, by some miracle, is behind Steve in the lunch line (and he calls this a miracle because Steve always brings his lunch in a pink box with black skulls, which Eddie considers incredibly brave of him to carry around like it's nothing)? Before Eddie can do more than say hi and get a blinding smile in return, Pubert fucking Addams shows up and drags Steve away while promising to share his lunch.

Eddie is just about to lose the last shred of patience he's struggling to maintain when Steve finds him. Ironically, it's the same bathroom where they first talked, the one with mysterious mold growing in the corner that Eddie is convinced is some new species. It's the only bathroom with a busted smoke detector, and Eddie goes there to get high during his free period.

He's halfway through a joint, smoke curling around him as he sits on the sink counter and tries not to think about what else has been there, when the door swings open, Steve walks in, and Eddie chokes on his inhale.

"Don't die like this," Steve says, stepping closer and patting Eddie's back like they know each other, "It's no fun."

Eddie finally gets himself under control, taking a deep breath and wincing at the way his lungs burn. "No worries," he croaks out, regretting the departure of Steve's hand on his back. "What are you doing here? Please don't tell me you plan to use this bathroom."

"As curious as I am about the bacteria teeming on these toilet seats, no." Steve sounds genuine, like he really does want to swab the toilet seats and see what grows. Instead, he places his bag on the sink and pulls out a familiar vial with a familiar skull and crossbones. "I just came to drink."

"Oh?" Eddie says, leaning forward with a grin. He looks Steve up and down, taking in the pale blue sweater vest and immaculately pressed jeans. "You don't look the drinking type, Stevie."

Steve hums, popping the cork out of the vial and taking a swig from it. "This isn't exactly hard stuff," he says after he swallows, distracted enough that Eddie thinks he misses his eyes lingering on Steve's throat as it bobs.

"Just beer then?"

"What?" Steve asks, looking at Eddie like he's delusional. "No, it's cyanide and vinegar."

He says it with such conviction that Eddie believes him despite knowing cyanide is poison. "Metal," he says, looking away to take another drag of his joint as he struggles to break through his own awkwardness and hold a conversation that will somehow sweep Steve off his feet and make him forget all about Pubert Addams.

Before he can think of something clever and smooth and funny, Steve leans close and raises a hand to his chest. Eddie is about to warn him that Nox is, in fact, real when the spider scuttles onto Steve's fingers and settles in his palm. She does a little up-and-down motion, circles in his hand twice, and rubs her head against his wrist. "You've been taking good care of her," Steve says.

"Uh, yeah. How is she not biting you right now?" Eddie asks, remembering all the times Nox has warningly snapped at others who tried to touch her.

Steve snorts and allows Nox to return to her spot on Eddie's vest. "I raised her," he says, his tone casual like he isn't admitting to showering Eddie with inexplicable gifts for the past four weeks, "of course, she won't bite me."

"So, it has been you," Eddie replies, wanting to hear it from Steve himself.

With a soft hum, Steve takes another sip from his bottle. "Who else would it have been?"

Eddie licks his lips, takes another drag of his joint to brace himself, and hops off the counter. "So, uh, does that mean you li--"

Before the rest of the question can be asked, the bathroom door swings open again, and Eddie feels his eye twitch as Pubert Addams frowns at them. "So, this is where you were," he says, walking over to Steve and putting an arm around his shoulders.

"I told you I was going to the bathroom," Steve says, rolling his eyes as he stuffs the vial back into his bag.

Pubert looks Eddie over, a derisive huff escaping him as he dismisses Eddie and looks at Steve. "On the other side of the school? Really?" he asks, and Eddie would be overthinking what that means if he weren't sure his veins were about to burst.

"We were talking, you know," Eddie says, gaining Pubert's attention again. Steve looks at him, too, his eyes a little brighter.

"I'm sure," Pubert replies, rolling his eyes as he takes Steve's bag. "And now we're leaving." With that, he leads Steve out of the bathroom, the door swinging shut before Steve can do more than smile apologetically and wave.

Anger surges through Eddie, and the shaky drag he takes to finish off his joint does absolutely nothing to soothe it.

He's going to kill Pubert Addams.

--------

Funnily enough, Steve's mother doesn't learn about his crush until he's five weeks into it. When Debbie finally does discover the crush, it's because she walks in on Fester and Steve decorating homemade cookies shaped like anatomically correct hearts. She pauses in the doorway, looking between the two covered in flour and raspberry jam, and asks, "What on earth is going on here?"

Steve looks up, sees this as his chance to finally tell Debbie, and smiles brightly at her. "I'm in love, Mother. He's allergic to raspberry, and Father agreed to help me make him cookies with raspberry filling, so he can feel the same breathlessness I do when I see him," he explains, using his thumb to wipe raspberry jam off his cheek.

Debbie stares at him for a few seconds before looking at Fester. "How long have you known?" she asks.

"Five weeks," Fester admits, looking apologetic. "I wanted to tell you, Pumpkin! But Steve asked me not to so he could tell you himself."

She sighs and walks over to the island, sitting on the edge of a stool and taking one of the cookies for herself. She bites off a pulmonary vein, looking thoughtful as she chews. "I must admit, these are damn good cookies," she finally says, taking one more bite before passing it to Fester to finish. "Tell me about him."

And Steve does. He gushes about Eddie for a solid hour without taking a single breath, spilling everything he's seen Eddie do and how he's reacted to all of Steve's gifts and how he gets so obviously jealous when Pubert butts into their conversations. He tells Debbie about Eddie not screaming when he saw Nox, about him selling drugs, and about his interest in music. Steve laments his hair but eagerly describes the treatment routine he already has in mind.

By the time he's done, the cookies are decorated and his mother's expression has grown a little pained. "Steve, darling, come with me," she says, getting up from the chair and leading him out of the kitchen while Fester starts to clean up.

Steve waits until Debbie has brought him to her spare room to ask, "Did I do something wrong?"

"Well, did you remember my rules about crushes?"

"Yeah. I've talked to him a lot."

Debbie smiles and brings Steve over to the bed, sitting him down and straightening his hair before perching next to him. "Then, you're not in trouble, but you've been going about this all wrong, dear."

"Should I tell Pubert to stop making Eddie jealous?"

"Absolutely not," Debbie says, shaking her head firmly. "In fact, he could try harder. Nothing gets to a man like someone he can't have, especially if he thinks they're in distress."

Steve blinks, frowning slightly as he tries to figure out where, exactly, he's gone wrong. Eddie seems perfectly enamored with him, after all, and Pubert's goading is encouraging his affections, which is the only reason Steve has allowed it to continue. "Did I give him a live spider too soon?" Steve asks, figuring that's the problem here.

"No, that's not...," Debbie trails off, mutters something about Fester being an idiot, and clears her throat. "Steve, your father is the last person you should approach for love advice."

"But...you agreed to marry him, so he must have done something right," Steve says.

Debbie barks a laugh, waving her hand dismissively. "I married your father for his money. I attempted to kill his entire family and only stopped when he promised to give me everything I asked for. I would hardly call him a casanova."

Steve nods along, smiling a little as she speaks. He's heard their great love affair many times, but he doesn't get tired of it. "But you actually love him anyway, right? Father says it's because he showered you with gifts. So, that's what I'm doing."

"I...do love your father," Debbie admits, sighing as though she doesn't know how that happened either. "But it's less because of his gifts and more because...he gave me the devotion I wanted. Anyway, if you learn anything from us, it should be that love comes second."

"What comes first?"

Debbie smiles, the expression positively devious, and Steve can't help returning it. "Obsession," she says, her shoulders rolling back some as pride fills her. "Occupy his every waking thought. Make yourself irresistible. Make him dream of you at night. Overwhelm him with desire until he simply must act on it."

"Oh," Steve says, thinking of how his father acts around Debbie and realizing that obsession never quite went away. But it's worked out well for them, and he knows his mother has experience with luring men into her arms. He nods once and asks, "So, what should I do?"

"I'm so glad you asked," Debbie says, her smile bright and her eyes filled with excitement. "You'll have Eddie falling to his knees before you in no time."

--------

Eddie didn't think it could get worse. He was already attracted to Steve, already distracted by every little movement.

He was wrong. So incredibly wrong.

Because here he is, his mouth dry and his palms sweaty and his cheeks warm because of Steve. He's not even doing anything. Well, that's not true. Steve is curling his tongue around a lollipop before sucking it into his mouth like he'll die without it. But it's more than that. It's the painted-on jeans that hug his legs; it's the pastel pink hoodie (with little bats on the cuffs) that rides up whenever Steve moves to show off a strip of skin just above his waistband; it's the way he finishes the lollipop and pulls out lipgloss, casually telling Pubert it's raspberry flavored as he puts it on.

Eddie swallows around the dryness in his mouth, gripping his locker door so tight that his knuckles turn white as he looks inside it. Sitting innocently on top of everything is a Tupperware container of cookies with raspberry filling (according to the label), and Eddie is ready to eat one just so he can die knowing what Steve's lips taste like.

That's not even the worst of it. The worst is that Steve transfers into Eddie's Music Theory class, smiling innocently while the teacher introduces him and then directs him to sit at the empty desk next to Eddie. When he's close, Eddie realizes Steve smells like cookies and cream ice cream, and he's tempted to ask if Steve smells like his favorite flavor on purpose.

The teacher saves him from the embarrassment of blurting out the question by announcing a project. The teacher then dooms him by telling everyone they're required to work with their desk neighbor. Eddie grips his pen tightly when the teacher tells them to spend the rest of their class time discussing the project.

"So," Steve says, getting Eddie's attention. When he looks over, Steve is leaning forward on his desk, chin propped in his hand as he looks at Eddie. "Want to come over to my place after school? To work on the project, I mean."

Eddie stares at Steve for a few seconds, his tongue stuck in his throat. To his credit, Steve doesn't say anything or call Eddie out for staring at him. He just waits patiently with a little smile curling his lips. Eddie finally clears his throat, his voice coming out a little strained when he says, "Yeah, sure, sounds good. After school. Your place. Project."

Smooth. Real smooth.

When Steve just smiles wider and stretches his arms above his head, pulling his hoodie up, while suggesting they do the project on the evolution of heavy metal music, Eddie realizes he's probably going to die after school.

He can't wait.

-------

Tag List (I think there's still room for a few more people ^_^)

@estrellami-1, @itsall-taken, @mugloversonly, @fandomcartographer, @hippielittlemetalhead, @agree2disagre-kicks, @ledleaf, @just-a-tiny-void, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @ink1177, @maya-custodios-dionach, @littlebluejane, @steddieonbigboy, @ravenpainter, @read-write-thrive, @deadontheinside20, @yeahhhh-suga, @nectandra, @mogami13, @mx-jinxous, @thoughtfulbreadpolice, @anne-bennett-cosplayer, @xoxoladyclara

@zaddipax, @dycte, @breealtair, @geekymagicalpotato, @janea-grill, @juliasthename-adhdismygame, @yikes-a-bee, @wayward-people, @st-fics, @disrespectedgoatman, @bipusssy, @cottagecorebutnaturescaresme, @nightowl14028018, @that-binchh, @your-confused-friend, @irethsune, @goosesister, @strawberryyyenthusiast, @irregular-child, @theverywest

And, finally, a two-for-one meme special because I couldn't decide which was funnier:

#steddie #steddie fic #addams family b side #addams! steve harrington #steve harrington #eddie munson #pubert addams #fester addams #debbie jellinsky #steve deserves good parents actually #my writing #sorry it's been so long the inspiration took a while to hit for this one hfdjks

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starsexplodeatnight · 3 months

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Ghost x Pre-school teacher!Reader

A request from @maxicorn !!! My first request! And its a good one!!!

It was dark in the back of the plane. But he knew where he was, the fuselage of the plane jerking subtly with their descent.

Simon was home.

Didn't feel like it yet. His mind was still smothered in an oppressive slog of adrenaline that refused to yield and let him relax.

He used to not care. He never had anyone to come home too. Now that he does? He notices. Or really, he cares enough to acknowledge things he's ignored because they worry you.

As much as he hates to worry you, its nice. Nice to have someone who cares.

The door creaks open, blinding them with the light from outside. England was fucking sunny, go figure.

Battered but not bloody, Ghost makes his way down the plane and his feet hit tarmac. It felt good...

The sight that met him was even better.

There you stood, beaming at him. Hair whipping around from the wind kicked up from the plane landing. And all of your students were lined up in front of you.

They all had paper plate masks on their faces, all of them crafted to look like skulls. Mimicking him. Oh god, that fucking hurt his heart.

You had yours propped on top your head so he could see your face.

"Lieutenant!!!" "Ghost!" "Mr Ghost!" All of them cheer, bouncing on place. They all obediently stayed put, they'd promised best behavior if they got to see him land.

How did you manage it? He stood dumbfounded, staring like an idiot.

Laswell, she stood next to you with a miniscule smile... She tips her head towards you and raised her brows minutely. Approval of his choice.

Ghost lumbers over, dropping his duffle and looks down at the tiny humans. They all held out gifts, masks still in place. Macaroni necklaces, pictures of what vaguely resembled him and hand crafted... Stuff... They children all showed their idol.

Simon laughs, a small sound before lurching forward. He snatched your paper plate mask off your head, held it up to sheild your faces as he simultaneously pulls up his mask up. Exposing the lower half of his scruffy face.

The shocked look on your face was worth those 4 fucking rotten months away... So were the disgusted gagging of the little ones.

They crowd him, tugging at his gear, begging for stories as you stare at him star struck. That was the first time he's kissed you in public! Infront of what you believe to be his boss!! You could be wrong but, still!!!

Your face heats up immediately, Ghost chuckles. "Come on." He grunts, grabbing his duffle in one hand and the lead rope for the kids in the other. "Lets get them home."

You try and take the rope from him as the kids all grab on. He let go, only to envelop your hand in his so you both lead the kids off the tarmac...

It was so much fucking better than nice to have someone care...

Years later? Every single one of your students remember you and Simon ... Especially the ones who got to see him come home that day. Some even still have their paper masks, somewhere.

They'll call out to you in the street if they see you. Run up and hug the both of you... The little girls who used to play tea with Simon now tweens, run up and all squeeze him...

(They all have high standards for dating now. If they aren't treated like how Mr.Ghost treated Ms._ then they can beat it!)

They coo over your new baby, all begging to be your babysitter... All begging to be back in your lives again....

So many people care about Simon Riley… he can’t hardly believe it. Even to this day.

Thank you @maxicorn for this!!! It was fun to stew on while I was at work!!!

#call of duty #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #ghost #x reader

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celtic-crossbow · 6 months

Text

You’re Beautiful and Sick Like Me

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: The Quarry

Warnings: None

Summary: Even the toughest of the tough just need a gentle touch now and again.

“What crawled up your ass?” You asked, continuing to pin up the laundry on the sad little line Merle had set up for you. You practically had to twist his arm and, in retaliation, he had placed it just high enough that you had to stand on your tip-toes to get anything done.

Daryl had returned from hunting, pacing and running a hand through his short hair. You could guess it had to do with the lack of deer beside the fire pit.

“Goddamn geek got my deer.” He spat, vibrating with frustration but still taking the time to place his crossbow next to his tent almost tenderly. Then it was back to pacing. You watched your boyfriend with an arched brow, finally abandoning your task with a sigh when it became clear he was going to create a ditch.

“Come over here.” You stood behind the stump you three used for a chair more often than not. Narrowed blue eyes slid over to regard you but he made no move to comply. “What? You think I’m gonna shank you or something? Come here.”

With a quiet ‘pfft’, he stalked over and stopped in front of you, head tilted questioningly. “What is it?”

“Sit.” You pointed to the stump.

“Ain’t a dog.” Daryl huffed, kicking at a rock.

Rolling your eyes, you reached across the space between you and grabbed the front of his tank top, pulling him forward so that you could grab his shoulders and spin him. He got the point and plopped down on the stump. Before he could ask, you placed your hands halfway between his shoulders and neck and began to knead the muscles there. Any snide comment died on his tongue as his head fell forward.

“That sucks about the deer.” You placated quietly, using your thumbs to really press into some knots you felt in his tense shoulders. “Not much you can do about it now though.”

“Don’t need ya to shrink me right now. If you’re just—”

Utterly nonplussed, you tightened your grip on his shoulders when he made to stand, pushing him back down with an ‘oomph.’

“Woman, I swear—”

“Stop being so grumpy and let me take care of you. No one’s watching.” You ran your fingertips down the length of his spine before pressing into the muscles of his lower back. The moan he let out had his face flushing all the way to the tips of his ears. You were thankful he couldn’t see your cheeky grin.

You, Daryl, and Merle had joined up with this little group not long after the first corpse started walking. The boys had intended to rob the occupants blind and then you would all disappear and move on to the next. It was your initial apprehension after seeing the kids that gave Daryl pause, eventually leading him to approach Merle with the decision to just stick around. Merle hadn’t liked the idea. In fact, he was quite vocal about it. You had stood on the sidelines with your pistol, just waiting to shoot the elder Dixon in the foot if he raised a hand toward Daryl.

Daryl had taken to hunting for everyone, unable to stand the thought of the children going hungry. He’d never say so out loud but he didn’t have to. You knew. The burden he had placed upon himself kept him busy, which in turn kept him away from most social engagement. He was never much of a talker.

But now, the enemy had taken the day’s dinner. Merle’s group had arrived back from a run to the city at some point, though you had yet to lay eyes on Merle himself. They had, however, brought back a stranger. What’s more, Daryl only managed to bring back enough squirrels for maybe a stew. He’d have to go greet his brother in a moment. You’d accompany him, of course.

For now, you had a moment to show him some tenderness he’d usually never allow outside of your tent. Your palms slid up to his shoulder blades, thumbs pressing in circular motions to help the muscles relax. His head was hanging, shoulders slowly dropping down from where they had been tensed nearly to his ears.

You could literally feel the tension drain as the stress he carried began to release its hold. He hadn’t moaned again but the sighs and grunts were enough to let you know you were doing a good job. As you rubbed up over his shoulders again, he tilted his head to nuzzle his cheek across your knuckles, reminding you of a cat showing affection.

Still kneading at the junction of his neck and shoulder, you leaned in closer. “Let’s go say hi to Merle and get it over with, okay?”

His eyes opened and blinked lazily. You thought he may have been content to stay on that log for the rest of the day, but sadly, you were right. Grunting at the loss of your touch, he pushed himself to his feet and grabbed the string of squirrels. He took a step but stopped and turned to you, taking hold of your chin and caressing your cheek with his thumb. The corner of his mouth lifted and he quickly released you and flicked the end of your nose.

When he started down toward where everyone was gathered, you fell in behind him.

“Merle! Merle! Get your ugly ass out here!”

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