#and now i'm actually writing this au apparently

[hazbinfallinginaspiral]

Like a Doll? (doll!reader x Vox)

CW: Rape/Non-con, abuse, SA, mind control, manipulation, nsfw, smut, Vox being an asshole (he’s in hell for a reason), AU typical events

Note: Vox is manipulative, possessive, jealous, impulsive, controlling, and harsh in this AU. He can be extremely violent towards reader, and is consistently abusing them either way. He is not a good person! If anyone is sensitive to or may have a negative reaction from these topics, I recommend clicking away now.

Tell me if you all want more stuff like this, or just some smut in general! Also, good luck. This is… uh, quite the read. Also let me know if I need to add any other warnings!

"Hello there, darling," Vox said, walking up to me. I was sitting at his desk, mainly focused on my work. He noted how I sat across from him, in his office, writing on my clipboard. He felt irritated, since he wasn't receiving as much attention as he'd like. He pushed the feeling aside for now. "Busy day?"

"Yeah, something like that," I said, with a small yawn. I didn't really look up at him, I was trying to finish my work. It was clear I was bored, and a bit tired. "Just the usual. How have you been, my dear?"

Vox watched me work without taking his eyes off of me. He was feeling frustrated by my lack of attention and my indifference to him. Apparently. He decided to change his approach, just this once, and try a new tactic.

I didn't really notice how long it was asking him to respond, nor his frustration with me. I was his personal assistant, and as such, I was trying to do my work and make his job easier for him.

"I've been doing quite well, actually," Vox responded, his tone suddenly shifting from irritated to soft and almost cooing. He walked over to me, kneeling down in front of my chair. "How about you, though? Are you feeling a bit..."

"A bit...?" I asked, waiting for him to finish. He'd caught some of my attention now. probably not as much as he'd like, though.

"Like a doll?" Vox asked smugly. That was the first indicator as to where this would be going. The first hint as to what he'd do if he didn't get what he wanted. The word 'doll' had an impact on every one of his assistants, but even more so on me, since I was his personal assistant and significant other. The power that word held alone wasn't much, but if it were a apart of a specific phrase...

"Like a doll?" I asked, with a small smile. My first reaction was a twinge of panic, but that quickly faded. He hadn't used the trigger phrase yet, so I was still okay, still in control.

"A bit neglected?" Vox purred, leaning in close to nuzzle against my leg. His hand slid up my thigh, fingers trailing along the inside of my exposed stocking. "Perhaps I could be more... attentive?"

I laughed softly at his playful attitude. "I'm fine, that's not a big deal," I said, nonchalant.

"Oh, but it is a big deal," Vox purred, leaning in closer still. His hand slid up my thigh more insistently now, fingers tracing along the bare skin beneath my skirt. He was setting this up slowly, preparing to use the trigger phrase at the right moment. "You know how much I love you, right?"

"Y-yeah," I said with a nod. I blushed a bit and smiled. I gave him a quick, small kiss. It wouldn't be enough. He always wanted more. The action was a sign of how easily I gave into his moods, of how easily I gave into him. "I love you too, darling."

"Darling," he repeated, his tone dripping with affection. He leaned in even closer now, his lips brushing against my neck as he spoke. "Do you think you could be a doll for me tonight?"

"Yeah," I said, softer. I relaxed, almost immediately. He'd used the phrase, now I had to oblige. I didn't have a choice. I probably would've gone along with it either way, but now I had to. Now I wouldn't be able to resist doing as he said. "Of course," I said, my eyes glazing over slightly. I was always still aware whenever he used that trigger phrase on me, even if I wasn't in control.

"That's my girl," Vox purred, his lips brushing against my ear. "Now, why don't you be a doll and undress for me? Slowly." He nuzzled against my neck, his hands sliding down to rest on my hips.

I did as I was told, despite the fact we were still in his office, still at work. Usually, I would protest, or insist on doing this somewhere else. Right now? I didn't have that luxury. I was his doll, doing whatever he asked. I unbuttoned my shirt slowly, undressed slowly, for him.

His hands were gentle as he undid the buttons of his slacks, but there was a sense of urgency in his movements that belied the innocence of his touch. "I want you to do something for me, my little doll.

"V-Vox..." I said hesitantly. He had ordered me to undress, he hadn't ordered me not to speak. I could still talk to him, I just couldn't object to anything directly unless he let me. Saying his name like that, combined with the blush on my face, signaling embarrassment, indicated that it was a plea. The closest thing to one I could manage right now, at least. I was asking him to stop, the best I could.

He finally got his pants off, and looked at me with a wide predatory smile, "I want you to be a doll and please me." He said, letting his words sink in for a moment before continuing. "Use your mouth."

“Okay,” I said with a nod. I repositioned myself slightly, to make it easier. Like a compliant a little toy. I was a tad worried about how it’d turn out. We’d never done it before, mostly due to how uncomfortable the thought of it made me. Right now, I was literally incapable of going against my orders, or even thinking about going against them. I had to do it, whether I wanted to or not. I really didn’t want to.

He moved closer, his eyes locked with mine as he gently slipped his throbbing erection past my lips, taking careful not to force it too far at once, mindful of my gag reflex and the situation. "That's it, my little doll.”

I played around the head, getting a taste of him. Getting used to it, for a moment. If I’d been in my right mind, I’d have resisted, or bitten him. If I’d been in control, I’d be openly displaying my discomfort. But I wasn’t. I was helpless under his control, forced to suck his dick.

Vox moaned softly as he felt my warm, wet mouth around him. He gently pushed further in, taking advantage of my openness and lack of resistance. His hands gripped my hair tightly, guiding me up and down his length. "That's it...”

He then thrusted fully down my throat without warning. I would’ve gagged, but somehow resisted. A good little doll. I should’ve screamed or wretched at the pain. I couldn’t, though. He’d used that stupid trigger phrase and now I was all his.

My mind and body reacted differently. Internally, in the back of my mind, I was screaming. The fog in my head covered that up, though. It hurt, but I couldn’t let that show. I was supposed to be a doll and make him happy, I needed to be a doll and please him. So, I did. I moaned around him, trying to ignore the overwhelming sensation, trying to ignore how he was cutting off my air. I sucked harder.

"My god, you're so good at this," he hissed, his hips jerking wildly as he tried to maintain control. A shiver ran down his spine at the thought of having such a perfect little doll all to himself. "You're so obedient...”

He began moving my head along with his hips. It was suffocating, I could barely breathe as he used me. I moaned again, pushing those feelings aside. He’d told me to make him happy, he told me to please him. So I did.

"Yes," he gasped, his eyes rolling back with pleasure. His hand left my hair to grab mine, guiding it along with him, using both of our hands to control the rhythm of what he was doing. “Feel how hard you're making me?”

I moaned around him, automatically trying to say yes, like a good doll. I choked for a moment, then moaned as I throbbed. I recovered, moaning again and continuing. I could feel him about to climax. If I’d been in my right mind, I’d have prayed he’d pull out before cumming. Right now, I wasn’t. I was focused on pleasing him, and nothing else. Not a single other thought.

"That's it, baby," he panted, his hand clutching my head tightly. His hips jerked violently as he shot his load down my throat, choking me momentarily. "Swallow every drop for me."

It took everything I had not to cough it up. My vision blurred as I obliged, swallowing. It was so hard to breathe.

Vox smirked, his eyes glowing with satisfaction. "You're such a good doll," he whispered as he pulled out of my mouth, his dick still throbbing. "I knew you could please me perfectly."

I immediately hunched over, coughing. I gagged and stopped myself from vomiting. I gasped for air, desperately. He’d pushed me to my limits there, but we both knew he wasn’t done yet. He never was.

"That's right," Vox whispered in my ear, his warm breath sending shivers down my spine. "You remember who's in charge here. Now, why don't you be a doll and climb onto the desk? Be a doll and spread those legs for me."

"Vox.. Vox please," I said quietly. I wanted to say 'stop' but I couldn't, so it lingered in the air between us. I did what he told me to, despite myself. I felt dread building up in me. I didn't want this. I didn't want any of this. It wasn't the first time, but it never got better.

"Please, I don't..." I couldn't finish the sentence. Part of the rules. I couldn't directly object or protest to anything he asked of me. I couldn't say I didn't want it, I couldn't go against his wishes in any way when he used the phrase 'be a doll'. "Vox," I said desperately, his name alone a plea for him to stop. I was on the desk, I'd done as I was told. I wasn't in control of my actions. I hated it. I hated it when he used me like this.

Vox took a deep inhale, his eyes locked on mine as he stroked his thumb over your lips lightly. "You know, doll," he began, his voice soft and tender when it came to me. "You are aware that this is all just for fun, aren't you?"

I shook my head no. It was fun for him, but not for me. Tears stung the edges of my eyes, threatening to fall over. I hated this.

"Look at me, doll," he commanded, and when our eyes met, he brushed the tears away from my cheek with the back of his hand. "You are mine, remember?"

"Yes," I said quietly, my voice shaky.

He smirked at your response, his gaze turning predatory once more. "Then be a doll and behave like it. Be a doll for me, now."

I relaxed more, a sense of calm washing over me. My eyes glazed over and my thoughts became foggy. I was his. No protest, no panic. I was his and now I'd behave like it. I was still completely exposed to him, sitting on his desk with my legs spread open.

I almost wasn't myself anymore. I was his, and I'd bend to his every whim. I was his, and I didn't matter, my feelings didn't matter. I was his, I belonged to him, he was everything, pleasing him was everything, doing what he said was everything. I was his, and he was everything. He was all that mattered.

"Good girl," Vox purred, appreciating the change in my demeanor. He took his phone out, recording me as he stepped closer, his hard cock pressing against my exposed cunt. "Remember, you want this as much as I do, don't you, doll?"

"Yes, Vox," I said softly, making no move to resist. Blush crept into my cheeks at being called a good girl. It didn't matter whether I was in my right mind or not, being called that... "I love you," I said, ignoring the camera. In any other instance I'd be afraid, angry, panicked, but now? He'd told me to behave like I was his, like I was his doll, so I was. I had to.

Vox flashed a wicked grin at my words, his thumb gently stroking my slit as he towered over me. The camera kept rolling, capturing every desperate plea for love and obedience falling from my lips.

"I love you," I said again, slightly breathless. My body was reacting to his touch— something I would've hated if I was thinking properly. But I wasn't. I didn't care about the camera, I didn't care he was using me, I was just his doll to play with. A doll didn't have feelings like that. A doll just focused on being a good toy. "Please, Vox... please, I want you..."

Vox smirked down at me, pleased with my obedience. "You really are a good girl," he purred, his fingers finding their way inside my folds to tease at my sensitive nerves. "Now, remember what I told you about showing me how much you want it?"

"Mmnn.... yes, Vox," I moaned, my pussy beginning to throb at his touch. I gripped the edge of the desk hard, heat rising to my cheeks as I moaned again. "Please, Vox, please..." I begged, my voice a bit airy. "I need you, I want you... I’m nothing without you.... please, Vox, I want you so bad.... please, please..."

Vox leaned in, his mouth brushing against my ear as he whispered hotly, "You're so fucking pretty when you beg." His fingers slid easily into me, stretching and filling me with his touch. "You're getting so wet for me..."

"Ohhh.... Vox please," I moaned, the words falling out of my mouth. Things I never would've usually said coming out against my will. My thoughts were foggy, I could hardly think. "Mmnn," I moaned, pressing myself up against him. I begged and moaned for more, for him. "Please fuck me, darling, please. You're all I need, you're all I want, please, please. I want you, I want you..."

"Oh my dear, you have no idea how much I've wanted this," he muttered against my ear, his grip steady as he pushed inside me slowly, eliciting another moan of pleasure from me. "You truly belong to me, don't you?"

"Yes, Vox... Ohhh," I moaned, arching my back and moving my hips for a better fit. "Please, I'm yours, I belong to you, please," I said, overwhelming pleasure filling my senses. I made small noises, whines and whimpers, and continued to moan for him. "Ohh... ohhh... fuck! Oh god," I groaned, my pussy throbbing. "Ohhh, more... more, please.. please... I belong to you... please... I'm all yours..."

Vox smiled down at me, smug that he'd gotten me to be so submissive so easily, with just the use of the single tigger phrase. His grip on my hips tightened as he began to thrust into me, his cock sliding easily in and out as I arched my back and moaned his name.

"Vox..." I moaned, gripping the edge of the desk tighter, my nails digging into the wood. I was nearing my peak, again. I moaned louder. He'd set aside his phone, but he had cameras in his office, in this room, recording everything from every angle. He always did. I'd be crying right about now, if I could. I'd be screaming, frustrated, angry. But I was his doll. for now, and he wasn't going to allow that. So, I played the role he wanted. I moaned his name again.

Vox growled softly, his fingers digging into my hips as he took me roughly, throwing my head back with every thrust. "That's it, my pet. Show me how much you need me." His voice was low and commanding, his gaze locked onto mine.

"Ah, ah... ohhh, Vox," I moaned, my lips quivering. my hands twitched and I gripped the desk hard, dragging my nails across it, leaving more marks. I moaned again and gasped, feeling myself reach my peak.

Vox's thrusts slowed as he felt me release, his cock twitching and pulsing inside me as he finally came as well, filling me up with his seed. "My beautiful doll," he whispered, leaning down to capture my lips in a slow, deep kiss.

I moaned one more time, then sighed, taking in the blissful feeling spreading through me.

"You did well, my dear. Exactly as I wanted," he purred, leaning down to kiss my neck softly. "Come, let's tidy up and clean ourselves. Then maybe we could cuddle and watch TV for a bit?"

"Yeah," I said with a nod. I looked at him, meeting his eyes again. Mine were still glazed over, and now that we'd officially finished, I'd returned to the quiet doll I was, since he'd used the trigger phrase. He hadn't given the word to allow me to return to normal again. I was very much unlike myself because of it.

"Perfect," he said with a grin. He snapped his fingers and all the cameras turned off, done recording. He was pleased with himself, and how he'd be able to use that footage in the further to keep me in line. Not that it was likely that it'd ever be necessary. "Hm," Vox said, his gaze becoming thoughtful. He paused for a moment and ran his fingers through my hair, examining my expression. It felt off to him, empty.

I didn't lean into his touch like I normally would. I didn't nuzzle up against him. I didn't speak. I was still a little doll, with a small, perfect soft smile fixed on my face. Unnatural. He was used to having me- the real me, the one in her right mind- with him afterwards, after this.

Vox frowned slightly, his fingers trailing lightly over my cheek. "What's wrong, darling?" He asked softly, tilting his head to the side. He couldn't quite place what it was about me that seemed off, but he could feel it nonetheless.

"Nothing," I said lightly. Unnatural for me. Usually I'd be flirty after we fucked, or gentle, or clingy. Right now, I was none of those things. I was his doll, not myself. That alone was vaguely unsettling for him, in this moment. It wasn't so wrong to him when he made me like this to fuck me without my consent, but for me to be like this afterwards? It felt odd. He didn't like it.

"I'm just your doll. I belong to you," I said, reciting what he said when using the trigger phrase to get me like this.

"Ah," Vox's eyes narrowed slightly, studying me for a moment. His gaze softened as he continued to gently caress my cheek. "That's my good girl." When I didn't react, it hit him. His eyes widened and he chuckled, looking over at me again. "So that's the problem, hm? I can't believe I forgot," he said, laughing again. He looked at me with a warm smile and cupped my face gently. "Be a doll and return to normal, my love."

I closed my eyes and the smile dropped from my face. I leaned against him as I came back into my own. My hand twitched and I shifted slightly, trying to get used to being in control again. My mind was racing as the fog cleared from my head, emotions barreling into me as I tried to process what had just happened.

Vox watched as I returned to my normal self, his smile widening. He could feel the shift in energy as I leaned against him, trying to adjust to being in control again. His hands gently moved down my back, comfortingly massaging as he spoke softly. "There we go, doll." He said, as if he hadn't just overridden my free will to fuck me. As if he hadn't just raped me and recorded the entire thing.

I tensed and held him tightly. Despite everything, he was my only source of comfort right now. This wasn't the first time this had happened. This probably would happen again. I buried my head against his chest, still completely exposed, slightly dazed. I cried.

Vox wrapped his arms around me, holding me close as he could feel my tears soaking into his shirt. He didn't mind the slight discomfort it caused him; after all, he had pushed me to my limits once again. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to my head.

I cried harder, sobs raking through my body. I clung to him, seeking reassurance and protection. I stayed with him, despite it all.

#hazbin hotel #vox #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin vox #writing #vox x reader #my writing #x reader #vox x fem reader #Vox x fem!reader #Vox x doll!reader #vox is in hell for a reason #smut #sorry guys #be a doll

[georgieluz]

sheriff luz | modern au | 'dearly departed'

george luz lives a quiet life as a local sheriff, but everyone knows that hiding from your past in a small town never ends well

you and i both know that the house is haunted, and you and i both know that the ghost is me

cowboy collab: #easy ranch #easy company cowboys

#cowboy collab #easy company cowboys #george luz #band of brothers #bobcollab #easy ranch #this is honestly a bit of a mess sorry #i just thought i'd put someone on the other side of the law for the collab and rick gomez delivered me a fucked up sheriff #pretty much on a platter actually so yeah #i ended up making this on a whim instead of the other george moodboard i had originally planned #and now i'm actually writing this au apparently #i've got the bones of a luztoyelip fic revolved around this already formed in my brain so i guess i'm writing that now #if i got the collab tags wrong lemme know i am tagging this purely from memory and i could very well be wrong #julian made a thing #julian writes #i guess this is a wip now

[the-sky-queen]

so the scu boys are lactose intolerant (because real hedgehogs are) are the prime boys?

While I like to include bits of real hedgehog biology to the prime boys in my headcanons, I'm thinking probably no on this one. However, I will be including some other eating related headcanons for them!

Shadow has Celiac Disease (Because I do and I decided to project)

Sonic is allergic to strawberries (probably won't come up though)

Silver is Vegan (haven't figured out what kind yet though)

#learned in my nutrition class that there's actually at least like 4 or 6 different kinds of vegan apparently #so I'll have to figure out what kind Silver is #Hmm now I'm realizing that the whole lactose intolerance thing will have to come up in conversation #though I think I remember you writing that the SCU boys have those lactose pills now or whatever they're called #yet another thing i need to ask you about XD #thanks for the ask! #asks #Ames Stuff #Sky Queen #Sonic the Hedgehog #Sonic AU #SCU x Game Crossover AU #Sonic #Shadow the Hedgehog #Silver the Hedgehog #Celiac Disease #Lactose Intolerance

[throttlegainwell]

Might be time to do a Scrubs rewatch and finally finish all the poly Turk/J.D./Carla and threesome fics (Jordan/J.D./Perry) I've got partially written.

Jordan is sure that Perry is convinced the appeal for him lies in seeing the two of them as a pair of hunters skillfully taking down a helpless gazelle and sharing a still-warm meal. Any idiot could see, though, that what he’s really enjoying is watching Jordan sink her teeth into the kid; and that whether he’s getting off on it or not, a significant part of his attention is taken up just watching out for the skinny klutz and making sure that, while she gets her fill, she doesn’t nick an artery. He’d deny it, of course. And he’s certainly not gentle or sweet with Dorian. But, then, Perry’s never been one to show his love with soft things.

Still 100% convinced, btw, that Turk/J.D./Carla was borderline canon. They were very much in a relationship, all three of them, sex or no sex.

#writing tag #scrubs wips #perry cox/john dorian/jordan sullivan #i really love sci-fi but sometimes i do just want to write about non-sci-fi worlds without creating an au #and ngl still very into st but it's been a little weird for me getting so into a show about kids #especially after thg which is also kid-heavy in its own way #(even though i latched onto finnick) #i've mostly been in fandoms where everyone's an adult up until now #with some exceptions #i dunno scrubs works for me when i'm totally out of steam #and apparently i'm even more fried than i thought #and you thought my ST fics were niche #i have a whole series planned out where j.d. and turk used to drunkenly hook up in college #very drunkenly and only barely hooking up #and carla finally asks about it #it will unfold a little at a time while they get closer to the idea of being together #and by the end it's the the of them #there's sex but the sex isn't actually the point for most of them

[astrxealis]

hermes final fantasy would really fit in gbf wmtsb with the angels tbh (i think)

#⋯ ꒰ა starry thoughts ໒꒱ *·˚ #⋯ ꒰ა ffxiv ໒꒱ *·˚ #⋯ ꒰ა gbf ໒꒱ *·˚ #...or fallen angels. yeah #man this one xiv artist i follow who is a Big Fan of fandaniel. and hermes. apparently also likes gbf and GODDAMN #there's a couple gbf ffxiv artists i know but this is added to the list now ^___^ #okay anyways hm ... idk which characters they like oh well but in any case #i think hermes and sandalphon would ??? #idk if they'd. get along. but they strike me as similar tbh. hermes is tragic though #i think if belial tried to get hermes to join their side it would WORK. and the world would be in fucking chaos #actually i'm invested in this now HOLY SHIT. hermes and his kin. the other guys. wmtsb au #i might actually write that ngl but idk HOW ............ #suddenly i remember that gbf/ffxiv art by one of my fav artists too ... they like p5 (and gi) too woa. love their art #and their wol!!!!!! actually joined their drawing stream once iirc. fun ^___^ #OFF TRACK RAMBLING ARGHHH BUT YEAH hermes in wmtsb is a cool concept to think abt #i think if i tried to write themis in wmtsb that's impossible #i'd cry and combust and explode b4 even thinking abt it. it would be so aahebjghbhjeag >//< /pos

[inklingofadream]

my continued battle against the things in the uk that are not like they are in america enters a new bout

i literally only ever want something with plainly-stated information that doesn't mix things from wildly different time periods and contexts together, and has few enough typos that it doesn't seem completely unreliable

why is this always so difficult to find

#writing #polychives au #is the current culprit #i literally just wanted to know what to swap in for a joke #and the joke is literally just. the time a hs friend with an after-school waitress gig was tipped like 15 bucks. but Only in dimes #why was information about novelty beatrix potter coins ranked above information about just THE NORMAL LEGAL TENDER #ink post #to be clear. the problem is not that they are different from the us. it's that NO ONE ON EARTH can competently explain how. apparently. #for a hot second i was p sure i was going to make a drastic error bc something had changed between 2003 and now #and 2003 was definitely the last time AT BEST the website i was looking at was updated #like i'm not aware of any such changes in that time period but i do think that like the second! #you settle on info from geocities but somehow actually affiliated with a v real university instead! that change would suddenly be a thing!

[breadstickysquid]

okay so I was talking with a friend about writing, and I was about to infodump about an au of mine over discord to them because I can't actually write out the ideas rn since ao3 is dOWN-

and they freaked out??? Apparently I'm weird for writing my works *in* ao3? Like I know people usually write in docs or something but I only feel motivated to write when I'm in the ao3 textbox HJLGFJGDH

So now I have a question for fellow writers on ao3:

#ao3 #fic #fanfiction #writing thoughts #writing #poll

[hannieehaee]

ARE WE STILL FRIENDS (teaser)

18+ / mdi

summary: being besties with two of the most popular idols in korea always came with a few rumors here and there, but what happened when one of your platonic besties suddenly started acting a little friendlier than usual? or worse, what happened when they both turned their affections to you?

content: idol!au, hybeidol!reader x idol!mingyu, hybeidol!reader x idol!jungkook, 97liner!reader, friends2lovers, not mingyu x jk (they just share u like all besties would<3), not that much plot, afab reader, smut, oral (f and m receiving), body worship, fingering, penetrative sex, etc.

(^ no actual content warnings in the teaser)

wc: 1.3k (teaser); 8.2k (full fic)

release date: april 27th

or you can check it out on my ko-fi or patreon today by subscribing to either one!

a/n: decided to write a little surprise fic!! ive been getting into bts lately and so this was born<3

masterlist | kofi/patreon

support me through a one time tip<3

"Do you think the company would get mad if we did a live together right now?", Jungkook pondered out loud as the three of you sat on different pieces of furniture around his large living room.

"Yeah."

"They didn't seem to mind when Jungkook and I did it that one time," disagreed Mingyu.

"Yeah, but I'm the girl. I'm the one who wakes up to new dating rumors every time we hang out publicly."

"Yeah, but people must know we're just friends by now, right? It's been years."

That much was true.

You weren't sure of the exact date, but your friendship with both boys predated the overall international success of Kpop as of recent years. When you had met both boys, they had barely battled their way through puberty – though you weren't faring any better.

The media enjoyed making the three of you a subject, knowing that you were evidently the closest out of all members of the popular 97s friend group. Being the only girl integrant, it was common for people to have the misconception that you were romantically involved with either Mingyu or Jungkook, seeing as you were often spotted in public with them.

You'd gotten used to the rumors and hate that came attached to being their friend, now usually leaving those things in the back burner rather than letting them bother you. By now, the three of you were a bit more careless about being seen together. Being seniors in the industry, those things didn't matter much to you anymore, but being seen inside Jungkook's house would surely stir up the worst rumors to date, so going live with him was entirely out of the question.

It did bother you sometimes; the double standard. While Jungkook and Mingyu could even interact in public or mention each other freely, any time you did so you were met with hate from either fandom, sometimes even your own. It also made you worry about your future. Could you ever be in a relationship without facing the brunt of all the hate that would come your way? At 26 years of age, it was a frustrating reality to think about.

Jungkook got up at some point to go fetch some more bottles of soju. Apparently the seven bottles the three of you had drank collectively weren't enough for the large men you were drinking with.

While Jungkook was gone, Mingyu got up from his seat on the couch opposite to you and took a seat down next to you, invading your personal space like he usually did.

"Worrying your pretty little head about something?", asked Mingyu as he leaned over you, taking the occasional sip from his drink.

"It's nothing."

"C'mon, what's up?", his hand ran up and down your arm in a soothing manner.

Invading your space and being overly touchy usually meant that he was tipsy. But to be fair, you were a bit tipsy too.

"Do you ever think about dating?"

"Who? You?", he chuckled.

"No, dumbass. I mean in general."

He seemed to sober up a little at the mention of the subject, straightening up a bit as he sat sideways on the couch so he could look at you fully.

"What's got you thinking about that?"

"I don't know ... I'm 26 now. Isn't it time I started settling down? Have someone filling up the other half of the bed," you pondered, feeling a bit pathetic as you did so.

Mingyu let out a quiet sound of confusion, eyebrows furrowed and head leaning to the side in question.

"Isn't that what me and Jungkook are for?"

Not taking him seriously, you chuckled and took a swing of your almost empty bottle of soju.

"I'm serious, Mingyu. I mean a romantic relationship, where, you know, it's just us and we do couple things and we settle down and all that stuff."

"What can you do with some guy that you couldn't do with us?", he grabbed both your drinks and set them on the table.

Suddenly, his demeanor seemed a bit more serious, which confused you.

Where the hell was Jungkook with those drinks?

"I- Are you serious? Do you need me to tell you?"

"Yeah, I mean, why would you need to look for some guy if you have us?"

Oh. He was serious.

"Because we're friends?," you were beyond confused, "I can't go out with you romantically, or move in with you, or," you gulped, "or sleep with you."

"You can't?", he scoot closer to you.

"Mingyu ..."

"I just mean ... Why would you go after some loser when we can just take care of you?", his hand went back to touching you, though this time it ran up and down your thigh rather than your arm. That false semblance of innocence was gone, "You want someone to keep your bed warm? You don't even have to ask ... I'll do it- we'll do it."

Through his short speech, he got closer and closer, just as the air in the room got heavier. The atmosphere itself shifted dramatically, specially with Mingyu so close to you.

Mingyu was the touchiest man you'd ever known. Being his best friend, you had fallen victim to his touchy demeanor endless times, but never like this. Never while his eyes were hooded and heavy with some emotion you'd never seen in them before.

"Gyu, I-"

"Can I show you?", he rasped, eyes now on your lips.

"Y-you're drunk," you were sure that must've been it. The combination between drinking and talking about dating must've short circuited his brain.

"Just tipsy ... Tipsy enough to get the balls to tell you how much I want you ... but lucid enough to remember how many times I've thought about this."

The hands on your thighs moved to your waist, closing in on you, slowly pulling you toward him. By the end of it, you were halfway sitting on his lap.

"You've thought about this?"

Your nervous hands went to his shoulders for support, easily giving in to him.

"So many times. Jungkook too," he chuckled as he began burying his head in your neck, lips ghosting the sensitive skin.

Lacking any control of your body, you repositioned yourself to allow him better access to you, now fully on his lap as he sat sideways on the couch, arms wrapped fully around you and face buried in your neck.

"Gyu, I-"

"Yeah? Is this okay? Is it okay if I kiss your neck like this? This is what you wanted, right? Someone to take care of you?", he mumbled as he made his way to your ear with breathy kisses.

You were burning up, completely powerless to Mingyu. It was kind of embarrassing how easily you gave in to him. How you had been entirely unaware of his want for you until five minutes ago, yet you were now pliant in his hold, willing to listen to his senseless argument about him and Jungkook being good replacement for a relationship. You also had that to think about – the Jungkook aspect of it all.

The reminder of Jungkook's presence woke you up a bit, remembering that you were literally sitting on your best friend's lap while in your other best friend's living room.

With half a mind to let Mingyu do whatever he wanted to do with you, you powered your way through your decision to pull him away from your neck.

"Gyu, wait. Kook could get here any minute-"

"Don't stop on my account. Seemed like you were having fun without me."

Your head snapped to the door at the introduction of the raspy voice of your best friend, finding said friend leaning against the doorframe with a few drinks in one hand and a few ramen cups stacked on the other.

"Jungkook-"

"So, can someone catch me up?", he got closer, dropping off all the food he was carrying on the table and sitting next to you on the couch.

...

read today on ko-fi or patreon by subscribing to either one<3

NOTE: it wont let me reply to people anymore but ill be tagging everyone who comments asking to be tagged just letting u guys know<3

#seventeen fanfic #seventeen x reader #svt fanfic #svt x reader #seventeen imagine #seventeen oneshot #seventeen smut #svt smut #mingyu imagine #mingyu x reader #mingyu fanfic #mingyu smut #mingyu scenario #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenario #jk smut #jk imagine #jk x reader #gyukook smut

[flamingpudding]

I'm back with a part 4 if you want to do it it's kind of more of a crack write I just need Klarion trying to explain the family tree

But not explaining how he was made at all So Young Justice and the Justice League are now convinced that a the Ghost King was a teenage parent who is now 27 years old and just passed college with a degree in astronomy and machinery

Klarion's other parent is a a crazy fruit loop 64 year old millionaire who went to college with Klarion's Mom parents who had an emotionally unhealthy obsession with his mom's mother and then it passed on to his mom.

And he has an older sister who is technicality a clone of his mom but also has the bastards DNA so fundamentally making Ellie Vlad Master and Mom's first born kid but there's six other siblings that Klarion had that died back a while back but Mom got granddad who's apparently the time lord AKA Cronos which is a whole another long story to go back in time and save those kids get them fixed up and now Klarion technicality has seven older siblings which all do their own things

And then he starts mentioning his uncle who is a 9 ft yeti his technicality auntie who is a medieval ghost princess who can turn into a dragon his auntie Pandora and his his grandfather cronos

My names for the six other clone children are Donald (he/him), Cecelia (they/she), Bartholomew(Them/They), Kyle AKA Bite(He/It), Brutus(He/They), and then there's Danna (She/Her) who actually really like the name Dan and asked Klarion if could have it when Klarion changed his name

Sorry if this is a little bit too much I've just really been thinking about au for this after the last part you made I hope this helps you with your writing or at least makes you laugh but I really love the idea of Danny's AKA somewhat clone children and finding their own personalities and and fighting themselves out of just being failed clone of their mom also I love the idea of Danny going back in time to save the rest of the clone kids cuz now he's a mature adult who wants to save their lives and wants them to grow into their own people.

(⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

I probably did way to much research into all the fandoms I am in to see what I could tie into this... And yet this feels shorter than it should but I also currently lack the time to add more. But for now I hope this will be satisfactorily.

Also this family tree idea especially the part of saving the melted clones. LOVE IT!

So even though it took me a while! here is Part 4 you inspired! Thanks so much for the ask!

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

"Dude, you are making us only curious!" Impulse spoke up as he sat down next to Klarion who had his head in his hands. "Like you and your mom can't just drop your family lore like that!"

The witch boy on the other hand looked up with narrowed eyes at the speedster. "What lore?"

"Let's see, the part that apparently a Vlad tried to kill your Grandpa to make friends several time. That your mom is 'ghost' adopted by the lord of time Cronos and Pandora, which makes us family too by the way, and that you have a sister that apparently is even crazier than what we got to know of your family so far." Wonder Girl counted off her fingers next to him grinning as she mentioned the part of probably being a part of his 'crazy' family too. Which hell yea, that sounded like a lot of fun to be explored she would have to talk with Wonder Woman about that as soon as possible.

"Also..." Red Robin added as he flipped through the photo album that apparently no one remembered he had. He was turning it around and pointed at a particular photo with a wild bunch of people in it that varied between more human and well... less humanoid people. One of them definitely was a Yeti and there was also what looked like living armor as well as Teekly (they knew that demon cat at least), a giant green dog and for some reasons there was a green aggressive looking Octopus in the background too. "...how are you related to a Yeti?"

"Hey that man there and those other teens in the picture actually have some resembles with you! Do you have older brothers too?" Superboy additionally asked as he moved around Red Robin to see the photo better pointing at a man that appeared to be in this late twenties, blue eyed, black haired and a little on the buffer side. If he didn't know any better and the fact that he should keep his mouth shut about their actual identities he would have jokingly asked Red Robin if his family would like to add more kids considering Klarions family apparently had a bunch of black haired blue eyed members too, judging by the photo at least.

"What are you talking about. That man is my mom and yes the others are actually my older brothers and that Yeti is uncle Frostbite who also happens to be the best medic in the Infinite Realms" The four teen heroes looked stunned at the picture and then back at the Ghost King that was smiling at them, still seated by the dinner table with their mentors. Who by the way were now perking up at the change of topic and the information they could gain with it, well Wonder Woman was more interested in the apparently extended family she had.

"Oh I remember we took this photo last year, it was such a hassle to get everyone into one place with them all being busy doing their own things." Danny mused for a moment, remembering fondly how he had to literally drag some of the kids home through a portal.

"It was more annoying than anything too since I was declared to be the youngest...." Klarion muttered also remembering that day not as fondly as his mother.

"Wait, wait, wait! That is a picture of your family? I need an explanation buddy!" Impulse cut in without shame, quickly removing the picture from the photo album to get a better look at it before holding it out to Klarion so he could explain all the individuals. "Plus why does your mom look soooo.... human?"

The witch boy on the other hand stared at him for a couple of seconds before looking over towards his mother as if waiting for something. After a moment the teen heroes as well as their mentors saw Danny nod with a little smile. "This dimension doesn't have the GIW so its fine, the Justice League Dark won't be a problem either, right?." Constantine flinched at the smile the Ghost King was giving him, muttering something under his breath as he had hoped his presence had been forgotten.

"Since mom is giving his okay...." Klarion mutter sitting crosslegged on the ground as he snatched the photo album from Red Robin and flipped through it. "Lets start with the easiest stuff to explain."

Danny chuckled noticing that not only the teen heroes but their mentors as well showed an interest. He choose to stay quiet letting the adults listen in on the kids, and if things went bad he would just ask Clockwork if they could revert time back to this moment and he would change his nod of permission to a shake of denial.

"Okay first of, this is my mom and his sister Jasmine, this is Danielle my older sister and that hulk with flaming white hair and blueish skin is me. That was before I got deaged because of destabilising." Klarion explained flipping to a photo of him, Danny, Jazz and Danielle. "Mom was around fifteen, Aunt Jazz about seventeen and Ellie should have been about a year old but she was aged up to twelve. They look human in this one because well they are. Mom was originally human and became what you call in this dimension a Meta through an accident."

"Wait... that would mean your mom... How could he have two kids at that age of fourteen? You look like an adult and your sister was aged up?" Wonder Girl couldn't help but ask as she looked from the photo and back to Danny at the dinner table again.

"That's cause Vlad was a fu-"

"Language Klarion!"

"Vlad was a fruitloop. That photo was taken shortly after Vlad and I sort of redeemed our selfs. Plus, mom didn't really have my sister and me willingly.... we were kind of forced upon him in a way." Klarion explained shrugging. "Old Man Vlad had an obsession with his mom that then turned on mom, which resulted in my oldest sister Danielle first. Actually, a lot of my elder siblings resulted from that, but they didn't survive it the first time, Mom got Old Man Clocks help to save them once he got used to being the Ghost King. I got added to the mix shortly after my sister, but... i wasn't in the best state of mind at first, kind of went through a redemption phase in which mom had to fix the timeline of our original home dimension, too."

Danny chuckled again at the disturbed looks the teens were giving his son as well as the looks their mentors sent him. He probably should correct Klarion's wording... but being one of the gremlins of his family he just smiled on, not commenting. He really understands now why Pops Clockwork liked watching the chaos he used to cause as teen, and still sometimes causes as adult.

"Klarion... how old is this Old Man Vlad?" Red Robin asked grimacing as his eyes under the mask flicked up to the Ghost King and then back to the witch boy both seemingly unbothered by the disturbing information they were sharing.

"In human years... probably around 67? You stop counting age at some point if your a halfa." Klarion shrugged, not noticing the grimaces of the teens around him. "Anyway, Ellie is sort of the first born. I came in after that, with my core being a mix of Mom and Vlad. Not DNA wise though since I came to be because of their ghost cores. That's why I look like that in this photo. Though human DNA wise I am probably now mostly Moms, we never bothered to ask the old man."

Danny muffled another chuckle, coughing as Superman sent him an incredulous look of shook while he felt Batmans burning gaze on him.

"You... mentioned more siblings?" Red Robin asked carefully sharing a look with his team, feeling like there was a whole lot of trauma in Klarions family he wasn't sure they should address or not. So asking after his siblings was probably, hopefully the safest option. They didn't know that while there was trauma in the witch boy's family it was not the kind they were imagining.

"Yea I got a bunch more brothers, Vlad was a evil crazy fuitloop, before he redeemed himself. They all kind of melted in one timeline but mom and Grandpa Clock found a way to save them." Klarion nodded flipping to another photo containing him, as he looked now, and all his siblings.

"So, Ellie you know about already. The one with the sunglasses and died hair is Bartholomew, second oldest. They made themselves a home in other dimension, barely at home cause he has to much fun messing with something called a 'Starstream' by being a 'Constellation' and throwing gold coins at 'Incarnations'. Don't ask me what that means, I barely pay attention when he gushes about his favorit 'Incarnation'. They spent like all their money and pocket money there. Aunt Jazz thinks he might develop a gambling addiction if we don't stop his spendings." The teen heroes eyed the teen that looked like a young adult grinning in the photo as the witch boy pointed at the one next to them. "The one with the vile is my elder brother Bite, most responsible one of this bunch. Mom even allowed him to take care of a couple of dimensions by taking the role of being their God of Death. I think he messed them up more than helped but he is doing a somewhat good job, even if he is sort of obsessed with making some red head his saint or something..."

"One of your sibs is a God?" Impulse gabbed and Klarion just blinked at him with a shrug. "My Grandfather is the ruler of Time, your point is? Wonder Girl is also related to a God of your dimension."

"Never mind him, moving on." A yelp resounded as Superboy pushed Impulse head down leaning in more to see the photo better. "You got one emo looking brother there!"

"Oh that's Yamikumo, he is like a year or two older than me right now, in human years. He barely got any of mom's powers so he choose to try to life a somewhat normal life but weirdly enough he choose a dimension that is ruled by people who have powers and abilities, you know like the Meta Humans of this dimension. Now that I think about it, he is also the only one who actually is studying on how to be a Hero."

"Do you end up fighting with him if he studies to be a hero?" Wonder Girl whisper asked him with a quick glance towards their mentors, to which Klarion shook his head. "As long as we leave the dimensions one of us choose to live in alone we usually don't fight about stuff like that, aside from the usual sibling fights that is. Then again I do have some siblings that like to make bets like who is better at ruling as demon lord, or who can safe a dying timeline quicker."

Danny chuckled again as he watched the kids, Klarion had definitely caused some misunderstandings with his wording. Then again it wasn't like Klarion said anything that wasn't true, but then again his son loved chaos. So there was a suspicion that Klarion intentionally choose the way he worded the explanation about how he and Ellie came to be as well as the rest of siblings.

"So....." Superman slowly started wondering how he should bring up the topic. "...you became a mom at 14?"

"Say Danny is there a way for me to meet this Vlad? You know since we are family." Wonder Woman also asked smiling in a certain way that reminded Danny of Valerie when she was mad but didn't want to show right away how mad she was, to which the Ghost King on reflex could do nothing but gulp for a moment. Not noticing that a green post it note appeared on the table before him.

#question and answer #thanks for the ask! #danny fenton #danny phantom #dp x dc #dpxdc #dcxdp #crossover #dan phantom #klarion the witch boy #tim drake #conner kent #bart allan #cassandra sandsmark #young justice #Dan is Klarion #Danny is Dan's mom #mom danny #ghost king danny #Part 4 #Time for some world building #Dan's family explained #with misunderstandings #Wonder Woman and Superman want to have a talk with Vlad #Batman to he just didn't actively say it #they promise its just a talk #Klarion might have used the wrong words on purpose #The phantoms are gremlins #no beta we die like danny #unedited

[alllgator-blood]

I s2g if you add the layers of these comic pages together, it's over 350 layers. THIS is why I don't do full color for my comics lmaooo- ANYWAY EVERYONE HERE HAS AN AU APPARENTLY, SO THIS IS A BRIEF GLIMPSE INTO MINE. I don't know what to call it yet but I'm thinking of calling it "famous prophets" because 1. I like that car seat headrest song, 2. it's about shamura who is prophetic, 3. it's about trying to outrun fate with the Power of Love (and failing. Like the song!!!). It takes place when all the bishops were teens/kids during the age of hundreds of gods at war, and were trying to survive as a family.

I'm really excited to work on stuff for it but it's all gonna be drawn out of order. Maybe I'll write a full explanation of what it's gonna be about when I have a better idea...I want to channel my eldest sibling angst in a productive way, and maybe establish a QPP between shamura and a completely random npc everyone forgets about <3 also kallamar is trans too cause I said so. I'll do a comic about it eventually. Instead of an absence of gender he has TOO much gender. It simply cannot be contained.

I like that nonbinary genders are normalized in cult of the lamb to the point where nobody singles anyone out for being a they/them, it's not like "THIS IS MY SIBLING SHAMURA. THEY ARE NONBINARY AND USE THEY/THEM. ALRIGHT BACK TO KILLING YOU", it's just like "don't you fucking dare make my poor sibling wake up from their nap to kick your ass. Cause they deserve better than this."

But at the same time I like having the freedom to be more specific, and say "shamura is voidpunk and their gender is best described as the feeling that overtakes you during the first snow of the year, when everything outside is deathly quiet". This comic is actually derived from the time I was walking through a forest that's been torn down for a few years, and came out to my little sister as trans. I must've been like 13 or 14 and she didn't really get it as a 10 year old, but it was better than my mom FREAKING OUT about me coming out. So it was a nice little bonding moment between just the two of us. I don't have a good memory so I don't recall how it went unfortunately...

Now, the climate is a little different. My sis tried out transmasculinity for maybe 5-6 years before feeling happier as a woman, my mom is trying to be Based and flaunt her Woke trans children, and my dad remembered "oh yeah trans natives have existed before colonization. Maybe me being transphobic is a product of my culture being erased" and has gotten better about calling me the right thing. I have a mustache (thanks pcos!!) and wear skirts and am not a repressed "tomboy" teenager anymore. But I can't help but wonder what would've happened if I could've been like shamura and just...been nonbinary without people being fucking weird about it. Or been born as a badass war god who will tear you to shreds before you can perceive my birth sex. I know they're fictional but they are my ultimate gender envy GRRRRR BARK BARK BARK

Here is the secret image for this post- I listen to mostly EDM when I draw cause it keeps the energy up, but as I was finishing up shamura's poetry part, I was like THESE ARE JUST KMFDM LYRICS so I made this

#cotl #cult of the lamb #famous prophets au #alternate universe #shamura #heket #kallamar #narinder #the one who waits #leshy #comic #violence tw #blood tw

[thesmollestsnek]

Death echoes

So a while ago, i found this dp x dc post that had a really interesting lore headcanon for Danny’s ghostly wail. Idk if I’ll be able to find it again, I’ll link it here if I do, but essentially it posited that every ghost has something called a “death echo”, which is an ability unique to them based heavily on their deaths. These echoes are the most powerful move in a ghost’s moveset, but they’re also extremely volatile and draining, typically damaging the ghost in some way when used, with Danny’s being his Wail because he died screaming. The original post then went on to some really cool halfa!Jason ideas based on these death echoes, but for this lil snippet with an extremely long intro I’d like to focus on Danny a bit more.

Edit: Apparently I may have extrapolated a lot of the actual lore behind these death echos myself? The inspiration post was a lot longer in my memories. Or I might've mushed multiple posts into one mental box and then forgot lol. So a lot of the actual detail from this point on is seemingly mostly original material? I think? Idk man, sometimes my brain spits out information without giving me any clues as to where it got that information. Anyway, this post got kinda long and since I'm... decently sure this is where I shifted from summarizing @ailithnight's post to writing all my own thoughts I figured here would be a good place to throw the cut lol.

So! with all of the context-for-the-context out of the way, let’s move on to the actual context for what I’m writing cause I can’t be bothered with writing an intro XD

Essentially, this is an au where Danny is an established member of the Justice League, or maybe one of the teen hero teams? I’m a slut for eternal teenager Danny, but maybe he’s enough of a powerhouse to be on the main team despite him both looking and acting like the dumbass fourteen year old he died as. Either way, he’s on a League/League-sanctioned mission and things go bad. Like, everyone-almost-dies bad. And so as a final desperation attack, Danny uses his Wail, a power he’s never told anyone on the league he even has. And it works, and they make it out, but after the fact everyone has. Questions. And because in this au death echoes are deeply personal, Danny dodges those questions, but the league coughbatmancough isn’t satisfied with that. So they push for answers. Answers Danny’s not willing to give, because. In my mind death echoes aren’t just based on how a person died, but also their experience of that death. What their last thoughts were. When Danny died the only thing that he could process beyond just an all-encompassing painpainpainpainpain was the sound of someone screaming. His screaming. And so his death echo is the sound of a fourteen year old child screaming in deathly pain and terror weaponized, which definitely gave the league Even More Questions than they would’ve had already. Which finally brings us to the actual snippet, which is a conversation between John Constantine, who was brought in for his experience with the supernatural once it became clear Danny wasn’t going to talk, and Danny himself. 

~~~~~~~

“So, kid. Batsy tells me you’ve been hiding some of your abilities, wanna tell me what's up with that? Call it an occultist's intuition, but somethin’ tells me you’re not just being stubborn for the hell of it.”

“It’s... complicated. And not anyone’s business, either!”

“Kid...”

“Why does it even matter?! It’s not something I want to or am even able to do on a regular basis! I saved the mission, can’t they just accept that and move on???”

Sighing, Constantine reached up to start massaging his brow. “Kid, you and I both know that ain’t gonna be enough. Now I know that some things are better left alone, but the rest of these idiots? They can’t accept that, Batsy especially. That man’s never left bloody well enough alone in his life”

He looked up just in time to see the otherworldly teen shrink into himself, looking every bit the child he was. “I know but... why? Why do they need to keep asking questions? And why do they only ask the ones that hurt to answer?”

A sharp glance. “The fuck kinda questions are they asking? Batman was speaking in more grunt than word, so I didn’t really catch all the details of what this power you’re supposedly hiding even is.”

Phantom shrinks even more into himself at that, and responds in a voice so small it’s more sigh than speech. “I... I can scream. And it breaks things and pushes people back. But it, it sounds. Bad. And it brings up bad memories and I don’t like to do it or listentoitoreventhinkaboutitandtheywon’tletmeforgetand-”

“Breathe kid. I know you don’t need to but just take a deep breath with me. Don’t you go getting lost in your own head on me now., Constantine reassured the kid automatically, the sheer hopelessness prompting action long before the words themselves could be understood. Then the rest of him caught up, and he had to pause. Looked up at the kid, saw just how distressed he was. A picture was starting to form in the back of his head, and Constantine didn’t like what he saw one bit. A last-resort power that the normally open Phantom was strangely reticent about. A scream so horrible sounding the rest of the league would not to stop asking questions about it. Terrible memories to match said scream. And one truly miserable child who couldn’t bear to even think about any of it. 

“Phantom... is that your Echo? Screaming?”

A miserable nod is his only response, the tears that had been welling up in the kid’s eyes finally starting to fall. Cursing softly to himself, Constantine stood to leave, bracing himself for the Bat’s inevitable questioning. “Well then you just take all the time you need love, and leave the rest to me. I’ll make sure the rest of those idiots know not to ask you about this ever again.”  And with that Constantine turned and strode towards the door, leaving the quietly sobbing child to collect himself in privacy.

~~~~~

I had a whole-ass lore dump conversation between Constantine and Batman planned here, explaining how death echoes are deeply personal, and asking about one is a taboo on par with, potentially even worse than, asking a ghost about their death outright. Because they are formed from an amalgamation of how a ghost died, their last thoughts, and their final emotions, in some ways asking a ghost about their Echo is like asking them to describe their death in painstaking detail. But uhhh... inspiration bug left. So yea. Side note, I’d like to apologize if my depiction of Constantine’s accent was Bad, I’m but a lowly USAmerican whose only exposure to British accents is through tv ^-^’

#did some minor edits to fix typos and make things flow better when i went back in to add the hyperlink #that being said dont expect too much i wrote this in a bit of an inspiration frenzy lol #and barely edited it after the fact #the snek rambles #the snek writes #snippit #dp x dc #danny phantom #john constantine #idk wtf else to tag this #dc x dp #dpxdc #dcxdp #crossover

[fatesundress]

⭑ observations ii. tom riddle x reader

part i here.

summary. two weeks after your last encounter with tom shatters all of your previous observations, tensions are high, and eventually, something's gotta give. (it's tom. he’s giving head)

tags. smut (so. so much. minors BE GONE TO WHENCE YOU CAME!), fem anatomy + reader is referred to as a woman by someone, fingering, cunnilingus, piv, again implied tall!tom or short!reader (take it however you prefer), jealous tom does not understand friendship but then again neither does reader apparently, a little wine is had, the room of requirement is used shamelessly as a plot device, did i mention smut, i’ve lost my mind etc etc.

note. this is a part two, so go ahead and read the first part and come back if you'd like :) obligatory preface: it's safe to assume any smut i write within hogwarts is a university au — these people are all 18+ tyvm. also woahh was not expecting the love on my last post so thank you! i'm still trying to figure this whole acc out so support, questions, (requests? never done those before) anything is appreciated ♡

word count. 6.3k

The next two weeks are agony. You don’t, in fact, stop meeting with Godefrey to study, because you do, in fact, still need a good mark in Ancient Runes and for all his faults he can reach the tallest shelves and he’s a faster writer than you. Also, Tom Riddle is fantastic with his hands but this does not make him God.

You find pureblood politics a bit archaic. You find muggle courting a bit stifling. This leaves very little space for what took place between you and Tom in the middle of a corridor two weeks ago (you can’t stop wincing at how insane that sounds) and very little patience for his utterly original and not-at-all entitled request that you halt your studies with Godefrey. Godefrey doesn’t stick his hands up your skirts while the two of you are studying, doesn’t silence your gasps with a shush and a finger to your mouth, doesn’t — wouldn’t (you’re so imaginative when you want to be) — tell you to keep reading as his thumb draws circles between your legs, tell you to repeat the words that get caught in your throat, tell you how much he likes it when your eyes go dumb and glassy and all you can say is his name. So, really, Tom should have nothing to worry about.

“I swear,” Selwyn says, picking at a plate you don’t think she’s actually eaten anything off with how distracted she is, “he’s looked over here at least three times.”

You don’t dare glance at who you know she’s talking about. “You’re obsessed.”

Pot. Kettle. Whatever.

“Are you sure you didn’t do something to upset him in Potions? Didn’t botch something that might mar his perfect record?”

You flick her forehead and she scowls. “I’m not an idiot, Selwyn. I handle myself just as well in Potions as he does — he wouldn’t —” Wouldn’t have complimented your rapport if that weren’t true, wouldn’t have said you communicate efficiently, make a good pair, probably wouldn’t have — fingered you in the hallway? — yes, that too. Slipped your mind. So easy to forget.

You take a long exhale, and smile impassively at her. “I didn’t botch anything, trust me.”

She finally takes a bite of food. “Maybe I did something…”

And then she’s lost in thought again, eating now, at least, and you shake your head softly as you watch what are likely a million different theories flitting through her head.

“Morning,” Tom says to you when you enter Potions after breakfast, a delicate smile tugging at his lips.

You have, of course, trained for this. 

It’s your fifth — sixth? — time sharing a table with him since that night and it is somehow easier by nature and harder by anticipation (of what, you have no idea) every time. The first was terrible. Unsalvageable and without a silver lining. It had taken almost an hour that morning to charm the violent hues of red and purple spanning the column of your throat, and ultimately, the marks were so persistent you’d forgone the glamours and decided to just wear a turtleneck. You’d been fortunate it was completely inconspicuous to wear such a thing in December, but that was about all there’d been to be grateful for. You hadn’t been able to look at Tom all class and his hand had brushed yours once to take a phial from you and you’d flinched so sharply it would have shattered on the floor if he hadn’t caught it. And he’d smiled, like he’s smiling now, a soft, “Careful,” that honestly, for a short moment, made you want him dead.

Now you could speak just fine, look him in the eyes in practised intervals, and almost, impressively, make articulate conversation with him again. Make stupid comments about Slughorn and Lestrange and bear the weight of his grin knowing it was there for you.

His, he’d called you. A very funny thing.

“Morning,” you answer on a smiling sigh, sleepy but jovial all the same. 

You deserve applause for this.

“Tired?”

“Mhm — Essays for Ancient Runes are due Friday and it’s been keeping us up all night.”

His eyes flash with something you’ve yet to ascertain. Your research has been put temporarily on hold, scattered and splintered by the revelation that your first observation was, admittedly, a little bit off, and you have no means of figuring out a look like that when you can’t even begin to figure out anything else.

“Has it?” he asks, a tinge less friendly.

“Well,” you say, grinding the lacewing flies, “that’s commonplace, isn’t it? You take all sorts of advanced classes, I’m sure you understand the work it takes.”

“...Hm.”

That’s it. That’s all you get from him.

And if Selwyn’s concern over you botching your work in Potions wasn’t already, obviously dispelled, the glee on Slughorn’s face as he assesses your and Tom’s cauldron should do it.

“Brilliant! Just brilliant!” He claps a hand over Tom’s back, regarding you both with pride so thick it clouds his eyes, like he's drifted into a revery of the future (you and Tom, you expect, are his most prized graduates, making history under his name, proving his immense wisdom) before he appears to return to Earth. “Ten points between the two of you, hm? Very, very good — though, of course, no surprises there!”

He chuckles to himself as he evaluates the other students, and you catch a horrified wheeze of Godefrey’s name (bless his heart) as one of the cauldrons in the back begins to sputter and froth.

You look to Tom with some droll little comment at making it to the end of term with top marks, but his gaze is burning into Godefrey’s table in such a way you wouldn’t be surprised if it was what was causing his cauldron to boil.

Well. Perhaps not, then.

You and Godefrey hand in your essay that Friday with more relief than apprehension — you both decide it’s quite good — and you laugh loudly and breathlessly as he picks you up and thanks you a thousand times, spinning you until you’re dizzy. You refrain from making any promises to attend his Quidditch games, but he vows to let you have the snitch he catches.

And Slughorn, you come to find, was not exaggerating his elation at your skill. After trotting after you on your walk back from Ancient Runes to invite you to the last Slug Club dinner of the year, your spirits are high with the blissful satisfaction of a job well done and a night to celebrate it with.

You can breathe, finally, when it’s the last week of school before Christmas break and Selwyn’s zipping the back of a last-minute dress you purchased in Hogsmeade.

“Gorgeous,” Selwyn says with a grin. “Wish this school would have a bloody ball so I could really dress you up.”

“Buy a doll, Selwyn; you can dress them however you like.”

“You are such a —”

You burst into laugher, swatting her wand away as she pokes your side with it. 

“Just — go then, before I hex you.”

“All right, all right!” you concede, arms raised in surrender. “Don’t ruin all your hard work now.”

“Oh,” she calls on your way out the door. You turn and there’s a mischievous look in her eyes as she tucks her wand back in her pocket. “And do tell me before I leave tomorrow if Riddle stares at you all night.”

You groan as if it’s a truly abominable thing to imagine. Riddle, staring with those dark eyes of his? You, the centre of his attention? Ghastly. You daresay you’d never recover from the horror of it.

“Don’t leave before I tell you how remarkably uneventful a night it was,” you say with a sidelong glare, and leave before she can edge in the final word.

You have no idea what a Slug Club supper typically consists of, but you imagine for Christmas he’s gone a little further with his festivities. His office is glittering in hues of green and red and fleecy, snow-dappled gold. The lights overheard (some similar charm to the one in the Great Hall but a tad less complex, you think) drip and then vanish into the air like squeezed berries, and the berries — served with pastries and ice cream — taste like they must be enchanted with something.

Selwyn was right that the standard dress isn’t quite formal enough for a ball, but it’s… formal. The boys are in clean-cut dress robes and the girls are in fine gowns of different lengths. By the overwhelming number of them you recall being archetypes of Slytherin pureblood fanaticism, it makes sense how expensive they all look. You yourself brush up nicely, if not a bit more frugally, but you haven’t been to an event like this at the school yet, and that’s exciting on its own.

It’s another degree of training (is there going to be a marathon? Are you at war?), a step up from your preparations before Potions every other day, to be ready when Tom Riddle enters the room a respectable five minutes late with a gleam about him more captivating than any of the lights.

“Ah, Tom!” Slughorn exclaims, and ushers him into a seat you remark before Tom is even in it is discomfitingly near to yours. “We’re all here at last… Supper, then? Hope you aren’t too full already, I’ve got the House Elves running laps!”

You’re spared Tom’s closeness by a Ravenclaw couple sat in the chairs between you, their hands clasped under the table while they sip wine from their goblets, and you only realise the length of your observation when Tom glances at you from the spot over, and you startle yourself into reaching for your own goblet and pretending to enjoy Slughorn’s bitter wine.

You eat. You listen to cluttered, unending tales of Slughorn’s time at school and how he earned his post. You drink, and then you regret not drinking before eating because there’s only a very light, very nice buzz that warms you when you finish your cup, and the Ravenclaw couple is — oh, wait, it isn’t just them — they’re standing up to dance as a gramophone sparks to life and a low, dulcet instrumental begins to play. There are now two notably empty seats separating you from Tom.

What had you said this night would be? Blissful satisfaction? 

You couldn’t blame Selwyn for suggesting you’d blundered Potions — you didn’t feel exceptionally smart right now.

“I didn’t know you would be here tonight,” Tom says, pulling the chair beside you.

Where is the bottle of wine? No. Nevermind. You behave regrettably enough sober.

You manage a simple, “And yet.”

“...And yet.” His lips quirk before he takes a drink from his goblet. 

You lament for a second that you’ve only actually kissed those lips once. They spent a great deal longer on your neck.

“Will you be here over break?” he asks, and it isn’t an unreasonable thing to ask, you suppose.

“I think so. Why?”

“I’d like to know whether to expect you or not.”

Expect you… No, yes — revert to observation two: unusual is not an apt enough word for him.

It takes you a moment to conjure a response befitting polite dinner conversation. That is, after all, still what this is.

“I suppose you can. I’ll be busy, of course.”

Well, you didn’t say you conjured something good. It’s a big fat lie. Placating, vague, empty. And you suspect Tom knows that.

“Pity.”

Yes, he knows. He’s all quiet amusement again.

You stare off, satisfied to be left alone —

"And what is it that'll be taking so much of your time?"

“Well, I'm —” And now you have to build the lie — “I’ve told Godefrey I’ll attend to his Quidditch practise. Since the pitch isn’t in use.”

God, it’s so stupid it’s almost impressive — you don’t even know if Godefrey will be here over break, and you could have chosen any number of excuses that would pique Tom’s interest less than it’s apparently consistently piqued by the mention of your study partner. 

There’s that strange, indecipherable look again. Riddle is a perfect surname for him, you decide then, and you almost laugh at yourself for it, but that would probably not go over well should he ask what’s so funny.

“Have you, now? That’s very kind of you.”

“It’s hardly charity.”

“Hm, it’s kind of you to think so.”

You huff, tipping your goblet back to swallow the last meagre dregs of your wine.

“You look lovely.”

It’s just a little bit — just a tiny, straggling little bit of elderflower that captures your throat — and you cough into your goblet. “Thank — thank you.”

And, well, he looks lovely too. Obviously. Sickeningly so. You know little about his personal life but you’re positive he’s at least a half-blood, if not muggle-born, and it makes you wonder the influence of his renownedly plain black suit in a crowd of neat, long robes.

He manages with little effort to look better than all of them at their best.

His eyes drift over you appreciatively, quick enough not to be rude but — enough. (Enough that you daresay you might never recover from the horror of it.) You adjust under his gaze even when it’s situated on your face, far too heavy a thing for you to carry. “Does Godefrey call you lovely?”

What?

You blink at him, your mouth is probably open and you probably look stupid but he’s so… irritating. Yes, of course Godefrey calls you lovely. Godefrey tells you you’re the smartest woman he’s ever met (after his mother), and he drowns you with sherbet lemons at no cost, and he writes at the speed of light to match the quickness with which you recite your textbook, and none of it means anything. Tom is just —

“Unbelievable…”

He quirks a brow. “What was that?”

“I said you’re unbelievable, Riddle. Is it impossible for you to comprehend that I might have friends? That Godefrey is my friend?”

“Well, memory serves me right that you seemed a bit confused on the conventions of friendship last you mentioned it. Do forgive my uncertainty.”

He — that was —

“Well, that’s because we are not friends.”

“No.” He leans in. “We are not.”

You push your chair from the table with all the grace you can manage for such an abrupt thing: a tight, impersonal smile on your face as you walk away and approach Slughorn, only realising when you get there that your empty goblet is clutched in your hand like you’re trying to strangle it.

Whatever he sees on your face, he isn’t drunk enough not to frown at. “Ah, our newest gem — hardly seen you all night! Not leaving already, are we?”

You glance at the clock. It isn’t as though you’re being impolite by abandoning his party in the middle of the event. It’s quite late, the servers are stuck to the walls with little to do, and most of the room has divided into waltzing pairs.

“I’m taking my friend to the train station tomorrow, sir. Unfortunately I need to be up quite early.”

Yes, yes, it’s all so tragic. You’re depressed to go.

“Such a shame,” Slughorn frets, wobbling a tad and balancing himself on the wall. “You’ll be all right getting back? Not at all dizzy, are you?” His laugh is cleaved by a loud hiccough, and then he laughs even more. “My, well, I myself will need to be carried!”

“...I’ll be fine, sir. Thank you.”

“Oh, no trouble at all — there’s — hm… ah, Tom!”

No, no — is it bad you almost reach over and slap your palm over your professor’s mouth? Is it at all impressive that you don’t? You should look on the bright side in moments like these. You should admire your restraint.

But of course, Slughorn’s eyes don’t fall upon Tom for nothing. He's halfway across the room already, and Slughorn must have spotted him approaching to achieve this brilliant solution. “Tom can escort you back, no?”

Tom (unforgivably) is beside you now, a very mean, very pretty smile on his face.

“Not too much to ask, I should think? You know the castle best. Head Boy — sometimes I still can’t believe it!”

You look up at Tom and your jaw is clenched where you’ve since put down your goblet. There is too much tension in you to know what to do with, and he looks positively thrilled.

“It’s hardly charity, sir.” He holds out his arm.

You wonder what spell would catch him most off-guard if you were to blast him in the face right now.

Slughorn claps his hands together. “Ha! Yes, well… perfect, then! Off now, the two of you, off now. Do have a good — ” He hiccoughs again — “rest!”

You don’t even bother the diplomacy of smiling at Slughorn as your arm loops through Tom’s and you’re exiting the party. 

Neither of you say a word on the journey, and that’s very well.

If you could just get back to bed without speaking to him you may still consider it a good night. You may be able to push his strangeness and his entitlement and the annoying way his hair falls to another day, when he pesters you about Godefrey’s nonexistent Quidditch practise, which — come to think of it — you do think he told you he'd be headed home for the holidays. You really fumbled that one.

And then Tom’s thumb is brushing the bare skin of your arm and your walk stutters a bit. But he doesn’t mention it, and so neither do you.

And then he’s drawing down your elbow to your forearm so softly it almost feels like he isn’t touching you at all. He doesn’t mention it. Neither do you.

And then your arm, without really meaning for it to, is slipping from his and his hand is holding yours instead, feather-light as his fingers clasp yours and your breath is not the same as it was when you left.

He doesn’t mention it. He just keeps going.

His fingers work back up your arm and you shiver as they drag across your shoulder, gaze searing your neck as the soft digits find their way to your jaw, and you get the sense he’s remembering just how much he liked the taste of it, and you’re… you’re allowing it all again. You’re leaning in, you’re seeking him out, you want him flush against you and even that might not be satisfactory.

You are, in the end, a half-decent observer and a terrible liar.

You’re grabbing his hand with a small amount of direction and a great deal of meaning. You suppose it's because, historically, you’ve proven to have trouble with words in moments like these, and you don’t really know where you’re taking him but god, you know where you want him. Somewhere soft, this time, thick enough that you can fist your hands around it and melt. Somewhere he can hover over you, maybe hold you down a little, just until — maybe, miraculously — you might make him break a little too. Clamber over his lap. Make him yours.

“Tom,” you mouth, some question in the way your eyebrows knit.

The moment you say his name — the instant — he’s pulling you in, crushing his mouth against yours. And, ah, right, that’s what his lips feel like. You’d almost forgotten. 

This kiss is not chaste, hardly tender. It resists in that it asks you to push, to plead, to take this for yourself to prove how badly you want it, and he smiles into it when you do. And then, sated by your efforts, he lets you have him. You’re gripping the collar of his suit in your hands as his wander appreciatively over the back of your dress, pulling you into him as the kiss deepens. He’s savouring you like you’re something religious that’s been offered to him, and there’s the taste of wine on his tongue and you’re still here, aware enough that the symbolism isn’t lost on you.

“I've been thinking," he says between kisses, “about the way you felt when I touched you. I've been thinking about how long it might take before you need it again." 

You gasp at the sensation, and god, god, you've been wondering too, haven't you?

You’re pulling him impossibly closer and something hard is pressing into your hip and you clutch tighter onto his shirt as you moan into his mouth. You need it off, you think, and — has your dress been clinging to you like this all night? You need that off too. You need skin on skin. You careen him backwards without aim, your mind a muddled mess of all the many things your body is screaming it needs, like this is fucking imperative; to give it up would be catastrophic.

You suppose, based on what you’ve read, that that’s how the Room of Requirement works, but it’s still funny to think it would apply to this.

It hurts to remove yourself from him to watch in dumb awe as the door forms in the stone (to see the dark, languid shape of his eyes bearing down on you, the wet, stained pink of his lips), and Tom seems to recover from the revelation much faster than you.

His mouth is on yours once more, a hungry kiss; his free hand at your waist, guiding you through the door and shutting it carelessly behind him. 

He’s like fire against you, radiating as he presses down on you, his hand tangled in your hair and his hips flush against yours. You shiver as his mouth starts to move down (a cheap trick — he hasn’t forgotten how much you liked it the last time) from your jaw to your throat, as his lips trail down your chest and you're shivering into the warmth of him.

You’ve heard it said before, in some romantic sense, that it’s sometimes hard to tell where you end and someone else begins. 

This is not like that.

You've never been more aware of anything than the point where you and him meet.

You’re tugging at him blindly again, trusting in the nature of the Room like this isn't the first time you've been in it, and then you're stumbling down onto a bed you're quite sure wasn't there a moment ago (people say magic is a neutral force but evidently this is not the fucking case), fingers carding through Tom's hair as his body pins you into the mattress.

His mouth is molten hot as you squirm and pant beneath him, your breath coming faster than it ever has. Everything feels sharper and deeper and more intense under his touch, every sensation heightened until it's almost impossible to tell pleasure from pain, his tongue from his teeth.

How did it take you this long to do this again? To need him like this?

And his — you should really have the mind to see the mistake in all of this but perhaps that's for later — his fingers are pulling your sleeves down, propping your back to arch as he reaches under you to unzip your dress, apparently too impatient to sit you up and take it off properly so he just bunches it around your waist instead. There’s a moment where he stops to look at you, your chest exposed to him in the dim sconce-light, and then his mouth returns to circle your breast and you're biting down on a pillow to hold back the whimpering gasp that seeks to escape you. He hums around your flesh, and then he’s at your sternum, kissing a stripe to your belly button before pushing past the dress he's left ringed around your abdomen.

You shimmy under the weight of him to prop your head up — to see past the mass of silk that obscures his face from you as moves lower and lower, hands spanning your hips to keep you still.

His face hovers above your thighs, and he doesn’t move.

“Did you enjoy my fingers?" he asks. 

At that you freeze, thighs pressing together to bury the hand that's rising between them. 

Tom smiles. “Hm, you did." 

And then he spreads your legs apart, one hand pushing your underwear aside and regarding you with delicate, shameless appetite — something that might even be adoration: like this is all he ever wanted you to want.

“Do you think you'd enjoy my mouth, too?"

Words are gone. There's nothing left in you.

His head moves happily between your knees, holding them apart, pressing kisses to the base of your thighs. Your hands flail from the sheets, desperate to grip something else and you hold back a sound that feels like irritation and need at the same time. You need him closer, higher than this. He knows. You can feel his smile biting into your skin.

And then you manage a nod though you're not even sure he's looking at your face anymore (and what a picture to imagine he is) and you worry momentarily it won’t be enough for him — that he’ll ask you to be nice and say it out loud for him — but he hums with something merciful, and — his chin dips. You catch the smallest glimpse of his tongue before it’s on you, wet and slow and unrelenting and you say his name, but it’s a mewl; you choke on it. It sounds like a cry.

Pitiful, needy, undone. Just how he wants you.

You think all efforts to remain even remotely composed are thrown to the wind as soon as his tongue is lapping at you, fast and then slow, everything you want and not even remotely close. He sinks all his weight down as if he can predict the moment you'll writhe before you do — and you do. And with his grip he tells you to endure it. You only need him to say it with his hands and his mouth but he breathes back, licking his lips and he actually says it. “Be good.”

That makes your breath hitch and your cheeks swell impossibly hotter, and reality is a small glint in your peripheral where everything else is burning red. “Y-you’re—”

His mouth returns to you, tongue catching your clit in a drawn-out, agonising motion, and you gasp and lurch forward to inch through the sensation, craving more, more, more. Reason is lost on you, a throbbing familiarity forcing you to grind your teeth down on the pillow to stop yourself from telling him to — you don’t even know. Finish you. Abandon all reluctance. Just let you come as hard as you know he wants you to.

But he pauses, observant as he starts to work his fingers against you. Watching how your slick coats them like it’s the most enthralling sight he’s ever witnessed. Slowly, ever so slowly, he starts to push one inside of you, hearing your breath catch above him and the moan that comes tumbling out of your throat, pillow be damned.

You do your best to breathe through it, and you know he knows how to make you unfold like this, so the meticulous lightness of his ministrations tells you he’s trying to keep it from you now. You’re almost embarrassed about the fact that you’re dripping onto his hand regardless; his lips puffy, his gaze unnervingly, dizzyingly carving you in two.

“Just,” you rasp, clutching desperately at his wrist. “Tom, please.” 

Your begging must be music to his ears. (It’s a rare, unplanned fifth observation: that you think he’ll never get tired of hearing you say his name like that.)

He adds a finger. It’s encircling you, first, and no amount of restraint can stop the harsh gasp that leaves you, but then it’s his tongue and two fingers and he’s pushing into you how you wanted, and he makes a pleased sound against you, gripping you tighter with his free hand, still not allowing you movement and fuck, are you trying. What you're feeling now — the need, the want, everything —  is more than rational thought. Your mind goes blank, and all that matters is this, him, right here and now; nothing else exists, not even for a second. You moan, a low, throaty noise that's a little too loud, a little too intense; you can't recall if anything has ever come from you quite like it and Tom devours you at the sound.

More, you agree; it's almost an obsession in you now; more, more, please, anything and everything.

It’s the precision of his touch — not some bored, hurried transgression — that brings your hands helplessly to his hair.

“Tom,” you whine, holding him tight, and the purr of his mouth finding you again is something destructive.

As soon as you feel another swell of something deep down, your mouth is dropping open.

His tongue is sliding through you, fingers curling, and then your clit is in his mouth, and he’s watching you between your thighs as your eyes clench shut, and you’re coming.

Your voice breaks somewhere in the catastrophe of it. Your body spasms, electric down to every atom, and he pins you down through it. He doesn’t grant you the reprieve of escaping the frenzied, glorious torture of it. His mouth still lingers. His tongue moves thankful and unrelenting. 

He takes all of you, and you think this is destruction — creation — both. How terrifyingly similar they suddenly feel.

His lips are swollen and slick when he finally detaches them from you and you want to kiss him, but he’s leaning back to admire his work. You swallow, unable to blame him for it because you look down at yourself and — this is something else. You’re dripping down his chin. You're shaking. Your legs are still clenching around his torso. They’re holding him so tight you can’t imagine it doesn’t hurt.

But he just rolls off of you. Adjusts his trousers and your abdomen flutters and you think, don’t.

You don’t even realise you’re reaching for him until your hand is around his wrist and you’re still fucking sighing through the come-down, panting into the hot air.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, fingers damp on your chin as he holds you. You make a note that that’s the second time he’s done that. That you thought it was strangely intimate the first time and nothing’s changed other than how much more you like it.

And it doesn’t really feel like you can help it but crawl with gooey, trembling legs onto his lap. Doesn’t feel like you can help it when you lean in and capture his lips with yours, moan unabashedly into his mouth at the stiffness that presses against your core when you do, steal his tongue and the taste of you on it.

When he pulls away he’s looking at you like he doesn’t think you can actually do this. Like you’d just crumble the moment you tried.

A low, determined protest rises in your throat and you’re kissing him again. You’re unbuttoning his dress shirt, you’re trembling to reach for his trousers. 

When you can finally shrug his shirt off, press yourself against him, feel that skin on skin you wanted so badly, you find it somehow even more suffocating than its absence. You’re left wanting a more you aren’t able to even conceptualise, but you’re grinding involuntarily against him and his teeth are scraping your neck and he's hissing at the sensation, and — yes, there’s more.

Your breath is staggered when your hips stutter into a roll and you — fuck. You’re tugging desperately to remove his belt and he smiles against your throat as he takes your hands and guides them to him. You can feel his bulge against your thigh and you’re spreading your legs to usher him where you want, clawing at his chest without even meaning to.

Tom’s taking off his belt, and he’s pulling down his trousers just enough to bare himself to you, and maybe he’s right that you can’t manage it yourself but he stops his assistance like the intrigue of finding out is too good to resist. There's something both intimate and imperious, in a way, about the way he's looking at you now; it's a kind of focus and intensity and withheld hunger just for you; and you're more than happy to give yourself over to it, to let his hands and his eyes and his mouth claim you for his own. To claim him for yours, at last.

You do. You struggle for it. He’s very patient. 

But then it’s there — more — as you finally sink down on him and bite his shoulder and he shudders a low, pained exhale, his hands clutching your waist.

There’s a silent, suspended moment where neither of you move. The room feels entirely still. 

Your lips quiver over his pulse, and your stomach flips at the intensity of it, the undeniable rate of his desire beneath you. You smile against him now, like he always does to you, conscious enough to mumble into his neck, “Mine.”

Tom stutters inside you, fingers gripping you impossible tighter as you dare to think he even gasps. You dare to think he likes it.

And then one of his hands grabs your jaw and his kiss is searing. He thrusts upward and you cry into his mouth, searching to match his pace in a way that you appreciate, for once, he seems unlearned in. 

It’s all a bit messy, a bit new, palms in fists, in skin, in hair, digging for every part they haven’t already taken from. The sound in the back of Tom’s throat is divine, the feeling of him inside you as he slips his hand back between your legs — like he needs everything, like he knows you do too — it’s ineffable. It coils somewhere deep, touches something you didn’t know existed. Your hips are rotating, thighs still soft and slack from coming apart on his tongue, but you’re determined. It feels like finding even ground. It feels like something you deserve: to make him feel how you did.

Your head rolls back, eyes pinching shut in bliss, but Tom is there at your jaw again, forcing your blurry gaze back to him.

His hips are inching even further, the intensity of his pace as he adjusts to you making you dizzy. You think, realistically, there’s sound coming out of you, but you aren’t entirely sure when it’s so close to him, when your mouth is between his fingers and your ears are ringing and he’s looking at you like you’re made for him. 

“Mine.” And it isn’t a dismissal of your own claim but a confirmation that one will not be without the other. His voice is raw and breathy and something about the way he says it makes you contract inadvertently around him, hands swatting his chest like they don’t know what else to do. There’s just too much.

You recognize you’re trying to say something. Some plea, a moan, his name (is there anything else left?), but you’re just babbling into his mouth and he holds you there. He doesn’t kiss you. It’s your failing words against his lips. He swallows whatever syllables try to shape them.

It’s there again when you need it most; the heavy, swirling feeling inside you as he snaps his hips, his fingers returning to your waist with punishing firmness. His breathing accelerates, low in his throat, and you push harder against him. Your vision is gone again, head held in his hands to keep from rolling back so that, you suspect, he can watch defeat split you down the middle again — not over your shoulder, not with his head between your legs — with his eyes on yours, with every broken moan you let out so close to his face he can feel the breath of each one.

You’re grappling desperately at skin that doesn’t feel like enough, even though he’s rocking inside you, and you see the insanity of it, you see that it isn’t logical. Too much and not enough at once — you’re smart enough to know that doesn’t work, but it just is.

“Please,” you manage in a voice you don’t recognize. “Please, Tom, pleasepleaseplease —”

Had you said before it was foolish to call him forgiving? You take it back. He’s very eager to oblige you.

He finds some place inside of you and you don’t know quite what it is that he changes but it's new, uncharted, and you break there. You dissolve. You’re liquid in his hands as you sob, stuttering around him, trembling like you didn’t know was possible, and you swear — you swear you’re going to take him there with you. It isn’t that you could stop yourself if you tried but your body is gripping around him, fingers carving halved spheres into his skin, and you’re pushing down on him through the ecstasy — you’re forcing your eyes open so he can see you break, watch them flutter back all soft and pretty.

And you're sated by your ruin when it ruins him too.

The sound he makes is ragged. Undone. He can only bury it halfway with a kiss you think is actually more of a bite, twitching inside you as he fucks you through it.

You’re both lost in each other for a moment that feels detached from time, feeling his hips stutter to a halt, feeling your body soften. And he’s pulling out of you like it hurts, mouth falling open as he does. You wince at the loss, the sweet soreness between your legs, and you’re held only by the weight of him. You think — and you actually sway like the mere idea is too strong — that if it weren’t for his hands, you’d fall flat off the bed.

But he sort of lifts you off him, lays you down and watches you for a long time as if to decide something important before he's laying down beside you. You watch him too. His fingers brush your hair out of your face, and when there’s not a single curl left clinging to the sweat on your skin, he continues anyway. You let him trace your lips, your jaw, your nose, and somehow, a bit terrifyingly, your final observation: nothing about it feels unusual at all.

You did say he was yours.

#tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x you #tom riddle smut #tom riddle x y/n #tom marvolo riddle #voldemort #voldemort x reader #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle oneshot #NO LONGER! #but it is only a two-parter sorry. this is it #harry potter fanfiction #wizarding world

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Don't cha wanna dance?

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 30/31

Prompt: New year's resolutions

Rated: T

CW: Vague boner references again

Tags: No UD AU; dancer Steve Harrington; good neighbor Eddie Munson; Flirting; Sexual tension

Notes: Continued from day 22. This is for @sourw0lfs and @wormdebut specifically, who very gently bullied talked me into writing more dancer!Steve. 🩰

Eddie has never understood new year's resolutions. He believes that, if he wanted to change something about himself, he could do it any time. Like quit smoking. Or stop biting his nails. Or be less of a goddamn push-over. 

Okay, so maybe the latter is something he should really, really work on, ‘cause it's gotten him into a whole shitload of unfortunate situations lately. As if chauffeuring Max to her stupid ballet classes wasn't enough. Now he's also helping out at the dancing school’s annual Christmas recital, because he's just such a nice guy, apparently.

While he tries to arrange the lopsided folding chairs into something resembling a neat line, he struggles to remember when he agreed to this shit. For the life of him, he can't recall. His brain was probably flat-lining when Max asked him, as it tends to do around a certain very hot dance teacher and his muscles and his tights and-

“Looking good!” 

He whips his head up. Steve is standing a few paces away. The tights are a pale pink today. Jesus Christ. 

“You too,” Eddie blurts. Steve's eyebrow arches and shit, he wasn't talking about Eddie, was he? “I mean, thanks, I … ow, son of a-”

“Oh, shit!” Steve is next to him in an instant, freeing his hand from the maws of the folding chair. Eddie swears, sucks his throbbing thumb into his mouth. “Sorry, these things are ancient. You need an ice pack? I've got some-” 

“‘m good,” Eddie says. Tries to go for suave. Fails because he's still got his own thumb up his mouth like a fucking two-year-old. “Had worse.” 

Steve’s face is a mask of doubt, but he doesn’t say anything. 

“Anyhow,” he smiles instead, putting the offending chair in line with the rest. “I just wanted to say thanks again. You're probably busy enough around the holidays, but Max insisted you'd be happy to help.” 

“I'm not,” Eddie says. Pauses. Grabs a strand of hair to hide behind. “Busy, I mean. I am happy to help, so … don't sweat it, or whatever.” 

A heartbeat passes in awkward silence. 

“So, what's with the, um …” Eddie says. Watches how Steve tilts his head at him, hair swooshing with the motion. Briefly considers stuffing his thumb back in his mouth to shut himself up. “... with the y’know. The getup.” 

Something flashes across Steve’s face, something dangerously akin to hurt. 

“What?” he asks, doing a hesitant three-sixty. “Something wrong with it?” 

Screw the thumb, Eddie thinks. He needs to find a way to fit his entire hand in there. And Steve, for what it’s worth, needs to stop twirling, or they're about to have a massive fucking problem.

“It’s fine!” he says. Maybe a bit too fast, because he thinks Steve’s mouth curls into a smug smile. “I just mean, um … you’re not … dancing today, are you?” 

Is he? Oh dear God, please no. The place is gonna be swarming with proud parents and relatives, Eddie is not ready for the inevitable consequences of Steve in his pink tights on that stage. Not in the skinny jeans he had to wear today, stupid fucking moron that he is. 

“Huh? No, tonight is all about the girls,” Steve says. Eddie is so busy sighing in relief and nodding that he doesn’t catch the next words.

“Sorry, what?” 

“That other recital I was talking about earlier? You coming to that, too?” Steve repeats, and fuck, what other recital? Eddie really needs to work on his listening skills. If he actually listened instead of staring at the guy like a catatonic caveman every so often, he might be able to maintain a halfway intelligent conversation. 

He’d also probably know why Steve is suddenly coming closer. Eddie tries to take a frantic step backwards and almost crashes into the folding chairs. 

“Oh, erm …,” he stammers. “When was it again?” 

Stever reaches up to run a hand through his hair, boyish and bashful. 

“Um, New Year's Eve,” he says apologetically. “I totally understand if you already have plans, it's just… There's a little get-together after the show, too, with drinks and snacks, and I thought-”

“Sure, I'll be there,” Eddie says. 

See, what did he say? Total push-over. 

The thing is, with the way Steve’s eyes light up, he can't really find it in himself to regret it. 

*

“Ew, what happened to your finger?” Max looks about as disgusted as she sounds. Which is probably fair, because Eddie’s thumb has turned a vibrant purple. 

“These little babies did,” Eddie gestures offhandedly at the chairs they're stacking against the wall. “So be careful.” 

“Were you staring at Steve again?” 

“Fuck off, I wasn't.” 

She pushes the hair that has come loose from its bun out of her eyes so she can give him a deadpan stare. Eddie glowers right back. 

“And even if I was, what's it to you? You can be glad I keep showing up to these gigs. Today, on New Year's Eve, it's really getting-” 

“What are you on about?” Her entire face scrunches up in confusion. “There's no recital on-” 

“Oh no?” Eddie pulls the flier Steve gave him from his pocket and pushes it into her chest. “Then what's this?” 

“That's not our school, dumbass. Check the address.” 

She studies it for a second.

“Huh? What d'you…?” Eddie is already squinting at the letters again. Sure enough, the address doesn't match the one he's been driving Max to. Instead, it's somewhere downtown. “What?” 

“That's the studio Steve goes to,” Max has already returned to stacking chairs. “Super fancy place. He used to be a pro, y’know? Before he tore that muscle?” 

When Eddie doesn’t reply, she tugs the flier from his limp fingers, folds it neatly and puts it into his jacket pocket. 

“Happy new year, doofus. Better wear bulky pants.” 

All my holiday drabbles

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie brainrot #steddie fanfic #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #steddieholidaydrabbles #hype's holiday drabbles

[jo-harrington]

Longevity (Eddie Munson x Store Manager!Reader)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: Longevity (noun) - continuance; durability; permanence

Previous Part: Standard Operating Procedures 1.06

Warnings/Themes: AU where the Upside Down doesn't terrorize Hawkins. Reader works at the Claire's at StarCourt. Eddie works at TapeWorld. (For now.) Fluff, a little angst, discussions of the future, vignettes/time jumps, smut, HEA.

Note: Alright here it is, and it is a HONKING CHAPTER. But how could I break it up into pieces when it's The End? I'm tucking my little babies into the dollhouse and closing it up so they can live on the rest of their lives. To Eddie and Store Manager, I love you both dearly and you were the thing that brought me back to writing and into a wonderful community of writers and readers. To everyone reading, thank you so much for your endless support. You will never know how much it's appreciated.

You can find my masterlist here for more featuring our resident Store Manager and all of my other writing. Seriously, go read it.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

---

April 1986

"Ope, if it isn't the man of the hour, Mr. Edward G. Robinson himself. We were just talking about you."

That was the greeting that found Eddie as he walked into Claire's after school on a lovely Thursday afternoon, ready to share some good news before his closing shift.

Great news, actually, if he was being honest. Life-changing news that he was sure would earn him a ton of kisses that he'd been craving after a long week of assignments and standardized tests.

Imagine his surprise then, that instead of finding you and Mindy behind the counter, chatting after a supposed "big visit" you'd told him that you had today, you still had company.

He skidded to a halt at the sight. Your guest smiled up at him with her hands on her hips.

Short in stature, blonde hair in pristine victory rolls, bold makeup that consisted of layers of glittery eyeshadow, and wrists adorned with stacks of multicolored scrunchies.

"It's nice to see you again Jen," he greeted your old Store Manager.

He'd only met her in person once, but had heard countless fond and semi-unbelievable stories about her from you--and apparently she'd heard the same about him, having greeted him with a bone-crushing hug the first time they met—so there was a familiarity and fondness there that they both indulged.

"What are you doing here?" he asked casually and crossed the distance to throw an arm over your shoulder and press a kiss to your temple. "I thought you said that you wouldn't be caught dead in Indiana."

You, Mindy, and Jen all broke out in a fit of giggles and Eddie felt a sudden sense of instinctual dread.

"Well then get ready to start planning my funeral kid," Jen announced. "Because you're about to start seeing a lot more of me."

"Jen just got promoted," you interjected finally.

"Oh yeah?"

"To District Manager. So she's gonna be my boss. Again."

"Oh, shi--shoot," Eddie felt like he'd been doused with cold water at the revelation. He peeled his arm from around your shoulder and took a wide step to put distance between the two of you. "That's...wow. Congratulations."

He'd been through a handful of DM visits at TapeWorld, never on his own, always under Kyle's cool guidance; however, he'd come to realize that the stiff authority figure of his District Manager Jeff was something to be feared.

So even though he was excited for Jen--your friend--on her promotion, the sudden realization that Jen--your boss--was standing here watching him make an idiot out of himself and possibly put your job at risk...

"Oh my god," Jen broke down in a fit of laughter. "Look at him, he's about to shit himself. Take a chill pill Ed, Jesus. I’m not gonna be a hardass until next week. If that.”

Once everyone had their fill of laughter, and Jen promised that she wasn't going to hold your relationship over your head--

"So long as you're not in here interfering with the business or making out on the sales floor or something."

--Eddie pulled you to the side and finally revealed his big news.

"So," he began excitedly. "It, uh, looks like I'm on the road to graduation. Like really graduating. Not just 'if I don't fuck it up in the home stretch' this time. I'm actually gonna graduate."

"Oh my god," you grabbed him by his jacket and shook him as joy bubbled in his chest from your reaction. "Eddie that's amazing!"

You asked him a few questions and your eyes sparkled proudly as he recounted his talk with his guidance counselor, and he couldn't help the smile that stayed on his face the entire time. Especially when you let out a shriek of joy and jumped around.

"We need to go and celebrate!" you insisted.

"I mean," he suddenly got bashful. "I haven't graduated yet."

"Still, it's big. You worked so hard." You looked back over at Jen and Mindy who were talking at the cash wrap. "I know you're closing tonight but I'm taking Jen out for drinks a little later. When you get out of work, meet us at the Hideaway. I'll get you the Wayne and a beer. And then afterwards, uh...if you wanna come back to my place? Like...actually celebrate?”

He grinned and nodded eagerly; you'd taken the words right out of his mouth.

---

His shift had gone by quickly and he’d joined you and Jen at the Hideaway with Kyle in tow. Kyle who was not only proud of Eddie and wanted to treat him to a beer for his efforts, but also intrigued at the possibility of schmoozing a pretty new face in town.

“Sometimes,” he announced with a flourish when he returned to StarCourt right before store close, dressed in the nicest clothes Eddie had ever seen him wear. “You need to take a chance. How many times did I tell you that kid? You miss all the chances you don’t take. That’s why it took you so long to get a girlfriend.”

Jen, unfortunately, laughed right in Kyle’s face when he kissed her hand upon introduction.

“I’m engaged, Romeo,” she informed him. “Sorry.”

“I don’t see a ring. You can let me down Jenny. Tell me the truth, I won’t be hurt.”

“You’re sweet. But it’s the truth. I just don’t wear the ring to work.”

“Alright, alright,” He sighed, then got a sly look. “Any chance you have a sister? Or a brother? I’m an equal opportunity man looking for true love.”

The night was filled with hearty food, rounds of beer, fantastical stories of retail hell and 4th Quarters past, and accomplishments on everyone’s part.

Kyle bragged about a new car he had just put a down payment on.

Your store had hit some Diamond Earring milestone that only you and Jen seemed to understand but the excitement was contagious.

Eddie got a round of applause from the table when you urged him to announce his big news to everyone.

Honestly he couldn’t care about Kyle or Jen’s reaction, it was seeing you look at him with all the pride and affection in the world that he basked in. He couldn’t wait for the actual graduation ceremony, for you to be front and center with Wayne and Rick and all of his friends. There to witness his hard work come to fruition…and for him to flip Principal Higgins off.

And then Jen stood up and announced her own accomplishment right before last call.

“So,” she cleared her throat and held up her glass and pulled something out of her coat. “I know I already celebrated back home and I don’t really know either of you, Kyle and Ed, but I know my little protégée here would be happy for me.

”Alongside my wonderful and well-earned promotion to DM, I also received my Longevity pin.”

She opened a little velvet jewelry box and showed off a tiny glittering purple pin with a tiny little diamond chip in place of the dot of the “I” in Claire’s.

“Ten long years,” Jen announced after a swig of her beer, “with the Purple Glitter Factory. And all I have to show for it is a pin, a little more money, and a lot more responsibility. God. Growing up sucks. But I’m very proud. And you’re next kid.”

She laid a hand on your head and you waved her off with visible embarrassment then disappeared to go and close out your tabs.

Later that night as you and Eddie settled into bed to sleep after some celebratory activities, Eddie laid awake and stared at the ceiling. Thinking.

“What are your plans for the future?” He asked after a beat.

“Uh,” you shifted your head on his shoulder so you could look at him. “Is this because of all of Jen’s talk of careers and stuff?”

“Yeah. And graduation. And all of that stuff. So? What do you wanna do…where do you wanna be…when you’re older?”

“God, I dunno. I got my associates in business because I was hoping it would help me get my own store. And I did. It also was so boring, I don’t want to go back to school. I guess the next thing is…actually take a vacation day now that I’m earning them. What about you?”

“Music legend,” he answered immediately.

“Uh huh.”

“Guess that’s gonna take some work though, huh?”

“No shit.” You rolled your eyes and then sighed as you settled against him once again. “There’s a reason you asked, Ed. What’s going on in that big head of yours?”

He ran his tongue along the seam of his lips repeatedly as he considered…everything that was laid out in front of him.

Corroded Coffin.

Tape World.

What about Hellfire? Damn, he knew Dustin and Will were the future of the club but…a few years down the line. What about next year? He was gonna have to pass the torch to Gare or Dave after he left. They weren’t ready yet.

And what was he gonna do after school was over? Could he see himself taking a class at TCCC? Maybe. Jeff had been showing him the Catalog at lunch the other day. There was a Creative Writing course that looked cool.

10 years.

That was half his life away. Impossible to imagine. Would there be flying cars by then? Space travel? He could enlist in Starfleet, meet Captain Kirk. Ok maybe that last one was stupid.

"10 years,” Eddie whispered into the top of your head as he rid himself of the fantastical thoughts. “That’s an awful long time.”

“Well it’s a good thing we have all that time to figure it out.”

We…

“Yeah. Yeah we do.”

He could only hope you’d still be there with him. One way or another.

---

July 1987

The spot lights were blinding and the air thick with humidity; his throat was dry and his fingers ached from how hard he was on the fretboard.

But the crowd was cheering and that’s all that mattered right?

No, what really mattered was the music.

And the band.

That's why he was up here with his friends, demolishing the bridge of The Sentinel, laughing and jumping and barely giving a shit when he missed a note or Jeff’s fingers fumbled or Gareth lost the beat for a second. He didn't even mind that the County Clerk had them censor out the "cuss words" of the songs they'd chosen.

It was exhilarating just to be able to play on an actual stage.

It had taken 2 years but they were finally playing at the Roane County 4th of July Festival. An actual gig. And not the first one they'd played, but certainly the biggest so far. Big enough and successful enough that Eddie expected it to be a standing gig for the foreseeable future.

The Polka Band from Kenosha hadn't gotten nearly half as many people and they were, by far, the most successful act of the night before Corroded Coffin.

There was a sea of friends, neighbors, families, and out-of-towners just below the stage, snacks and drinks in-hand, as they danced and jumped and headbanged to song after song. Rick and Wayne were out at Benny's getting all set up for the next stop on Corroded Coffin's "Independence Day Tour" but you were out there in the crowd with Mindy and her family, singing along and cheering louder than everyone whenever a song ended.

Which was why Eddie didn't hesitate to dedicate the final song of the set to you.

"This next one isn't our usual sound," he spoke into the microphone, words a little muffled as his lips brushed against it. "It's a little slow. Something you can dance to, so gentlemen please grab your ladies, tell them how much you love them. But before we begin...did you all know...it's almost Back to School time."

There was a series of boo's from the crowd.

"Now now, maybe yet not for you all, but definitely for a special someone out there," he shushed them and traded Sweetheart for his mom's old acoustic guitar. He plucked a few notes and then continued. "A special someone...who leaves me all alone every once in a while. Late nights. Lonely nights while I wait by the phone, as she and her team make magic happen and she forgets all about me. See I'm saying all of this because she's about to leave me high and dry this coming Sunday night, so I have to guilt her a little otherwise she won't let me surprise her with hash browns and coffee when she gets out of work.

"Queen of Glitter Kingdom," Eddie squinted and looked around the crowd until he found you standing there holding your hand over Mindy's mouth as she looked like she was about to cry. He pointed right at you. "My life, my world, my cheeseburger. This one's for you."

He and Jeff then began to harmonize their guitars for the opening of Beth.

---

"You're a shithead, you know that."

"Mmm...but I'm your shithead, sweetheart."

It was late. Wayne, Rick, and the guys had all left. You and Eddie were sitting across from each other in a booth at Benny's, as the last few fair-goers trickled in for a late night snack. Your own dinner sat half-eaten on the table between you--patty melts and an apple pie shake to share--as you talked and laughed and played footsie.

He and the boys needed to rush across town after their set was over so they made it in time for Ben's advertised happy hour, so he hadn't gotten the chance to get an earful or a kiss from you after his little spectacle.

Fortunately, you were giving him hell for it now, and although he was wiped, he gladly accepted your teasing wrath.

"Is Wayne still around?" You turned in your seat and looked at the sparse group of customers. "I'd like to make a return."

"Mmm...well I moved out in January so I think it's after the 90-day return policy," he said matter-of-factly.

"God damn it," you laughed and snapped your fingers. "And I think I lost the receipt too."

"Stuck with me forever," he teased in a sing-song. There was a beat and he straightened up in his seat and drummed a rhythm on the table with his knuckles. "So...I think it went well."

"I think so too," you agreed brightly.

"You know, Jeff found some...Septemberfest thing out in Jasper..."

Your eyes sparkled at Eddie's words, and he felt the flutter of butterflies deep inside of him that always kicked up when you gave him your excitement and encouragement.

“It’s not a competition or anything but there’s a prize for most popular act of the weekend. Audience ballot and everything. I think it would be cool.”

"That's great!" you grinned. "You should go for it."

"But it's Labor Day weekend."

"So?"

"Paulie's going for a promotion," he shrugged. "Kyle's gonna want us all there in case Jeff comes for a visit."

"And? I didn't know Paulie was planning on opening for Corroded Coffin. What's he playing? The kazoo?" you joked.

"Well no," Eddie shook his head. "But if he leaves...I mean, I'm the best bet for FTASM. I don't want to lose out on that for the future. That'd be...the money would be nice. Can do some repairs on the van. Maybe I'd get my own store someday too."

Your face crumpled--brows furrowed and lips pursed--and you didn't hesitate to shuffle out from your side of the booth and kneel beside him on his. You placed a hand on his forehead for a moment and then tilted his head back and forth.

"Uh, sweetheart," he placed a hand on your waist to steady you as you shuffled closer to pull the back the neck of his t-shirt to look for something. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to see if my Rockstar Eddie Munson action figure is broken," you explained.

"Uhhh."

"Or at least if I accidentally left him at the fair and picked up a Corporate Shill Eddie action figure instead?"

"What?" he laughed.

"How about Suburban Dad Eddie?" you asked. You straightened your posture, pulled on non-existent suspenders, and lowered your voice comedically. "Gotta prepare for tax season. Cut the grass. Do some repairs on the van."

"Stop," he pulled you down to sit beside him in the booth. "I just...don't wanna take the chance on that when I know the full time position is a sure thing."

"Ed," you shook your head at him. "I know you like Tape World but...promotions always come around, music is your dream."

"I know."

"Why did you tell me about this Septemberfest thing if you were not gonna go through with it anyway?"

"I dunno," he turned away from you and went to grab the shake. "I guess I just wanted to pick the thing...that you'd be most proud of."

"Listen here mister," you grabbed him by the chin and made him look at you, Apple Pie Shake be damned. "I'm always gonna be proud of you and support you in whatever path you want."

He nodded for a second and then stole a kiss from you with a soft "I know, thank you." You let yourself get lost in the feeling for a second, but Eddie knew that you weren't gonna let him distract you from the discussion at hand.

You put a hand on his chest and pushed him away, then stared him directly in the eye.

"So?" you asked. "What kind of future do you want?"

His eyes darted between yours--your gaze hard and challenging but nonetheless filled with hope and affection--and he had his answer.

---

May 1989

You could feel Eddie fidget in the seat beside you.

"Calm down," you muttered to him.

"Can't help it," he whispered back; you could tell he straightened out his posture, but his knee still bounced. "Too excited."

A name was called over the loudspeaker, then another, then another.

"Eddie seriously," Gareth was the one to give it a shot this time, leaning across you to put a hand on Eddie's knee and get him to stop fidgeting. "You're gonna shit yourself if you don't stop."

"Shit, sorry, this is only like..." he shook his head. "The most important thing I've ever done in my life."

You, Gareth, Jeff, and Dave all shot him skeptical and unamused looks.

"I don't have time to argue right now," he scoffed at the rest of you. "Shut up, here it comes."

"Peter Halliwell...Dustin Henderson..."

All five of you jumped to your feet and cheered and clapped, along with another group a few rows up that consisted of Dustin's mom, Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley, and their respective partners.

It was a repeat occurrence several times over that afternoon, as you witnessed the Hawkins High Class of '89 cross the stage and receive their diplomas.

"That's my kid," Eddie wiped a fake tear as each of his former Freshman Sheepies were called on stage, but he was especially emotional with Dustin. And when the newest DM of Hellfire flipped Higgins off before running off stage? Eddie stood on his chair and whooped and whistled. “That’s my boy!”

“Sit down Munson,” Higgins spoke into the microphone, over an audience that had become uproarious with laughter.

“It’s tradition now, Higgy,” Eddie shouted, words amplified by the hands he’d cupped around his mouth; still, he jumped down and took his seat so the rest of the ceremony could continue.

“You’re unbelievable,” you giggled at his antics. “You do know that right?”

“I’m unbelievably loveable,” he replied, quickly accompanied by the scoffs and mocking fart noises of his friends. He leaned closer and whispered in your ear. “Unbelievably in love with you.”

“Uh huh.” His tongue snaked out and he licked into your ear obnoxiously. “Fuck off!” You pushed him away from you with a shrieking laugh.

It wasn’t long before that the real reason you were in attendance at the graduation walked across the stage. Because yes, the kids were your friends but you wouldn’t miss this for the world.

“Jane Hopper,” came the announcement and you, once again, got to your feet with a cheer, along with her family and friends in the next aisle of seats. Chief Hopper had his camcorder out and his shoulders visibly shook as he sobbed for his daughter, and you couldn’t help but feel your heartstrings pull.

If Dustin and the boys were Eddie’s little sheepies, you supposed Janey was one of yours. From a shy girl whose ears you’d pierced for the first time in your early days at StarCourt, to one of your die hard regulars who looked up to you over the years trying to emulate your style, to one of your associates when she came in for her first summer job at 16; you’d watched Jane grow and gain confidence and really come into her own.

That was the high point of your career as a Store Manager, and something you happily shared with Eddie: seeing the kids you took under your wing flourish.

“All the birds have flown the coop Mom,” Eddie teased as you sat down and actually wiped a tear from your cheek.

“I think you guys can cut the Mom and Dad bit now,” Jeff said matter-of-factly. “Until you guys have your own kids someday.”

That was something you and Eddie happily shared too.

The two of you looked at each other for a moment…before making the most exaggerated vomiting and gagging noises, unfortunately getting looks from the people around you.

“Pass,” you and Eddie announced in tandem.

---

After the ceremony was over, Chief Hopper invited everyone to the shared Hopper-Byers abode for a barbecue. And by everyone, it seemed like he literally invited the entire town to the lakeside cabin the family called home.

All of the kids and their friends and families, Benny was somehow there—had he closed the diner for the day? Good, he deserved a day off—a handful of Hop’s coworkers and friends, including Wayne and Rick.

There were hamburgers and beers, conversation and music overlapping one another.

Eddie was in his element though, and it warmed your heart to see him talk and spiel and be accepted by such a big group when, not so long ago, it seemed like he’d been shunned by them. Even now, you could see some hesitation as he stiffly talked with douchebag Callahan and Mike’s asshole dad, but he wasn’t sweating bullets or falling back on the pricklier parts of his personality. He even cracked a smile once or twice.

What would his life had been like if he’d had this all along?

It was silly to think about after you’d been dating for years but…would he have asked you out sooner? Would you even still be together now? You thought about the ways that the kids had grown into their own…but it wasn’t hard to also appreciate how much the two of you had grown side by side as well.

Especially when you considered the next step you were about to embark on together...

“You’re thinking too loud,” Eddie startled you as he snuck up behind you and dangled a fresh beer in your face. You shot him a scathing look but he easily recovered, back into your good graces, as he swooped an arm around your shoulder and pecked a kiss to your temple. “What’s got you all sour?”

“Not sour,” you shrugged and picked at the label on the beer bottle. “Just…I don’t know. Thinking."

"Always a bad idea."

"Reflecting.”

“Well you look like you’re about to tell someone to get fucked so…”

"Maybe I am," you grinned at him cheekily.

"As long as it isn't me." He leaned in closer and lowered his voice. "But you know it gets me going either way."

You slapped the back of your hand against his chest just as a gaggle of voices called your names.

Jane was the first one to run your way from across the yard, with Dustin and Lucas hot on her heels. They were all talking over one another, and Jane especially looked like she was about to burst into tears.

Eddie was the one to try to make sense of them, and he yelled a bellowing "shut up" that got them to stop their barrage.

"You're leaving?" Jane asked, looking directly at you. "Leaving Hawkins?"

"Uh," you paused and looked at Eddie, who held his hands up innocently.

"Gareth's got a big mouth," he reasoned.

"Of course he does," you rolled your eyes and then turned back to the kids. "Uh...yeah we are. At the end of the summer. I’m opening a new store. Again."

"What about you?" Dustin demanded, pointing an accusatory finger at Eddie.

"Where my lady goes, I must follow," he stood tall and held a hand over his heart for a second, chivalrous as ever, before he took a sip of his beer and slumped back into his usual posture. "Besides, Corroded Coffin has a better chance in a bigger city. We're big fish in a small tank in Hawkins. Gonna pack up the van; give Chicago a chance to chew us up and spit us out."

Eddie and the boys bickered back and forth--gathering a small crowd of onlookers the longer it went--about the trip and the plans about where you'd all live and work while you stood there with Jane.

"How could you just leave?" she asked.

"Oh, honey, that's just...how it is," you reassured her. "I get a new assignment, Mindy takes over. And I'll be back to visit. Maybe you and Max will take a drive up for a weekend in the city."

"That'd be fun."

"It isn't goodbye."

"I know," she nodded somberly.

"Besides, you're going off to school in the fall," you reminded her. "You weren't meant to stay at StarCourt Mall forever, and I wouldn't want you too. You have a bright future ahead of you. I know it's scary, but it's all gonna work out. One way or another."

They were the same words that Jen had said to you before you embarked on your big adventure to Hawkins, and you were happy to pass the sentiment along to Jane.

"What about you?" she asked after a minute. "Your future? Are you afraid?"

That was the question, wasn't it? A new adventure, maybe in a more familiar setting but...a new challenge nonetheless. But you looked over at Eddie, who had both Dustin and Gareth in headlocks; his head was thrown back in obnoxious laughter and he gave you a shrug that said "how could I help myself" when he noticed you looking at him.

He was an idiot. But he was your idiot. And he'd be by your side for this next adventure, just like he promised he would be.

"No," you told her honestly. "I'm not afraid at all."

---

September 1990

"Alright, here's a question?"

"Shoot."

"When…is our anniversary?"

"Uhh...Ed..." You let the question hang awkwardly in the air, unasked, but Eddie could read your mind.

The two of you were symbiotic at this point; still, he was happy that you had no idea what he had in mind for the day.

"No hear me out," he took a few steps ahead and turned to walk backwards so he could look at you. "Because I really put some thought into it. If we're going by first dates, it's in January—”

“Like it has been for the past 4 years.”

“—but, if we're going by first kiss..."

"If we're going by first kiss, that was last week," you laughed and rolled your eyes. "So you’re late."

“Yeah,” he agreed wickedly wistfully. “I guess I am.”

Of course you remembered.

The two of you were walking. Exploring, actually, around the cemetery where your Papa enjoyed his eternal rest.

5 years and it was a lot easier now.

You still cried sometimes but the initial guilt was gone and you found enjoyment in spending the day traversing about the sprawling cemetery grounds, visiting this great uncle and that distant cousin, just like you did with Papa when he was still alive.

“Did he make sure he bought flowers for everyone he ever met?” Eddie had asked as you piled bunches and bunches of flowers into his arms at the florist that first visit after Papa passed, when you told Eddie of the tradition. “Aren’t they just gonna die?”

“This is why I don’t like flowers,” you explained. “They die. At least when they die here, the dead can still enjoy them.”

“Well shit, that’s a pretty metal thought baby,” he cooed softly and shuffled the bunches to hold them with some more care. “Can I put that in a song? I’ll dedicate it to you.”

He had and you’d cried when he first sang you the haunting ballad in the privacy of your living room.

Today, though…well you’d already made the rounds today. Only one stop left; the most important stop. Eddie had suggested taking the long way through the mausoleum—down hallways lined with plush red carpet and dated sofas and marble walls filled with the dead—partially for his own curiosity, and partially so he could build up the courage.

You were doing quite a good job distracting him from his nerves as you conversed easily—whatever thoughts popped up in either of your heads—and explained the differences between this Saint and that one as you passed their statues and depictions in stained glass. They all looked at him with serene eyes and he thought that meant this journey would be a successful one.

There would be no crying, if he could help it.

Maybe tears of joy? He could settle for that.

“So what has you thinking of anniversaries?” you finally asked as you sat on the tufted velvet ottoman in front of your grandparents' epitaph.

Eddie shrugged and looked around, absorbing the names and dates inscribed on the marble walls that surrounded him.

“Been a lot of milestones lately. It’s been a couple years since graduation, 5 years since your grandpa passed…” He trailed off for a moment. “Been a year since we moved…since we’ve both been at new stores.”

You gasped and he felt his heart stop in his chest.

“Is…are you thinking of quitting?” You asked with big eyes.

“What?”

“That new Hot Topical store they’re opening? Or whatever it's called? I saw you chatting with that District Manager in the food court the other day. Are you leaving TapeWorld? Eddie, that’s so exciting. You should…”

“No I’m not quitting,” he announced with finality, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“…nevermind then. Then what’s going on? You thinking of breaking up with me or something?”

“No.”

“Well I know you’re not proposing; you literally just wrote a song called Marriage is a Death Sentence.”

Your laughter echoed through the mausoleum but you stopped abruptly when Eddie didn’t join you.

He watched your expression change as you processed the thought. And when you looked back at him again he smiled nervously.

“Eddie…” you said hoarsely and then cleared your throat. “Eddie, you just wrote a song called Marriage is a Death Sentence.”

“About my parents,” he explained. “And how they did everything wrong.”

“Yeah,” you nodded frantically. “A lot of people get it wrong. Marriage is a Death Sentence. Those are literally the lyrics. You’ve been singing it when you wash the dishes.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s catchy.”

“It is, isn’t it? But...while I was working on it...it got me thinking that…I mean…just because they got it wrong, and a lot of other people do, doesn’t mean we will.”

You said his name almost desperately now.

"A-and," he continued. "W-we don't have to get married but...I don't know. Spending the rest of my life with you sounds pretty great."

He pulled one hand out of his pocket casually and with it came a small ring box. He shook it a few times and held it out to you.

There were a bevy of emotions cycling your face, all of them undecipherable, until you settled on shock.

Good shock...hopefully.

“You’re supposed to get down on one knee I think,” you whispered again.

Yeah...good shock.

He let out a sigh of relief.

“Yeah but what if it isn’t a ring? What if this is all just a red herring? What if I had to get one of my teeth pulled and it's in here?”

You let out a shocked laugh and your brows hitched together in question.

"Did you put a tooth in there?"

"I don't know...seems as likely as any other potential surprise."

“Is it another cootie catcher?” you guessed.

“Only one way to find out.”

He shook the box again.

You slowly took it from him, fingers deliberately brushing against his which caused his heart to race.

He felt lightheaded when you opened the lid.

You smiled so brightly, he swore you rivaled the sun.

“Oh…Eddie…”

---

December 1992

"So what'd you do?"

"What makes you think I did something?"

"I love you son," Wayne sighed and leant against the counter. "But you always do something."

It was Christmas. The worst time of year for both you and Eddie. Long shifts, angry customers, restless coworkers...but a standing promise to make it back to Hawkins for the holiday had been the light at the end of the tunnel. Especially since Wayne and Rick had come out to see you for the past few years.

It was tough but you and Eddie made it work; hit the road right after your Christmas Eve shifts had ended, fallen into bed as soon as you'd arrived at Rick's close to midnight.

And you didn't need to be back to work until the 27th.

It was a perfect little getaway.

Except it hadn't been perfect.

Because you hadn't been talking to each other past the standard "good mornings" and "see you tonights" all week. The drive had been made in silence. And you chose to sit as far as you could from him during Christmas dinner, opting to sit beside Wayne and chat all night, instead of right next to him like you always did.

And unfortunately, yeah...it'd been Eddie's fault.

Eddie knew that, and usually he could admit it easily. Fights between the two of you were few and far between, and you had a good track record for recovering from them. For some reason though, this time was different, and it was hard for him to admit how badly he'd fucked up.

Wayne could see right through the two of you, though. Especially through his nephew. No matter how good you thought you were at hiding it.

"There was this...big opportunity we could have had," Eddie began his explanation calmly. "But it wasn't a sure thing."

"Oh yeah?" Wayne hummed. "How big?"

"Big. Like...a once-in-a-lifetime thing. An underground show a buddy of mine heard about it through the grapevine. Said they were looking for an opening act. Wanted to throw me a bone." He hit the counter with his fist gently. "But...he got his wires crossed. Told me it was tonight. So it meant we'd need to miss Christmas. But it's really next week."

"Hmmm..." Wayne nodded sagely and kept listening.

Eddie suddenly felt uncomfortable at the tone though, and became desperate for his uncle to understand.

Understand that he hadn't meant to hurt you.

"Work's been hard this season Wayne," Eddie continued with an edge to his voice. "Made me realize that I don't wanna do this forever. I wanna make music. You know that. It's been my dream forever."

"I know it has."

"Me and the guys. Our dream."

"What'd you say to her?" Wayne asked suddenly, as he lifted the mug of eggnog to his lips.

His knowing gaze made Eddie fidget and harsh words echo through his memory.

"Why can't you understand? This is huge for us. How can we say no?"

"I didn't say you had to pass it up, I just said it was a shame that we'll miss Christmas."

"You don't have to miss Christmas, you can just go to your aunt's if you don't want to go to the show."

"You know what I mean. You know Wayne and Rick look forward to seeing--"

"Wayne and Rick would understand how big this is. Why can't you? Why the fuck do you care anyways? It's not like they're your family!"

Wayne swallowed a mouthful of eggnog and then his lips pressed together tightly with a long exhale. Eddie turned to watch you and Rick chatter while you organized the gifts into neat little piles; even though you were avoiding each other, seeing your smile made him feel a lot better than his uncle's intense stare.

"I fucked up," he croaked. "I know."

"How're you gonna fix it?" Wayne asked.

"That I don't know."

Wayne sighed and clapped a hand on Eddie's shoulder.

"I would suggest," he leant in close and his voice rumbled, the same way it always did when Eddie would get in trouble growing up. The few times Wayne needed to intervene at all. "I would suggest you start with I'm sorry."

---

Eddie stared up at the glow in the dark stars that were stuck to the ceiling of the old guest bedroom that used to be his designated room at Rick's once upon a time.

It was quiet. Too quiet.

He couldn't sleep.

He might have spent most of his life in Hawkins but a few years in and around Chicago and he'd gotten used to the sounds of traffic and trains and people walking around late at night.

And it might've been easier if you were closer to him than you were, if the sounds of your sleep-deepened breathing and the soft snores you always denied were in his ear. Instead you were lying on your side at the edge of the full bed, as far from him as you could get, equally as awake as he was if your near-silent breaths were any indicator.

He turned his head and watched you for a moment before he took a breath of courage.

"Sweetheart," he whispered. When there was no response, he said your name, a little louder this time. "You awake?"

There was silence...heavy silence...and then you responded.

"Mmmhmm." You shifted to look halfway over your shoulder at him. "It's too quiet."

"I was just thinking that."

"Hmmm."

"I've got...a lot on my mind too."

"Yeah?" you turned fully now, lying on your back just like him; your shoulders touched but you refused to look at him. "What about?"

"I was thinking..."

What was he thinking? A lot of things. How to start an apology, how to fix this. How to make tomorrow better so your Christmas wasn't ruined.

"...that at least when we fight fight, we still talk to each other afterwards."

You scoffed and he closed his eyes, cursing himself and his big mouth.

"That...wasn't the right thing to say."

"No it wasn't," you sassed him immediately.

"It wasn't what I wanted to say either," he quickly added. "I wanted to say...that I'm sorry."

"I know."

"You do?"

"Aside from the fact that I know you too well," you began. "Rick was trying to get me to forgive you all night."

"Why did he think I did something?" Eddie asked incredulously.

"Because you always do something."

"God damn it, did Rick say that? Wayne said the same thing."

The two of you laughed together for the first time in days, and as you settled down, Eddie reached over and took your hand in his. He threaded your fingers together and rubbed his thumb back and forth to soothe you.

"I'm sorry that I...that I was a thick-headed, stubborn, big-mouthed idiot who hurt your feelings," he apologized. "I know that we've both been under pressure but there's no excuse. I could've been more level-headed, but I wasn't and I hurt you."

"Yeah well," you squeezed his hand tightly as you responded, "I guess I'm not innocent here either. I could have...been more excited for you, supportive. Instead of trying to make it about Christmas. I was thinking about how desperate I was to get away from work, excited to be back here. And it's no excuse. I'm sorry too."

"Yeah but I told you Wayne and Rick weren't your family."

"Well I told you--"

"Are we gonna fight again?" Eddie stopped you before you could get ahead of yourself. You huffed a soft "no" and melted into the bed, all tension in your body gone. "Did you like your Christmas gift?"

"Jesus." He could hear you rolling your eyes.

"Well did you?"

"Duh," you deadpanned. "Did you like yours?"

"Uh, duh," he parroted, a little more exaggeratedly. "You didn't give me a kiss though."

"Well you didn't give me a kiss either," you retorted, but you were already rolling over so you could close the distance and seal your lips against his.

The two of you showered one another with more whispered apologies and words of devotion before you got ahead of yourselves.

Clothes were shed, soft caresses shared, and lips lavished over the most sensitive parts of you.

You still liked it when you dragged your teeth along the shaft of his cock a little and got him to beg, and then Eddie returned the favor when he sucked a bruising hickey to your nipple that made you squeal and call him a god.

The two of you had lived on your own for so long that it was good fun trying to keep your voices down, or make sure the bed didn't slide across the hardwood floors with your passionate fucking.

And all slights were soothed when you reached the height of pleasure together, and whispered sweet words of affection and forgiveness as you descended back to earth.

Come morning, Wayne obnoxiously asked when the two of you were planning to hit the road back to Chicago.

"It's been a good while since I lost sleep thanks to your spirited activities," he noted, embarrassing the two of you in front of Rick. "No more fighting when you come back to visit in the future alright? I miss you dearly, but I can't say I miss that at all.”

---

April 1993

"It took you guys long enough," Dustin announced as he threw open the door.

“You know what, you try sitting in a rusty old shitbox with a bunch of musicians that still act like they're teenagers for 10 hours," you deadpanned and then pushed past the guys as they protested to pull Dustin into a hug. "Happy housewarming, congratulations."

It was Spring Break.

Well for the kids it was--although, they weren't really kids anymore were they--but for you and the guys, it was more like a long weekend. You'd scheduled yourself off for a few days, Eddie'd requested the whole week off, Jeff and Dave had traded shifts with coworkers, and Gareth simply quit his job.

"I'll find a new one," he reassured everyone, including his girlfriend, on St. Patrick's Day when he announced his departure before he and the guys had gotten on stage to play for a crowded pub in the suburbs.

It had been a headache and a half to get everything in order and everyone in the right place at the right time, but you were all here for one thing and one thing only.

Dustin's first apartment.

A Hellfire Club Reunion.

And a special one-shot that Dustin and Eddie had spent hours on the phone planning for the past few months.

Months.

You didn't think you'd been invited at first, but when Dustin told Eddie the full guest list, Eddie volunteered your attendance immediately.

Your forays into Dungeons and Dragons were few and far between; never a big campaign, only the one-shots that Eddie had put together here and there for the guys or a few coworkers who were interested. And this would be the first time that you played with such a big group. Or such an experienced group.

You were nervous.

"You'll do great," Eddie reassured you as he plucked snack cakes and sodas off the gas station shelves for snacks on the road. "I know the roleplaying is not your strongest suit, but it's just Henderson and the gang."

Now you were here and your nerves melted as you slipped further into mother hen mode the longer you looked around at what was obviously the apartment of college students. It was a familiar sight; you, Eddie, and the guys had all crammed into a duplex when you'd moved to Chicago and you'd had your fair share of pizza boxes stacked in the corners before garbage day and underwear of questionable origin and cleanliness tucked into the cracks of the sofa.

But that was a time long since passed and seeing it now made your fingers itch.

And your ears ring.

"...be here soon and I figured that you'd be here first to help me set u--Mom you ok?" Dustin stopped his chattering when he noticed you were frozen in the door of the living room. He glanced around the space that would soon host all of his friends. "Oh...yeah I should probably clean up a little more. To be fair, most of this isn't my mess."

You felt your eye twitch at his dismissive laugh.

"Jesus Henderson, didn't you just move in January?" Jeff asked when he saw the sorry state.

The boys all started giving Dustin shit, and Eddie had the foresight to put a hand on your shoulder and steer you back towards the door.

"We're gonna go take a quick smoke break; why don't you four nerds try to get this place looking a little more Hellfire appropriate in the mean time, m'kay?" he ordered them with faux sincerity. "We brought those props you asked for Dustin."

You heard the faint, sorry Mom, come from the boys as Eddie got you outside.

---

Eddie was extremely attentive and was quick to take charge of the ragtag group, running back and forth between the little stoop where you'd essentially set up camp right outside of the building, and back up to Dustin's apartment to make sure the cleaning and setup were underway.

"Hey listen, you boss enough people around at work," he reassured you when you insisted that you'd be alright to go back in. "You don't need to do it on your day off too."

You proved to be useful enough as the other started to arrive, little by little.

Max and Lucas had flown in from California and arrived via cab.

"It kind of sucks when the place you live is the place everyone else goes on vacation," Lucas laughed good-naturedly.

His younger sister Erica, who you remember from her days of buying scrunchies and glitter makeup, was now grown up and toted an entire kit filled with binders and notebooks and dice.

"It's my first ever Spring Break," she sniffed. "I could have been in Miami with my friends. But...I wouldn't miss this for the world, so it better be worth it."

Mike and Will drove up in the Wheeler's old station wagon, their siblings in tow in the backseat; Nancy and Jonathan had apparently been broken up for some time now.

It apparently had been an awkward drive for all of them.

Jane unexpectedly arrived with a new love interest friend and was beyond ecstatic to see you, barely letting you get a question in as she told you about everything she'd been up to.

Robin was unfortunately absent, but sent her regards along with the last person to arrive. Someone who you honestly didn't expect to see at all, but who had pulled up in a shiny new car, sporting a wedding band and a mustache: Steve Harrington.

"Look what the cat dragged in," you greeted with a smile. You pointed at the wedding band. "Seems like you don't need my relationship advice anymore."

"Same relationship," he chuckled and shrugged, suddenly bashful.

"No shit," you laughed. "Congratulations."

"Congrats to you too," he pointed to the ring on your own finger but you waved him off dismissively.

"Marriage is a Death Sentence. This is just...symbolic more than anything. We both know we're not going anywhere."

"Get more of a deduction on your tax return if you guys do tie the knot."

"Alright Ned Flanders," you rolled your eyes. "Taxes are a death sentence too. I'll ask Ed to write that song and dedicate it to you."

"By all means, I'm actually an accountant now. Maybe it'll get me some more clients."

You cackled.

You and Steve made some casual chit chat as you walked up to join the others now that everyone had arrived.

The apartment looked worlds different, especially with the abundance of candles that surrounded the table you all crowded around.

Dustin was taking the lead with this one, his DM screens in ominous abundance as he sat at the head of the table and filed through stacks of papers.

You looked around at all of your friends...really all of Eddie's friends who had become your friends, your family. It was nice to see them all in one place again.

Then you looked at Eddie himself, who looked right at home surrounded by them all. Laughing and spieling and picking on them with bright, glowing fondness that radiated off of him. You didn't think you could feel any more love for him, but suddenly in that moment, your cup overflowed.

He deserved this; deserved all of this...all of the love you all had to give and share with him because he loved you all so hard in return.

You took your seat beside him and grinned and patted your knee encouragingly.

"Perfect timing, sweetheart," he announced. "Hope you're ready to get absolutely obliterated."

Dustin hit a button on the stereo he'd set up beside him and everyone started to cheer as music and sounds created the ambiance of the adventure you were about to embark on.

"Welcome friends as we revisit a grand adventure of old tonight," Dustin began. "As we venture deep into Greyhawk and come face to face a great evil once defeated. Timelines have shifted, and what you might remember from the past is no longer what it seems; it will take great courage and strength to overcome challenges that you'd previously faced with ease. Are you up for the challenge?"

Everyone cheered again."

"Good," he said with a guttural groan, eyes rolling back in his head dramatically. "Then let us begin on our quest to face...The Cult of Vecna."

---

May 1995

It was like deja vu.

Maybe because he'd done this a thousand times, just not recently. It'd been years since he'd worked at the Mall, after all, and the muscle memory might have been a little out of practice, but it was still there.

He ran up the stalled escalator, long legs skipping every other step, until he reached the top, out of breath.

"Fuck," he bent over with his hands on his knees, panting. "Fuck. This is why I gotta quit smoking."

He'd taken the day off to surprise you; he and the guys were supposed to be recording today--their first album; it'd taken long enough--but this was bigger and he wanted to be there for you.

Needed to be there.

It wasn't every day that his best friend and beloved--the love of his life--his dear Store Manager...wasn't going to be a Store Manager anymore.

You'd both broken the news to each other on the same day. For weeks you'd only mentioned small developments in passing, never letting your hopes get too high just in case of a let down.

"We're getting signed," he announced as you'd collided into one another outside of your apartment building. "It's happening we're getting signed and we're gonna make a whole fucking album sweetheart!"

"Oh my god!" you shrieked. "Holy shit Ed!"

"No more weird touring schedules for fests, no more begging to get a song on the radio during the 3am broadcast, it's happening!" He cupped your cheeks and peppered kisses around your face.

"It's happening for me too," you laughed and tried to shake him away. "I got the job."

"What?!" he squished your cheeks harder until you jabbed him lightly in the stomach to get him to let you go.

"I got the job," you laughed, head tilted back as you announced it to the world. "Eddie, baby...you're looking at the new associate manager of Visual Development."

You'd spent the night indulging on a deep dish pizza, fucking making love, and talking about the future.

Maybe you could buy a house...maybe you could get a puppy...take an actual vacation someplace and not just a weekend trip to the Dells or wherever Corroded could find a gig...the possibilities were endless...

But from that moment on, it was a whirlwind.

The band had gotten started right away, signing contracts and working with the small label that had seen their potential and believed in them.

And now, a few weeks later, it was here. Your big day. Your last day as a Store Manager at Claire's, before you went off to their home offices to tell people what color scrunchie was gonna be big for the season.

There were a bunch of purple and pink balloons tied to the sandwich board outside of your store, and as Eddie got closer, he could hear snippets of conversation as your associates asked you about your new position.

"Have you seen your office yet?"

"Yeah, I have," you laughed.

"Is the desk pink?"

"No but the walls are."

"Do you get your own cell phone?"

"Probably not. I'm not the CEO guys. I'm just a manager."

"Are you gonna have to wear business suits?"

"No," Eddie answered for you as he quickly snuck up behind you. You jumped as his arms wrapped around your waist, but you quickly melted into the embrace. "But she's not gonna have to wear clothes from Seventeen Magazine anymore either."

"Yeah," you sighed. "It really sucks to wear clothes from the juniors department once you're past 30. They're just not made the same way."

"Gotta take your word for it sweetheart, I'm not 30 for another few months," he blew a raspberry against the side of your neck and squeezed you tightly in his embrace.

Your associates all sighed dreamily at the sight of the two of you canoodling—power couple who?—and Eddie was thankful for this once-in-a-lifetime chance that you wouldn't just swat him away for PDA while you were on the salesfloor.

"I'm sorry this is coming from the man who still dresses the same as he did when he was 17," you laughed and reached back to pluck at his battle vest that had only accumulated more pins and patches over the years.

"I'm very sorry that I'm not trendy, sweetheart." He kissed your cheek. "But I'm what you would call timeless."

"I'd like a divorce." You pulled his left hand away from your torso so you could attempt to pull the band off his ring finger. "Effective immediately."

"We're not married," he murmured teasingly in your ear. "Or did you forget?"

"You finally gonna seal the deal Munson?" you whispered back. "It's only been 10 years."

"Just so you can file for divorce? I don't think so."

"What if I trade you my longevity pin? I think it would look nice on your vest."

"How about...I take you to lunch first?" he asked, voice back to its normal volume. "And we negotiate the terms and conditions? She's got her big corporate lady pants on, trying to get me to sign a contract."

"I guess I could pencil you in," you feigned annoyance and then looked to your assistant manager. "Let me ask my secretary."

Both you and Eddie stared at them expectantly.

"Get out of here," they laughed at your antics. "Before I kick you out; so sweet, you guys make me gag sometimes."

---

The rest of your final shift was eventful, and Eddie sat in the chair of the Ear Piercing station while you chatted with your regular customers and received one visitor after another.

Old employees and coworkers, your mom who made you take a picture with the whole team, and then a very cheesy one with Eddie who dipped you for a kiss at the very last second.

Jen had come around close to 5 to bring even more balloons and a cake, and had made jokes that she was gonna have to haunt the corporate offices even more now.

"So we can talk shit, obviously," she joked.

Eddie had called Kyle up, who was now managing a store in Milwaukee, to tell him both bits of good news and Kyle had made the drive down to bring a sentimental gift to both of you on your last day.

A picture frame with a collage of polaroids from your years at StarCourt. There was a filmstrip from one of the photo-booths that depicted a younger you and Eddie, making funny faces and staring longingly at one another.

"You left this in the stock room once upon a time," he told Eddie as he pointed it out specifically. "That was before you were dating too. I squirreled it away and forgot about it but was gonna keep it in case you never got the courage to ask her out. And look at the two of you now."

"Yeah, Eddie watched you as you caressed the glass. "Look at us now."

"I still think I should have won the bet," Kyle sniffed bitterly.

You had scheduled yourself to close, and you were expertly restocking the scrunchie wall as the last few customers shopped.

Eddie kept snaking his arms around you and switching this scrunchie here for that one there, and you'd whine and complain about him messing up the color flow. Still, you never made any effort to stop him, and each time you stomped your foot petulantly, he would drop a smooch right on your cheek to "earn" your forgiveness.

"You know, this is what I was doing when we first met," you recalled after a few kisses. "Officially met."

"What?" Eddie asked.

"Restocking scrunchies."

"You sure?" he frowned and tried to think back. He vaguely recalled...bracelets of some sort...or had he just been looking at the jewelry. He'd been so nervous to ask you out back then...it was all a blur.

And he hadn't really even asked you out at that time either. Jesus Christ, what a loser he'd been.

Where would the two of you be now if only he hadn't fumbled on that first not-date? Right where you were now? Maybe broken up? A lot of the growing the two of you had done had been done with the soft buffer of friendship first...it almost caused his heart to ache to think that they might have caused an end to a relationship if things had been different.

Because now he couldn't imagine what his life would be like without you.

"You still haven't let me pierce your ears," you leaned in close to him, nose brushing against his, and teased him.

Eddie froze and then backed away.

"Well," he licked over his bottom lip pensively. "It is your last day...the last hour of your shift too...I think I could be persuaded."

You squealed and ran to get the forms ready. You didn't even let him fill them out, you just pushed him back into the seat he'd been occupying all day as you got it all ready.

"No more being afraid of needles babe," you cackled, the kind of cackle he'd only ever heard when you were being especially devious or evil.

"I have tattoos," he argued, trying to stand from the chair in protest, but you pressed your hand to his chest to get him to sit back down. "I have a ton of tattoos; if I was afraid of needles I wouldn't. Your logic is flawed."

"Yeah ok Spock," you dismissed his reasoning. "This one takes a chunk out of you though, so it's different."

"What argument are you trying to win here baby? Are you trying to get me to get my ears pierced or are you trying to get me to admit I'm afraid."

"Dealers Choice."

"You're lucky I love you," he grumbled.

You were silent for a while as you marked his ears, as you snapped on your gloves, and readied the piercing gun.

Was he afraid? No. He trusted you. But damn if the anticipation wasn't making him sweat a little.

Eddie closed his eyes as he prepared himself for the next step, but you paused and made one quick run across the store before returning.

"Alright I have one last important question to ask you," you began, and he peeped an eye open to see you standing there with your hands behind your back. "It's the age old question and I don't think we ever got a solid answer."

You revealed your plunder and then stared at him expectantly.

"Take your pick: broken hearts or gummy bears."

Eddie went soft as he stared at the two sets of studs backed by purple carding: little black broken hearts and the neon green gummy bears.

It was the age old question wasn't it? The first question he asked you before he even asked you out.

"See, if it was still 1985," he tilted his head back and forth, "I think this would be a hard one to figure out."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. But uh," he reached out and pointed to his choice. "Now it's a no brainer."

"Seriously?" you laughed.

"Seriously."

"And why are you, Eddie Munson, lead singer of Corroded Coffin, the most metal band on Earth, picking the Gummy Bears?"

"Sweetheart," he singsonged, pausing for dramatic effect. "I think you know."

"I don't think I do," you parroted.

"Ugh," he scoffed and turned his head. "I guess I am the more romantic of the two of us."

"Answer the question, Cassanova."

"Sweetheart," he turned back to you, hand over his heart. "It has to be the gummy bears."

"Has to be?"

"Must be."

"Because..."

"Because I can confidently say that my heart is never gonna be broken if I have you around."

Your challenging gaze softened and Eddie swore that he saw tears at the corners of your eyes. For a moment he didn't know if you were gonna kiss him or start crying.

"Shut the fuck up," your associate shouted from across the store, ruining the sweet moment. "That was so adorable. Oh my god."

"Language Chels!" you scolded her good-naturedly.

And then, in those last few minutes of your career as a store manager, you kissed Eddie softly on his forehead...on his lips...and then punched holes right through both of his earlobes in rapid succession.

"Fuck!" He screamed. "Fuck!"

"I love you," you chuckled at him.

"Yeah. Love you too..." he grimaced. "Fuck! I love you."

---

Thank you for reading The Store Manager Verse.

#store manager verse #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #Eddie Munson smut #Eddie Munson fic #stranger things fic

[beomnoullitheorem]

“An Oral On A Day”

𖥔 Non-idol AU — Boyfie!Beomgyu × Girlfie!Reader

𖥔 Appetizer — Beomgyu wants you now and you're busy. However when he gets his way with you, and you end up leaving him to want your pussy's attention. It's a smut with no plot and shitty appetizer (T^T).

𖥔 Disclaimer — This is PURE FICTION : Nothing in this work aligns with the idols' character, moral and their real life. The characters are all legal adults (18+) and everything happening around & to them is entirely consensual. Readers are humbly advised to read the contains and disclaimer before they read.

𖥔 Contains — NSFW content : Smut so, MDNI! Dominant!Reader, Submissive!Beomgyu, a little of rough gyu too, Handjob, Teasing, Degradation, Begging kink, Oral, Punk boyfriend gyu actually? I don't know but these pictures I'm the header made me wanna write this down. I'm so down for that first pic if you don't know but fuck! This man will compell me to do anything.

𖥔 Word Count — 1.3k+ (drabble not drabbling)

𖥔 Author's Note — I explored my writing and wrote an oral for the first time so don't expect any accuracy about it. However, I tried my best in 20-25 minutes to write this and hope everyone likes it. It has a shitty ending by the way because I didnt know how to end it. And don't even ask why that's a title. I don't know myself.

"Speaking of attention," Beomgyu coughs. "I think you barely give me any."

Beomgyu who's now leaning the frame of the door of your balcony, peaks a few glances at you who's doing the laundry. Having one of the most playful expression on his face, he looks at the sides and you. And you do sneak glances too.

Oh. He is beautiful. He looks so good. But if you could trail your gaze down his face to his pants, a huge tent is erected and you clearly understand the attention he is talking about. It wouldn't be bad watching him beg for mercy or permission to cum, again. Though both of you were at it, the whole night.

"Barely give you any?" you question his statement. "That's such a sick joke, Gyu."

You get him to look at you, again and aren't you such a creation? Doing the laundry in broad daylight, sweating a bit and yet seem so hot and alluring? Yeah, apparently that's exactly why your horny boyfriend craves your attention.

He nags more and you chose to ignore him yet and go inside, wipe off your sweat, wash your hands & face and you go to the bedroom the both of you shared.

He needs to come to straight and ask for what he wants. That's what you've taught him the times you've fucked him. Let's see if your boyfriend has taken notes.

Beomgyu leans at the doorframe awaiting your presence as if he knew, that's where you will be coming to and that's where the both of you always end up.

"I asked you something." Beomgyu stops your passage through the door. "I need you to fuck me."

Ah. That's exactly it. "But I barely give you any attention, don't I Beomie?"

"Exactly," Beomgyu supports your not-supposed-to-be-a-statement question.

Beomgyu wastes no time and pulls you in his hold as he places not so chaste, wet kisses onto your neck earning soft gasps from you. As he slowly guides to the bed, he seats himself as he cups your cheeks and kisses your lips. You sit upon his erection, onto his lap as you move a bit and he moans in excitement already.

Your lips reciprocate all his kisses with exact passion he is showering into them; as they part themselves and let Beomgyu explore your mouth. You do kiss him badly as your pussy clenched for of course no reason or that's what you say as you know deep down, you ache for his cock and he knows it.

Uh but his erection does need attention and if you are giving it, how are you proving him any wrong? Not that you care as long as both of you enjoy it. He whines as he grinds into you for a bit; precum drops already starting leak out his desperate cock which twitched for your attention.

"Y/n, please," Beomgyu pleads as he breaks up with your lips. "Do something about my cock."

Your heartbroken lips come up with a reply soon, "What do I do?" As you ogle up at his half open eyes, already so thirsty.

His movements that just eat up any kind of stimulation, his gasping mouth and sweating face, holy fuck he's ethereal.

He is completely down for it. As you slide yourself down and part his legs, pulling his black shorts down, you find his trunks so tight from a erection thats so impatient & a wet patch too.

You tsk as you degrade, "So desperate and yet act demanding. What a spoiled brat."

He feels so hot to the point that finding you kneel down and part his legs, makes him wanna thrust so bad into your mouth. His heartbeat picked up its pace and his straight-thinking twisted into completely making him crave your anything.

His eyes grow hot and his minds swims in the ocean all vast of your only thoughts as he begs, "I w-want your mouth. On my cock."

His barely audible voice that sentence his want, not exactly a plea as you cock your head up, "You know the magic word. Say it and I'm all in your service baby."

Your pussy drenches and your heart starts its palpitations in exhilaration. This is exactly how he is down for you and you love it so so bad. Hell, you're obsessed with this side of your boyfriend. Yes, you pulls his trunks down and trail down your fingers at his gagging length.

It twitches so actively at your touch and bestows you so many of your boyfriend's whines. Fuck. So hot. You palm his cock and he hiccups a surprised moan at your sudden grab.

"F-fuck princess. Just like that!"

Didn't he ask for your mouth? Fine let him beg for it again. "You like it Beomie? How do you like it?" You ask him fondly because you don't let him speak as your hands start moving up and down on his cock, making him throw his head back.

His cocks grows hot and so does his face, his ears turning red and strings of saliva make themselves visible from his parted lips. Your hand not exactly letting him speak as he finds himself uttering so much Incoherent ramblings instead of actual words. He nods instead and throws his head up again as your other hands starts teasing his leaking tip.

That gets him off the edge as he grows louder with his groans, "w-want more." As his hands fall limp at the stimulation you provide him and finds it hard to sit up straight.

You speed your pace, and watch him fall apart on your hands.

"What did you say, Beomie? Be clear."

Your hands doing the work and failing all his possible functioning organs that let him find the right words to ask for what he wanted, he somehow utters his request. "Y-your mouth, Princess. Please."

Please. Exactly. Yes. "Good boy," You praise him as that forms a smile on his face. Giving him no time to figure what's coming up next and practically mining out surprised moans is what you always liked to do and you still do, as you hitched your mouth to his tip to which the said man loses his wits and utters numerous lewd fucks.

You giggle having his cock in your mouth sending waves of your sound which builds his edge as one of his hands finds a way to your head and buries it in your hair. Your mouth is sunk down at his length, taking it completely in it as you find it hard to breath for a moment. He overwhelms you just in right amounts.

Moving your head up and down using that, extracting all the possible stimulation from your mouth, Beomgyu gets lost in ecstasy. Yes, this is what he wanted and fuck he wants so much more that his hands move your head faster than you have expected.

His cock hitting your throat really does wonders down there. It makes you think of how good it would feel again, to have him rut into your aching pussy and hit all your favorite spots which makes you quicken your pace on bobbing at his cock which has him whining a lots.

You look up at and find him sweating buckets, drooling at the pleasure & really really lewd. Fuck, Choi Beomgyu. Fuck you.

You lick at his cock in a few times as that loosens his tight grip at your hair and you bob at his cock, lips choking his length at every oscillation, you blow him like he always wants.

In no time his whines become coherent as he says, "I'm close princess." And you slow down to tease him. Your movements do not deliver any pleasure but a lots of teasing. He notices it and his hand that was actually massaging your scalp until now, tightened into a fist that bobbed your head down and how horny are you that you let your pathetic boyfriend fuck your mouth like its a cocksleeve of his.

And did he chase his orgasm so badly that he fills your mouth with delicacies of his sweet semen as he heaves in exhaustion. You glare at him and wipe your mouth. Not exactly frustrated because you liked it when he was rough and you move away. He grabs you palm as he shoots you a beaming smile on his face which does make you happy but you don't show him that.

"Where are you going?" Beomgyu asks he is dumbstruck. Shouldn't you like undress and fuck your pussy on his cock? "No more?"

"But I barely give you any attention Beomie," You sarcastically retort to the man. "I'm going to continue chores."

"You did give me attention now but your pussy didn't," Beomgyu persists. "Come on, let's fuck."

He gets up and gets jumpy in excitement and desperation. And you'll have to dissapoint him now. You free your hands from his hold and move away. Because, that is for later.

—THE END.

#beomgyu smut #beomgyu scenarios #beomgyu imagines #beomgyu fanfic #beomgyu hard hours #beomgyu hard thoughts #beomgyu x y/n #beomgyu x you #beomgyu x oc #beomgyu x reader #beomgyu smau #txt hard hours #txt fanfic #txt smut #txt hard thoughts #txt x y/n #txt x oc #txt x you #txt x reader #txt scenarios #txt imagines #txt smau #noulli writes! #beomnoullitheorem

[wolfjackle-creates]

For the ask game, can I request the Bad reveal AU? That's the one where Danny finds out about Bruce being Batman and freaks out right?

Ha! Yes it is! Finally something I can just toss a snippet at!

I've got a decent amount written for this. However, I switched over to Dick's POV so it's been challenging. (First time writing from him.)

I also was trying to keep it short when...the story doesn't want to stay short. So I'm rewriting it. Which is taking longer than I'd like because I've got an action scene in this one and I'm terrible at writing action scenes. (Which means I need to write more of them, I know.) So I'm taking my time trying to make it good.

Chapter 1

1.4k words (okay, so more than a snippet.)

---

As soon as the laser left Danny’s weapon, Dick sprinted towards his brother. But before he could get more than a few yards, Danny disappeared. Into the cave wall.

“What the fuck,” he muttered, but changed course to check on Bruce.

Tim and Damian continued on, rushing to the wall.

Duke was kneeling by Bruce’s side and trying to keep him from getting up to search as well.

“Where’s Danny?” demanded Bruce.

“B, lay back down,” ordered Dick. “Danny’s gone. Apparently, he can density shift.” He couldn’t quite keep the hysteria out of his voice and Bruce’s frown deepened. “But Tim and Damian are checking the cave wall to see if he left any clues behind.”

Of course, his words only made Bruce struggle even harder to get to his feet. Duke could do nothing against a determined Batman.

“You have to let us look at your leg, B,” said Dick, pushing him back down with Duke.

Bruce glared at him. “I have to find Danny.”

Duke snorted. “How do you expect to be able to do that? He literally disappeared into the ground. Along with his suspected power of invisibility? Where do we start?”

Bruce slumped at Duke’s words and Dick used the chance to examine his leg. Danny’s weapon hit him in the upper thigh and his pants were half burned, half melted into the wound. The injury itself was about six to eight inches in diameter and the center was absolutely a third degree burn.

“Besides, Bruce. You really can’t walk on this. Third degree burns and we’ll have to get Alfred—or maybe even Leslie—to debride it.” He looked around to check on everyone else.

Tim and Damian were still by the wall where Danny had disappeared, but Jason was standing nearby frozen.

“Jason,” called out Dick, “can you get Alfred? I have to cut off Bruce’s pants so we can actually get to the wound.”

Jason seemed to shake himself and when he looked at Dick, his eyes were a bright green. Instinctively, Dick shifted until he was crouching more protectively over Bruce. Jason’s eyes narrowed and he sneered. “What the fuck do you think I’m gonna do to him?”

Dick glared right back. “Just get Alfred.”

With a huff, Jason turned. “Whatever.” But he did take the elevator up, allowing Dick to relax.

“Duke, could you get a pair of shears and a kit from the medbay?”

“You’ve got it.” He rushed off.

“B, how’s the pain?”

Bruce grit his teeth as he finally let himself look down at the injury. “I’ve had worse.”

Dick only had time to roll his eyes before Duke was back with the supplies. He took the special scissors designed to cut through their uniforms gratefully. “Thanks. Gonna start cutting off your pants, now.”

Before he finished, Tim and Damian were back. “How is Father?”

“Nasty burn,” replied Dick.

“I’ll heal,” said Bruce at the same time.

“Yep,” agreed Dick. “We’ll wait for Alfred or Leslie to look over it to say for sure, but so long as it doesn’t get infected, I expect he’ll make a full, if slow, recovery.”

Damian gave a curt nod.

“Far as we can tell,” said Tim, “Danny really did density shift through the wall. There’s absolutely nothing unusual about the place he was standing. No hidden crevices or passages.”

Bruce closed his eyes and sighed. “We’ll have to go over everything we have on his former life.”

“And research the things he referenced just now,” added Tim.

Alfred and Jason returned just as Dick finished cutting as much fabric away from the injury as possible and he happily seceded his place.

He clicked his tongue. “Master Danny did this?”

Damian nodded. “After everything Father has done for him, he chose to attack him in his own home.”

Jason snorted. “We all know it wasn’t that simple.”

Damian didn’t say anything, but did look away. Clear admission of guilt from him.

Alfred cleared his throat and everyone fell silent. “What sort of weapon did he use?”

Jason shrugged. “He had some sort of silver energy weapon. Not a design I’ve ever seen before. It shot a Lazarus-green beam.”

Alfred hummed. “Well, the injury looks normal enough. Second and third degree burns. But Master Timothy, I’d like you to run tests on the tissue to make sure we’re not missing any sort of contamination from the unknown weapon.”

“Course, Alfred. I can do that.”

“Do we know where Master Danny may have gone?”

Duke shook his head. “He density shifted through the cave wall. Pair that with his suspected invisibility and how little we know about his life before joining us…”

Alfred nodded. “Very well. Masters Jason and Dick, please help me move Master Bruce into a bed. The rest of you can begin searching for more information while I clean his wounds.”

Tim barely waited for Alfred to finish speaking before he was booting up the batcomputer. “I’ll inform Oracle, Black Bat, and Spoiler about the situation!” he called out over his shoulder.

Jason clearly wasn’t happy about having to carry Bruce, but not even he would argue with Alfred when one of his charges was injured. Though both of them left the instant Bruce was settled with promises to keep him informed as to how the search for Danny was going.

“So what do we know?” Dick asked as soon as he joined the others.

“Precious little,” admitted Tim.

Jason snorted. “Someone wants to cut our baby brother open and we don’t know a damn thing? What sort of detectives are we?”

Damian tutted at him. “Daniel indicated they would do the same to you, too.”

Dick looked up at the ceiling as he remembered the confrontation. “What was it he said? ‘They won’t care you’re more alive than dead’?”

Jason shifted his weight. “How much do you think he knows? He clearly just learned about our identities recently.”

Duke bit his lip. “He skipped school today. Said he wasn’t feeling well.”

Damian nodded. “But he appeared normal last night while preparing for bed.”

Tim hummed. “So he learned something last night.” Then his eyes widened. “Shit. Damian, we were talking in the kitchen after patrol. Do you think he might’ve overheard?”

“He does move silently. We would not have heard him if he did not wish us to.”

Dick closed his eyes and counted to ten. “Okay, what do we know about his abilities? He demonstrated density shifting today and we suspect invisibility.”

“He can move silently,” added Damian. “Cassandra is the only one who can reliably detect him when he does not wish to be detected.”

“And even she has been surprised by him on occasion,” said Bruce.

“Empathy,” added Jason.

Dick wasn’t the only one to stop and stare at that addition. “Uh… what are you talking about? He hasn’t shown any sort of empathy.”

Jason laughed for a moment, only stopping when no one joined in. “Oh, come on. He always knows whether you need space or want someone to stick around for a bit. And he can, like, send out a calming aura or some shit. Kid’s relaxing to be around.”

Dick opened and shut his mouth. “Huh. I haven’t noticed anything like that from him.”

Tim, Duke, and Damian agreed with Dick.

“Quit messing with me,” Jason said, flipping them off. “It’s true.”

Tim cocked his head. “Do you think that’s why he was most surprised by you? Are the two of you similar in some way? And that’s why you get the empathy sense from him?”

“‘More alive than dead,’” repeated Jason. “Would that have something to do with it?”

Tim hummed. “He mentioned his parents…” he trailed off before he could repeat Danny’s statements about his parents.

Dick nodded. “We’ll get Babs to take another look into them while you analyze B’s injury for potential contaminants. Jay, you and I can go through his room.”

Damian snorted. “With Father out of commission, someone needs to go on patrol.”

Dick cursed. “What time is it?”

“It is ten thirty.”

“Fine. You and I can patrol. I’ll take the cowl.”

Jason groaned. “And there’s some thing I have to take care of in Crime Alley.”

Bruce cleared his throat. “We’ve got the plans for tonight. Tim, you check my wound for foreign contaminants from the unknown weapon. Batman and Robin will patrol the city; Red Hood will be out in Crime Alley. Oracle will look into the Fenton parents. Duke, you’ll get to bed early. Tomorrow after a rest we will search Danny’s room more thoroughly.”

Everyone present voiced their acceptance, though with more grumbles than normal.

-----

Next

So yeah. That's how the next part starts.

#dpxdc #bad reveal au #dealing with the aftermath #how did I do with Dick?