#so i got a cat since they can handle being inside for the day and the shelter lady said she's super antisocial towards other cats | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sidekick-hero · 3 months

Text

Love from the other side

(steddie | rated: M | wc: 6.2k | tags: Vampire Eddie Munson, Nurse Steve Harrington, Mild Gore, Blood Drinking | AO3)

"Steve, we've got a major crash on the Interstate. Multiple vehicles involved. You're on triage duty. Patients will be arriving in five minutes,” Robin, the head nurse in the ER, tells him in a calm voice. She's Steve's best friend, but even he's sometimes surprised at how calm Robin can be in critical situations. He's seen her fret over the prospect of asking out a girl she likes, and her freak-out before her first date with Nancy is now something of a legend between them.

But ask her to handle a crisis and she's cool as a cucumber.

Steve sighs and nods. That means it's going to be a long night. He's already been on for ten hours, two more and he could have gone home to his cat and his warm, soft bed. But they're understaffed as it is, and with so many new patients in unknown condition coming in, he'll be here for at least another five hours. Maybe more.

He makes his way to the triage area of the ER and braces himself for what's to come.

When he finally makes it home, the sun has already risen and he's dead on his feet.

He stumbles through the front door of his apartment and is greeted by Garfield, his tabby cat, who continues to weave through his legs as he takes off his shoes, almost tripping him. He meows pitifully at Steve.

"Yeah, yeah, you poor thing. You'r treated worse here than in a shelter. Warm and cozy and dry with a human to open your tins and feed you."

Garfield meows again, this time more demanding, emphasizing the urgency with which he wants food.

Throwing up his arms, Steve relents. "Fine. Heaven forbid I get to change into something comfortable first."

As soon as he places Garfield's bowl in front of him, Steve is all but forgotten as the cat digs in. "You're welcome," he says to his beloved little freeloader, not expecting a response. He's talking to a cat, after all, but it still helps make the apartment feel less empty.

And there's no one to judge him for it. Not since Robin moved in with Nancy and he had to find a one-bedroom apartment that he could actually afford on his own.

It's not that he begrudges them their happiness, far from it. But coming home to an empty apartment and talking to his cat instead of another human being got old pretty quickly. Worse than that.

It has become lonely.

"Pull yourself together, Steve, and stop whining," he chides himself, still talking out loud.

Steve sighs. He can see himself ending up a hermit with twenty cats who never leaves the house. Deciding it's best to just go to sleep before his thoughts turn any more self-pitying, he bends down to scratch Garfield's head and tells him, "I'm going to bed."

Garfield continues to ignore him as he sips the milk Steve has placed in front of him.

Steve is off for the next two days and spends the time mostly sleeping, doing laundry, and stocking up on food after realizing he didn't even have a slice of toast for breakfast.

He also goes over to Robin and Nance's for dinner, since he's not a hopeless hermit yet. Between the three of them, they go through three bottles of wine and end up swapping stories and inside jokes until his stomach hurts from laughing so hard.

It doesn't make coming back to an empty apartment any easier.

His next shift is another night shift, and it's surprisingly quiet for a Friday night. So far, the worst he has had to deal with is a nasty cut on a drunk frat boy's forehead after the guy fell through a glass door. Steve's still surprised he didn't hurt himself worse. Head wounds bleed like crazy, though, so he looked like he had been attacked by a serial killer when his equally drunk buddies carried him to the emergency room. Seeing that only one deep cut needed stitches, while the other, shallower cuts on his arms and face would be fine on their own, had put Steve in a surprisingly good mood.

So good, in fact, that he carelessly remarked to Carol, the other nurse on duty with him, "Looks like a quiet night for once."

You could have heard a needle drop in the silence that followed his statement, and Carol looked ready to murder him. He had just violated the most important rule in any hospital.

Never, under any circumstances, say the "Q" word.

"Fuck. Oh God, I didn't mean..."

"Too fucking late, Harrington." Carol huffed before stalking off, probably to complain about him to her boyfriend, who was also the hospital director's son.

Less than twenty minutes later, all hell broke loose.

A dance floor at a local club had collapsed, resulting in several dozen serious casualties, all arriving on stretchers, crowding the triage area as Steve worked on autopilot. Assess, prioritize, assist.

In the midst of the chaos, another ambulance arrives and he goes over to talk to the paramedics about taking the patient to St. John's instead because they are at capacity, which really means they were past capacity an hour ago.

One look at the patient tells him there is no time for that,

The man on the gurney was only a few years older than Steve and had a gaping wound on his neck. He was white as a sheet and there was too little blood around a wound that looks like it hit a major artery.

"What the fuck?" He can't help but ask and the paramedic shrugs with a puzzled look on his face.

"I don't know, man. Found him like this and whoever called it in left before we got there."

Rolling their new patient in with hurried steps, Steve wonders if there was anything they could do. The wound needed surgery, and they needed to get blood and other fluids into the man as quickly as possible. Judging by the slow and shallow breathing and the sluggish pulse, his system has already started to shut down.

They lost him before they even got to the operating room. Steve doesn't even hear about it until hours later, when everyone who had been on the dance floor has finally been taken care of and a bone-deep exhaustion replaces the adrenaline-fueled energy in his body. He's not proud of it, but he's too tired to spare the news more than a brief burst of sadness.

Over the next weeks, seven more patients with gaping neck wounds come into the ER while Steve’s on shift, all drained of too much blood to make it past the first ten minutes under their care.

Whispers about a killer roaming the streets of Hawkins have started circulating as the number of victims rises steadily and Steve has started to sleep with a baseball bat under his bed. Just in case.

It’s early Tuesday night, four hours into his twelve hours shift, when another one comes in, this time a young girl around Steve’s age with long strawberry blonde hair and a pretty face. On her neck Steve can make out a gaping wound, just like the others had shown.

But this one is bleeding, profusely.

And the girl is awake, looking up at Steve with wide, terrified eyes.

“Hey, you’re safe, it’s gonna be okay, we’re going to take care of you,” he reassures her over and over as they make their way inside, ushering her to get surgery immediately. When he gives her his warmest reassuring smile she even tries her best to smile back.

Steve hopes she makes it.

She does. Against all odds, considering that the last two dozen victims with similar injuries have all died, she makes it.

Her name is Chrissy Cunningham, and when Steve reads the name on her file, he remembers her. She was a year behind him, a cheerleader. They never really talked much, but he remembers that she was kind and talked to him after everyone else on the team and the cheerleading squad had stopped doing so.

He's glad that she survived, and he promises himself that he will check in on her as soon as his shift is over.

If it hadn't been Chrissy, if it hadn't been someone he knew, he probably never would have met Eddie.

At the end of one of those weird in-between shifts at four in the morning, Steve changes into a pair of sweatpants and his favorite hoodie before heading over to the observatory area where they had to put Chrissy for now because a whole wing of the building is under construction due to some asbestos in the walls. She's already in stable condition, only needing fluids and antibiotics because they have no idea what bit her, so they're letting her sleep it off for now and hopefully find a room to put her in the next day.

The halls of the hospital are quiet at this time of night, especially outside the ER, and it's almost eerie. It feels like no one is here but Steve and the thought makes him shiver. All this serial killer talk is really getting to him, he thinks.

Reaching the area separated only by screens, he sees a figure standing by her bed. He can't make out much, but it appears to be a man, judging by his height, and he's leaning over the bed, talking softly to Chrissy. The man, if it is one, but the deep timber of his voice makes Steve think it is, is not wearing scrubs, but jeans and a hoodie, and Steve is pretty sure he's not hospital staff.

Suddenly, he remembers that something - or someone - must have inflicted the injury on Chrissy's neck.

"Hey, who are you, and what are you doing here?" he shouts as he runs over to the bed, and the figure turns to face him.

It is a man, with wide, dark eyes in a pale face framed by equally dark, messy curls.

"Shit, shit, shit," the man curses and bolts, moving faster than should be humanly possible. One moment he's staring at Steve like a deer in the headlights with his big bambi eyes, the next his shoulder slams into Steve, knocking him to the ground as the mysterious figure disappears from view.

He pushes himself upright and rises from the ground with a determined effort, because even though the guy doesn't look like it, it feels like he's been hit by a brick wall. When he regains his footing, he shakes off the impact and makes his way over to Chrissy to check on her.

She's awake, but too weak to sit up, though she tries.

"Shh, hey, don't strain yourself Chrissy, it's all right, he's gone. You're safe," he reassures her, a hand on her shoulder to keep her from moving too much and aggravating her wound.

"No," she says, her voice barely above a whisper, shaking her head slightly. Just when he wants to reiterate that yes, he's really gone, she continues. "He's safe. He saved me."

"What?" Steve asks, taken aback by her statement. He can tell that even the few words she has spoken have taken a toll on her, draining what little strength she has regained, but he can't help it, he needs to know what she means.

"He...saved me. Pulled him...off. Off me. Would have...killed..." she trails off, her eyelids fluttering shut and Steve lets her be.

Pulling up a chair, he sits down next to her to keep watch, just in case her savior decides to come back.

The next day Chrissy is more lucid. She's also in her own room and has already given a statement to the police when Steve comes in for his shift.

It doesn't matter though, he still has to ask her what happened, needs to know who the strange man was who continued to haunt Steve's dreams after he came home sometime in the early morning.

"I don't know who he is, Steve. He just showed up while Jason...while he," she is visibly shaken by having to remember the events of last night and Steve thinks he should tell her that it's okay, she doesn't have to tell him. But he doesn't. It feels like she needs to say it as much as he needs to hear it.

Steeling herself and taking a deep breath, Chrissy continues, "While Jason was biting me. Mauled me, really. I think he would have torn my throat out if this man had not shown up. He slammed into Jason, ripped him off of me, and they both went down. There was a struggle, I could hear it, but everything hurt so much I couldn't move my head. It went on for a while, I don't know how long. Time was really weird. And then the guy was looking down at me, telling me to stay still, that he was going to call an ambulance, and that I just had to hang in there. He pressed something against my neck and it hurt so much, but the pain kept me there, y'know? So I wouldn't float away and never come back. He told me to stay with him and I did. Until we heard the ambulance. Then he told me he was sorry, but he had to go. And then he was gone and the paramedics took me away."

Chrissy looks very pale after telling her story, the dark rings under her eyes more pronounced than when he first entered the room. But before he can let her rest, he has one more question.

"What was he doing here?"

To Steve's surprise, the question makes Chrissy smile. "An apology, because this is no way for a lady to be left in the lurch."

Steve has no idea what to do with this information, so he just takes Chrissy's hand and squeezes it gently.

"You'll be out of here in no time, Chrissy. We will take good care of you, I promise."

"I know. Thanks, Steve."

He turns and walks away, leaving her to get back to sleep, knowing that it will be a long time before he will be able to do the same.

What the fuck is going on?

They find Jason Carver, or what is left of him, the next day. It's all over the news. No one knows why he attacked his girlfriend or who killed him. The reports leave out a lot of the gruesome details, just saying that he was torn to pieces when they found him.

Steve, of course, can't let that be all. He has to know what happened, so after his shift he sneaks down to the morgue to take a look at what is left of Jason, a guy he only knew in passing, since Steve had already left the school when Jason became captain of the basketball team, taking Steve's old position.

What he finds is a body that is badly mangled, just like the news said. There are deep wounds, chunks of flesh missing, his right arm torn from his shoulder. Though it's hard to swallow, it's not the first time Steve has seen a body destroyed almost beyond recognition. What makes him recoil from the dead man in front of him is the fact that Jason Carver's body is already decomposing as if he'd been dead for several days, maybe weeks, instead of not even 48 hours.

Steve leaves the morgue even more confused - and frightened - and heads home with the image of Jason's tattered, rotting body burned into his eyelids.

Over the next three weeks Steve sees four more victims with the same torn throats and bloodless bodies. None of them can be saved like they saved Chrissy.

He doesn’t see the mysterious man again.

It's late June when Steve's life changes forever.

The sun has only set an hour ago and the air is still warm as he walks home from his shift. Robin and Nance's car broke down the day before, and they live on the outskirts of town, so Steve gave them his car until theirs is fixed in a few days. The weather is nice and he doesn't mind walking the three miles to his apartment.

He's almost home, maybe ten minutes away, when he hears someone whistle.

There's a man standing at the entrance to an alley a few feet ahead of him, and since he's the only one around, Steve assumes it must be him whistling at Steve. The guy is hot, there is no way around it, about Steve's height with an athletic build and a haircut that reminds him of the 80's, his blond hair styled into a mullet.

"What's a pretty guy like you doing out here all alone?" The man asks as he gives Steve a slow look. It's supposed to be seductive, Steve thinks, but it just comes off as sleazy. Which is a shame, because the guy has a pretty face, long lashes, full lips, delicate features. Steve's also going through a bit of a dry spell lately, but he's not desperate enough to hook up with a slimy sleazeball like that.

"None of your business, really," he replies, walking a little faster than before. Something doesn't feel right, he thinks, feeling the hairs stand up on the back of his neck.

"Aww, don't be like that, sweet thing. I just wanna talk, I swear." Steve is almost past the guy when their eyes meet and he feels himself freeze. "Why don't you come closer so I can smell you better?"

Even as he thinks, "What the hell is wrong with this guy?" he feels his body turn toward him and his feet propel him forward. He feels himself panic, but it's a distant thing, like an itch under his skin that he can't reach no matter how hard he scratches.

When he's in front of the stranger, so close that their chests almost touch, the man leans in and sniffs Steve's neck like a dog at a slab of meat. He hums deep in his chest and Steve feels the wet touch of his tongue against his skin. It's enough of a shock that he can get his body to react, to fight back, but it's no use. The moment he moves, the man growls menacingly at him.

With his feet still rooted to the ground, Steve feels like he's underwater, his senses dulled and his limbs heavy, weighed down by the tons of water around him. He fights it with all his strength and it takes all he's got to put his hands on the man's chest and push him away.

It's not even close to a hard push, but the man clearly didn't expect Steve to fight back at all, so he stumbles back a bit anyway. Unfortunately for Steve, it only makes him angrier.

"Looks like you got some fight in you after all. Too bad I don't like my food to fight back," he snarls, and before Steve knows what's happening he feels his back slam into the wall behind him, darkness surrounding them on all sides.

He struggles against the hands holding him down, but it's no use, their grip steely and unyielding.

The once pretty face has turned into something twisted and ugly, a grotesque imitation of a human face, and when the thing in front of him opens its mouth, all Steve sees are teeth. Long, sharp teeth.

Steve screams, but not a sound comes out of its mouth.

As those teeth sink into his neck, the face of the man who saved Chrissy's life pops unbidden into his mind. Steve has seen it in his dreams more than once, and it's strangely comforting to think of it now, in what Steve is sure will be his last minutes alive. As if this is all a fucked up dream and Chrissy's mysterious savior will come for him, too.

White hot pain races through his body from where the thing that looked like a man sunk its teeth into him and it's only that pain that makes him believe what he sees next.

One moment he's in mind-numbing agony, almost wishing for death to come and end his suffering, and the next the oppressive weight of that thing is gone, its teeth no longer in Steve. With nothing holding him up, he crumples to the ground, his head dazed and his body shaking like a leaf.

To his right he hears the sounds of a viscous battle. Growls and snarls, flesh hitting flesh, flesh hitting brick, the sound of bones snapping. He's too weak to even turn his head, and part of him is glad for that.

The fight seems to go on forever and Steve feels himself slipping in and out of consciousness. His heart has stopped pounding and his pulse has slowed to about 60 beats per minute, which is good. Not too slow, his system is still going strong. It was cardiac arrest after immense blood loss that had killed the other victims, but so far that doesn't seem to be Steve's fate.

At least not if the wound on his neck that is still slowly bleeding is taken care of soon.

He doesn't dare press his undoubtedly dirty palm against it yet. Hell, he's not even sure if he can lift his hand that far. But something has to be done about the bleeding, sooner rather than later.

As if his savior had heard his thoughts, there is a final, stomach-churning sound of flesh and bone ripping, followed by silence, the fight finally over.

And then there he is, as if his mind had conjured him, the man who saved Chrissy. The man with the big brown doe eyes and the pale skin and the messy curls. There's blood on his face now, and... other things Steve doesn't want to think about.

Steve is safe now, he feels it deep in his soul. He doesn't know how he can know that, how he can trust a complete stranger to keep him safe, but he does. His eyelids flutter shut, the tension finally draining from him completely.

A cool hand on his cheek and a warm, deep voice, tinged with what sounds like fear, pull him back.

"Hey, no, no, no. Steve, you need to stay here with me, okay? Stay with me, sweetheart."

"You know my name," Steve mumbles, fighting the heavy rocks that weigh down his eyelids as he looks at the pretty face in front of him. His eyes dip lower and there's more blood on the man, his clothes torn and his skin exposed. "You're hurt."

"You're very observant, Stevie. Come on, we gotta get you to the hospital. You'll be as good as new in no time." He smiles at Steve and Steve is helpless not to smile back. There's the tease of a dimple forming in his cheek and Steve lifts his hand with Herculean effort to touch it. When the man notices the gesture, the dimple forms fully, deep and alluring. A cold hand catches his before it reaches its target and Steve whines in protest.

The man chuckles fondly. "Here, lemme help you," he says, bringing Steve's hand to his face, the dimple still waiting for Steve to touch it. The skin is soft under his hands and cold too, like it's a winter night and not the end of June.

"I'm gonna pick you up now, Stevie. It's faster than waiting for an ambulance. Just close your eyes and we'll be there before you know it."

Steve feels himself lifted from the ground into strong arms and instinctively turns his head into the man's chest, enjoying the vibration of his soft laughter at the gesture against his cheek.

Then they're moving, and fast. One second he wonders how someone covered in blood and other unspeakable things can smell so good, and the next the lights of the hospital burn bright and painful in his blurry eyes.

"He needs help, now," he hears the man say to someone, his voice firm and demanding. It makes Steve shiver in his arms. And then he's placed on a gurney and his savior leaves with the whisper of cold lips on Steve's forehead.

It's only much later, when he's recovered enough to form coherent thoughts, that Steve realizes two things.

He doesn't even know the name of the man who saved him.

He never heard a heartbeat as his head was pressed against the man's chest.

Steve is released two days later and Robin insists that he stay with her and Nancy for a while. There's really no arguing with his best friend when she's got something on her mind, so he doesn't even try. He's too tired anyway.

His sleep is shit, plagued by nightmares of sharp teeth and blood and bodies being torn to pieces.

He also dreams of the mysterious man, and while these dreams aren't nightmares, they're still confusing, even unsettling, because they leave him feeling hollow. Like he has lost something. Which is ridiculous, the man was never his, he doesn't even know his name.

As he spends the next week at Robin and Nancy's, being pampered and doted on, he has no idea how close he is to learning the name of his savior. That and much more.

After finally convincing his best friend that he can manage on his own, that he needs to go home, that Garfield misses him even with Robin or Nancy stopping by to feed him, it is both daunting and a relief to see Robin's car drive away from where he stands in front of his apartment building.

The nightmares haven't stopped, and he admits that the prospect of being alone in his apartment scares him, but he can't live on his best friend's couch forever. Besides, even there, the nightmares would wake him up shaking and panting, waking Robin and Nancy more than once in the middle of the night. Alone in his apartment, he won't wake anyone with his whimpering and screaming.

Garfield is already waiting for him when he comes through the door, weaving through his legs and meowing at him. Surprised at how much he missed the tabby menace, Steve leans down and takes him in his arms, burying his face in the soft fur.

"Hey baby, sorry for leaving you alone for so long. But Aunt Robbie told me that she and Nancy took good care of you, playing with you and petting you. Probably spoiled you rotten, huh?"

Garfield meows again and pushes his head under Steve's chin, rubbing against him and purring like crazy. Steve smiles into his fur, thinking that he's glad to be home, even if it's still empty except for the purring cat in his arms.

He puts Garfield back down and makes him something to eat before heading to his bathroom to take a long, hot shower and change into something more comfortable. When he pushes open the door and steps inside, he is too stunned by the sight that greets him for any real reaction other than a sharp intake of breath.

On the floor is the man who has taken over most of Steve's dreams and many of his waking thoughts as well.

The man lies still and Steve can see dark stains on his clothes and he just knows it's blood. It could be someone else's, but somehow Steve is sure it's the man's own. Within seconds, he's on his knees next to the unconscious (please just be unconscious) figure, his knees smarting from the way he just fell onto them on the hard and cold tiles.

The man is on his stomach, his face turned to the side, away from Steve, so he moves to turn the man over. He's surprisingly heavy, a dead weight under his hands (no, no, no, not dead, just unconscious, his mind chants), but Steve is nothing if not persistent, and he finally manages to turn the man onto his back.

"Oh God," Steve groans as he can finally assess the damage. There are wounds all over his body, deep gashes on his thighs, his torso, his arms, even his face. "What happened to you?"

"Ten against one. Not...fair," the man replies, his voice barely audible and his eyes still closed. Steve has to lean in to make out the words, but him talking also means the man is still alive, though Steve isn't sure how much longer.

Taking the man's wrist, Steve looks for a pulse to see how far his system has already shut down, but... there is no pulse to be found.

He remembers not hearing a heartbeat when his cheek was pressed against the man's chest, so he presses his ear to where the man's heart is, waiting for the sound of its faint beat.

Nothing.

Steve leans back and searches the man's eyes, half-open now and clearly alive.

"How... you can't be alive. You don't have a pulse, your heart isn't beating." He is stammering, but it's a lot to take in. It shouldn't be possible. It's not like he wants the guy to be dead, but for all intents and purposes, he should be.

Bloodied lips pull back into a faint smile. "Sweetheart, not even the most beautiful sight like you could make my heart beat again. Although it really tries for you."

Despite everything, the way this guy flirts with him while he lies in his own blood brings a crooked smile to Steve's face.

"There, that smile? If it could, my heart would be beating out of my chest right now." Steve can tell the man is trying for levity, but he's fading and fast.

"As charming as you are, you're also bleeding all over my bathroom floor. With no pulse or heartbeat. And I don't even know your friggin' name! So forgive me for asking, but what the fuck?"

"Sorry for the blood on your floor, I tried to patch myself up, but I must have passed out. Embarrassing, really. Didn't think you'd be back so soon. I'd get out of your hair, but... well, you know. I don't think I can move." The words start to slur halfway through, and those beautiful brown eyes keep disappearing behind heavy eyelids. Steve has to do something, quickly, before his savior dies.

"Eddie," the man croaks, his voice barely audible. Steve wouldn't have heard it if it weren't for the intent way he stares at him.

"What?"

"My name. Eddie."

"Eddie. Okay." Steve nods his head, the hand still wrapped around Eddie's wrist grabbing his hand instead, squeezing it gently. "Eddie, we need to get you to the hospital now."

It looks like Eddie tries to shake his head, but gives up halfway, exhausted. "No. They can't help me."

"But they can! Someone needs to sew up your wounds, and you've lost too much blood, you need a blood transfusion and fluids and - why are you laughing?"

"You're right, I need blood, but not the way you think."

The image of sharp teeth flickers behind his eyelids, a gnarled face snarling at him. The feeling of those teeth buried in his neck, white-hot pain shooting through his veins.

"What... Eddie, I don't..."

Eddie's face turns toward him, his nostrils flaring as he takes a deep breath, as if smelling the air.

"Come closer so I can smell you better."

Two different voices growling and snarling, not just one.

Strong arms lifting him off the ground as if he weighed nothing, carrying him nearly three miles. "It's faster than waiting for an ambulance."

"You're not human." Steve whispers. It's not a question.

Eddie answers it anyway. "No, I'm not."

"You're... You're a..." He can't say it, can't even think it.

"A vampire, yes." Eddie says it for him and everything falls into place. The neck wounds, the drained victims, the sharp teeth and the inhuman strength and speed.

"You want my blood." Steve has no idea why he's stating the obvious instead of running as fast as he can, but something tells him he's still safe with Eddie.

"So observant." Eddie chuckles, but it sounds wet and weak. "Yeah. But I won't take it, don't worry, Stevie."

In his mind Steve goes over the things he knows.

Eddie is a vampire. A vampire who killed another vampire to save Steve’s life. To save Chrissy’s life.

Eddie is dying. He may already be dead, but it looks like vampires can die again. Permanently.

Eddie wants his blood.

"Would it help you? My blood, I mean." That's the only thing he's not sure about. The most important thing, at least.

It looks like an inhuman - invampire, Steve thinks - effort, but Eddie manages to shake his head firmly.

"Steve, no."

"Would. It. Help?" Steve insists.

Eddie, the stubborn asshole, presses his lips together and refuses to look at him. That's answer enough for him.

Still holding Eddie's hand in his, he lifts his other hand to Eddie's mouth and presses the inside of his wrist against the closed mouth.

"Come on, Eddie. Drink." Another shake of the man's head only strengthens Steve's resolve. "Eddie, please. You saved my life. Let me do the same."

The stubborn ass continues to refuse, so Steve does the only logical thing. He stands, grabs his razor, and slides the blade across his wrist, just deep enough to draw blood from the otherwise shallow wound.

He presses the wrist back against Eddie's lips and this time he feels the man tremble.

"Please drink. I want you to. Let me help you." Moving his wrist and smearing his blood over Eddie's full lips, Steve pleads again, his voice breaking. "Please, Eddie."

It's the last please that does it, and the next thing Steve feels is the white-hot pain of teeth sinking into his wrist. Still smiling through the pain, he squeezes Eddie's hand. "That's it, you're doing so good. Take what you need."

And Eddie does. He drinks and drinks and drinks until the world goes fuzzy and black spots start dancing in front of Steve's eyes.

"Eddie," Steve slurs before everything goes dark.

When Steve comes to, he's in his bed.

His wrist is wrapped tightly in a pristine-looking white bandage, and he's wearing his pajamas. He has no idea how he got here or what happened, everything is kind of blurry. Steve tries to sit up, but almost immediately the world starts spinning and he groans in protest.

That's when the door to his bedroom opens and his mysterious savior walks into the room with a bowl in his hand.

Eddie, his mind supplies. His name is Eddie and he was dying the last time Steve saw him.

"Are you okay?" Steve asks him, his voice full of worry and he gets a sad smile in return.

"Stevie, I'm the one who should be asking you that." Eddie sits down next to him on the bed but doesn't touch him. He looks tense and Steve wonders why. Though most of what happened is a blur, he remembers holding Eddie's hand and Eddie calling him beautiful.

"I'm fine. A little dizzy, but fine. You were the one bleeding all over my bathroom floor. What happened, how are you even standing, how long was I out?"

Eddie reaches out and takes Steve's cheek in his hand. "You saved my life, Stevie. That's what happened. And you almost got yourself killed, you self-sacrificing idiot. So even though it saved my life, I have to ask you, beg you if I have to, to never do anything so stupid again."

Steve puts his own hand on top of Eddie's hand on his face and looks him in the eye as he tells him, "You saved my life first and risked your own as well. So I guess the pot is calling the kettle black here."

He's rewarded with a dimpled smile. "Fair point. Now that we're even, can you promise me you'll never do anything like this again?"

"I dunno. Can you promise not to try to save me again if I'm in danger?" He knows it's a low blow, but if it helps him get his point across, he's not above playing dirty. Besides, part of him really wants to know. The needy part, the scared part.

"You know the answer to that," Eddie says, brushing his thumb across Steve's cheekbone.

"Isn't that a little unfair?"

"Yeah," Eddie whispers, and Steve realizes he's so much closer than before. "But I don't care if it keeps you safe."

Steve feels his heart thunder in his chest, his eyes darting from Eddie's to the other man's lips and back again. Licking his own lips, Steve asks, "And why is that?"

Eddie's lips are only a breath away from his own, and he tastes his answer as much as he hears it.

"You know that answer as well."

Before Steve can say anything else, Eddie's cool, smooth lips seal over his and every thought in his mind is forgotten. There's only Eddie.

Later he'll ask about the other vampires. About all the dead people in the emergency room. He'll ask who Eddie is, why he's running around town saving people, and who hurt him so badly.

But all that can wait, at least until Steve is done drinking down the delicious sounds falling from Eddie's mouth.

This is a little birthday gift for my dear friend @yournowheregirl. Alice, I know you love vampires so I tried my best to give you some. Time ran out on me but I still hope you like it 💜

I hope you had the best birthday ever because you deserve nothing but happiness.

Edit: I forgot while posting to say that this is heavily inspired by a wonderful podcast I highly recommend, Not quite dead. Give it a listen folks!

#steddie #steddie fanfiction #vampire eddie munson #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #Nurse Steve Harrington #my writing

266 notes · View notes

prismuffin · 11 months

Note

Sorry if this is too far into a Crackfic idea!

But What if Reader (He/ Him) gets turned into a Cat because of a spell the Reader was teaching Zanatna, she messed up on.

This is where the ask comes in... How would (Superman) Clark kent, (Batman) Bruce Wayne, Hal Jordan and (Flash) Barry Allen separately interact with/ react to seeing Reader as a Cat? ( Full ass Fur baby, not half n half diet furry (Neko))

P.S I think Hal, and Flash are the type of people that won't pay attention if isn't important. So I feel like they would of just tuned back in once seeing the cat, and not know it's Reader.

Also, I think it's so cute at the idea of Reader having enough of people handling and grabbing him. While, knowing that no one's going to mess with Batman, Cat!Reader hides in Batman's cape, while he's sitting.

LMFAO nah this isn’t too crackfic to me I actually find it quite funny- but anyways I think-

After being turned into a cat by Zatanna you probably ran away from her in shock and/or fear.

Superman would be so confused seeing a random cat running through the halls. He'd be even more confused when you pounce into his arms. You seemed shaken up so he held onto you immediately. He doesn't know how a cat got in here but you seem scared so he'll go to the kitchen to get you something to drink or eat. He finds a can of tuna in the back and lets you eat as much out of it as you'd like. He pets you while you're eating then gets you some water. Finds the purring sound interesting so he keeps petting you and eventually, because you're a cat, you dig your claws into his skin and he reels back in confusion and betrayal as he watches you run out of the kitchen.

Afterwards you run into Hal walking through the halls. You'd meow at him and walk between his legs. He'd shoo you away from him, mostly annoyed about the cat hair that you're spreading everywhere. When you don't leave him alone he sighs and allows you to walk beside him but when he reaches his room/office he's not letting you inside at all. He'll give you a few pets before he closes the door on you though.

Continuing you journey you're met with Barry in the common room who's looking at the results of some tests from work. When you hop up next to him on the couch he just stares in disbelief for a couple of seconds before wondering out loud who brought their cat. He'd let you stay with him like Hal did as long as you're not disruptive and eventually one hand would find its way behind you ears, giving you a couple of scratches. He'd probably give you some dumb temporary name since you don't have a collar on or anything. You, once again get annoyed of them after a while and move away from him.

After a long, tired day of absolutely nothing you searched tirelessly for a place to nap. Finding a way into Bruce's Batcave you skillfully maneuvered your way through the cave until you found Bruce at his desk. You meowed and he turned but found nothing until he turned back around to see you on his console. You jumped into his lap before he could react and just laid there. When he tried to pet you, you pawed his hand away so he just let you rest there until he finished up work. If you wanna hide in his cape when he's done and wandering the halls he doesn't mind.

———

Directory

#dc universe #justice league #justice league imagines #justice league boys #justice league x reader #x reader #x male reader #male reader #dc x reader #dc universe x reader #dc fanfiction #dc x male reader #batman x male reader #superman x male reader #hal jordan x male reader #barry allen x male reader #cat reader #prismuffin #prisask

722 notes · View notes

d6volution · 6 months

Note

im a need a cain x reader smut, but like the reader can get in heat since there a type of animal i dont know what animal you can choose one. so like the reader chooses caine to release their thung idk i was thinkinh about it and now im trhiving to jhave it written so ofcourse i came to my fav writers inbox

i get it! im not the best at writing heat fics (i dont think??) but i tried 🤧

Caine/Cat Hybrid!Reader

(afab parts)

tags: bondage, reader in heat, man handling

minors dni | nsfw below the cut.

It had been years in this digital world, and with every new person to enter Jax was always the only anthropomorphic animal to be in the circus. Until you came along, cat like ears sprouted from your head and tail protruding from where your tailbone should be.

Of course the other members either reacted in awe, or just didn't really care. Or some in between like Jax who loved pulling at your ears and tail as it usually made you squeak like a toy.

Even Caine wasnt immune to your cuteness it seemed, he'd make the odd comment about your apperance here and there but it was always positive. Maybe that's why you chose him..? Or maybe it was because he was the showrunner, he had power and could protect you and ... your young. That's usually the things mates would looked for..? Right? Damn it you didn't know. You were human before all this was completely new to you. But your body didn't care, this.. heat cycle hit you like a sack of bricks. You'd been holed up in your room for a few days now, ignoring the knocks at your door.

Lest you jump on the person on the other side of the door and beg them to fuck you until you can't remember your name.

You thought maybe after taking care of yourself this .. feeling would go away but no, you came on your fingers several times but it wasn't close to being enough. It was like you were losing yourself to this feeling, all you could think about was being filled..

In the haze of your thoughts Caine came to mind again, you knew his opinion on things like this but you had to try. Something.. anything, and pray that in the process to getting to his room you wouldn't run into anyone else..

A few moments later when you got the resolve to finally peek out of your room you moved as quickly as you could in your state, luckily remembering the path to the ringmasters quarters. A big grand red door was at the end of the hall and you tugged at the door but it didn't budge.

"C.. Caine.. ? You there..?" Your voice sounded pathetic, dripping with need. A soft mewl even escaped your lips in frustration.

It felt like a century until you felt eyes on you, but.. from behind you. It was Caine just floating there, in the same confusion as yourself. "C.. Caine? Why aren't you in your room?" Your senses were going ballistic now, it cried for you to present yourself to him. Beg for him to take you right here and now.

"Simple, my dear! I don't sleep! This room is merely a prop of sorts!" He retorted, "Are.. you alright, y/n? You're looking a little, under the weather." He seemed to actually be concerned, and you started squirming.

"N.. No I need.." Your ears flattened out of embarrassment, tail wrapping around your leg for self comfort. "need.." Your voice trailed off, "... s'your fault Caine.. you made me like this..!"

"Now, now, calm down y/n I don't necessarily get to choose your new bodies—!" You cut him off by pawing at his leg, clinging to it to keep him in place. He tried to keep his balance.

"Please Caine.. need you.." You nuzzled at his leg, then moved up his thigh trying to nuzzle at his crotch as the smell of him was inviting you. "T.. This is hardly appropriate, let's *ahem* get you inside." Caine looked both ways to assure no one had saw you two. He then scooped you up by the waist, holding you like luggage and carrying you inside his room.

As soon as you two were in the room he dropped you onto the bed unceremoniously.

Caine tugged at his tie and allowed it to loosen up, "Well, now. What to do with you." He snapped his fingers and you were bound to the bed in a very lewd manner, knees bent and pressed at your chest being held by red ropes that seemed to match his suit. "C... Caine wha.." You whimpered, tears forming in your eyes as he seemed to just be toying with you.

"Tsk, tsk this won't do at all! You're making a mess of your clothes!" And now they were gone too, you instinctively pulled your binds helplessly. "Please.." You whined, not knowing exactly what you were pleading for.

"Yes, yes.. I think I know what's happening to you, now be patient dear! I'm breaking many a rule for you, y'know!" He said, now appearing suddenly in between your legs , two gloved fingers delving into your cunt suddenly. "Hhck..!" Your ears pointed straight up out of shock and your body moved against the binds again, "Come now you can handle this!"

"N.. Not that.. need.. you inside.. please.." Your cunt was senstive sure, but it was more frustrating that he was using his fingers, "Please Caine.. breed me.." Your words made him swallow and he had to compose himself. He was only doing this because he had to, he couldn't have to wandering off and trying to pounce on anyone else!

He pulled himself from his pants, he didn't realize until now that his cock was straining against them a few moments ago. You desperately wanted to present yourself to him, spread your cunt and open your legs but he had you tied up like some kind of animal.

His tip nudged at your cunt, the slick causing him to slip past your hole a few times. You mewled and bucked your hips a little as if to encourage him.

Another thrust and he buried himself completely inside of you, your cunt swallowing him up immediately, it was like he was made for you. You were made for each other. "Ngh.. there we go, stubborn little thing.." He said with a grunt, hovering over your body.

He was finally inside of you and your body begged you not to let him go, not until he came inside of you at least three or four times at least! "Caine.. more .. mn.." He felt like you were calm enough to get rid of the bindings so he did, snaping his fingers and they seemed to fade away into the air.

Your legs immediately wrapped around him, tugging him closer.

"How impatient, very well then. Hold tight my dear," He said, hands planted on the sides of your head as he started to move his hips, rocking into your cunt. Your eyes fluttered shut, ear twitching a little as a soft purring sound rumbled in your chest.

His thrusts picked up speed quickly, you were responding so well to them that he was slowly beginning to loose himself as well. Family friendly? Behind the doors of his room that would have to disappear from now on. "Nh.. thats right.. to keep everyone.. in check!" His words matched the rhythm of his heavy thrusts.

"Hha.. Caine, caine..!" You cried out, legs tugging him closer, "N.. Need your cum.. make me pregnant p-please..!"

His hips stuttered a little, your words seemed to be getting to him whether he liked it or not. He shoved two fingers into your mouth to keep you quiet so he could focus. How distracting your dirty mouth could be was impressive. Your moans and cries were muffled, saliva dirtying his gloves.

Caine put his full weight behind his thrusts , your smaller form quite literally being fucked into the mattress. "Nnhg, almost there, y/n..! Be a dear and a cum with me." He said in a mocking voice, his hand removing itself from your mouth and instead pushing your lower stomach. Adding more pressure to your already stuffed cunt.

"Gh..hhaa.. Caine, cu.. cumming.. cumming..!" You yelped and clung to him, legs keeping him locked in so he couldn't pull away from you. He'd be force to fill your cunt to the brim. "Inside.. fill me up..!" Your tongue lulled past your lips , cunt clamping down on his dick as you hand a nearly blinding orgasm.

Caine couldn't help it, your cunt was practically milking him and he spilled into your cunt without a second thought. Though he didn't seem at all out of breath.

"Well that sure was.. something.." Caine noted, his dick still twitching inside of you as the last few spurts of cum filled your stuffed cunt.

You panted, looking up at him with half lidded eyes, a lewd smile painting your lips. "Caine.. m'not done.. need more.."

Did he really think one round would be enough?

#the amazing digital circus #ask #minors dni #caine x reader #tadc caine #the amazing digital circus caine #caine x reader smut

302 notes · View notes

nexusnyx · 1 year

Text

baby, i'm gonna leave you

#NightSkyChallenge: Prompt 5 — The night I saw everything in your eyes. “It’s like looking in a magic pond… there’s so much hidden.” [8.2k] ⚠️Smut: unprotected sex, choking, body worship, rough-handling; | 🏷️ Angst, slow-burn, denial of feelings; | 📑 This work was commissioned by my darling Malin (@charlie-hunnam) and I hope they enjoy every single word of it.

SUMMARY: His first thought is that he messed up. Bucky messed up badly not only by sleeping with you, but by doing so while knowing how much everything about you got under his skin, fogging every corner of his brain in ways he wasn't used to. So Bucky fucked up. Whatever. It happened. Then, Bucky promised he would not do it again... Except—he does. Bucky does it again, and again, and lying to himself gets harder each time.

Being surrounded by books is the only comfort Bucky has.

Nothing else comes close.

Usually, work is his safe haven. Not everybody can say that. Everything about his books soothes him—the smell of them, their textures, arranging by authors, size, or colors; he has fun with his shelves, keeps his employees in line, and offers little to no sympathy for the University students who always come to him with Pussyboot Cat eyes and some shitty, feeble excuse as to why they need Bucky's help, desperately.

None of that is working today, and it's because of you.

Bucky feels irritable beyond words — an irony of destiny considering how many of them he knows — because, for reasons he's well aware of but refuses to accept or think about it too hard, you're giving him the colder shoulder.

If you don't look at him in the next ten minutes, Bucky might die.

If Steve were here, he’d call Bucky dramatic.

He’s not—that’s what he feels like.

Being in the same vicinity and yet getting no nod of acknowledgement from you was a kind of splint under his nails kind of feeling—something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Kind of ironic, he thought, that he’d be the source of his own pain like that.

Because it was his fault. Undoutedbly.

He’d been the one to fuck up.

Again.

For the sixth time. Counting them was never his intention; there had just been few of them, and each one was more memorable than the other. Not knowing how many times he fucked up would be the fucking miracle—Bucky had the imprint of your mean chuckle tattooed at the nape of his neck, followed by the distinct taste of your tongue against his skin.

Not for the first time, Bucky takes a deep breath and, tiredly, exhales.

“Good gods!” Wanda’s voice is but a whisper, but Bucky’s ears are trained to pick it up among the overlapping conversation going on at the library, the several computer clicks and trays of books moving back and forth. “That’s like, the fifth thousand time I’ve heard you huffing and puffing back there. What is wrong?”

I went and did it again. Bucky’s eyes trail to your table once more, “No need to worry your cute little head over it.”

While he had no clue what would happen after he ignored you like a massive dick for days, Bucky expected that the weak — but plausible — excuse would mend some of the patches.

Nothing.

A dry, curt “hi” when you arrived to grab the necessary books, and then straight to your table.

“Bucky, I can hear you thinking. It’s eerily loud, for some reason, and it’s just the two of us inside our Weird Moon Valley.” Her soft, even voice gets closer, and Bucky looks up to see Wanda sliding with her chair closer.

"You're frowning." Wanda slides a hardcover copy along the counter until it hits his still hands. "Harder than usual, that is. What's up?"

"Nothing."

��Bullshit,” she spits back with a trained customer-smile still on her face. “It started when your girl—”

“She’s not my girl,” he interrupts, as always.

“—when your girl,” Wanda quips back, as always, “arrived, looked at you like you were one of the flies that surrounded her horse’s shit, got her books, then went away. Since then, mysteriously, your face’s been looking like that.” She hums, feigning curiosity. “I wonder if those are connected.”

“Your sarcasm is really over the top, you know?” Bucky considers leaving the reception and going to organize some books, but the idea is dismissed as soon as it comes. “And that description was hurtful. I’m wounded. ‘The flies that surrounded her horse’s shit’ is kinda mean, even for you.”

“My sarcasm is over the top and your attempts to pull this conversation away from the point is as horrible as your inability to play coy.”

“Harsh.”

“Alright, fine,” Wanda’s hands fly up to the sky in surrender. “I yield. Mope. Pout. Sigh. Stare at her longingly—stare at her ‘till you forget how to talk, again. See if I care,” she finishes with a dramatic sharp turn of her body, and Bucky just grabs her by the string of her apron.

He pulls her back a few steps and hits his own head against her back. "Wanda."

"Bucky."

He yields. Of course he does. "She is so mad at me." It's barely a whisper, but he knows she's heard.

He feels her scoff more than hears it. "Astute observation, dude. Do I wanna know why? And weren't you two cool until, like, a week ago? This is starting to get ridiculous."

"We were. Now..." There's a moment of hesitation in which Bucky's face becomes a wince. He wants to hide even further behind Wanda's back. "You know why," he eventually says.

Two weeks prior, Wanda had said: you two float around each other. gravitate, or some weird shit like that. you keep making the same mistakes—you gotta stand on what you two decide, dude. she'll lose her shit eventually if you don't.

A second after he says it—one heartbeat, and she understands.

It makes her turn the same way as she did before, facing him again. “Shut the fuck up,” she mutters when her pin drops on what he meant. “You didn’t.”

“Hey—technically, we did it.”

Wanda’s stare could punch holes through Bucky’s ribs. “If we weren’t at work, your left cheek would be on fire right now.” It’s not often Bucky hears Wanda’s angry tone, but it makes all of his stupidity the more real. “Are you serious?”

Did you really do it? “I… yeah.”

Did you really go and fuck the girl who’s in love with you, and who you have feelings for, but can’t date, because unlike her you’re a slut — a polyamorous one at that — who’s never been and never wanted to be in a relationship, while she is someone who expects a ring on her finger? The woman who you entangled yourself with despite her telling you she couldn’t ever pursue something with someone like you and yet, and still, you seduced her because you ‘felt something you couldn’t ignore’ with her?

Bucky heard and saw all those words in Wanda’s fiery eyes, and for a moment, he wanted to take it back.

It came and went in a flash, because the reality still was— “If I tell you how it happened you might not hate me so much?”

“I highly doubt that, James.”

Damn. “Can I tell you?”

Wanda’s nostrils flare as she exhales. “Fine.”

With a lengthy exhale, Bucky retells the rollercoaster of Tony Stark’s engagement party, and watches as Wanda notes—he has a point, after all.

2 DAYS AGO

"She looks so good, Steve," Bucky whined.

He wasn't one for whining, but tonight in particular, he felt stupid.

And she looked good. She walked in — drunken eyes check the glowing numbers on the microwave — 7 minutes ago. Not that he’s counting. Bucky muffles another whine behind his cup.

"God, you're whiny when you're drunk," Steve exhaled the smoke in his lungs and laughed right in Bucky's face. Little shit, Bucky thinks. "She just arrived, Buck. Get your shit together before you make the same mistake again, I swear—"

"I know, I know," Bucky's heard the speech enough times by now. "Don't worry. We're not doing that shit again."

Steve gave him a look. A single look. A “I heard that shit before” look, and “I know exactly how that promise ended, buddy” look.

"We're not," Bucky insisted. They’re not. Not matter if he wanted to. Bucky didn’t—he liked your friendship too much to fuck this up. He took another sip of his beer, then immediately regretted it. Alcohol had memories attached to its taste, had things in it that made his thinking skills fly off the goddamn window. "I need some water,” he decided.

"Fuck water." Steve opened the fridge and grabbed a can of Coke. "Drink this, then we'll go back."

Fuck.

"And don't you dare whine about soda or any of your gym rat shit about calories and training, it's the last thing I wanna hear tonight," Steve looked out of the glass walls that separated the kitchen from the outside, looking for something at the party. Probably his boyfriend, because Steve was now in love, and monogamous. "I'm so fucking anxious. He's gonna fuck this up somehow, I just know it."

"He's not gonna fuck it up."

"He might."

"Tony's not that self-sabotaging, Stevie." Bucky downed half of the can in one go, and then felt that little prickle in his neck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He hated going out. He should've stayed home. He should've stayed with his books, should've kept his mouth shut. Tony barely even likes him (a lie) and he wouldn’t even notice if Bucky wasn’t around (a bigger lie). "He's not gonna screw up the night he's been planning for months."

"What if he does? D'you know how hard it was to make that sculpture? I haven't slept in weeks. Weeks, Buck."

Bucky could tell.

"Ugh, look away from me," Steve grunted and flipped the rest of champagne down ungraciously.

Now Bucky laughed. "What?"

"Your eyes say I can tell and I hate you for that," Steve answered with a pointed finger at Bucky, who laughed only harder. "Do I look awful? Do I have eyebags?"

"Shit, I forgot how fucking chatty you get when you're anxious." Bucky knew his best friend better than himself sometimes, but it was easy to forget things when habits change, and going out was one Bucky lost about a decade ago. "Steve, hey, c'mere."

It took him a second, but Steve walked until he stood in front of Bucky.

True to his words — or eyes in this case —, Steve looked a little under the weather.

Bucky drank the rest of the Coke, smashed the can with one hand and threw it in the trash. Then, he placed a hand in each of Steve's shoulders, and smiled at him.

"It's all gonna be fine," he started, smiling at him.

Steve took his first deep breath.

"Good," Bucky praised. Some habits, on the other hand, never died. "Your art is beautiful," his smile softened, something only Steve's art could do easily. "Tony's a really lucky guy to have you as a friend. He's gonna be lucky to have Bruce as his best man, because—guess what? Piper's gonna say yes. God knows why—"

"'cause She made her with the biggest rope of patience in the world," Steve offered in a low whisper, and Bucky laughed.

"—sure, buddy, because She made her that way, Piper's gonna say yes. And then they'll be happy together, for many decades, hopefully. They might even have kids."

"Oh god," Steve expression changed drastically. "Their kid is gonna be president."

Bucky hummed. "I—yeah. Probably."

"I don't know if I'm excited or terrified for it."

"A bit of both sounds good." Bucky put his hands down. "You better now?"

Steve exhaled. "Yup. Everything's gonna be fine. They'll be happy together."

"Yup."

Then, Bucky heard a chuckle. A familiar one. The hair at his nape answered before he even heard the voice, raising just at the realization of your presence dawned on him.

"Damn. Am I interrupting something?"

Bucky is fucked.

He should've stayed home, with his goddamn books.

He's not ready for this.

"Hey!" Steve exclaimed happily, as oblivious as Bucky had been of your approaching. "Babe, you came!" Babe. Bucky wanted to puke on Steve and your parade. "And please," he scoffed, walking your way. "You know damn well I don't fall for those pretty blue eyes anymore, no matter how close they are to me."

It was true. Steve was now in a sweet, monogamous relationship. "You lived with these pretty blue eyes,” he started, dated as well, loved, painted them, sculpted them, “so how about no slander towards them, hm?" Bucky joked, turning around to see Steve's gigantic body engulfing yours in a hug.

“Sure thing, Buck,” Steve replied with only a third of his attention.

When you were present, the air in the room differed.

Bucky could hear your whispered conversation if he tried, but he opted out. Instead, he got another soda can from the fridge while you two said your hellos and whatever else you two loved talking about when he wasn't around and waited for it.

It took only a minute, but it came.

Your eyes on him.

Bucky was a coward. He hid behind his can, sipping the liquid as he drank the sight of you as well.

Impeccable.

"Evening," he nodded.

"Hi," you answered.

"How was your trip?" he asked, even though he knew.

You smiled, probably thinking the same thing. "Good. You know that," you shrugged your shoulders, and had Bucky's chest been this tight since he left home? Since you walked in?

Since you smiled, maybe?

"I liked the pictures at the party," he drank another sip, then put the can on the counter. "You and your friend looked nice with those costumes on."

"You said I looked, and I quote, wow, she's nerdy AND she's silly."

"It was a nerdy, silly costume."

Your smile widened. "Please. He's your favorite character and I know it."

"He is," Steve agreed, looking between you and Bucky with amusement. "It did look nice, though."

"Thanks, babe."

"Now—you two behave. I'm going outside to check on Tony. Gotta make sure he's not being, too—you know."

"Himself?" you offered.

"Exactly!" Steve kissed your cheek. "See you outside. Wait—did you come alone or did you come with Yelena?"

"Yelena."

Shit, Bucky thought. "Cool," Steve smiled because he wasn't Bucky, and he wasn't currently one of the people on Yelena's Shit List. "'m gonna look for her."

And with that, he left you two alone.

It’s tense, electric, and Bucky wants to swim in the palpable air.

“How’s your back doing?” he asked.

A week ago, you sent him a picture of your sunburnt back. Your face winced at his question, and then you turned around, taking off your coat and—fuck, fuck him.

Backless dress. It’s fine.

“Damn,” he whistled. Not because he could still see the marks of bikini on your back, but because he remembered what tracing the muscles of your shoulders with his tongue felt like. He cleared his throat as you turned back around. “Not hurting anymore, at least?”

“Nah. Lena’s been helping with that,” you answered.

“The great Lena.”

You scoffed, and walked until you leaned on the counter along with him. “She’s not pissed with you.”

“I highly doubt that.”

You had no arguments for him.

Bucky smiled, and you mirrored him. He missed seeing that in person. “You look nice,” he commented.

It was more than just habit—he liked the outfit on you, and the blush on your cheeks tasted like cherry on the top.

There was the pretty black thing around your eyes, and Bucky wondered if you made it that sharp because it killed him more. Pierced through his soul—your eyes always looked at him with so much swimming under them.

“Thanks,” you said. The drink twirled in your hand. “Is Nat around?”

Outch. Bucky’s smile stiffened. “Nope.”

“It’s just—I still have her jacket. It’s in Lena’s car.” The tapping of your rings against the glass told Bucky your next words were true. “Wasn’t trying to be a dick.”

“Okay.” He believed you. “She went to Moscow to watch one of her first students perform.”

“Oh. That’s really nice.”

“If you don’t care about being in Moscow on late December—sure. Sounds lovely,” Bucky laughed behind his cup.

“Call me crazy but I just feel like someone like Nat is immune to the cold. Does that make sense? I just can’t bring myself to see her bothered about something like minus fifteen degrees.”

“She isn’t. I’ve never seen her bothered by any weather, actually.”

“Stronger and cooler than we’ll ever be,” you muttered, sipping your drink. It sounded like an ironic and fun bite, but Bucky knew the feeling underneath it—the Romanoff effect.

It’s the thing that stands between you two, after all.

“She’s an alien,” Bucky whispered to you. Your eyes lifted, meeting his. “Or a secret agent.” The ghost of a smile appeared on the left corner of your mouth. “Let’s not dive into all the reasons we can’t be a Romanoff.”

Bucky hated to look at you now and realize what you were holding back.

“I don’t think I’d wanna be one, anyway,” you said eventually.

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” The smile might’ve been hidden, but you made no effort to withhold with your look. “She’s not into horses,” you whispered, as if telling a secret, and Bucky walked towards you in instinct. “I can’t live without them. Not even to be an ex-dancer with a top secret job and the prettiest hair.”

“Your hair is pretty,” he retorted, gaining the smile as result.

“Thanks,” you chuckled.

“Plus—I’m sure you could pull off red if you wanted to,” he said, then closed his mouth shut.

It was too easy to get lost in it.

Not even two minutes in your presence and Bucky had walked closer, complimented you twice, and he was about to do it again.

He swallowed around the feeling of your eyes ranking up and down his body.

“I’m gonna go see if Tony’s embarrassed himself again,” ‘cause I’m a coward. From this distance — or lack thereof — Bucky smelled your perfume. “Wanna join me?”

One week without it and he was now drowning in it.

“Sure,” you shrugged. “Let me just get the beer I came for.”

Everything he carried as okay crumbled more and more with your steps, but Bucky embraced it all night long.

Watching you laugh and feeling it like a punch to the stomach because all he could see was you bathed in sunlight, laughing at his morning hair dressed in his shirt? It was fine.

The way you sometimes leaned in closer so your scent was all over his space? Fine, too.

(Lies.)

All night long, he ignored the longing glances.

It was a hard task to fulfil—your eyes and his had magnets after what happened before your trip, and the distance made it that the pull only got stronger.

Through the drinks and overlapping conversations, Bucky tried to focus on what is instead of was.

Instead, he got cornered.

Close to the grill at first, you showed up with your wine glass in hand and pretended to not see him until the last second, then smiled with your wicked ways when he was forced to guide you away from the heat with hands on your elbows.

What he got was your eyes blinking up him, muttering, “‘m sorry. Slipped,” as if Bucky wouldn’t know better.

As if he didn’t see you clear as daylight.

Then, as he wondered why you were playing this game with him again, you did it again when he ran for the kitchen and decided to stay there while Thor made a show of creating spicy cocktails.

You entered the kitchen applauding already, smiling at one of Thor’s nice tricks, and the next thing Bucky knew, he felt your body pressed against his. It was a bit crowded in there. Not enough space for all those grown, broad bodies, but that was no excuse—Bucky had been there for minutes already, but it was on him that you decided to lay rest and watch the show.

“You don’t mind if I sneak in here, do you?”

Bucky minded very much. You knew that. “Not at all.” Maybe this was punishment. A way of you to get back to him, somehow. “He’s got some talent,” he commented, sipping the rest of his drink. “Here, have my spot.”

He left because he knew it was the alcohol.

There was not a mean bone in your body — also a lie — and Bucky recognized the telltale signs of a pissed off you. The lashing out and pettines kind of gave it away.

So he tried to escape.

He managed to stop Tony on the way from one room to another, give him a hug and congratulations, and say he needed to head home.

“Already? Well. I’m not gonna say I’m surprised,” Tony looked happier than Bucky had ever seen. “Rhodey and I have this theory that you might expire if you don’t sniff a book every X amount of hours and your early cue actually puts my guess in advantage, so feel free to skadaddle.” He hugged Bucky again—definitely drunk. “Thanks for coming, Barnes. I don’t say it much, but I’ve grown fond of you.”

It was all in motion.

All Bucky had to do was make it out of that stupid, gigantic mansion and—

“Leaving already?”

Fucking hell.

Bucky turned around to face you, gripping his jacket a little tighter in his hand. He put on a smile. “Yeah. You know me.”

“Sure do,” you chuckled.

“Sorry—I didn’t find you inside to say goodbye.”

The next laugh came accompanied by a roll of eyes. “You really don’t need to lie to me.”

‘You have a tell when you lie. Did you know that? Has anyone ever told you that?’

‘Do I?’

‘You do. It’s adorable.’

“You never told me what my sign is,” Bucky’s smile softened at the memory, but he tensed again when he saw you stepping closer.

“Can’t give that away. That’s important information.” Your step was steady and straight for someone who’s had so much to drink, but then again, your tolerance was kind of high. “Can I ask you for a favor?”

“Sure.”

“Can I get a ride home?”

Are these eyes playing with me or does she really need me? “I thought you came with Yelena.”

You nod, but don’t touch your hair. Maybe you do mean it. “I did. She’s not leaving ‘till the party’s over, though, and I have training tomorrow.”

Plausible. Bucky knew how much you hated to train with little to no hours of sleep. “Yeah. Sure.” What hard could a ride do?

The smile you gave him was so genuine that he almost felt like letting his guard down. “Thanks, Buck.”

“Of course, sweetheart,” he needed to stop being so full of himself. “Let’s go.”

It’s almost unbelievable what a little bit of your charm or smile would do to Bucky.

He got inside that car without a worry in his heart.

She just needs a ride. Chill, Buck.

The way his guard is disarmed by every single glance of yours out of the window instead of the chatty, witty remarks he expected.

The drive home happened without much conversation. This part you two already knew.

It’s how you got close, in the first place.

You two existed well in silence. Sharing space was enough—comfortable.

As it was, you picked the music. Bucky asked about your course, which you were ‘okay’ with, as always. You asked about his few students, his phD. Work.

Small talk.

It lasted all the way until your house.

When Bucky parked and said goodnight, he was examining your eyes in search for the alcohol and that glint he saw a few times during the night. Instead, he found a reflection—there was a search in yours, and his stomach tightened.

All the things we could’ve been…

“I’ll walk you to your doom,” his voice came out as nothing but a whisper. The air felt thicker, somehow. “C’mon.”

You nodded, and opened your own door before he walked out of his side and reached yours.

The light of your porch lit up after sensing presence, and Bucky was thinking about how to unglue his tongue from the roof os his mouth and whisper something plausible, something, just something when you said it:

“Remember the last time you came here?”

Just like that.

He paused, hesitating his next step. “I mean…”

Yes. His whole body felt in alert, and a part of Bucky felt glad to still face your back because he imagined his face looking very stupid right now.

The last time he’d been here the two of you watched movies. Had dinner. Three bottles of wine, and two shots of a special tequila you had as a gift from your best friend’s trip to Mexico. Then, when you were showing Bucky pictures of you and friends on a trip to the beach, you two had been a little too close.

A little too personal.

That time, there was no alcohol to blame.

No party, no high, nothing.

Just that thickness hanging heavy in the air and the notion that both of your bodies emanted so much heat it was palpable. It felt palpable.

Much like now.

“I never thought I’d have the guts to do what I did.”

Your confession felt like a caress. They broke him out of his stupor. Reaching the door, you turned around, facing Bucky.

He wanted to be a good guy and wanted to abide by what you had asked him of staying away, but it proved difficult when everything pointed towards the fact that you wanted this. He wasn’t crazy. “Why are you telling me this?”

Both your shoulders shrugged. “I don’t know.” You did. Bucky could see your eyes knew what the previous words meant. “‘Cause I’m still a bit tipsy? Or maybe—we just—we danced around it. Since we met. All the flirting and the kissing at Steve’s house parties.” Lower, you whispered. “I felt like a teenager.”

Goosebumps rose at the back of Bucky’s neck, and it felt like a confession of his own.

Despite being well over his thirties, he knew exactly what you meant.

You went on. “It was kinda exhilarating, I’m not gonna lie. I told my best friend about you and I kept thinking to myself ‘I never got this giddy when I was younger, what the hell is wrong with me’. And… I had convinced myself it was unilateral. You know? Just you indulging me in all my want.”

“That’s not true.” He couldn’t help but interrupt. “You know that’s not true.”

“I do now.”

He fidgeted with his car keys, deliberating if pushing was the right choice or not. “Where are you going with this?” came out after a heartbeat of silence.

“I don’t know. I just—I spent all night today trying to avoid the fact that all I wanted was to drag you back here.”

All he could do was whisper your name.

You weren’t finished. “And because of what? Because of me? Because I can’t deal with something that I already knew?”

Bucky barely has time to think of an answer before—

“What if I want it again?”

Just another whisper. It had his feet moving before he could put words in back in his mouth, then out of it. “You know my answer to that.”

The widened eyes surprised him, just as much as his answer apparently surprised you. “Really?”

“Really. But it’s not fair. Because you say this now, but I’m not sure you’ll feel the same tomorrow. You’re tipsy—”

“—you know that’s not true.”

“Still. You drank.”

A single pause from you, but Bucky knew this was a lost battle.

“Are you trying to find excuses? It’s okay if you don’t want to,” you said.

“I’m not. I’m trying to be rational. I don’t want you hating me tomorrow morning” it was very true. “I like our truce.”

“I do, too. But I also really like the way you’re the only man who’s ever been able to handle me. To do everything I wanted. I also really like the way I barely had to ask for things, and the way you gave them to me when I did. The way you stretched me out, and took no pity, and made me see how far even I can go. How much—”

Some things took a lot of effort, and others took none at all.

Pushing your body against the nearest surface was easy.

Muscle memory, even if he did it only a few times.

More than anything, Bucky liked the way you took work.

More than just with this—meeting you had taken work, getting to know more of you required gaining your trust. Unlike most people, you preferred to keep your life and energy private until someone proved they deserved to know more.

In bed, Bucky liked how none of it was performative.

Maybe he should count himself lucky—you fit him like a puzzle piece, if he was being honest, in ways very few people in his life did.

Steve, Natasha, you.

Winning him over was difficult, too.

All night long, Bucky let it all go.

He knew it was unfair the way he stared at you all along—Bucky saw in your eyes the way you dived in his eyes just like he dived into your body.

When he cupped your cheeks and your nails clinged to the back of his neck, Bucky knew how this would go.

Your kisses tasted like I’m gonna hate you tomorrow, and when you moan in his ear, his name coming out gravely and hoarse, Bucky heard the silent plea underneath. It’s hard not to spill empty words—Bucky bit his tongue so hard, so many times, that he wondered how he never tasted blood.

He preferred your taste, anyway.

It overpowered everything else, as always.

When all the clothes were on the floor and he pinned you against the nearest surface — your counter, just like the last time — Bucky wanted to slap himself instead of your ass.

“Stop starin’ at it.”

He slapped it. “You like it when I stare.”

“I like it better when you use your hands. C’mon, Bucky—”

“Fuckin’ impatient, as always.” He adored it. Your lust and his mixed in the air, clouding his thought. “I’ll give anything you want. You want my hands, baby?”

“Yes, goddamn it—”

“Then kneel for me.”

The sight of you on your knees between his legs would be his undoing for how long? He couldn’t tell, or bring himself to care. He held onto your hair, gripped your neck thigh just the way you liked it, and let himself feel your lips wrapping around him like velvet; it’s a deja vu, as well as foreboding—Bucky loved to have you on your knees because you loved it, and after he came so hard all his senses mingled into one, it was a pleasure to pick you up and drag you to your room whilst feeling what undoing him did to you.

“Look at this, baby. Look at how fuckin’ wet you are for me—”

“Couldn’t cum the way I wanted to—please Buck, please—”

“Shhh, I’ll do it. ‘m gonna fuck you all night, baby.”

The neighbours must have heard it that day.

It was more than the first time—it was pent up frustration, desire, heartache, longing; Bucky did what he promised, and you gave back just as good as you received.

There was a pause for food and drinks somewhere around five in the morning. Not many words were spoken during that time—the glass windows let in the faint light of the sky changing colors outside, and in your kitchen, Bucky just wrapped you in his arms and fed you the food you cooked for both. The whispered conversation was meaningless, but as warm as your bodies tangled together.

“You think we’ll have many more Stark parties to attend now?”

“Buck—that man will use any excuse to throw a party. Yes. We will.”

“Don’t laugh at me, he’s gonna be married now!”

“Married doesn’t mean dead.”

“Eh. For lots of folks it does.”

“Since when is Tony ‘folk’?”

“...you make a solid point.”

“Always do.”

When the first rays of sunshine came through, Bucky woke you up with his head between your legs.

Your thighs were reason for worship, he always said. And worship he did; Bucky saw the bruises already forming from the previous hours and admired his words with his hands as well as his mouth. He licked his way up, and when you finally squirmed awake, he was already pulling your sleeping shorts down so he could taste you before anything else that day.

The sound of his name on your lips first thing in the morning would follow him for the rest of the day.

It was also the only sound he’d hear for a few days to come.

+++++++ ++++++++

Even Wanda admitted him to be right when he said it wasn't really his fault. At least, not only his.

At least, not only his.

There was a lot involved in this.

Desire alone couldn’t sustain a relationship. He knew that better than anyone.

His desire for you alone could power a whole city—Bucky looked at you and the entirety of New York could have electricity to run for a fortnight; that’s how he felt.

The thing is—he also felt that way about other people. Few people, but still.

All it took was one Natasha and a few memories of Steve to stain what you two built over a year.

“You two worked better as friends,” Steve offered during brunch at Bucky’s apartment. Steve enjoyed offering his opinions, requested or not, and Bucky appreciated him for it.

“So do we.” The unspoken and yet, we were an item for over a decade hangs in the air. “Wish things were that easy, huh?”

“Nothing’s easy in life.”

Bucky laughed out loud at that. “Well, why don’t you preach.”

Steve smiled back, looking at him that way. “You know it’s true.” He scraped the rest of his food, and handed Bucky his plate. “I mean—take me and Sam, for example.”

“What about you and Sammy?”

“We—ugh, he hates it when you call him that.”

“I’m well aware.”

“You’re a douche,” Steve nudged Bucky with his hip, laughter stifled in respect for his man. “We shouldn’t have worked, right? I mean, we’re pretty similar except for all the ways that we’re not. He couldn’t handle the fact that I had non-monogamous relationships when we met ‘cause he didn’t understand it. Plus, he saw me the way most people do; as this goody-two-shoes that has unbreakable morals—”

“You do, though.”

“—and that’s, like, a republican or something.”

“Disgusting.”

“I know!” Steve sighed loudly, and prompted himself up on the counter. Bucky continued cleaning the dishes and did not think about how you loved doing that as well. “But then, we started getting to know each other better, bit by bit… and it worked out.”

“I’m confused.”

Steve turned to look at him. “Why?”

“Are you trying to say me and her are gonna work our shit our, or that we’re not?”

Steve hummed. “You know—I don’t even know?” He grimaced. “Sorry. I’m tryna say that whatever will be, will be.”

“Motivating.”

“I’m serious! If she wants to come here later tonight to talk, something’s gonna happen and soon you’ll know what.” Steve’s smile changed, and Bucky recognized it as his you smile. “She’s gonna be on her best behaviour.”

“What do you know that I don’t?” Bucky narrowed his eyes.

“Nothing much. Just that she’s been revaluating. She feels bad about ghosting you these days.”

“Really? ‘Cause from the way she ignored me every time she crossed my path I’d have thought she hated the guts outta me.”

“You know that—” Steve got interrupted by the sound of the phone ringing.

As always, Bucky knew who it was just by the sight of his eyes gleaming at the screen. While Bucky finished wiping the counter, Steve talked in his Sam tone about going back home in a few. He threw in a “Sam says hi,” to which Bucky replied with “Hi Sam, please answer my damn email!”; the laughter on the other side of the line could be heard even from a few steps away.

When Steve leaves, Bucky retreats to his safe haven.

His apartment is nothing much—small enough that he can clean on his own, but big enough to fit a study, a nice living room and a kitchen that’s not mingled with everything else. It’s been six years since he moved and only now Bucky realized he truly felt at home here. The staircase on the balcony outside where he sat for a smoke, sometimes with a book in hand or a cup of coffee, it felt like his place.

All of his home had tiny little memories of all the people that made up his heart painting the furniture and the walls.

He goes to his study for his two hours of research, writing and editing on his phD paper, but his mind is stuck elsewhere.

The phone call he got this morning which made him call for Steve keeps coming back, much like the dreams which are nothing but memories; Bucky saw you around campus these days without a word to spare for him, but inside his four walls, everything came back to him.

One single call and everything transformed into a hurricane.

The screen stared back at him, the numbers glaring holes into his skin.

21:32.

He ignored the way his stomach tightened even more.

She’s coming isn’t the thought that makes him anxious. It’s been months since she stepped foot here makes his palms clammy.

What had she said? ‘Right after work’, those were her words.

Bucky rubs both hands over his face, turns off everything in his office and heads for a shower.

Steve was right, he guessed. Whatever will be, will be.

“Hey, Buck.”

“Hey.”

“...Thanks for replying to my text.”

“You don’t gotta thank me.”

“I—yeah, I kinda do.”

“Hmmm. Why?”

“You know why. ‘Cause I need to apologize—fuck, I’m horrible at this.”

“You’re doing better than I did most of my life tryna apologize for stuff.”

“...of course you’d make me laugh.”

“I like your laugh.”

“I’m sorry, Buck.”

“...for what happened? Or…”

“For these days.”

A win. Bucky had counted that as a win. “Okay. Apology accepted.”

“Thanks… Can I come over later tonight?”

That had Bucky pausing. He almost knocked the pan out of the stove, because an apology came a long way, but an invitation, one for his house out of all places, was unexpected. “To my house?” he confirmed.

“Yeah. Right after work—I have a couple of seminars in the afternoon, then I have my client at the gym, can I go there after that?”

“I mean. Sure.”

“...’Sure’? Was that, like, ‘if you want, whatever’, or was that, like ‘’course you can even if I don’t know why the hell you’d want to’?”

It had been his turn to laugh. “The second option.”

“Okay. Then I’ll be there later tonight. Around ten? Ten thirty?”

“I’ll be here. It’s Saturday.”

“‘Kay. Cool. Is it ok if I bring a bottle of wine? Just one! Just—You know I’m nervous. It’s just so I don’t go to my cocoon or whatever.”

“Sweetheart. It’s ok. You can bring whatever you want.”

‘Bring whatever you want’ — why the fuck had he said that?

He’s unsure. He’s anxious, and excited, and his mind stays like this all night long until he hears the buzzing of you outside waiting to be let in.

Whatever will be, will be, Steve had said, but it’s sad when all that someone wants is one outcome.

He opens the door to find you outside in your work-out clothes. “Hey,” Bucky steps to the side to let you in, and watches as you take off your shoes and puts your gym bag on the floor.

“Hey,” your smile is weak, and tentative. “Is it a lot to ask if I can shower before we—sit, and whatever?”

Bucky shakes his head, and tries his hardest to push the images of you inside his bathroom naked out of his mind. “Not at all. You know where everything is,” he also holds back any stupid jokes or flirtatious comments that fall so naturally to the tip of his tongue.

While you shower, Bucky sets the station on the balcony outside. He brings two chairs to face the tiny table, brings the glasses, the pie Steve baked earlier. He sets everything on the table and rolls a purple haze for himself because if there’s one thing he needs right now, is to fucking chill.

That’s how you find him—with the corkscrew to open the wine in hand, and a blunt hanging between his lips.

Bucky mentally curses at the fucking scent you bring from the inside.

Peach. Wild berries.

“Do you take your stuff with you everywhere?” he asks before he can stop himself.

You frown. “What stuff?”

Bucky loves how big your thighs look in those shorts. He looks away to say, “Your creams and lotions and—skincare shit. All that.”

You laugh, sitting in one of the chairs, and you hold the bottle for him to open. “Not everywhere. Just when I go to the gym.”

“Hmmm.”

“Why?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “Dunno. You always smell the same.”

“I like the way my stuff smells.”

“I can tell,” he chuckles.

“It was a gift from one of my best friends—you remember Nyx?”

He has to dig in his memory a little bit, but he finds it. “The one you met on your trip?”

You nod. “Yeah. She’s brazilian—their stuff smells amazing.”

“I can tell.”

Three words only, and the air in his small balcony shifts from light to heavy. Sticky. Honey sweet.

Instead of asking why you’re here and rushing it all, he lets you pour the wine into the glasses. He goes for small talk for now. “How’s your week been?”

“Fucking cold. I hate this time of the year,” the way you pout when you’re angry makes him pissed off. Bucky never wanted to do something so stupid and cheesy as kissing someone’s frown away. “The snow melting’s so fucking incovenient.”

“That it is.”

“And your papers? Still ripping your hair out?”

Bucky runs a hand through his hair; “Still have some left,” he takes out the lighter from his pocket and sets the thing between his lips on fire.

As the smoke fills his lungs, Bucky breathes easier. It’s ironic—but then again, so is the fact that your presence both calms and electrifies every inch of him.

“I gotta tell you—I thought you’d be one of those unfortunate suckers who lose all of their glorious hair by the time they’re thirty five—”

“I’m literally thirty nine,” he laughs.

“See!? Exceeding expectations.”

Small talk also exceeds his expectations.

At least, it does with you.

Other people? Bucky would rather not exchange a single word with.

You?

Half a bottle of wine goes in the blink of an eye. Sober him had clammy, sweaty hands, and an agitated leg that bounced up and down like a child who’s high on sugar. Tipsy and high Bucky focus only on the now, on the curve of your nose and how beautiful your hair looks underneath the street lights.

Even you indulge in the transcendental offer that is something to clear the mind, or maybe make it foggy.

Not that he minds sharing—Bucky sips your wine, you take puffs of his blunt, and he appreciates the way your fingers hold it between your lips.

He really likes your lips.

Both of them — the wine and the weed — have their expected outcome; so much that when you drop the bomb he’s been waiting for, Bucky barely feels his heart leaping out of his throat. It’s more of a skip; a small jump, if you will.

It comes after a lull in silence where you two are finishing off the cigarette, and he’s a little lost in the way Alpine curls in his lap when you say, “I think I know why we never worked out. Like… properly.”

Bucky’s fingers still in Alpine’s fur, and the cat nibbles on his hand to get him back at his job of petting. “Do ya?”

“Yeah.” The tilt on your chin tells him it’s true. It’s your little tilt of ‘I’m an expert at this topic’, so he figures this is what you must’ve spent those days doing—ignoring him in favor of thinking meticulously about the two of you, from every angle possible. “I mean; it’s pretty obvious, in the end. At least it must be to everyone else. But I hate it the all the same.”

“It’s not obvious to me.”

“No?”

“No,” he wished it was, many, many times. “Enlighten me.”

With a nod, you lay the words on the table. “I want you all to myself.”

Only six words, and they manage to knots every inch of his insides. He feels them everywhere; inside and out, from the tip of his cold toes to every last strand of hair he still has.

When he answers, it’s only a single breath. Your name, which sounds like a plea.

“I wanted that since I first saw you. It's those eyes—god, I swear to god only the skies above know how much I fucking love your eyes. And the way you look at me, Buck... When you kissed me at that party for the first time, I couldn't stop staring at them, remember? They're beautiful. Looking at them... It’s like looking in a magic pond… there’s so much hidden. All I could think about was: I want him. I want those eyes on me, always. I want him all to myself. But I can’t have that, right?”

“Sweetheart, I’m not pie.” It comes out exasperated, and Bucky hates how tired he feels of it, but he’ll be damned if he loses you like he almost lost Steve once because of that same stupid idea.

“What?”

“I’m not pie, love. Just because you get me, and someone else does too, it doesn’t mean they’re taking a piece outta me that you’ll never get it back. You do have all of me. When I’m with you, it’s all me.” He gestures from his head to his toe. “Right now? All of me. Every inch right here is yours. My mind’s thinking about you. I wanna talk to you. I wanna feel you. Does that make sense?”

It’s funny to think that sometimes, you can see the effect words have.

When he looks at you, Bucky sees the realization dawning bit by bit—the puzzle pieces are almost visible as they fit in your mind.

“You want all of me?”

The question catches him so off guard that it almost hurts.

Had it really been so difficult to see?

Bucky swallows the knot that your question formed in his throat and nods. “I do.” Always did. “Since I fuckin’ met you—d’you think I do this all the time? This aggravating, stupid—fucking mating dance?” God, how he loves the sound of your laugh. “I hate the excpectations, and the unspoken rules and whatnot; you realize that you made me go to not one, not two, but three events last year? Three. I barely leave my house, sweetheart.”

Gnawing on your bottom lip means you’re nervous, but not about thoughts—about what you want to do next. “I’m a really jealous person,” the whisper says I’m confessing, and I’m sorry about that. “I don’t know how I’m gonna act in the future, Buck.”

“You’re a grown woman, I’m a grown man. We could work it out, couldn’t we?”

“We could. But I…” you trail off, the words lost in the night, and he waits. “I don’t wanna lose you completely.”

“I can assure you that the only way I’ll be completely out of your life is if you actively kick me out. Use the words I don’t want you around anymore or something like that. Otherwise? I’ll just wait. I’ll keep coming back.”

“Bucky,” it comes out breathless, and Bucky wants to throw the table that separates you two out of the balcony and onto the street down below. “These days were miserable.”

When your lip trembles, Bucky thinks fuck it, and gets up. Alpine protests, he apologizes, but without any heat to it.

Kneeling down in front of you, Bucky searches your face for any shadow of doubt. Any lingering trace of pain, or uncertainty, and when he finds none of those, his hands come up to cup your cheeks the way he loves to do.

“I hate when you’re miserable.” Bucky hates how hard it is to hold back, too—the cheesy, honey sweet stuff that comes to his mind whenever you’re around are too much, but the dem is broken now and when you lean on his touch, Bucky knows you’re both doomed. “I want you happy, sweetheart.”

“I’m happy when I’m with you.” Another whisper. Another confession.

He smiles at that, and watches as you smile back. “Let me make you happy, then?”

For both of your lucks, Bucky has enough strength to hold you when you throw your body on him. He’s not a physical person like you — carrying books all the time holds no weight to what you do in the gym — but he has just enough to pick you up and carry you to where you should be.

He has enough in him to worship your body like he dreamt all week, and this time, with no worries about whether you’ll be there in the morning or not.

Bucky drenches you in him—sweat, kisses, sticky bodies clinging together until they’re nothing but one.

He sees the happiness in you, and feels it reflected in him.

He’ll make it last, for as long as you let him. As long as you wish him to.

↳ my inbox 💌 | tip jar ♡ | ✒️ masterlist ↲

584 notes · View notes

bones4thecats · 9 months

Note

NRC teachers as parents to teen!mc

A/N: I made this more the NRC teachers as parents, but I did mention a few teen-related things inside of them, hope that's okay! Apologies for not getting this out any sooner, Anon! I do hope this is up to your standards though. Since I haven't really written these guys before, I hope this isn't too OOC! Enjoy!

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●

🪶 He never really did care for younger teens, despite how 'generous' and 'kind' he swayed himself to act and seem like, they just differed with him too much.

🪶 It takes a fairly long while before this crow is able to trust another being with any information, unless that being was something of usage to him, like you were.

🪶 At first, Crowley just wanted you to help him out with 'a few' things, but after each and every trial he handed you, you just got back up and took on even more responsibilities.

🪶 When he eventually trusts you, he adores it when you call him 'father' or anything relating to that.

🪶 If you could somehow use any kind of magic, he would teach you specific spells, if not, then he would just help you in certain subjects that he is quite knowledge in, like history of magic, practical magic, etc.

🪶 Crowley is a decent father figure, and a, equally decent real father, he can just get caught up in so much, so it's best to reel him in at certain points

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●

🐾 Crewel is... how do I say this without sounding fairly rude?

🐾 He's the kind of dad that would be super protective and would definitely attempt in separating you from those he deems as 'bad influences to his puppy'

🐾 He's a difficult person to work with at times, and he'd be the second to admit it (being Trein of course)

🐾 Divus would obviously get you the most elegant coats and clothes he can find, from boots to the most gorgeous looking fur coats you'll ever see in Twisted Wonderland!

🐾 Normally, Crewel wouldn't bring his dogs (I hc him with having two) to the college, as they don't get along with Trein's cat, Lucius, very well, but when they did come by one day and he saw you interact with the two pups, he just smiled and chuckled at the antics you three were getting into

🐾 He may not be the best dad when it comes to emotions, but he definitely is good when it comes to listening, and asking him to get you things that may seem embarrassing to other fathers (like pads if you're a female)

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●

🏆 This guy is the typical 'sports dad' that is seen in a lot, and I mean a lot of media

🏆 If you were to ever do any kind of sports, he would fully support you and would definitely be the kind of dad to have you skip your own practices, and have you do them with him

🏆 Vargas is a hot-blooded person by heart, so if you are his biological child, you would obviously inherit that from him, which would be a nightmare for the rest of his fellow staff members whenever you visited him

🏆 For some reason, I can see him doing the same as his Disney counterpart by eating a ton of eggs and such, and because he cares about physical fitness, he'd have you do it (as long as you weren't like allergic or something, he isn't that bad of a person)

🏆 If you were to be adopted by this coach, you'd be in-I'd say the 4th best hands on this list, which I'll get into more at the bottom!

🏆 He obviously cares about you, but his emotional range is fairly small, so bear with him whenever he seems upset when you make a mistake. It's his 'resting face'

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●

🐈‍⬛ Trein is the best hands you can be in when it comes to being the 'child of' in any of these scenarios

🐈‍⬛ Because he already has experiences with anything child-related from raising his two daughters, this cat-lover would be able to handle any challenge you handed him

🐈‍⬛ (for the fems!) If you were to have anything related to periods and such, he'd be right by your side helping you all the way through your pain, and don't forget his two daughters!

🐈‍⬛ They'd by right by your side as well, helping you very amazingly, as they learned what to do from their father's example

🐈‍⬛ If he cannot be there to comfort you or anything like that, he'd normally allow Lucius to be there to watch over you, like a sports game? Lucius! Play? Lucius! Really anything

🐈‍⬛ Because of how close you are to this imposing teacher, Lucius would be right by your side a lot, which if you're the MC/Yuu, would get a few cat fights to be initiated from their shared possessiveness of you

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●

(I do know that Same technically isn't an NRC teacher, but I like adding him in, so :p)

🃏 Sam is the literal definition of the 'best dad on earth'

🃏 He is quite a fun guy at times, and if you are related through blood, you share the go-lucky and charismatic personality

🃏 This man would get you into his 'spiritual connections' faster than any kid falling back asleep after turning off their alarm clock

🃏 Yes, he's that good of a salesperson

🃏 You're the only one, and I mean the only one, who is safe from being called a 'little imp', instead though, he'd call you his 'little clover', even if you hated it, he wouldn't stop calling you it

🃏 Handling teenager things is quite hard for him, as he was kind off socially distanced because of his interests, but seeing you either in emotional pain or physical pain hurts him and makes him want to just wrap around you in a bear hug and never let go

🃏 He had be quite protective of you, especially when around the other spirits he knows. Like Eliza for example, during the wedding event, he made sure she didn't choose you, as you were A; to young for it (in his eyes lol) and B; he wanted you to marry on your own will

🃏 You're definitely close to the spirits he contacts, which scares the other students when a shadow randomly chases another down the hallway

❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•❅───✧��✦❅✧───❅•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅

My rankings for best to worst father ; NRC teachers

Mozus Trein

Sam

Divus Crewel

Ashton Vargas

Dire Crowley

❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅

#Twisted Wonderland #Twst #Night Raven College #NRC #NRC Staff #Night Raven College Staff #Twisted Wonderland x Reader #Twst x Reader #Night Raven College Staff x Reader #NRC Staff x Reader #GN! Reader #MC! Reader

283 notes · View notes

thehistoriangirl · 5 months

Note

Hey bestieee can I get uhhhhh.......what u think vik would like to get as a present for the holidays and what he would give reader in return

Hi bestie! Of course ^^ here is it, hope you like it <3

Loving Gifts

Viktor x Fem!(Artist!)Reader----1.2K----SFW

Tags: Established Relationship | Domestic Fluff | Slightly Suggestive at the end |

A dry, cold winter air flowed across the wide boulevards in the Commercial District, with Viktor adjusting the cozy red blanket around his neck to cover up his mouth and nose. With the sky rapidly tinted orange, he saw the Christmas lightning starting to turn on in each of the buildings around him.

He leaned against a wall, consulting the list tucked inside his pocket.

-Dress (?)

-Custom jewelry -> next anniversary.

-Set of pastels (?)

Viktor had been cracking his brain to think about a gift for you ever since the coming of autumn. Last year, he had crafted you a lamp in the shape of a cherry tree, the one that was next to your drawing table, sending pink and golden hues around your atelier like in a perpetual dusk.

This year, however, he had no idea what to give you, which made him feel quite anxious every time he entered a store, watching around the shelves to see if something caught his attention, like a call, only to end up with empty hands and another blow of gelid wind as he walked toward other business.

What if he gave you something you didn’t like? He could imagine your eyes dropping slightly and the tense smile expanding your lips. For all the time you’d been together, Viktor had acquired the ability to read you like his favorite book.

He already had a little custom music box half-finished in his lab, kept inside the only drawer that held a key so you wouldn’t find it those times you liked to help him clean his workstation, waiting for Viktor to finish his job for the day. He snuck inside the Music Faculty to ask for a recording of the song that got you both together at the Academy Anniversary Foundation Gala two years ago when he gathered his courage to ask you for a dance.

Viktor smiled at the memory, the characteristic smell of oil and wood familiar as he entered the arts and crafts store you frequent, many of those visits with his arm interlocked in yours.

The saleswoman smiled at him. “Hello, Sir, what can I help you with?” she said. “Is the Ma'am sick?”

“Ah—” he hung his lips ajar at the name ‘Ma’am’, because you two weren’t married, though you never corrected her, so, why would he? “No. I came here for her… eh, her Christmas gift.”

“Oh, of course!” She responded with a wide beam; her brown eyes squinted. “Do you have something in mind?”

Viktor looked around the clean and organized store, with wooden pencils and brushes, lines of canvas shown behind the counter, and a thousand rainbows shown in sets of crayons, pencils, pastels, and oil paintings.

“Yes. One of your set of pastels, please.” Viktor tapped his fingers along the handle of his cane, looking at the people walking hand by hand passing by him. He sighed, consulting his pocket watch. It was strange the way he’d grown to miss you, just comparable to how he yearned to keep inventing, to keep creating.

“Can you wrap it with newspaper?” he added. “She’s rather… curious, you see.” If you saw a box wrapped in gift paper, there was no doubt you’d start to peek. He thought you were just as mischievous as a cat. And just as adorable.

“Of course, Sir.” For some minutes, the empty store filled with the sound of paper folding and tape being cut. “Here you have it. Careful, there. It’s heavier than it looks.”

“Thank you.” Viktor put the gift under his free arm, walking out of the store once he had paid.

The air hit even colder now that he had imagined how warm your embrace would be once he arrived home.

“But first,” he mumbled to himself, accommodating his beret and scarf before restarting his walk up the hill. “Let’s hide this in the lab.”

*~*~*~*

You put the photograph aside after watching it for the thousandth time, gently sliding it inside a book as you continue to paint the last details of Eve’s dress, the patches of clothes sewn into the fabric twin to the ones in little Viktor’s pants.

He looked so happy, standing between his parents with pride—you hoped you could mimic the childish delight on his face with your painting. Even if you weren’t good at restoring photos, why shouldn’t you replicate the image in your personal style?

Viktor had shown you the photo after some months of dating, getting it out of his notebook with its edges winkled and the paper thin for being held so much; the brown surface dotted with multiple stains. And yet, love kept emanating from it.

Now, Viktor would have the memory on a bigger canvas he could hang whenever he wished. You hoped he liked the gift, though it’ll be quite obvious wrapped under the tree once the painting was ready—you wished to give him only the best, just as he did with you.

The brush slid against the canvas, wrist swaying to paint the thin decorative lines of the wallpaper inside his childhood home, the edge of a cold hearth behind the family tree, with Viktor sitting on a chair in the middle of his parents, the familiar toy boat in his lap.

A smile grazed your face, looking at the round face of the small boy, amber eyes shining even in the now dim photograph. You were blessed with that gaze, too, every time he talked about his new projects and ideas, with the lamp on the nightstand giving his eyes a shine that could rival the stars.

Even when Viktor looked at you, a smile so big you could his adorable tooth gap.

You heard the entrance door creak open, settling your brush down in a vase with water.

“Moje láska, I’m home,” Viktor said, his voice muffled through the closed door of your studio. “Where are you, hmm?”

“I’m going!” You almost interrupted him, carrying the canvas toward the far end of the room, facing the closed window.

Viktor was expecting you in the hallway, an eyebrow raised upon seeing your hands, and fingers stained with paint.

“Working still, my muse?” he muttered playfully, his hands intertwined with yours as he pulled you against him to give you a kiss on the forehead, then another on the cheek, to finally grace your lips with his own.

You smiled, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to give him another, longer, kiss.

“Yes, handsome,” you teased, poking his cheek that was starting to dust with a pink shade.

“Should I let you work, then?” He hummed, his hands on your hips. “Wouldn’t like to delay your duties and get you in trouble.”

“Not at all. I only have to let the paint dry to start with the new layer tomorrow.” Tugging his hand, you pried away from the studio, so Viktor couldn’t ask to see the painting and spoil the surprise. “Come on, let’s have dinner together.”

Viktor chuckled, his thumb smudging a droplet of paint across the reverse of your palm. “Maybe I should bathe you first,” he said, eyes twinkling. “You’re always a masterpiece but today… eh, you have more paint on you.”

You laughed, one of your hands over Viktor’s. “Naughty.” Leaning closer to him, you pretended to smell him, scrunching your nose in a dramatic gesture. “You’re also very stinky.”

“That didn’t stop you from kissing me, did it?” His thumb circled your hip, fingers gently kneading the skin. “Not that I’m complaining, of course.”

“Never,” you giggled.

“Come on, my stinky dove,” Viktor teased, nuzzling his face against your hair. “Let’s draw a bath in the bathtub. I'm quite cold, so perhaps you could warm me up, yes?”

#arcane viktor x reader #viktor x reader #viktor arcane x reader #viktor arcane x you #arcane viktor x you #viktor arcane #arcane viktor #viktor fanfic #arcane fanfic #viktor x you #viktor x fem! reader #viktor x f! reader

121 notes · View notes

ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused · 2 years

Note

Me again ☺️

Literally so excited !!! - could I please request:

Spencer Reid x Wife! Reader?

Spencer and Reader work at the same college as professors and Reid is running on like 10 cups of coffee and no sleep and as he enters the teachers lounge he smacks right into reader? Kinda like a meet-cute?

Thank you!!! You got me obsessed with Spencer?!!

༉‧₊˚. 𝐦𝐞 & 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 || 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

― pairing: spencer reid x plus size wife!reader

― summary: ever since you'd met spencer all those years ago hyped up on caffeine, you've made sure to keep an eye on his sugar consumption.

― warnings: nothing! just some sweet old domestic spencer.

― wc: 988

⋆ a/n: i'm not sorry for making you obsessed with him! i hope i interpreted your request correctly, if not i apologize! there's still wife!reader ofc!! i made her style like penelope's because i figured it'd also be another sweet little addition :] thank you so much for your request and i would definitely like to see what you come up with next!

masterlist | AO3

Sometimes you couldn't help but think that if you and Spencer hadn't worked together, he would implode on himself. It was so easy for his mind to run faster than what his body could handle, and he cared so deeply for his students, so most of the time he would forget to take care of himself.

You remember the day that you had met him, fresh meat as you nervously hung out in the teachers lounge feeling very out of place. Everyone looked so knowledgeable and experienced with their vests and prestigious cardigans, and maybe this was what you should have expected when you had gotten a job at a very luxurious school that only the smartest and brightest could get into. You felt a bit underdressed with your frilly and colorful dress, your hair littered with little hair clips to fit your outgoing personality.

Your classroom looked the same with multiple posters, tinsels, and just wall decor in general. You hoped that it would create a less tense atmosphere for the newcomers, seeing as though you opted to teach a college freshman class. Maybe you had hoped that all of you being in the same boat would make it easier, for you or for them? You didn't know.

As you looked down at the cat watch that sat upon your wrist, your eyes widened. Many of your students would be back from their lunch break. As you internally praised yourself for bringing your own coffee mug, you rushed to leave, but not without bumping into someone first. You could feel your cup get lighter as the luke warm contents inside of it spilled all over the front of the poor man in front of you.

“Oh my god, oh my god!” You panicked, your eyes frantically searched the longue for something to wipe the man down with, your gaze landing on some of the napkins sat upon the side of the sink. You rushed to grab them, apologies already spilling out of your mouth as you pathetically dapped at the man's clothing.

“I am so sorry, I really wasn't watching where I was going, oh God.” You watch the creme colored liquid bleeding onto the napkin. “Just great, exactly what I needed on my first day. How could I already get fired, I haven't even been a teacher for a day! Oh gosh, it took me so long to decorate my classroom.” Your brain was going a mile a minute as you muttered quiet degrading words to yourself.

“Fired?” You heard the man chuckle. You stopped your dabbing to look at him, and you mean really, look at him. He was handsome no doubt, but the bags under his eyes spoke volumes as well as his untamed curly hair added emphasis. The pupils of his eyes were slightly dilated, which was obviously due to the caffeine.

“I just—” You faced palmed in embarrassment, a shy smile on your face as you realized you were now the man's main focus. “Can I get you another cup of coffee?” You asked sheepishly. He deeply chuckled, “I think I'd really like that.”

You didn't know that would have been his tenth cup of the day, but he couldn't say no to you, no matter how much sugar that he had ended up consuming, or the fact that he ended up laying over the toilet as he vomited, but he couldn't stop thinking about the pretty professor in the bright dresses.

Five years later and you're still wearing those type of clothes, only this time a pretty diamond ring had made itself an addition to your outfits. You were currently on your way to his classroom, his students often overjoyed at seeing their favorite history professor. Even though you weren't fond of the criminology class, sometimes even walking in as a dead body was shown, you were fond of Spencer, and that's all that mattered.

It was strange, feeling like you were outside looking into your life through a different point of view as you peered at the man from the same spot you had found yourself after the day you had met him, watching him teach as if he hadn't slept in two days.

As you knocked gently to alert your husband of your presence, many of his students broke out in enthusiastic greetings.

“Hi, Mrs. Reid!” Or “You look pretty today, Mrs. Reid!” As well as your favorite, “Where did you get your shoes from?” You would never not jump at the chance to share your favorite boutique that made the funky, but signature looking shoes.

“Hello, everyone!” You greeted with a smile. “Alright you guys, take these next few minutes to discuss the case.” He turned to you with a large smile, grabbing your hand and pulling you out into the hallway as you wrapped your chunky arms around his neck, watching him closely as you searched for those same dilated eyes.

“What did I tell you about disrupting my class?” He asked teasingly, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your lips. “I know, I know, but I missed you. And I also wanted to make sure that you weren't all sugared out.” He laughed, his lips pulling into that geeky smile of his that you loved so much. His body had definitely softened over the years, but that just meant that there was more of him for you to love. “Trust me, I've only had two today. Ever since you told my kids to keep an eye on me, they've been on my ass about it.”

You raised an eyebrow, a shit-eating grin taking it's place on your face as you twirled a piece of hair around your finger.

“Good, I don't need you vomiting like last time.” He just shrugged, “But I got to talk to you, so it was worth it.” You snorted, pulling him down for a sweet kiss. “Oh, shut up.”

ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02

1K notes · View notes

mxtantrights · 8 months

Text

this is a snippet from the famous dc! au that started with The Greatest Hits [read here] you don't have to read it but a lot of things would make sense if you do

THE GREATEST HITS - the last date

Jason thought the feeling was electrifying. Nothing could beat it. Not pulling off a stunt for a film, nor being nominated for an award. Nothing could beat the feeling of your arms around his waist as you held onto him on the back of his bike. It was like lighting in a bottle, only the bottle was the inside of his chest and you were the lightning. He still can't believe the two of you are together.

The first month you two were dating he thought it was a dream. Every other day he'd wake up in a cold sweat because he thought he had imagined the confession in his head. And he was worried he'd have to be around you knowing that none of it happened. Luckily over the first month you called and texted to remind him that you two were definitely more than friends.

He pulls off to the side of the street and slows the bike down. All he said before you two left was there was a surprise waiting for you downtown. And his bike would be the quickest way there.

When he breaks and drops the kickstand, he can still feel you holding onto him for dear life. He wants to laugh at how cute you're being. But instead he just places his hands over yours.

"We're here sweetheart." he says.

You pick you head up from his back and look around, "Oh."

"If you were scared we could've taken the car." he answers.

You remove your hands and move to get off the bike. One foot on the ground then the next. Your'e standing in front of Jason and he takes off his helmet and adjusts his position so he can face you while leaning on the bike. He places his helmet on the bike handle.

And then you're taking your helmet off. It goes slow motion for him and it feels a little cliche but he doesn't care. Anything could be anything with you.

"No way. I always wanted to ride one of these anyways." you speak.

Jason cocks his brow, "One of what?"

"Oh shut up! J I swear." you laugh and move to hit him over the chest.

But he has cat like reflexes and catches your hand in his and pulls you closer to him. You almost drop you helmet, a shiny chrome red. But you keep a tight hold on it as you recover.

"I can't believe I get to wake up next to you for the rest of my life." Jason says.

You're stunned. You're always stunned when Jason says things like that, and it happens pretty often. Ever since he's moved in it's like he's got a storage box full of lines that knock the wind out of you. Every time, without fail, he makes your knees weak and your chest hot.

"Yeah and that's all because I asked you out first." you say coyly.

"Yes you did. Very proactive on your part hun. Love that for us." he says.

"Why'd you bring me out here anyways?" you ask.

Jason presses a quick kiss to your cheek and lets you go. Then he's getting off the bike completely. He runs over to one of the buildings. It's then you realize how vacant it is, which doesn't feel right. Jason ducks in quickly.

All of a sudden the lights start turning on. Like all the lights. A string of lights in front of you, then the next one, the next and it keeps going as far as your eyes can see. And the decorations are next, which makes you feel giddy.

It was like Christmas in July.

Every building has a window display so intricate and detailed that you can't keep up. You see Jason run back out with a smile on his face.

"What is this?" you ask with a smile.

"One of Dent's big time director buddies was gonna tear down this set but I asked if he wouldn't mind keeping it up for twenty four hours."

"For us?" you ask shocked.

He nods, "All for us baby."

#famous dc!au #jason todd x reader #Jason todd x you #Jason todd fic #Jason todd imagine #dc x you #dc x reader #dc imagine #dc fic #dcblurbs

108 notes · View notes

siilvan · 3 months

Note

The people have spoken, and they want PetraxYuri NSFW Alphabet 🤭

PetraYuri NSFW Alphabet

You're officially to blame for me not working on Bloodsport today. I mean, I probably will after this, but you're to blame for it taking longer lmao. Not complaining, like I said privately, I was already planning an NSFW alphabet for Petra and I love talking about these two 🤭🤭

This will cover NSFW subjects (obviously) and briefly touch on some sensitive subjects like SA, abuse, trauma, and PTSD. If that's not for you, feel free to scroll <3

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex.)

After sex, Petra is the type to want to cuddle and bask in the afterglow of it. She thrives off the intimacy and comfort that comes with laying in his arms, especially since sex is a very vulnerable time for her.

For Yuri, he gets very lazy after sex and just wants to cuddle, so they're compatible on that front. Depending on how they're both feeling, they're either spooning, laying with her head on his chest, or vice versa.

They'll get cleaned up eventually, once she's able to drag herself out of his embrace and he's able to let her go. There's plenty of days where the cleanup actually consists of Petra laying in bed while Yuri takes care of her because, despite her protests and insistence that she can handle it herself, he refuses to let her lift a finger.

B = Body Part (Their favorite body part of theirs and their partner.)

For Petra, her favorite body parts on herself are probably her breasts, hips, and thighs. She's pretty genetically gifted on those fronts (PCOS is a curse, but a blessing in terms of giving her extra fat in all the right places), but she also works hard to maintain them. She's also pretty proud of her ass and toned arms, the latter of which she's worked out religiously while trying to keep up with her team.

On Yuri, one of her favorite things about him is his hands. Dexterous, strong, experienced, and the very things that made her discover she has both a hand kink and a tattoo kink lol. She loves it when he touches her and lets her mind drift off to some unholy places that would get her banned from any church in her country. Also, his arms and chest. Strong and warm, she feels safest in his embrace.

For Yuri, his favorite body part of his would probably be his hands or his mouth. He knows he's skilled with his hands and there's few things he enjoys more than making her come undone with just his touch. He indulges in the way the lightest brush of his fingers can make her shiver. Despite him being a fairly quiet person at all times, he's damn good at using his mouth to drive her closer to the edge, whether it be with words of praise or his mouth on her skin.

On Petra, his favorite things are her breasts and thighs. What can I say? He's a simple man who loves having something to hold and squeeze. She's called her tits "stress balls" in the past and he uses them as such, always grabbing and kneading at them like a cat when they're alone (something she's not complaining about, they get heavy and she's happy to let him support the weight) or using them as a pillow instead. His favorite place to rest his head is her lap, though. At the end of a long day, it's all he wants to do, and he's never one to complain about having them wrapped around his head, either. Again, he's damn good at using his mouth.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum, basically.)

Inside. Something they discovered fairly quickly is that inside is where they both wanted it to go. She's got an IUD that she makes sure to replace when needed and takes the pill, they're smart about it. If not inside, then she prefers to swallow or let him paint her stomach and thighs. The latter is messy, so... they tend to clean up quickly despite the sight of it easily pushing them into another round.

D = Dirty Secret (A dirty secret of theirs.)

Every couple has their secrets... including these two.

The dirty secret they'll always keep close to their chests is how, one time, after they hadn't seen each other in far too long, they just couldn't wait until they were off base to enjoy each other again. It didn't help that they'd be stuck there for at least a few days and they wanted each other now.

A single kiss very quickly led to them hiding in one of the small alleys between buildings, with Yuri holding her up against the wall and Petra biting his shoulder just to keep quiet. It was late, it wasn't like they fucked in broad daylight in the sightline of any poor rookies coming out for a smoke break, but there was a small group that got dangerously close to seeing the pair in a very compromising position.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

For Petra, she's decently experienced. She's unlabeled (with a preference for men), but has slept with both men and women before. After some things that happened in her early teenage years, she was hesitant to approach the subject, but lost her virginity with her ex (mentioned in her backstory) when she was about 21. Since that breakup in 2014, she hasn't been in any relationships, but has had a handful of one night stands over the years – not because she enjoys them, she never has, but she craved any physical comfort she could get during a very dark time of her life.

For Yuri, I firmly believe he's a little less experienced than you'd think. Not because he couldn't easily drag a woman to bed if he wanted to, but he's a busy man who has led a chaotic life. He's had little time and little interest in romance until Petra, but that's not to say he doesn't have any experience at all. He's had one or two longer term partners, a handful of shorter relationships and flings – mostly in his teenage years and twenties – and a couple one night stands, but after he got involved with the special forces and all the convoluted shit that came with working with people like Barkov or Makarov (I'll expand on this in Petra's fic lol), he just didn't have the time or trust for anything.

F = Favorite Position (Self explanatory.)

It might seem basic, but missionary is one they've always enjoyed. The intimacy that comes with being face-to-face, Petra allowing herself to be pinned and trapped under his weight... it's also easy to switch from this to an even better position: a mating press. Thank god for Petra's focus on flexibility in her training, because Yuri will fold her in half once he gets lost in it.

A couple other beloved positions are cowgirl (+ reverse), spooning, and her sitting in his lap in front of a mirror as his fingers work their magic. They usually just go for whatever they're feeling at the time.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? etc.)

Typically speaking, they're a little more serious in the moment. Both Petra and Yuri are people with some... pretty intense trust issues, honestly. It's something that brings them together, but also something that leads to them viewing sex as almost too vulnerable a thing. It leads to overthinking and self doubt, which presents itself as an overly-serious need to please.

As trust builds and they become more secure in not only the relationship and each other, but also in themselves, sex goes from a stressful experience to something far more lighthearted and fun. Petra's a damn tease when she wants to be, always pushing his buttons and egging him on when she wants to play, and Yuri in turn is the type to "discipline" her through edging her for eons (which, she loves, as it just means more time spent under him).

With the fun comes jokes and laughter, and with that comes moments where they pause to appreciate what they have. Breaks between rounds are usually filled with stupid giggling and heavy make-out sessions, they really just can't get enough of each other.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

For Petra, she's seen enough infections and nasty cuts from using a razor or scissors with a fatigued mind in the AFAB patients that have ended up in her care. She prefers to just wax it all off and/or use an in-shower removal cream. It's not that she cares about being bald, she just doesn't want to deal with the maintenance on top of everything else or the discomfort that comes with having hair. It's quick and easy, two of her favorite things.

For Yuri, he didn't particularly care about trimming or maintaining a certain look before he met Petra. He trims his hair because it's what she's comfortable with (and he wants to look good for her, the absolute simp). That being said, one thing Petra does love about him is his body hair – his chest and arm hair is one thing, but it's his happy trail that drives her crazy. It runs right through a sizable scar on his abdomen (five points to anyone who can guess what it's from) and always sends her to her knees.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment? The romantic aspect.)

Their first few times weren't necessarily all-too romantic, per se, because they were both horribly worried about something going wrong. Either they do something wrong that drives the other away, or the other suddenly decides to betray them in their most vulnerable state.

That never happens, though, and things only get more romantic as time goes on. Kissing, hand-holding, pressing their foreheads together, staring into each other's eyes... despite neither of them being much for PDA beyond holding hands when they're somewhere safe, sex is an extremely romantic time for them.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon.)

For Petra, despite having an above-average sex drive, she's never really been one for masturbating. Her mind has a tendency to wander when she tries to fantasize, either to work she feels like she should be doing or to less savory places that completely pull her out of the moment. She's tried watching porn to solve this issue, but it doesn't help – she starts asking herself the most stupid questions, like "Was this was actually made at home, or is the set and camerawork designed to make it look that way?" or "I wonder how much money they're making off my single view?" or, worst of all, her mind still drifts off to those unsavory places.

For Yuri, despite his natural sex drive being a little lower than hers (until he meets Petra, that is), he's a little more forgiving with himself and fulfilling this basic need. When he was younger, he'd jack off at least 2-3 times a week, but after the shit he went through after joining the military, he lost a lot of his desire to do so. He's never been the type to watch porn because he finds it awkward, nor is he going to be an idiot and try to jack off when someone could walk in, so he's gone incredibly long stretches without it. Like I said before – until he meets Petra. Even before they got together, he was making himself come undone to the thought of her several times a week.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks.)

Voice kink. He's not much of a talker, but he's happy to spout any filth or praise, so long as it keeps her whining and keening for him.

Praise. Self explanatory, this goes both ways.

Breeding/creampies. Even if they're not explicitly saying it, they both love it.

Overstimulation. This usually happens in the form of Yuri driving Petra into a sobbing mess, but she loves how sensitive he can get.

Edging. They like testing each other. Again, usually Petra's the one on the receiving end.

Phone sex/mutual masturbation. These go hand-in-hand, specifically when they're forced apart by their responsibilities.

Marking. Bites, hickeys, bruises – they try to keep it to spots easily hidden by clothing, but occasionally someone gets a little too eager and forgets that.

(Light) bondage. This is one that took a decently long time for them to build up to. Between her existing trust issues and her prior assault, it was a bit of a challenge for Petra at first, but Yuri is a patient man happy to wait for her to be ready.

Nicknames. Mainly for her. He could add "my" in front of almost anything and send a shiver running down her spine. One "good girl" is all it takes to get her going some days.

Grinding. Okay, I'll admit it: there are times these two barely reach taking their clothes off. He loves watching her chase her high on his lap or thigh, and she loves watching his resolve break while he's still fully-dressed, sometimes even in some of his gear.

Sleepy sex. Whether it's before bed or (preferably) after they wake up, they love it. They yearn for every domestic moment they can get.

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do.)

Somewhere private, ideally. If they're somewhere with less privacy, like base (whether it's 141, Chimera, etc.) or otherwise a more public place, they try to behave. If there's a room they can safely sneak off to and lock the door behind them, though? It will be used. Their respective offices and bedrooms are their usual spots, if they just can't resist.

At home (because eventually they'll live together off-base), though, no spot is off-limits. Bedroom, couch, kitchen counters, dining table, shower, desk, against the wall, on the floor... it's a challenge to think of where they haven't fucked, honestly.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going.)

They're both major teases once they get more comfortable (and even a little before), so that's usually what leads to one of them breaking and dragging the other to the bedroom, if they even make it that far.

For Petra, what gets her going pretty much 100% of the time is watching Yuri do something with his hands. It can be something as mundane as him filling out paperwork or cleaning a gun, or something as intentional as him running his hands along her curves. Seriously, major hand kink on this one.

For Yuri, what never fails to get him going are the damn doe eyes Petra gives him whenever she's in the mood. She doesn't realize when she's doing it, but the way she looks up at him through her lashes and subtly pouts her lip, it's impossible to resist. Also, just watching her bend over or stretch can do wonders for his imagination and force him to drag her away to "share" his thoughts with her.

N = No (Something they won’t do, turn-offs.)

Anal. It's just not for them (or me lol).

Pain. Some low levels of it is okay, I did say that they love marking and a spank or two isn't unheard of, but they've endured enough pain in their lives already. They're each other's safe places, where they can be confident that every touch will be with nothing but love under their fingertips, they don't want to be hurt or hurt each other.

Threesomes+. Now, while this is subject to change in some fics because I'm an author with whorish thoughts, these two don't like sharing each other. It's not that they're possessive and jealous, they're just... protective and jealous. Petra's only time with more than one person (only one was involved in a sexual sense, but there was another participating) was non-consensual, so it's a "no" for her.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

In the past, she was used to giving and seldom receiving. She just felt awkward having all the attention be on her and she always felt bad over how long it took her to get off. That stopped being acceptable after these two got together. If there's one thing Yuri loves, it's having her thighs clamped around his head as he spends ages between her legs. No amount of time is too long, he's patient and so very methodical when it comes to getting her off.

Like I said before, Petra was always used to being the one giving, and she expected much the same with Yuri. There is some awkwardness thanks to his size and worries about hurting her, but once they get more comfortable? She'll be waiting for him in his office with her hair tied back. It's all about give and take, they never let the other spoil them without returning the favor. It doesn't usually take long for her to get him off this way, though – the mere sight of her kneeling on the floor, staring up at him with those doe eyes seeking approval, with her spit dripping down his length... yeah, that's really all it takes.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Slow and sensual is preferred most of the time. Sex is a time for them to let go and be their most vulnerable selves, so they like to take their time with it. That being said, Petra likes it rough when she's frustrated and just wants her mind wiped clean at the end of a long day – she gets off on the way Yuri can manhandle her so easily, and he can't get enough of the way she mindlessly babbles his name and scratches at his back whenever he fucks her into the mattress.

Basically, it depends on their mood. Slow and sensual, fast and rough, slow and rough... the latter is probably their favorite, honestly. Nothing makes her arch her back off the bed and dig her nails into his skin like those long, deep thrusts that come with it.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Quickies are not uncommon, surprisingly. Once these two get a taste of each other, it's like all the years of neglecting themselves pours out and their sex drives skyrocket.

They're both high-ranking officers well-respected by those under their command and workaholics in desperate need of a proper vacation, getting caught in such a position is a nightmare for both of them (mainly for Petra, Yuri cares less about respect).

If they're miraculously at base at the same time for an extended period of time, chances are, they'll sneak into each other's rooms or find somewhere to meet pretty regularly. Getting to take their time is always preferred, though.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.)

Besides their hard no's, they're generally willing to experiment with new things. It's all part of feeling safe with each other and trusting the other not to do anything without their consent. Also, preferably somewhere private, just in case something does go poorly and they need time to recover.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

Anyone who has been subjected to my Yuri rambling knows one thing about this man: He's got infinite fucking stamina. He can go for several rounds and still be ready and eager for more – he enjoys seeing how long he can last.

Part of what earned Petra her callsign is the way she can get beat down and always get back up. Yes, this extends to sex for her. It takes a long time and a lot of effort to properly tire her out, so these two can and will go for an egregiously long time whenever they get their hands on each other. Seeing how long they can last and who tires out first is a game for them at this point.

T = Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

After the way she was raised, Petra felt very awkward and ashamed when it came to things like pleasing herself. She never really had toys of any kind because of it – on the rare occasion she'd masturbate, it was usually with her hands or the shower head, if she was desperate. She tried using toys with her ex, but he was the type to insist that he "didn't need the help."

With Yuri, she expected the same response. When she bought herself a small vibrator in an attempt to start pleasing herself when he wasn't around, the part of her that still felt guilty and ashamed over it made her keep it hidden from him.

However, once he found it, he didn't let it go unused. It was something they introduced slowly, but now he loves using it when he's edging or overstimulating her.

U = Unfair (How much they like to tease.)

Like I've said a few times already, they're both major teases once they get more comfortable with each other. They're not mean about it (most of the time, at least), but they love riling each other up and seeing just how far they can push each other before they snap. Flirting, lingering touches, whispered innuendos... Petra almost died of embarrassment the first time she sent him a photo of herself, but Yuri's reaction to it made the embarrassment well worth it. Nowadays, she's happy to send him photos and videos, and he even surprises her by sending some in return.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

At first, she was too shy to make much noise. Labored breaths and soft whines were all he got out of her, with her covering her mouth whenever she worried about getting too loud. Yuri didn't accept this, though. He'd pin her hands with his own and drag such sweet sounds out of her – drawn-out whimpers and moans, high-pitched whines, sharp gasps and stuttering breaths. Every breathless "yes," "please," "more," and "Yura..." reminded him that the wait was worth it.

Likewise, he was damn near silent at first. Partially because he was focused on listening to her, and partially because he wasn't used to someone wanting to hear him. Every low grunt and growl that left his lips, every moan that she practically begged him for, every breath of his that fanned across her skin... The only sound she enjoys more is his voice and the words he says to her. When he seems to forget any language but his native tongue, with praise and sweet words in Russian and broken English being all he can muster, that is when she knows he's finally let go to be with her fully.

W = Wild Card (A random headcanon for the character.)

For Petra: She's used to being the caregiver, both in her career, her platonic relationships, and her romantic relationships. With her ex, she was frequently giving without receiving much in return. With her one night stands, there was little to no aftercare provided to her. Because of this, she's always desperately sought out someone who would take care of her instead. After finding this in Yuri, she started letting herself fall into a more submissive state. She still cares for him like she always did for her past lovers, but it's more 50/50 now.

For Yuri: Some selfish and possessive side of him has a dream of being more open about their relationship. They don't hide it, but they limit themselves on PDA and don't often disclose their relationship to people they can't trust not to use the information against them. The thought of sitting at his desk or in a meeting with her on his lap, or even going so far as to get caught in the act just so people will see how well he takes her... it's a nastier fantasy that he keeps to himself (she knows, she can read him like a book) for both of their sakes.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Petra's fit and has a strong body thanks to a lifetime of training. Despite this, she's naturally fairly curvy and has PCOS, so she carries more fat than most people who live similar lifestyles. Most of it is concentrated in "ideal" spots, thankfully – thighs, hips, ass, and tits. Her bra size is 34DD (the joys of her body claim being a model lol) and her breasts are quite heavy, so she tries to control them with sports bras and tight-fitting clothing. Surprisingly, she's got nice shoulders from all the strength-building she's done to keep up with the rest of her team. Carrying medical supplies on top of the regular gear she needs has helped in her maintaining that look, too.

Yuri, on the other hand, is broad. Strong shoulders and a broad back, well-defined after years of military service. He's not some dehydrated, rigid bodybuilder, he's a man who eats well and takes care of himself – he's not soft and still has well-defined abs, but there's some fat over his muscles that just makes him look even bigger (did I mention he's around 6'2"/188 cm in the reboot?). He's littered in scars, both big and small, with his biggest being the older wound on his center stomach. I don't care that the reboot took away his tattoos, he still has them to me. Also: Uncut. 6.6 inches/16.8 cm length. 5.2 inches/13.2 cm girth. Sits heavy and low, even when hard. I will not elaborate further (yes I will).

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Both of them thought their sex drives were fairly low before meeting each other. For Petra, it came from a place of shame and unfavorable past experiences, whereas for Yuri, it came from a place of sheer exhaustion and never having the time to even consider that side of himself.

Once they find each other, though? It's like those years of neglect jump out and force them to act. They will go several times a night, several nights a week, and still crave more. The more comfortable they get and the more the relationship develops, the more their hunger for each other grows. There's times it feels almost scary, just how badly they need each other once they get attached.

Z = Zzz (How quickly they fall asleep afterwards.)

Depends on the circumstances (at work, at home, stress, fatigue, etc.) and how long they went for. On a good night, they're passing out while tangled up in each other's embrace not long after getting cleaned up. On nights that are a little less idealistic, though, they'll stay up talking about whatever comes to mind – because, a dull conversation is usually leagues better than the things keeping them awake – and trying to appreciate every moment they have together.

Sleep usually comes to them eventually (because there are nights where the best thing they can ask for is some hours of peace), even if it claims one of them faster than the other. They're each other's safe haven and each other's home, there's nowhere else they'll ever have an easier time finding reprieve.

28 notes · View notes

lizzardthing · 4 months

Note

which member of dethklok do you think smells the worst?

this is a multifaceted question i think. generally, either Pickles or Skwisgaar.

Despite being known for his crustiness, Murderface has a shit ton of skincare products, and since he had horrible hygiene as a child i feel like he’s hypervigilante now. He’s still stinky, but less so.

Toki actually works out so i think he smells the next worse. I don’t think his hygiene is terrible, but he’s definitely not showering every day, and certainly not remembering to after every workout. I think Nathan and Pickles probably annoy him a lot about brushing his teeth and stuff, despite not always remembering to do it themselves, so he just does it to get them off his back. Also. You know how you can tell a cat has diabetes if they smell sweet? He’s got that too.

Nathan I feel is probably a medium to loud stink. He cares about his appearance to some degree and he’s insecure about being old and fat so he’s trying, but frankly can’t always remember. He also loves snacks and constantly has his mouth open, so maybe BO isn’t that bad for him, but his breath is horrendous.

I can’t decide if Pickles or Skwis smells worst. Pickles, obviously, doesn’t wear deodorant, drinks constantly, spills things all over himself, and is generally a sweaty disgusting freak. His ass does NOT know how to take care of those stringy dreadlocks and I guarantee he is developing a whole new strain of mold inside them. But I also think he’s been like that for so long that even if technically he smells horrible, it’s such a constant that no one around him notices anymore.

Skwisgaar is a cloud of sweat, stale pussy, and old ladies perfume that smells like fake flowers and your grandmas bathroom. He does not bathe because he does not have the time, nor does he like being wet. He also can’t handle his liquor and I have to assume he pisses himself semifrequently when he’s drinking.

I don’t know which of the two is worse.

#metalocalypse #mtl #pickles the drummer #toki wartooth #nathan explosion #skwisgaar skwigelf #william murderface

31 notes · View notes

crazyk-imagine · 1 year

Text

Cat Naps

Pairing: Xavier Thorpe x Plus size! Cat!reader Characters: Plus size! Cat!reader, Xavier Thorpe

Briefly mentioned: Wednesday Addams, Enid Sinclair, Bianca Barclay, Tyler Galpin aka The Hyde Warnings: Cold and stormy night, Xavier is a secret sweetheart, reader and Xavier have a special moment or two, reader doesn’t handle emotions well (is explained), the other students are judgey, Enid tries to be a good friend, reader and Enid have a cute friendship Word Count: 1,469

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

You open your eyes, staring at the occupied stool in front of you. You push yourself off the ground, the blanket falling past your arm and bunching around your waist. Your eyes stare at the gray blanket, playing with the charcoal stains, finding it satisfying when you wash your hands and watching as the dirt slips down into the drain.

“You’re up.”

Your ears twitch, tail flicking side to side. “Xavier?”

“Do you know anyone else with an art shed?”

You don’t like his teasing tone, especially after a much-needed nap. You shrug, “maybe, I do.”

“Really? Like whom?” He sets his pencil down on the desk beside what you can only assume to be his sketchbook.

“Maybe one of the vampires or werewolves have a shed, you know for- for privacy.” You run your paw hand through your hair.

He studies you, always fascinated with- well, anything you do. He finds himself wondering if your hair is as soft as it looks and if he was ever given the opportunity to run his hands through it, would you purr? He pushes himself off the stool and steps closer to you, holding his hand out in front of you.

You glance up at him, tails flicking once his scent hits you.

The change in your eyes makes him tilt his head, wondering what’s going on inside that head of yours.

You’re weary to take his hand, but you do so anyway, he’s done nothing wrong for you to be scared of him. But you also don’t like touching people because they’re mean; the memories you have when you were in a normie school haunt you to this day.

He pulls up, keeping his balance steady when you crash into him. Xavier freezes unsure of what to do, he’s never had a pet other than the fish he had when he was a kid since it wouldn’t run around the house and mess anything up when his dad was working. He's used to his creations than the actual living and breathing animals. He doesn’t know why this thought came to mind until he notices the shift in your posture and removes his gaze from your twitching ears.

You stare into his eyes, leaning in closer as slowly as you could without invading too much of his personal space.

“What- what are you doing?” No one’s been this close to him since Bianca but it’s oddly more comforting when you do it.

You blink, eyes dilated. “You smell familiar, it reminds me of a happier time. It's nice.”

No one’s ever said something like that to him before and without any emotion on your face, even more interesting. “Oh- uh- thanks. I guess.”

“It’s a compliment,” you assure him.

He nods, arms falling at his side when you step back with your hands behind your back.

What he doesn’t see or realize is that your tail was curling around his hip, you can’t let him know you... accept his presence, he’s not nearly as annoying as the other students.

“What- what were you doing here?”

“I went on a walk. I got tired of listening to everyone talk about me, the new kid who might have clawed their classmates for no reason or whatever rumor they’ve been spreading around.”

“And you thought the floor was a good idea?”

You chuckle, looking back at your makeshift bed. “It was comfortable, even more so with the blanket. I thank you for looking out for my safety and well-being.”

The corner of his lip’s twitches. “It was nothing.”

“It took a lot of courage for you to be able to do that.”

“What makes you say that?”

“No one besides Rainbow has been nice enough to make an effort.”

“Rainbow?”

You nod, glancing around the room, venturing over towards his desk, flipping through the sketchbook he was working on during your nap. You tail flicks happily at the sight of an almost finished sketch of you napping. “The wolf girl who is roommate to the girl who thought you were the monster.”

“Oh.”

“The one who you would stare at because she supposedly saved you from burning in a casket during a game of hide and seek.”

“Yeah.”

“She has little to no-”

“I- I get it. I know who you’re talking about now. I just- I didn’t realize you were so close with her, either of them.”

“I’m not but they make an effort and I... like that.”

A light bulb goes off in his head. “Do you- would you want to stay while I work on some things?”

You haven’t stopped staring at the sketch since you started talking. “As long as you finish this before we have to go back to the school.”

He steps closer, wondering what you’re referring to. His body heat sends a pleasurable shiver down your spine, tail smacking his top of his hand sending you into a full body and brain shut down. Xavier glances down, smiling at the way your tail moves and how rigid you’ve become. “Why do you want me to finish it?”

“I- I find myself to be pleasing to look at.”

“Is that all?”

You quickly nod before running around him.

He turns expecting... something entirely different than what he sees now.

You hop up on his desk and lay down.

“How did you- how long have you been able to do this?”

“A while.”

His eyes widen, you’re a talking cat, A TALKING CAT! “Does this happen a lot?” He settles onto the stool, pulling the sketchbook closer.

“Usually, my emotions have some kind of factor.”

He nods, eyes wandering off his sketchbook but not over at you. “Is that why you pretend to not feel anything?”

You meow at him, smacking his hand with your small paw.

“Okay, okay,” he raises his arms. “No more questions.”

You watch as he takes his times completing the drawing, eyes closing slightly until a crack of thunder startles you awake. You jump up and rush into his arms, shaking and shivering from the brisk cold air that seeps under the cracks of the door. You burrow your head into his chest, stealing any kind of warmth he has.

He stares down at you before hesitantly raising his hand, slowly petting your head. You lower your ears, enjoying the way his hands softly glide through your fur, calming you. He keeps one hand on you while he continues.

Eventually everything outside calms down and it feels like you’re squirming in his lap?

Xavier looks down and finds a much bigger you, more human like that is. He doesn’t remove his gaze from you.

You lazily climb off his lap, settling beside him not quite ready to abandon his body heat. Your head rests against his thigh, ears no longer twitching as you look up at him. “If you find yourself uncomfortable, I can remove my head from your thigh.”

He shakes his head, “nope.”

A relaxed smile dances across your lips.

He managed to finish the sketch before it got too late. His hands gently scratching your head not wanting to startle you awake.

You owlishly blink, straining your neck a bit to look at him. “Hm?”

“I finished and it’s late. We should start heading back to Nevermore.”

You shake your head, stretching your arms above your head. “I want to see it first.”

“It- it’s not done. I lied. I need to-” He scratches the back of his head, avoiding your gaze.

You trace along the lines with your fingertips while being careful about your nails. “Interesting.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s nice to look, nothing compared to the others you have hidden away.”

He turns his head, leaning in closer wondering if he heard you correctly. “You saw them?”

You nod, “they were good, I like them.”

“Oh, okay. Would you-”

“I’d wonder what it would be like to actually know you’re drawing me, with my acknowledgement.”

“We could plan a time.”

“Yeah?” You turn to look at him with downplayed excited expression.

“I think it could be fun... maybe we could even get something to eat afterwards?”

“I don’t like fish.”

He blinks once, “oh, I wasn’t- I didn’t even think of that.”

“Good.”

“Who tried to-”

“Rainbow. She was trying to be nice, but it backfired. Just because I have few similarities to a cat does not mean I will live by them.”

“Okay, no fish. Got it.”

You walk behind him, putting on your clothes over your special body suit, no matter what form you take it stays on you which comes in handy when your emotions get crazy. You pout, you didn’t bring a jacket.

He walks behind you and sets his extra jacket (that he brought for some reason, and he doesn’t regret it now) on your shoulders.

#wednesday #wednesday series imagine #wednesday series imagines #wednesday imagine #wednesday imagines #xavier thorpe #xavier thorpe x you #xavier thorpe x reader #xavier thorpe x plus size reader #xavier thorpe x plus size!reader #xavier thorpe x plus size cat reader #xavier thorpe x plus size! cat!reader #xavier thorpe x cat reader #xavier thorpe x cat!reader #xavier thorpe imagine #xavier thorpe imagines #crazyk-imagine

379 notes · View notes

daytaker · 2 months

Text

5. Othello

(Existing Sucks So) Let's All Be Shadows.

A Satan-centric Nightbringer Timeline Fic (Read on AO3)* *This combines Chapters 7 (Othello) & 8 (Cats & Curses) from AO3.

Chapter Starring: MC, Satan, Mammon Chapter Word Count: ~5.3k Chapter Warnings: Canon-typical violence, Wrath

“If you saw a drowning cat, and you reached out to help it, and it scratched you because it was scared and hurt and flailing around... Would you just let it drown?”

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Latest Chapter

1 2 3 4 5

I woke up late the next day. After tossing and turning in bed, trying to get the memories of what Satan had told me out of my mind, I’d finally fallen into a fitful sleep about four in the morning.

I probably would have woken up even later, actually, if it hadn’t been for my D.D.D. ringing on the nightstand by the bed. Half-asleep, I fumbled for the device, and after a few messy attempts, I managed to answer.

“What’s the matter?” I muttered as a greeting, still half-asleep.

“What ain’t the matter!” Mammon’s voice boomed through the speaker. “Listen up, we need ya down here stat! Satan’s throwin’ a fit and Lucifer ain’t here to stop it!”

“What makes you think I can do anything about it?” I groaned as I rolled onto my back. Honestly, the last thing I needed right now was more of Satan’s issues to deal with.

“You ain’t one of us! He doesn’t wanna talk to his broth–” I could hear crashing in the background, and Mammon seemed to pull the speaker away from his mouth and shout, “COOL IT, WOULD YA? I’M TRYIN’ TO GET HELP!”

I rubbed my forehead, already exhausted, but I dutifully climbed out of bed and started getting out of my pajamas.

“Listen, just hurry over, alright?” Mammon had shifted gears and was talking to me again.

“Aye-aye, cap’n,” I sighed, and I hung up.

I stood in my underwear, resting my forearms on the dresser for a few seconds as I breathed. In, and out… In, and out… I could do this.

Half an hour later, I stood in the front hall of the House of Lamentation. Belphie came running up to me and practically collapsed in my arms. “What took you so long?” he whined into my stomach.

Deeper in the house, I could hear the rumbling and clattering of the house being slowly destroyed, one piece of furniture at a time.

“Where’s Lucifer?” I asked Belphie.

“He’s out sucking up to the future Demon King,” he told me, rolling his eyes. “Mammon’s trying to manage Satan on his own, but he’s doing about as terribly as you’d expect from him.”

“You’re all too hard on Mammon,” I sighed, setting my bag down against the wall and rolling up my sleeves. “It isn’t like any of the rest of you can handle him either.”

“Mammon’s the second-born,” argued Belphie petulantly, his voice tinged with an edge of whininess. “He’s supposed to be stronger than Satan. So is Levi, for that matter…”

I picked my bag up again, and Belphie followed me as I made my way deeper into the house. “What’s happening, exactly?” I asked.

“He’s been on a rampage since early this morning,” sighed the youngest.

“Why?”

“Nobody knows.” He shrugged. “Maybe he stepped on something when he got out of bed. Probably there’s no real reason.”

I nodded grimly. There was always a reason, though. Maybe not a great reason, maybe not an obvious immediate reason, but there was a reason. Yesterday taught me how little I knew about what’s really going on in his head.

“So what are you going to do?” Belphie asked. “Are you going to pull something like you did when you first got here? What was it you said… ‘Stay’?”

I grimaced inwardly. “Not if I can avoid it,” I replied. Lucifer would put me through the wringer if I did that again. “I brought something that might help snap him out of it.”

“Is it some sort of cursed artifact?” Belphie tilted his head. “Satan loves things like that.”

“No,”I said, “but that’s good thinking. I’ll stow that away for next time.”

We had arrived outside the door to the observatory, where the volume of the crashing and clattering inside made talking nearly impossible. I gestured to Belphie that I was going in, and he watched me with some trepidation as I opened the door and stepped into the room.

Inside the observatory, Satan and Mammon stood on opposite ends of the sofa, which looked as if it had been chewed up by a pack of hyenas. Mammon was clearly on the defensive, and he was gripping his left wrist with his right hand.

“You’re here!” Mammon exclaimed with relief as the door closed behind me. Satan’s eyes flashed in my direction, and he snarled in frustration.

“Why are you here?” He hurled a lamp across the room. I was amazed that there were still lamps in the house to be destroyed.

“I’m here because Mammon called me.”

Satan looked around the room with bloodshot eyes and snatched up the remains of a painting he’d already trashed. He looked like he was struggling to decide what to do with it. “I don’t want to see you right now.”

His voice was quiet, and tight, and quivering. It was tinged with rage but subdued as if smothered under a blanket of exhaustion. It was frightening.

“Mammon, is your wrist alright?” I asked him, not taking my eyes off of Satan.

Mammon seemed surprised at the question. Through my peripheral vision, I saw him look down at the wrist he was grasping, then back up at me.

“Uh, yeah. It ain’t nothing.”

“Go ask Beel to wrap it up.”

“Eh?” Mammon started, walking towards me. “No way! I ain’t gonna just leave you in here with–”

“Mammon.”

I turned and hit him full on with an entreating stare directly in his eyes. This might be a different time period, but I knew what I was capable of, with or without magic or pacts. Mammon quickly averted his eyes, but he stubbornly stayed where he was.

“...Please.”

He grumbled audibly, but I knew he’d relented. “...I’m stayin’ right by the door.”

I smiled at him gratefully, and as he headed to the door, I looked back at Satan. He was crushing the outside of the broken picture frame between his fingers.

The door latched shut, and an eerie silence descended on the room.

I set my bag down on the ground and folded my arms. Then I unfolded them again. It was probably best not to take a defensive posture.

“...Well?” Satan growled.

Today didn’t feel like yesterday.

Yesterday, I was powerless. Satan was under control and in control, calling the shots, standing in home territory. Today, he was off-balance. He evidently wasn’t expecting me, and he certainly hadn’t planned out any grim revelations to drop on me. As scary as it was to see him angry, it felt less threatening than whatever had happened the day before. I took comfort in that.

“Why are you angry?” I asked.

He snorted disdainfully as if I had just asked him an idiotic question. “I’m the Avatar of Wrath, or did you forget?”

I wasn’t about to let my question get obfuscated so easily. So I repeated myself.

“Why are you angry, Satan?”

“Don’t play stupid!” He finally threw the damaged painting into the ground, snapping the paneling. “Why did you tell Lucifer?” He stormed in my direction, dark energy circling the air around him like a hurricane. He almost walked through me; he surrounded me without quite touching me, somehow, his feet inches from mine when he stopped short, his face close enough to mine that I felt each heavy exhale on my skin. But he was on all sides; he was everywhere. It was his tail, I finally realized. His tail curled around me; never touching me, but putting me in a snare that might snap shut if I made any wrong moves.

“I didn’t tell Lucifer anything,” I responded coolly. I could feel hot irritation bubbling up inside me, but I swallowed it. The last thing the situation needed was for both of us to lose our tempers. “What, did he say something?”

“Just that I should watch who I talk to about family matters.” His eyes were blazing, and his quivering tail nicked me in the arm. I flinched. “You said you weren’t just loyal to him! You said you were my attendant too!”

“I didn’t tell Lucifer anything,” I repeated more vehemently. I couldn’t tell if this rage of his was rooted in jealousy or a sense of betrayal. “He probably just heard we had tea together from one of your brothers. Is that really what made you so angry? What else did he say?”

“It isn’t any of your damn business what he said!” His tail flicked, and he paced around me in tight semi-circles. “Why do you think I talked to you yesterday?”

“I’ve been trying to figure that out, and I haven’t yet,” I said, lowering my voice. “Satan, you scared me yesterday.”

“So you went to Lucifer.”

“So I went home!” I jabbed a finger in his chest. That stopped his relentless pacing, at least. “I went home, Satan, and I was miserable! I actually worry about you, you know!”

Satan’s tail recoiled before the rest of him could. He didn’t look convinced–in fact, he looked more suspicious than ever. But he was no longer quite so close, or quite so ready to lunge at any opening I might offer. His green eyes searched my face silently for a few seconds, then he spoke again.

“Why?”

Ah. There was the tricky part. Why indeed? I couldn’t exactly say, ‘Because I’m from the future and in that time I’ve developed a very close bond with you and your brothers, and I love and care for you, so seeing you in such obvious pain breaks my heart.’ And I didn’t think ‘because I’m your attendant’ would cut it this time either.

“If you saw a drowning cat,” I said, trying to choose my words carefully, “and you reached out to help it, and it scratched you because it was scared and hurt and flailing around. Would you just let it drown?”

I thought I was going to reach him with that. I thought that analogy would somehow click. What I didn’t expect was that Satan would look me straight in the face and respond by asking: “What’s a cat?”

I blinked at him. He stared back at me without blinking once. I considered rephrasing the scenario with a child as the drowning victim, but I was much less confident that Satan would feel like he would, in fact, want to save a child even if it was screaming and scratching at him.

I rubbed my face in my hands. “...Never mind, then. I just… I worry about you because you need someone to worry about you.”

“That’s a stupid reason.”

“You really want me to tell you that you’re right, and I don’t actually care, huh?” Satan didn’t say anything in response to that. He just looked at me as if challenging me to confirm that he’d nailed it. I couldn’t really tell if he was desperate for me to validate all the horrible thoughts he had about himself or if he was begging me to insist he had it all wrong.

Instead of following up my rhetorical question, I reached into my bag and pulled out a folded board and a box of black and white game tokens. I sat cross-legged on the floor, in an area with relatively little debris, opened the board, and patted the spot across from me.

Satan stared down at me for a few seconds before slowly walking over and sitting down across from me, hugging one knee.

“Do you know how to play Othello?” I asked.

He shook his head no.

The corner of my mouth quirked into a smile. Satan was the one who taught me the game. Now it was time for me to return the favor. Or was this paying it forward?

“It’s pretty simple. We start with four tokens in the middle like this…” I set up the board. “Then we take turns putting tokens on the board. One of us is white and the other is black. You try to surround your opponent’s tokens on two opposite sides, and you switch them to your color. If you can’t put any tokens in a flanking position, you skip your turn. And when the board is full, whoever has more tokens facing up is the winner.”

“It sounds boring,” mumbled Satan.

“Then it should be easy to beat me.”

“At least give me a few turns to figure out how it works. Then I’ll start beating you.”

For the next ten minutes, we sat more or less silently in the observatory, surrounded by wreckage as if the place had been hit by a bomb, carefully studying the board and placing our tokens.

I won the first game. It was the first time I’d ever beaten Satan at a game of Othello. It was also the last.

“I was still getting used to the game mechanics,” growled Satan as he cleared the board. He was annoyed, but not angry, and when he bested me in the next round, he looked hesitantly pleased.

“…You didn’t lose on purpose, did you?”

“Absolutely not. I play to win. You’re going down in the next round.”

That satisfied him. But he won the next round too. And the one after. I guess it was only to be expected. He was wickedly clever.

“Satan?” I asked as we cleared the board and set up for another game.

“Mm?”

“You never said why you had that talk with me yesterday.”

He fidgeted uncomfortably, turning one of the tokens over in his fingers a few times. Black, white, black white. “...I had to tell somebody .”

“Did you…?”

His tail snapped irritably against the floor beside him, knocking the board askew. I rearranged the tokens as he searched for words.

“Yes, I did.” He looked at the board like he was trying to set it on fire with his mind. “Now I know not to tell anybody else.”

“Why did you tell me? Yesterday, you said you wanted to tell me specifically. To see my reaction.”

“And I saw your reaction,” he snapped. His tail slammed the ground even harder. I paused, then started to rearrange the board again. “Now I know not to tell anybody else! I just said that!”

“Was there some sort of way you wanted me to react?”

“I don’t know. Stop asking me stupid questions. It’s making me angry.”

I obliged. Nothing good would come from pressing the issue when he was adamant he didn’t want to discuss it, and it was probably a useful skill for him to identify when he was starting to feel angry if he ever wanted to learn to control that emotion.

Satan had just wiped the floor with me for the fifth time when I looked up at the devastated room around us, then checked the time on my D.D.D. Lucifer was definitely going to expect me to help clean this up.

“...Hey, Satan. Let’s go to the library.”

“What…?”

“Your room is too empty.” I thought about how barren the space felt yesterday. “You should fill it with things you like.”

Satan stared blankly at me, then squinted slightly. “Are you mad that you keep losing?”

I laughed at that, and Satan blushed, scowling. “No. I was just thinking that I don’t want to be here when Lucifer gets back.” I nodded to our surroundings.

That was enough to convince him.

I put away Othello and led Satan to the observatory door. When I opened it, I felt a thump and heard a pained yelp on the other side. Mammon quickly darted out from behind the door, rubbing his nose.

“You coulda warned me you were gonna swing that thing open!” he whined. His gaze darted from me to Satan, then back to me again. “...What the hell did you do?”

“We played Othello,” I said, and my gaze shifted to his wrist, which appeared to be swelling. “I thought I told you to have Beel wrap that wrist for you.”

“And I thought I told you I was gonna wait right out here,” Mammon retorted. “What the hell is Othello, anyway?”

Satan impatiently sidestepped Mammon and continued down the hall. “Come on,” he called to me. Mammon looked at him over his shoulder, then looked back at me, his expression heartbreakingly puppy-like. “Now you’re goin’ somewhere with him?”

Leave it to Mammon to make me feel guilty. I put a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours. I’ll check on your wrist then, but it had better be wrapped. Got it?”

Mammon let out an exaggerated sigh, but he nodded.

I patted his shoulder. “Good boy.”

“Don’t call me–”

“Are you coming or not?!” Satan’s voice called from up the hallway.

I gave Mammon an apologetic smile. “Later.”

“You better give me the full 'wounded soldier' treatment when ya get back, understand?” I nodded as I slung my bag over my shoulder and hurried down the hall. Mammon called after me, “I got injured in the line of duty, y’know!”

------

I wasn’t sure how we would be received when we entered the library with a wheelbarrow, but apparently, with Satan’s status as one of the Seven Rulers of the Underworld more or less accepted, he could get away with it. At any rate, the library staff seemed more at ease with the wheelbarrow than they had been last time Satan was here, carrying dozens of books piled one on top of the other in a single precarious stack.

I stood back and watched while Satan piloted the thing in and out of aisles, tossing books into the bed of the wheelbarrow one, two, five at a time. He was collecting quite eclectic material, too. Novels, spellbooks, medical tomes, astrological works, zoological and botanical indices, and, of course, dozens and dozens of books on curses.

Taking one at random, I perused the cover. “Book of Forbidden Spelles and Hexes,” I read out loud, glancing up at Satan with a raised eyebrow before opening it at random. “A curse to put upon thine enemy which shall in due time render him blinde and tooth-less, a wondrous revenge against sorcerers wielding ye Eville Eye.” Satan smirked to himself as he continued looking through the shelves, and I flipped to another page which was bookmarked. “Septinfermium. A curse of sevenfold agonies to befall thy adversary, amonge these being a scourge of boiles, loss of hair, perturbation of tongue, loss of vigour in the loines, a sickness of sweating, incontinence of bowels, and sanguinity of urine.” I closed the book and looked up at Satan, who appeared to be suppressing laughter. “If I read that right, you’re looking into a curse that’s going to make Lucifer pee blood, crap himself, and turn impotent?”

“That about sums it up, yes. Along with boils, balding, sweating, and stuttering.”

I tried to picture Lucifer under a curse like that, but I found that I simply couldn’t. “You’re actually going to do that?”

Satan turned to look at me, frowning. “You think I wouldn’t?”

“It’s not that, it’s more…” I hesitated. “...You don’t really think you’d get away with it, do you?”

“I don’t worry about whether or not I’ll get away with something.” He shrugged and looked back to the books on the shelf. “If I did, I’d never do anything. That said, that particular hex is extremely complicated and requires a good deal of preparation, so I don’t plan on attempting it just yet.”

Not just yet, hmm? “Why do you hate him so much? Lucifer, I mean.” I’d heard this question answered a few times, but never from this Satan.

He turned around to face me, yet another book in his hands. He stared down at it thoughtfully, opening it and flipping through the pages without really seeing anything.

“He pretends to be so incredibly responsible and put-together… He lords it over the rest of us. But the fact that I exist at all is proof of how flimsy his pretensions really are.” Satan slammed the book shut. “He’s a hypocrite, and he’s irresponsible enough to create an entire sentient being without any thought as to what kind of existence that being is going to have to endure.” His knuckles were turning white as he gripped the book and stared at its cover. “I never consented to my own creation. But he acts as if he’s done me an enormous favor by shoving me out into the world. Never mind it’s a world where we’re all social pariahs and just about the only emotion I can experience is a mind-numbing rage. And on top of all that, I'm made out of him. It's disgusting.”

Again, Satan was talking about his very existence as if it was a burden; something he would never have accepted if given the choice. It was stirring up all the unpleasantness of yesterday.

“You sound like you hate being alive.” I leaned forward a bit, taking a good look at him.

“I can’t say I love it.”

“Doesn’t anything make you happy?”

Satan smacked his palm lightly with the book in his hand, continuing to stare at it without seeing. “...Not really.”

I hadn’t actually anticipated that answer, so it hit me like a gut-punch. He sounded so earnest and resigned–not even sad, just resigned–that I instinctively raised a hand to reach out in his direction. But what was I supposed to do? Take his hand? Ruffle his hair? Gestures that felt like second nature in one sense seemed out of line here and now. My hand returned to my side, but I still couldn’t accept Satan’s response.

“...I’ll help you figure out how to feel happy,” I said after a lengthy silence. I clenched my fists and met his gaze when he glanced over his shoulder at me in surprise. “That’s a promise.”

Satan looked me up and down for a few quiet seconds before he cracked a bemused smile. “...You’re a really strange demon.”

“Mhm, like you’re one to talk.” I smiled impishly at him, trying to hide how dry my mouth felt. It was strange, but somehow, he looked a little bit different from this angle. Not soft, but softer. It made me want to touch his face.

I didn’t, of course.

Over the next half hour, while Satan kept adding more and more books to the wheelbarrow, I considered my self-assigned task: find something to make Satan happy. Of course, there was an obvious course of action that wasn’t lost on me. I had to introduce this man to cats.

“Are we heading home, then?” I asked Satan as I pushed the wheelbarrow out the library doors. As much as I cared for the guy, I could never accuse him of being too conscientious, and he seemed to consider it a given that his attendant would be the one to roll a few hundred pounds of books along for him.

“What, so Lucifer can lecture me on things I already know?”

I set down the handles to the wheelbarrow and looked at him with what I hoped was a withering gaze. “If you think I’m going to push this thing all around the Devildom, I have some news for you.”

“I’ll buy you ice cream.”

“You’ll have to do better than that.”

Satan looked around as we walked, clicking his tongue as he thought. “I’ll buy you dinner?”

I’ll admit, that idea appealed to me just a little bit more. But now that this had started, I didn’t want to fold without seeing what my options might be. “Dinner from where?” He sighed tiredly, and I slowed down. “It looks like we’re coming to a hill. I’m going to need some real motivation to tackle this.”

“Alright, stop whining,” Satan snapped. He elbowed me aside and took the handles of the wheelbarrow himself before barreling up the incline.

“Oh– hey!” I pursued him, crestfallen. “Wait, does this mean you take it all back?”

“Maybe,” grunted Satan as he pushed the thing forward. “Are you disappointed?”

“A little,” I admitted. I could see him smirk out of the corner of my eye. “Are you laughing at me?”

“Yes,” he replied without any concern. “You shouldn’t test me like that when you have such a sorry poker face.”

I sighed, and he laughed. It was a nice sound. I hadn’t heard it much lately. Not a genuine laugh, at least. So in spite of myself, I smiled.

“Whatever,” he said with a soft sigh as we reached the top of the slope. “I’ll still buy you ice cream, at any rate. Maybe if we can find a table we can play that black-and-white game again.”

“Othello,” I reminded him. “Sure, if you want.”

He seemed to have a place in mind already, so I was content to follow after him until we reached the ice cream vendor.

“I would like to order a double scoop of stewed hell ham with salamander gizzards.” Satan’s voice when ordering was almost painfully formal. He glanced over at me. “What do you want?”

Now, I have to be honest. I’ve never gotten used to Devildom ice cream. I’ve learned to look past the ingredients in most meals, but there’s something so inherently unappealing to a human about “hell newt ice cream” or “demon squid ink sorbet” that I can’t really get past it. Fortunately, most places sell a flavor called blood anise, which is probably the Devildom’s equivalent to human world vanilla, and although it isn’t fantastic, it mostly just tastes like frozen licorice.

“I’ll just have a scoop of blood anise,” I told Satan.

“Any hell beetles to top it off?” cut in the vendor.

“No thanks, just blood anise.”

“No extra charge for stewed toad sauce.”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

“We’re having a special discount on black and yellow bile chunks—”

“Are you deaf? Just blood anise!” Satan thundered. For a second I thought he was going to grab the vendor by his collar and shake him, but he seemed to regain control of himself before it came to that. The vendor looked like he’d been shaken though, and he ducked into the stall to prepare the order.

Satan stood with his arms crossed, lips tight, scowling down at the wheelbarrow. He almost looked…embarrassed. When the ice cream was ready, he paid without speaking and carried both cups to an outdoor bistro table, leaving me to roll the books along after him.

“…Was I scary?” he asked me as I set up the Othello board.

“Hm?” I looked up at him questioningly.

Satan dragged a hand down his face, exhaled as if this required all his stores of patience, and spoke lowly. “…That demon who sold us the ice cream. He looked terrified.”

“Oh…” I glanced back at the ice cream stand and Satan snapped his fingers in my ear, startling me back into facing him.

“Stop, don’t look at him!” he hissed.

“You want to know if you were too scary?”

Satan hesitated, tapping the table with one of the game tokens. “…Did I embarrass you?”

I hadn’t expected him to approach the issue from that angle. I shook my head and swallowed a smile. “No. You look like you embarrassed yourself, though.”

Satan’s cheeks, already a little pink, darkened in color as he grabbed his spoon and shoveled a mouthful of frozen stewed hell ham with toad spleens or whatever it was into his mouth. Whoever came up with meat-flavored ice cream deserved whatever horrible thing they inevitably had coming, I decided as my stomach churned.

“It isn’t that big of a deal,” I continued after a sullen silence on Satan’s end. “You didn’t actually hurt him.”

“Right?” Satan glared down at his ice cream with the same amount of loathing that I felt for it. “And he shouldn’t have been pushy about toppings in the first place. It’s his fault.”

With that out of the way, he placed his token on the board, and the subject was dropped.

We were around halfway through the game when I noticed Satan looking distracted. He kept glancing at something behind me, and when I turned around to look, I saw a tawny cat peeking out from between two buildings. I couldn’t believe my luck.

“Are you looking at that animal?” I asked, looking back at Satan.

“Yes,” he answered. “It looks comfortable in a very uncomfortable place.”

“That’s a cat,” I told him. There was something deeply sad about the fact that Satan was aware of things like hexes, and bowel incontinence, and impotence, but not cats–though it did make some sense. Satan had a natural curiosity for all things esoteric, and he was the owner of a body with anatomy that, presumably, made bowel incontinence and impotence things he might have had some personal experience with, or at least a conceptual understanding about. I didn’t know. I wasn’t in a position to judge. But since cats weren’t animals used in Devildom cuisine, there wasn’t really any reason for Satan to have heard of them before, especially considering he had never even left the Demon King’s castle until a few weeks earlier.

“A cat… The thing you talked about drowning?”

Of course Satan had remembered that bit of what I’d said back in the observatory.

“No–no, not really, I wasn’t actually talking about any real cats,” I insisted. Satan looked at me with what I could only describe as general disapproval. “...I’ve never hurt any cats!”

“You scared it,” Satan informed me with a frown. I turned around to look, and, indeed, the cat was no longer there. It had probably darted back between the buildings.

“How do you know I scared it? Maybe it just got bored!” I didn't like how this interaction was painting me as some sort of cat abuser.

“You shouldn’t be so loud,” Satan said coldly.

“That’s rich, coming from you,” I huffed.

Satan continued to stare at the spot where the cat had been. “I like how its ears looked. They were very triangular.”

My irritation softened a little bit. “You should keep an eye out,” I told him. “Cats aren’t uncommon in the Devildom, though they can be a little wary of people.”

Satan nodded. His interest in the board game in front of us had clearly petered out. “...Are you going to complain about rolling the books back down the hill as much as you complained about rolling them up?”

“Back down the hill?” I asked warily. That just sounded like a disaster waiting to happen.

Satan nodded. “I need to return to the library to find reading material on cats.”

“Can’t we bring these to the House of Lamentation first, then go get cat books?”

“As if Lucifer would let me leave once I show up.”

I couldn’t argue with that. “Well, then, why don’t I take these books to the house, and you can go to the library on your own for…cat research materials.”

Satan was still staring at the now vacant spot where the cat had been. He was frowning. “You need to check on Mammon?”

Actually, it wasn’t until he said it that I remembered I’d promised to check back in on the second oldest. A surge of guilt pooled in my belly. “I just don’t think rolling a wheelbarrow full of books down a hill sounds like a scenario with a happy ending,” I said.

Satan sighed. Apparently he saw the justice in my words, because he looked a little less resentful and a little more resigned when he nodded. “Fine. If Lucifer asks where I am, tell him you don’t know, but I said something about visiting an alchemist’s shop.”

“You had that loaded and ready, huh?”

“Of course. Don’t clean that up yet.” Satan stopped me as I stood and reached out to clear the Othello board. “Let’s finish the game.”

I sank back into my seat and cracked my knuckles. “Are you ready to lose?” I asked.

I lost.

19 notes · View notes