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adriennebarnes · 1 month

Text

Cachetona

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Hispanic/Latina! Reader

Summary: Y/N gets told she’s cute all the time by everyone including her boyfriend and she worries that he doesn’t find her sexy

Warning: grammar and spelling errors, no translated Spanish porque me da flojera, IMPLIED innocence and corruption kink if you could call it that, honestly. It's kinda angsty fluff

A/N: I actually requested something similar to @shellyshellshell but this time I’m gonna add my own spin to it. I get told I’m cute and adorable by my bestie, I’ve been told I was cute by some adults, and I’m fine with it. Like I’m 21, I know I’m cute and adorable, because of my personality along with my chubby cheeks, so this is something I worry about and lowkey struggle with. Like I feel I can’t dress in a “sexy” way or do my makeup in a “sexy” way because I feel like it doesn’t match my face or hair at all. Así que me toca vestirme “cute”

Y/N has always had a rounder face and chubby cheeks. Even at her big age of 32, she still has those chubby cheeks that her mom likes to point out all the time. She thought she would have looked more mature by now like other women her age, she thought wrong.

However, truth be told she really didn’t mind being called cute growing up. It wasn’t until her previous partners only saw her as cute, it was even worse when her current boyfriend, Henry Cavill, started calling her cute.

They met a few months ago at Disneyland, which was already a bad start, Henry took his nephews (and nieces, idk) while Y/N went with her friends as a big Disney fan herself. They met on the line of the INCREDIBLES rollercoaster because his niece liked the loungefly bag Y/N had, again, not the best start.

Henry thought that Y/N was adorable in her Disney bound of Marie from the Aristocats and they kept talking in the line until he made the move to invite her to eat after the ride, to which she obviously said yes to because who the hell would say no. And that’s how it all began.

At Disneyland

“So Y/N, I like your outfit, it’s adorable, Marie?” Henry asked, gesturing at her outfit that consisted of white shorts, a pastel pink top with a pink bow in her hair, wearing a pearl choker with a gold bow charm, and pastel pink platform converse.

“Oh yes, it one of my favorite classic Disney movies. I’m a big fan of Disney. What about you? You have a favorite Disney movie?” Y/N asked.

“I’d have to say Hercules.” Henry answered.

“The music is amazing, and I love Megara. Anyway, what are you working on right now?” Y/N asked.

They were together for the rest of the Disney trip until on of her friends, Valeria, called her to say they’re leaving. Henry asked for her phone number and he called her the next day so they could have their first date.

First date

Y/N went to her closet and chose a White lace top with light blue shorts, nude block heel ankle boots, and her pearl choker again. Henry sent her the address of the coffee shop he wanted to meet at and when he saw her at the door, he thought she looked beautiful.

“Thank you for meeting me here, you look precious.” Henry said.

“Thank you, you look handsome.” Y/N said, sitting down at the table. When they ordered, Y/N ordered a brownie and a strawberry creme frappe for some much needed sugar and Henry ordered a croissant and coffee.

They talked about whatever people talk about on first dates, it went really well until...

"I'll call you later, cutie." Henry said, kissng Y/N on the cheek.

Present day

Y/N was in Henry's living room, wearing glasses, hair in two braids, a cream knit sweater, and shorts with Kal by her side. Henry came through the door after a meeting with his agent.

"Hey, Bunny, you're looking adorable today, how was your day?" Henry asked. 'Bunny' was your nickname because after you sneeze, you would twitch your nose before rubbing your nose with your thumb (guilty), much like a rabbit would.

"My day has been fine, took Kal for a walk, made him one of those frozen treats that are safe for dogs, safe to say he enjoyed them, el muy goloso." Y/N said.

"Thats good to hear." Henry said as he got close enough squish her face. "I love these chubby cheeks of yours, you're so cute." and Henry kissed her and went to pet Kal. "Are you going to stay and eat? I can make my specialty."

"I'd love to but i actually gotta head out." Y/N said, hoping Henry doesn't notice anything wrong with her.

"I can take you, it's no problem at all." Henry said.

"No, no, its fine, you cook whatever, I'll just make something at my apartment." Y/N said and kissed Henry before going to her car. She couldn't take it, she has been called 'cute' one too many times by Henry and to top it off, he mentioned her chubby cheeks, she was a grown woman, there are only so many times a grown woman could be called cute.

She drove to her apartment and began muttering.

"Can't believe he called me adorable." Y/N said, closing the door, putting her bag on the couch. She then saw her reflection in the full body mirror Valeria insisted in getting for their apartment. "No wonder he calls me cute." She observed her hair in braids and took it off, messing up her hair. She took off her glasses to see if that makes anything better - it didn't. Thats when she heard the door open.

"Amiga! No sabes cuanta gente estaban en las tiendas." Valeria said, putting her shopping bags down. "What happened? I thought you were going to be with your superstar boyfriend all day." Valeria said, looking at Y/N who is staring at her reflection.

"Henry called me cute again, y dijo algo sobre yo siendo cachetona." Y/N said.

"But Amiga, I thought you were okay with being called cute." Valeria said.

"I am fine with my family members or my friends calling me cute because I know that. Like I’m not exactly built like a Victoria’s Secret Angel, but I thought that at least my boyfriend of all people would at least find me hot. Clearly Henry doesn't see me that way." Y/N said as she plopped down on the floor.

"Hey, you don't know that." Valeria attempted to comfort her friend.

"He was called me adorable, precious, cute, not even beautiful, and he has never called me sexy." Y/N stated.

"Yeah, I can't argue with that." Valeria said.

"See! Y siendo cachetona no me ayuda. Men call you sexy, how can I be more like you?" Y/N asked. "Agh, I sound like a fucking teenager."

"It's all about confidence." Valeria said but Y/N kept looking at her. "Okay, I love you, you know I do, but you do own a lot of pastel colors in your closet. You can borrow my clothes whenever you're out with Henry, that's a given, but even the way you do your makeup is cute, and I know you hate hearing that."

"You're right, you're right. Okay, show me how to do my makeup so it could look ‘hot’ instead of ‘cute’.” Y/N said and that’s exactly what Valeria did. She gave Y/N a Smokey eye with Fox eyeliner, a darker lipstick, contour so her face looks slimmer, and minimal blush. “I feel ridiculous.” Y/N said.

“That’s because you’re not used to it. Also, if you want to look hotter, you need to straighten your hair. Like that sleek straight look.” Valeria said. “But that’s for the next time you want to see Henry, has he texted you?”

“Mm, no, not yet. Which one of these outfits do you think would look better on me?” Y/N said, opening up Valeria’s closet.

The next day, Y/N was in bed when she got a text from Henry.

Toro: hey Bunny, you want to come over tonight? I’ll cook your favorite.

You: yeah, Torito, I’ll come over, what time?

Toro: 6 sounds fine?

You: yep, sounds good.

Toro: okay, see you later, cutie 😘

“Cutie.” Y/N mocked. She got off her bed and went to Valeria’s closet and took out some things that she believed Henry might like her in. “Valeria, I’m borrowing your clothes!”

“Okay!” Valeria shouted from the shower. “You gonna shower so I can leave the water running for you?”

“Yeah, thank you!” Y/N shouted.

Y/N took a shower, washed her hair really well, shaved, when she finished, she put on lotion, her underwear, and a robe to blowout her hair. She changed and her her robe back on to do her makeup, took off her robe, and put on a perfume Henry bought you. She put on some black heels and a pair of her gold hoop earrings. She went to show Valeria.

“How do I look?” Y/N asked.

“Estás buena.” Valeria said.

“Thank you, let’s hope Henry thinks so.” Y/N said.

She got into her car and drove to Henry’s. She stayed in her car for a few minutes.

“Okay, it’s all good, you look hot, you look sexy, you’re not cute, not adorable, you’re hot.” Y/N said to herself before leaving the car and knocking on Henry’s door. Henry opened it and was in awe of how Y/N looked.

“Wow, Bunny, you look great!” Henry said, hugging her and letting her in the house. “So I’m making the rice now, the chicken is already done.”

“Great. Hola, Osito, how are you, Kal?” Y/N cooed at the fluffy Akita.

“You’re so cute.” Henry said. Y/N paused for a second.

“Toro, can we talk about something?” Y/N asked.

“Yeah, of course. What’s on your mind, cutie?” Henry asked.

“That.” Y/N pointed at him.

“What do you mean?” Henry asked.

“Okay, I’m going to ask you a serious question and I need you to answer me honestly. Do you find me attractive?” Y/N asked.

“What kind of question is that? Of course I do, you know I think you’re precious to me.” Henry tried to reassure Y/N.

“No no no, not like that, I mena like sexually attractive.” Y/N said.

“I Don’t understand.” Henry said.

“Okay, we’ve met at Disneyland, right? You thought I was cute, that’s understandable because I tried to look as adorable as possible because I was Disney bounding. But the dates after Disney, you kept calling me cute or adorable or precious. Now i grew up getting called cute, my friends and family call me cute, I don’t mind getting called by them. But when my boyfriend calls me cute, someone I’m supposed to feel desired by…I know it’s stupid, and even saying this out loud is stupid, but when I’m dressed like this.” Y/N said, gesturing to her outfit. “And you still call me cute, it feels like you’re not attracted to me the same way I’m attracted to you. So please tell me something before we go any further in our relationship.” Y/N said. Henry was stunned. He didn’t know what to say. He turned off the stove and led Y/N to the living room so they could talk on the couch.

“Y/N, i am very attracted to you.” Henry said, look into her eyes.

“It doesn’t feel like it. Why do you always call me cute though? Why is it never beautiful or gorgeous or even sexy?” Y/N asked

“Because your adorable nature is something I find very sexy.” Henry said leaning in.

“A ver, Toro, i Don’t understand.” Y/N said, leaning back.

“Your aura, your way of presenting yourself, is very innocent and cute. It’s like loving an angel. So I find you very sexy, the way you dress in your pastel colors makes you look so angelic when we both know what’s underneath is down right sinful. You are so bloody tempting that I call you cute to hold myself back from doing what I really want to do to you.” Henry said.

“Who knew the great Henry Cavill has a innocence kink.” Y/N giggled a little.

“Yeah yeah, tease all you want, bunny. But do you understand what I’m telling you?” Henry grabbed her chin to tilted her head so she’s looking in his eyes. “You are very sexy, I find your cuteness very sexy. And I’m sorry if I made you feel like you weren’t desired because you are, I desire you every night.” Henry said and they kissed. “You feel better now, bunny?”

“Yeah I’m fine. Thank you, Toro.” Y/N said. “So…when did you first think I was sexy?” Y/N asked and Henry chuckled.

“Alright, let’s eat first and then we’ll discuss that, Bunny.” Henry said, leading Y/N to the kitchen.

The End

So Henry’s nickname is “Toro” which means “bull” because he’s a Taurus and of course really strong like a bull.

Taglist: @warriormirkwood

#hispanic reader #latina #hispanic #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill #henry cavil x y/n #henry cavill fic #henry cavill fanfiction

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lovebugism · 1 year

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the customer’s always right just gave me life, they're just so sweet AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

THE CUSTOMER'S ALWAYS RIGHT | heart-shaped

summary: you think you might be falling in love with eddie. eddie thinks he might be falling for you. a series of stashed away insecurities threaten to get in the way. pairing: virgin!eddie munson / f!reader word count: 10k holy moly warnings: talks of drugs, shitty boyfriends, and being a whore <3 also reader gets fingered <3 a lil bit of angst, smut 18+ mdni a/n: ah shit here we go again!! thanks for waiting so patiently for me to get over my writer's block and finally post! reading all the feedback for this series has been so nice, all of you guys are so so sweet <333 anyway, pls enjoy this installment and if you don't.. maybe don't tell me :^) happy reading ily!

( PREVIOUSLY) | ( MASTERLIST ) | ( NEXT )

Truth be told, working the lunch rush at Enzo’s wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

It meant you got to miss out on serving all the wine snobs at dinner who send back devoured dishes like it’s their job — insistent on a refund because their food was “unsatisfactory” just to get twice the meal with half the tip.

The rich country club goers you waited on were far more docile in comparison. They arrive dressed in pastel-collared shirts and pretty athletic dresses after finishing up their tennis practices or games of golf.

They sit and talk for hours, dine on the most expensive shrimp and wine, just to leave a tip so ginormous that you have to thank them before they go. It’s a flaunt of wealth more than anything. It might’ve felt the least bit demeaning if it wasn’t going directly into your pockets.

And it would be way too lame of you to say that getting to see Eddie Munson after your shift was the only thing getting you through it at all. That sort of puppy love belonged to high schoolers who don't know any better, you know that… But screw it— knowing you were going to meet him after was the only thing getting you through this mind-numbing, foot-aching, brain-cell-losing, eight-hour shift.

The days, of which there had been four (but, then again, who’s counting?), had been excruciating without him.

You couldn’t even sleep the first night you left his trailer. You felt him everywhere — your mouth, your chest, and between your legs — still buzzing with his touch even halfway across Hawkins.

It had you swearing up and down that the Dungeon Master had some actual powers you didn’t know about. That he’d cast some sort of love spell on you after getting you to come on his thigh.

You quickly learned that Eddie Munson was the kind of boy that girls lose sleep over; the kind of boy that reduces you to your basic schoolgirl tendencies as you grin into your pillow and kick your feet in the air.

It was embarrassing, the effect he had on you.

And you so desperately wanted to blame it on whatever witchcraft the town thought the leader of Hellfire possessed. It was easier than facing the fact that you were head over heels for a stupid boy.

You didn’t even have time to face it, really, because you were already too busy falling for him. He had you tripping all over yourself and face-planting into the petals of a thousand roses — it was pathetic.

You’d catch yourself smiling whenever you thought of him, grinning like an idiot while you rang up customers at the register — more ecstatic at the idea of Eddie than the hundred-dollar tip they’d left you. It made you giddy to think about seeing him again, enough that it distracted you from the fact that you hadn’t sat down since your shift started.

Eddie had you full of sunshine and rainbows and mirth, like something out of a damn GAP commercial. It was a particular sort of happiness you thought abandoned you a long, long time ago.

Apparently, you were wrong.

You think of Eddie, and a foreign feeling of anticipation swirls in the pit of your stomach. It almost makes you sick with childlike excitement. You didn’t know another person was capable of making someone this happy. It’s unfamiliar and daunting and euphoric and really fucking scary.

It’s an otherworldly feeling that feels like it’s only happening to you. A secret you want to keep to yourself and shout from the rooftops at the same time. People bustle around you, keep on living their mundane lives, and spare not a glance to their lovesick waitress.

No one knows I’m falling in love right now, you find yourself thinking.

But that isn’t exactly true. Jim Hopper knows because that asshole knows everything, and notices almost immediately how strange you’re acting.

The chief of police was always a comforting sight amidst a sea of strangers, most of whom made more in a week than you could ever hope to make in a year. He's a breath of fresh air, as it were, which is strange considering the two of you spent the entirety of your high school career playing cat and mouse.

He’d catch you smoking, threaten to turn you in, and you’d beg him not to — pull out all the stops, the puppy dog eyes, the innocent schoolgirl charm, the whole damn nine to make him melt.

He’d take pity on you and let you off with a warning, as long as you promised never to do it again. And you’d lie to him, tell him it was a one-time thing, and he’d catch you a week or so later — getting high at the quarry or with your hand shoved down the pants of a man too old for you at Lover’s Lake.

And the cycle would keep on repeating for the next four agonizing years until you graduated.

Strangely, somewhere along the line, the two of you became pretty good friends.

Everyone once in a while, he’ll stop by Enzo’s during his breaks to keep you company. He never actually orders food, though, just binges on the endless free breadsticks until the buttons of his uniform threaten to pop. He'll bathe in yellow candlelight and chi-antee for an hour or more and then leave you a too big tip you always have to fight about when he goes.

Your pour the crimson colored wine he’d ordered into his rounded glass, flashing him the label before describing the vintage to him, per your boss’s demand.

It feels foreign to be so formal in front of Hopper — because, after catching you with a mouthful of Tommy Hagan in a car back in '83, nothing makes either of you uncomfortable anymore. But sometimes it feels like your asshole manager is lurking over your shoulder every damn second of the day.

And having a job is more important than your pride, you figure.

“This is a medium-bodied, acidic tart, ruby red wine. The earthy aroma pairs nicely with the cherry and strawberry notes…” and blah, blah, blah. You’ve repeated the same couple of lines so often you’ve started to say them in your sleep.

“Well, shit, teacup. If you put that much effort into school, you coulda been valedictorian,” Jim quips with a signature dad smirk that’s half-hidden beneath his bushy mustache.

It’s not the first time he’s made that dumb joke, and it won’t be the last.

You roll your eyes more at the nickname than the backhanded compliment, because it isn’t your fault the sasquatch is six-foot-four.

“How much is this one gonna cost me?” he asks you and leans in his plush seat to reach for the wallet in his back pocket.

“Don’t worry about it, lurch. It’s on the house.”

A mischievous glint twinkles in Jim’s eye as he squints up at you. He tucks the leather back into his khakis. “Sure Enzo won’t mind?” he asks you because he hasn’t yet bothered to acknowledge that your boss wasn’t actually named Enzo.

“Yeah, he’ll be pissed,” you confirm with a shrug. “I just don’t care.”

“Well, you’re in an unrealistically good mood after the lunch rush,” he sing-songs.

You don’t miss the suspicious lilt in his voice. Your smile is equally sarcastic and sickly sweet as you tell him: “It’s ‘cause my favorite customer is here—”

“Yeah, I don’t buy that,” he interjects with a curt shake of his head. He sits up straighter and leans his elbows on the white linen cloth of the table like he means business. “Who’s the boy?”

“What— I don’t— What are you— boy?” you sputter with a half-hearted laugh. Your stammering isn’t the least bit convincing.

“It’s a boy, right?” he monotones. “You only get all giddy and gross like this when there’s a boy.”

You hate that he knows you so well. It might’ve been sweet if it wasn’t totally infuriating.

To be fair, you did tend to wear your heart on your sleeve, even when you didn’t want to. When you were falling in love, it poured out of you like sunshine and blinded anyone who dared to look too closely.

Golden rays shoot from your fingertips, shine in the irises of your eyes, and flash from your smile — like the one tugging at the edges of your lips now.

It leaves no room to deny what he already knows: that you’re a stupid girl with a stupid crush on a stupid boy because she hasn’t learned from her stupid mistakes.

“Fine,” you concede with your sheepish gaze flitted to the ceiling. “It’s— It’s dumb. It’s a silly crush, it doesn’t mean anything.”

Hopper nods, like he’s giving you some kind of blessing. “Good for you. It’s about time you moved on from that asshole— what was his name again? Harrington?”

It makes you roll your eyes. You can’t tell if he’s actually confused or if he’s making fun of you. It would be all too like a middle-aged man to make a misogynistic joke about a girl who’s had more partners than years she’s been alive.

“Hargrove,” you correct in a monotone. Your tone is as bitter as thinking about him makes you feel.

“Him, too,” he quips.

There it is.

“It’s not even like that, okay? It’s not like anything,” you try and deflect like you aren’t beaming and trying horribly to hide it. “He… He probably doesn’t even like me like that.”

“Well, it’s about time you got over that boy, is all I’m saying. You deserve a good guy. A boy treats you right, who has actual aspirations in life, and keeps his nose clean—” he rambles as he brings the wine to his mouth to take a drink. He stops himself to ask: “What's his name again?”

You fidget ahead of him, shifting your weight on your feet awkwardly because good guy who stays out of trouble and has actual aspirations in life isn’t how most people would describe the Munson boy. Jim least of all.

He’s got a similar relationship with Eddie to the one he had with you, though there was little room for friendship between the two. It’s just an outlaw making a living on drugs and a chief trying to catch him dealing it.

“Eddie,” you answer and then clear your throat. “Uh, Eddie Munson…”

The life leaves Jim’s eyes.

There’s no amount of wine in Enzo’s cellar that could’ve prepared him for that — or you, for the twenty-minute lecture that followed.

“I have no words,” he’d scolded you like a disappointed parent but proceeded to rant for nearly half an hour after the fact, in true fatherly fashion.

Hopper knows when you’re falling in love. It’s all sunshine and rainbows and blue skies. It’s all so sweet he could gag. But there’s always another side of that coin — a dark, colder, meaner one.

Because sometimes boys are cruel, sometimes you really are in over your head, and sometimes relationships don’t work out. And when things go bad, they go rotten, and he has to deal with the storm cloud you become after the fact.

Taking care of you becomes his part-time job, and his check-ins become endless as he makes sure you don’t fall back into your old ways — using and getting used.

And truth be told, you don’t have the best track record with men, and Hopper tries to tell you all this, but it doesn’t get through.

Because you have a good feeling about this. About Eddie.

Fuck all the rest.

Today marks your thirteenth meeting with Eddie.

For such an unlucky number, it’s got you squirming from all the butterflies fluttering in your belly with an excitement more innocent than you’re used to. Like standing in the queue for a rollercoaster in a childlike mixture of apprehension and animation, somehow both frightened and enraptured for what’s to come.

And you’re absolutely bouncing with it. Smiling to yourself in the car with the radio turned all the way up and the windows all the way down, thrumming your fingers on the steering wheel as you belt the lyrics to “Super Trouper” with a beam that could make the sunshine cower.

It’s all completely and utterly perfect until you become suddenly aware of how unearthly happy you are.

Then it hits you like a ton of bricks and you shrink into yourself because… maybe you shouldn’t feel this way. The last time you saw Eddie, he came in his jeans and you got off on his thigh — there was never any room for daydreaming and pining and puppy love-ing, not when you so quickly gave yourself away.

The thought of Eddie not nearly being as happy to see you is what hurts the most. How he had you once and now you’re back to just being the customer he sees once a week.

What if he doesn’t give you weed for free anymore? Fuck that — what if you’re not his favorite?

And maybe it’s just you, maybe you’re the problem. Maybe you should be passed the point of giddy excitement, maybe it’s uncool, maybe you’re wearing your heart on your sleeve and it’s leaving the door open for too much hurt. Maybe Hopper was right.

But you’re happy, at least for right now, and you don’t get the chance to be too often.

Most days, you’re just an accessory — a pretty pebble someone finds on the ground and spends a couple of seconds ogling at before leaving and never thinking about again.

You deserve the chance to be held, don’t you? You should get to be praised and coddled and worshipped like the pretty girls do.

And Eddie makes you feel held.

So you’ll stick around until he gets bored of you, until you stop being so fun for him. You’ll take the moments of happiness as they’re spoon-fed to you and taste them, really taste them, until you’re starving again. You’ll stay full of this pure puppy love you have for Eddie until it’s time for you to go.

Because, for now, you’re happy. And isn’t that what matters most?

You don’t know it, but Eddie’s caught in a similar dilemma.

He waits for you at the bench you meet him at every week, like you’ve done for months now, but he’s filled with an unfamiliar gaiety as he anticipates your arrival.

He’s so goddamn excited to see you that he doesn’t know what to do with himself. It borders on a slight uneasiness that makes him sick to his stomach.

Eddie never gets nervous around customers. Not once, not ever.

He’s dealt to weirdos who live on the wrong side of the track, preppy douchebags that shove him into lockers at school, and pretty cheerleaders who pretend he doesn’t exist outside of dealing.

He’s seen it all, really. But you’re the one that’s got him bouncing his knee something fierce beneath the table and tapping his fingers against the rotted top of it while his heart races a million miles a minute.

He’s frightened of being too overeager. He’s scared that you’ll come here, all cool and collected about all of it, and he’ll be the freak show acting like a pretty girl’s never given him an ounce of attention before. They haven’t, but he’d rather not project that sort of disposition. Not to you, at least.

He guesses, more than anything, he’s just afraid of scaring you away.

So Eddie tries to keep the smile on his face hidden — not knowing that it’s your favorite part about him. He tries to be as stoic as possible. He wants to be this cool and mysterious and sexy guy he thinks you want, having no idea that you’d already fallen in love with him before he even realized he needed to be those things for you.

He’s just about able to wash away his grin when he sees you emerge from the woods and into the small clearing where the lone picnic table lives.

The pinky plaid skirt you wear rustles against your legs with the breeze, the pleated edges brushing against the skin of your thighs. You pair it with a white piece of Beatles merch that clings to your torso — and fuck he hates the Beatles, but you’re the prettiest thing his cynical eyes have ever seen.

He’s beaming at you before he even realizes it. And by the time he does, he doesn’t feel like the idiot he thought he would.

You’re both sporting matching grins, trying to hide them and failing miserably. His is pursed softly to the side and yours is pulled between your teeth.

You look like the rays of sunlight filtering through the trees, Eddie thinks to himself.

His eyes must be the golden of them, you conclude.

When you settle on the bench in front of him, you tuck your skirt neatly beneath you and focus on smoothing out than fabric rather than meet the boy’s gaze. You sport a meek smile and a pair of fidgeting hands that ache to touch him.

“Hi,” you greet sheepishly.

He sees your face scrunch in embarrassment at how shy you sound, and the way you almost reach out for his hand but stop yourself just as quickly. He wishes you wouldn’t. He wishes you knew how perfect you were, even when you weren’t totally graceful.

“Hi,” he repeats with a mocking, but no less loving grin, tilting his head towards his shoulder. “How’s it going?”

“Oh, you know… overworked and underpaid,” you shrug. “Just the usual.”

You’re grateful for the small talk. It leaves little room for the awkwardness swimming in your belly. He doesn’t immediately mention what happened the last time you saw him, like people often do when they want to do it all over again. But he isn’t in a hurry to give you your weed so you’ll leave him alone either. That's what people usually do when they want nothing to do with you anymore.

It’s almost like it never happened.

Or rather, like it did, and he isn’t treating it like a spectacle.

It’s refreshing.

“Boss giving you a hard time?”

“Oh, always. I’m pretty sure that’s what he gets paid to do, actually.”

“Right,” he breathes out a laugh.

Silence hangs in the air for a moment, just a blink of a second, but it’s noticeable. The sudden quiet floats on the cool breeze that ruffles Eddie’s wild hair and sends a shiver down your spine.

In a split-second decision, you decide not to deprive yourself of the urge to touch him. Partly to distract from the stillness, but mostly because the ache had reached a fever pitch.

You’re so enthralled by his hands resting upon the old wood — the veins that decorate the back of them like the roots of a tree, the way his fingers thrum to a beat only he can hear, and the rings that wrap around them.

“Is this new?” you wonder aloud. You take his wrist in one hand and trace the glinting silver on his pointer finger with the other. It’s the bony fingers of a skeleton curved to form a heart. He’s taped the sides to make it fit better. It didn’t belong to him before now.

Eddie watches, pleasantly surprised, as you dote on him.

Your eyes glitter golden beneath an early setting sun. They dance with amusement as your fingertip traces his heart-shaped ring. He smiles to himself and wonders how often you’re looking at his hands to notice he’s got a new ring on.

“Oh, yeah,” he shrugs. He plays it cool, like his heart isn’t thrumming like a hummingbird in his chest at your touch. “Got it a couple days ago at the thrift store outside of town. It was a whole seventy-five cents.”

“I like it. It’s cute.”

“Cute?” he repeats with a scrunched nose and blushing face.

It makes you giggle. “Yeah. You can be cute and badass at the same time, you know?”

“I didn’t know those were mutually exclusive.”

“They weren’t. Not until you came into the world, Eddie Munson.”

He feels cold when you drag your hand away. The kind, almost teasing grin you flash his way warms him all over again. He’s still trying to get used to being so loved on.

You can see the way he gets lost in you for a moment. His cinnamon-tinted gaze, made golden in the sunlight, glazes over as his head gets stranded in the clouds.

The only reason you notice it is because it happens to you. Eddie makes it so terribly easy to float in the deep galaxy of his eyes. Your heart swells to know that it’s happening to him now. Happening to him because he’s looking at you.

You didn’t know you were the kind of girl people could get lost in.

Eddie clears his throat and shakes his head, mostly to himself, but enough to jostle the soft curls that frame his face and sit above his eyes.

“Well, I’m honored, sweetheart,” he grins his signature grin, the bright and cocky one, though he’s too shy to make it reach his eyes now. He busies himself and his restless fingers by rifling through the product sitting in the tin box at his side — baggies full of green nuggets and white powdery pills.

“So, uh, what’s on the menu this week? The usual?”

“I’ve still got my stash from last week,” you confess. “Haven’t really had the time to smoke it yet.”

His eyes flit up to yours again. “…Yeah?” is all he can think to say to you because internally he’s buzzing — you didn’t even need weed, he thinks to himself, you just wanted to see him.

You only shrug. “I’ve just been, like, crazy busy this week.”

Eddie nods understandingly, but can’t help but to joke: “Is that why you haven’t called?”

Because, fuck, if the past couple of days without talking to you haven’t been complete and total agony. He knows it’s a little too brash and brave of him to wonder why you went AWOL when he hasn’t exactly made an effort to seek you out either.

Not for lack of wanting to, though. He’d like to put that on record.

“Well, I didn’t call because I don’t have your number,” you retort with a smile that toes the line between cunning and timidity. “So, you can’t really blame me for that.”

He huffs dramatically. “Guess not.”

“It’s probably for the best. If I could call you, I’d never leave you alone.”

“Bold of you to assume I’d want you to,” he dismisses your negative talk with ease.

You warm with his words and duck your gaze on instinct. You keep your eyes on your hands while you fidget with your fingers, wishing that they were his instead. “Just don’t want to bother you or whatever, you know?”

“You could never bother me.”

“Promise?” you ask him. Your smile is playful, but your words are sincere.

Eddie’s is much of the same. “Cross my heart.”

“How about this — I give you my number and you just call whenever you’re free,” you offer, more confident at the boy’s admission and glowing with it. “‘Cause, you know, Wayne probably wouldn’t appreciate me clogging up the phone line very much.”

“He wouldn’t notice… Or care,” he tells you and pulls out an old pen from his tin box. His sparkling deep brown eyes stay locked on you as you rise from your side of the bench and round the table to sit next to him.

You’re obviously not as nervous as he’d been at the trailer all those nights ago, when he had to practically be beckoned over to realize you wanted him beside you.

You sit opposite him, with your knees pointed away from the bench. You get to be closer to him this way. Your thigh presses against his as you twist towards him, your chest mere inches from his arm, your mouth even closer.

You write a series of numbers on his forearm that Eddie can’t make out because he’s too busy looking at you. He admires the frown between your brows as you struggle to get the ink to write and the way your lips purse to the side in concentration.

“Wayne would actually be pretty stoked I was talking to a girl—” he jokes with a laugh though he’s quick to cut himself off like he’d said something he wasn’t supposed to.

His admission was supposed to be funny, something the rest of Hellfire would’ve laughed at because they know him. But you don’t, and he doesn’t really want you to. You’ve already got this idea of him in your head. He lives in agony that he won’t be able to live up to it.

He’ll just have to fake it, he concludes. Fake it until he doesn’t recognize himself anymore.

Fortunately enough for him, you don’t read into his words too much.

“He wants you to settle down, huh?” you joke back, half-distracted as you doodle a heart onto his skin.

“Wants me to move out, more like.”

“I’m sure he’d appreciate the bed.”

Eddie scoffs. “Yeah, right. That old geezer’s practically in love with his Laz-E-Boy.”

He watches with glimmering eyes as you laugh. Then he’s smiling because you’re smiling. He isn’t sure how else he’s supposed to look at you. How could anyone possibly look at you and not hold so much love in their eyes?

You haven’t yet let go of his arm, he notices, as you cradle his wrist in your grasp and swipe your thumb over the blotchy blue veins there. Your gaze is pointed down to where you hold him. There’s a distant grin on your face as you admire such a minute piece of him.

He wants so badly to kiss you.

He could. All he’d have to do, really, is move his head a couple inches and he’d brush the apple of your cheek. The skin would warm against his lips until he ducked down to kiss you for real.

And he feels just bold enough to ask you, but not quite enough to say the words out loud. Instead, they sit impatiently on the edge of his tongue while he waits for the right moment to say them. The wind blows, and it passes.

“It wouldn’t be totally crazy if I kissed you right now, would it?” you ask him first, looking at him through your lashes like you’re scared he might reject you.

He glows pink, momentarily stunned that you beat him to the punch, then worried that you might’ve read his mind. He plays it cool with a shrug and a shake of his head. “No… Not unless it’s totally crazy how bad I want you to kiss me right now.”

You don’t waste any time. You gravitate towards him like you were made to do it and he meets you easily halfway.

When your lips lock, it feels like a routine. Kissing you is like a cup of coffee and the morning paper and a rocking chair on a front porch — something he could do forever and ever and not get bored of.

You kiss him so soft, more gentle than anyone’s ever been with him, but your tongue swipes into his open mouth, and it’s dirty.

Eddie still isn’t sure how a person could touch him the way you do. You’re all sweet, like you’re frightened you might break him, but you aren’t scared to kiss him like he’s yours.

As good as it feels to have him against you this way, the position you’re in isn’t any less awkward. Your upper-half is still twisted to face him and he has to lean slightly over to touch you completely.

He explores the cavern of your mouth with a more confident tongue than you remember him having while ten ringed fingers press into your ribs.

Eddie can feel your mouth contort in a smile. He thinks it’s because he’s tickling you, but you’re just in love and totally giddy with it.

The wooden edge of the bench digs into your spine. The ache distracts you from feeling him the way you want to — the way you need to — so you make a split-second decision to rise from your seat and rest your bottom on the table.

Your lips click wetly, almost out of protest, when they part.

You use the palms of your hands to lift you and prop your sneakers on the bench seat when you sit down again. You wait patiently for Eddie to accommodate you, to rise and keep kissing you the way he was just kissing you.

He does. Eventually.

He just needed a few moments to gather himself when your new position flashes him the faintest glimpse of your panties — all black and dotted with little red hearts that have started to fade with time.

His eyes widen and he everts his gaze immediately. His cheeks and the tip of his nose go red, like he’d been caught looking at something he wasn’t supposed to be looking at. It’s sort of stupid. You were getting off on his thigh some days ago, and now you’re kissing him like you mean to swallow him whole, surely you wouldn’t mind him peeking.

If he were someone totally different, he might’ve spread your legs, dug his fingers into the fat of your thighs, and put his mouth on you like he wanted to do three nights ago — like he’s been wanting to do for ages.

But he doesn’t.

He just sits there, for what feels like forever, feeling like a total idiot.

But if you notice his hesitancy, you don’t show it. You just cup his warm cheeks in your hands and drag him up to you. Eddie isn’t enough of a dumbass to reject your affections.

He happily melts into your touch once more while the both of you maneuver like a bunch of lovesick teenagers around the bench — rather than just part momentarily to move more efficiently.

You round the table so you’re propped on the outside of it and Eddie’s no longer confined in the seat. If making out and multitasking was an olympic sport, you and Eddie would take the gold, no doubt.

It’s hopelessly high school, the way you make out like teenagers in some clearing, known only to Eddie’s most loyal customers and a golden orange sky.

It feels rebellious and raunchy, like you’ve just snuck out of Mr. Kaminsky’s lecture on chemical bonds to fuck under the bleachers. You kiss each other and it feels like you’re doing something so much more than yourselves.

Eddie touches you and you feel like a kid again. Everything’s just new experiences and stomachs full of butterflies — heartache is virtually nonexistent.

As far as you’re concerned, you’ve never been kissed before now.

You had no idea someone could hold so much love in their mouth and then kiss you with it. You’re so used to tongue and teeth and spit, not these slow and sweet pecks that feel like white clouds and summer rain.

Every now and then, Eddie will slot his kiss-bitten bottom lip between the plush of your swollen mouth. And he’ll just stay there, for several long moments, just to feel you. His ringed fingers rise to cradle your jaw to keep you against him. His nose knocks against the bridge of yours and his heavy breaths fan against your cupid’s bow.

You’re not sure why he does this, why he chooses to be so soft with you when he knows he could have you however he wants. You’re a kitten purring against his chest now, all pliable and willing for him, but he just likes how still and soft you are like this.

You let him kiss you the way he likes. You notice he takes acute infatuation with your bottom lip, biting softly and pulling at the skin until it’s a plump pink thing for him to suck into his mouth.

Every swipe of his tongue against yours is experimental and methodical. He finds what makes you exhale the heaviest moans and keeps doing that until you’re a puddle of a woman in his hands.

Oh, god. His hands.

It’s almost unfair how kind they are.

One keeps a steady, warm hold on your cheek. He can feel the way you start to soften as you lean more and more into his touch. The other has fallen to your thigh. His fingertips settle beneath the skirt you picked out specifically for him, but don’t move any further than that.

He just likes the feel of you, it seems, as he pets the softness of your skin. Occasionally, he’ll squeeze and marvel at the feeling of your thigh in his grasp and the way it makes you moan against him. The feeling of his silver rings against you makes chill bumps erupt on your skin.

You’re unsure if he knows the effect he has on you. Surely, he must, you figure — just days ago you were falling apart on his thigh and here you are now, willing to do it all over again.

He touches you like he knows. Like he takes pleasure in teasing you until you’re all but begging for more. And you’re not the least bit ashamed to do it, either. His touch, his hand down your panties, it isn’t a want — it’s a need.

You take Eddie’s wrist in your impatient hand, moving his palm further and further beneath your skirt until it’s pressed against the dampening cotton of your underwear. “Touch me, Eds,” you plead against his mouth, already breathless.

The boy tenses.

It’s a dream come true in the most literal sense, to feel you like this. You cling to his consciousness wherever he goes. You’ve spent so many nights plaguing his dreams that they’ve started to feel like nightmares. He’d wake up in the middle of the night, achingly hard and shuddering with cold sweats at the mere thought that he’d never get to have you the way he always dreamt of having you.

But it’s here now, lying beneath a heart-patterned cloth, and he doesn’t know what to do with it.

He’s not scared of you exactly, just of everything else.

His hand has never gotten anyone off but himself. He’s scared that he won’t make you feel good, or worse, that he’ll hurt you — he’s scared of himself. He’s terrified of losing you and you’re not even his.

It’s everything else that frightens him, but not you. Not when you’ve got your legs spread out before him and begging him to touch you. Not when you act like you want to be his.

Rather than deprive himself of the dream of you, Eddie decides to hook his pointer finger around the hem of your panties and slide them to the side.

With your pussy concealed by the pleated skirt you wear, he’s forced to work blindly while he touches you. He doesn’t mind, though. He takes the opportunity to feel you as it’s presented to him on a silver platter — the softness of your lips, the trimmed mound of hair above them, the slick coating your warmed skin.

You feel like silk and velvet. A material that’s far too expensive to touch. It makes him feel like he’s ruining you in some way.

Eddie’s open-mouthed, heavy breaths fan against your lips, all nicotine and mint gum. Your eyes flutter shut at the feeling of him — billowing across your jaw, pressed between your thighs, fingers treating your pussy like it’s a piece of delicate art.

“More,” you beg in a dream-coated sigh and spread yourself further for him. You’ve got one hand twisted in his leather jacket and the other flipping up the skirt of your dress, putting yourself on display for him — a piece of delicate art indeed.

You’re laid out before him, all at once, bare and glistening with need.

He’s seen plenty of vaginas in his time, usually photographed in a centerfold of a magazine or half-blurry through a botched VHS tape. But, for obvious reasons, you’re quite different.

You’re beautiful. The kind of beauty that men would’ve fallen on their swords for a time ago, the kind you’re lucky to see in a lifetime. That’s a bit what it feels like to look at you. He looks at you, and he sees a cotton candy sunset over mountains that touch the clouds or clear blue waters that go on for infinity.

Even like this, with your pussy on display for him — in a moment that’s supposed to be dirty — it’s a serene sort of beautiful. You need to be hung up in a museum, Eddie thinks to himself, in the Louvre or some shit — because a freak show from the middle of nowhere shouldn’t get to just have you like this.

He slots his middle finger between your lips, for once not overthinking when the urge to feel you takes over. You soak his appendage with ease, the slick only adding to your softness. He dips down to the dimple of your opening and rises to the peak of your swelling clit. He notices how it makes you twitch against him.

It feels like being you’re touched for the first time. Unfolded and cherished like some sort of expensive gift. You’re not used to this sort of tenderness. No one’s taken things this slow with you before. The way he’s making you feel good is for him just as much as it is for you. It’s unfamiliarly blissful to be handled with so much care.

Eddie watches with heavy and attentive eyes as your head tips back, like you’re starting to drown in your own pleasure and unbothered to keep yourself afloat. Your contented sighs and gentle tremors spur him forward. Those subtle praises almost equal the pleas that spill from your kissed mouth.

It makes him stop worrying about how to do all this without being totally obvious that he’s never done any of it before.

Everything he knows, he’s gotten from poorly produced porn. He doesn’t want to treat you like that. Like you’re some toy or plaything or a game to be won. He wants to take things slow and treat you right because it’s becoming more and more obvious to him that no one’s ever done that for you.

He’ll be your first, if you’ll be his.

He finds himself grateful for how responsive you are. He doesn’t need to know everything there is to know about sex or ask you for direction like an idiot because your pussy tells him what to do.

You tremble every time the pad of his finger swipes against your clit. He can feel you clench around nothing every time he dips towards your opening, as if in a silent plea. You tell him what you like without saying anything, but rather by drenching him in clear-coated honey.

His eyes have trouble flitting away from your pleasure-ridden face and down to where he coaxes you open. His finger glistens with your wetness. Beneath a setting sun, it looks like the sparkling rays over an ocean.

“Fuck,” he huffs, almost moaning. “You’re so fucking wet.”

“Sorry…” you mutter meekly.

“What?” Eddie finds himself laughing softly, brows furrowing in confusion at your sudden embarrassment. That’s not the response he was expecting. “Why are you apologizing?”

Your skin burns hot at his question — no longer warmed from pleasure, but out of pure self-consciousness. It’s a conversation you’re used to now, but it hasn’t gotten any easier. With his finger still caught in your drenched pussy, you find it suddenly hard to meet his gaze and instead peer at him through your lashes.

“I don’t know,” you murmur. “Some guys think it’s gross… And messy—”

“Screw ‘em,” he blurts. His brown eyes twinkle with a newfound confidence, not one of the unabashed metalhead drug dealer, but one of a boy whose head over heels for a girl who doesn’t know what it means to be truly cared for. “It’s sexy,” he assures you.

A shy smile hints at the corners of your lips, innocently comforted by the promise and pleased by the compliment. “Really?”

“I promise, sweetheart,” he tells you with a wholehearted nod. He means it more than anything he’s ever said. “Cross my goddamn heart.”

He leans in to press his lips against yours then, just because it feels right to, and you graciously accept his affection.

Eddie’s kisses come in innocent, loving pecks that are far too sweet in comparison to the way he’s making you feel. His finger traces the slick gathering at your opening, not having to force his way in because your pussy is more than wanting.

Both of you let out low moans when he’s finally inside of you. He doesn’t stop until the silver of his ring is pressed into the outside of your pussy.

You’re wrapped around him like velvet, warm and tight velvet that won’t let him go. He works hard to find a steady rhythm that you like and watches your every reaction intently.

You’ve got your lip dragged between your teeth, biting so hard that the fragile skin has started to blanch. Your eyes have fluttered slowly shut with a frown forming between your brows in a vague concentration as you focus on your own pleasure.

You seem to like it most when he’s crooking his finger rather than thrusting them inside of you. At least, that’s what he assumes, as he reaches a much softer spot within you that makes you jolt against him.

Your hand darts to his wrist, not to tug him away or pull him any closer, just to tether yourself to him.

“Can you— fuck—” you sputter when the palm of his hand bumps against your clit. “Can you add another finger? Please?”

You’re all whiny and breathy like you’re begging him, like there’s any chance he might deny you. Eddie’s not exactly in the business of saying no to you.

He slides his ring finger in with his middle. He marvels at how snugly they fit inside you and how the sticky nectar coats his skin. Your wetness has gathered around his silver rings, including the one with the skeleton hand you were complimenting earlier.

He doesn’t ever want to wash them again... Not that he ever did in the first place, but he makes a vow not to start now.

Eddie doesn’t know it, but this is the part where you usually get embarrassed. Sometimes you think you’re too sensitive, too responsive. You’ve found that there’s a threshold between being sexy and being needy that most guys tend to enjoy. But, for you, it's a finicky thing and you find yourself crossing it before you realize it.

You moan too loud, talk too much, whine too often. Nearly everyone you’ve ever been with has said so in some way or another — mostly in gentle approaches that are observations more than anything. But some boys aren’t so nice. They say that you get too turned on, the wetness coating your pussy is evidence of that, and they tell you that’s it’s gross.

But here, now, with Eddie, there’s little room for embarrassment.

He tells you that you’re pretty, swears up and down that the way your slick trickles down his fingers is sexy. And for the first time in your life, you find yourself actually believing someone who tells you that.

You let him pry you open with slow and meticulous touches. You can feel his bent fingers deep inside you, exploring the slick velvet of your walls, and rubbing at the spot that makes you keen. It’s got your back arching and thighs trembling by his waist, toes curling inside your sneakers while you keep a tight grip on his wrist.

“Rub my clit, Eds,” you plead breathlessly with your eyes shut tight. You’re about to come, you can feel the tightening coil in the pit of your belly, you just need a little bit more. “Please, Eddie— please, touch my clit—”

He’s hasty in his attempts to comply to your request. He barely lets the words leave your mouth before he presses the pad of his thumb just above the hood of your clit. And it doesn’t feel bad per se, it actually feels pretty damn good, it’s just not where you need him most.

It’s not the first time a guy’s had trouble finding your clit and you figure it won’t be the last, so you opt guide him with a helping hand. You maneuver his thumb until it’s pressed snuggly against your swollen button.

Eddie watches attentively as it makes you whine. You arch your back, pressing yourself further against him, as a moan rises from the depths of your chest and spills out of your mouth. You pull him somehow closer by the lapel of his jacket.

He takes every unspoken criticism to heart, along with every one of your wordless praises. His acute attention to what you like the most — how his thumb on your clit makes you clench around him, how you moan every time he rubs against that foreign spongy spot inside of you, and how he keeps on doing that because he can tell that you like it — sends you to an otherworldly place pleasure.

It’s different from guys that are just good from experience. Most do the same old shit that gets their girl off because they know they’ll get off in the end, too.

Eddie’s attentiveness is unfamiliar and spellbinding, all-consuming and unavoidable. A pleasure you’re both chasing and wanting to run away from out of fear it might be too much.

“Is this okay?” he whispers to you, breath fanning across your cheek.

You nod wordlessly in reply, with your lip caught between your teeth as you fight to bite back the cry building in your throat. It’s hard to when he’s so intently hitting every spot that makes you dizzy. The moan that inevitably spills from your mouth sounds wet, like you might really start to cry.

“Fuck,” you wail when your stomach tenses. His fingers, deep in the confines of your pussy and rubbing at your clit, are relentless. Pleasure’s biting at your ankles now and you have no way to stop it from swallowing you whole. “Feels so good, Eds—”

Your mouth hangs open as you drop your head down to watch him work you open.

His ringed fingers are coated with you, a sheen of honey that drips down his fingers and onto the silver wrapped around them. You’re hopelessly spread open for him, your pussy blooming like a flower at the promise of springtime for the boy, and then tightening around him to keep him trapped inside you.

It’s dirty, like a lewd piece of art that you can’t help but gawk out.

You fight to keep your heavy eyes open. You want to watch what he’s doing to you, but it’s a harder feat than you could’ve ever imagined. Pleasure rises so violently in you. You’re frightened you might burst entirely.

“I’m gonna come,” you whimper. It’s a warning to you but for him, it’s a promise. Your head tilts back again, face scrunched in a gentle sort of horror, like you’re scared at how good you feel. “Please don’t stop. Oh my god, Eds— Please don’t stop. Please, please, please—”

Eddie presses a gentle kiss to the buzzing skin of your cheek. He whispers his slurred promises there, too. “I’m not gonna stop, sweetheart. Not gonna stop until you want me to, ‘kay? Not until you’re pushing me away. Wanna make you come so many times you can’t take it—”

You clenched around him at his words. His fingers, trapped in your velvet, struggle to move within you as you tighten. The thumb on your clit works you through your orgasm.

Your mouth hangs open in a silent moan while your hand grips his wrist something fierce. Pleasure builds and builds and builds, striking you like lightning so suddenly, and reducing you to a shuddering mess on the picnic table in front of him.

“There you go,” Eddie whispers in your ear through his own trembling breaths. “Yeah, keep going for me— keep coming.”

You comply.

You don’t have much of a choice in the matter, anyway.

Your orgasm runs over you like a dozen fucking freight trains. You’re caught in your own riptide of pleasure, drowning in it with no way of getting out. With no choice but to endure it, you whine and writhe against him while his hand stays trapped between your trembling thighs. It forces you to feel all of it until you can’t take it anymore. Just like he promised.

The pleasure passes. The vice-like grip your pussy had on his fingers lessens. The high fades. But Eddie keeps going. You don’t feel much of it at first, still pleasantly numb and buzzing, then you realize how sensitive you are.

He crooks his fingers faster, rubbing against the swollen spot inside you, while the pad of his thumb presses steadily against your clit.

You’re sloppy and wet and still gushing from the fading orgasm. A second one wouldn’t be too hard to reach, not with Eddie touching you the way he is just now, but you’re scared that it might be too much.

The I can barely see, we need to lay down a towel, hold me while I float into subspace sort of too much.

“Mm-mm,” you hum softly in protest, twitching against him while you squeeze his wrist. You feel his fingers still within you.

A lazy smile plays on your lips as you tilt your face towards an orange sun, all fucked out and beautiful. Eddie could stare at you for ages and find something new to love.

“No more. I need… Need a break.”

You shudder when his fingers drag slowly out of you, trying hard not to jostle you too much. The pads of them have started to prune slightly. His ring and middle finger stick together with a mixture of your come, he separates them to watch your honey stretch and break apart.

He doesn’t know what to do with them. If he should wipe them on his jeans, or if that would be too barbaric of him. If he should stick them in his mouth to finally get a taste of you, or if you might think that’s too much.

You beat him to the punch, just like you always do, as you grab him by the wrist and bring his fingers to your mouth. Your eyes are still half-closed as you run your tongue over his skin, sucking at them like they were his cock — god, he wishes it were his cock.

He watches you with his own heavy gaze and an agape plump pink mouth, stunned at how you could do something so sexy without thinking. He has no idea how you manage to find ways to become more beautiful just when he thinks you’ve run out.

When you pull off of him, you do it all slow, like you’re teasing him. A soft, wet pop sounds when your lips leave his fingers. You smile like a fucking minx at him when you do.

“Was that— Was that good for you?” Eddie asks you with a nervous, doe-eyed chocolate button gaze. You’re unsure how he could make you feel so good and then worry that it still wasn’t enough.

“It was perfect, Eds,” you promise, then joke: “If you don’t believe me… believe the wet spot you made me leave on this fucking table.”

It makes both of you laugh like a pair of lovesick idiots.

Your hands rise to his jaws, fingers getting lost in his wild curls as you drag him to you again.

He keeps a pair of steady hands on your hips as you lick hungrily into his mouth, kissing him like you haven’t gotten tired of kissing him yet. And when you part, you leave one, two, three more pecks against his lips.

“So… This is what you came out here for, huh?” Eddie jokes with his signature stupid grin that you want to kiss all over again. “You didn’t even want the weed, you just wanted to use me. I’m wounded, sweetheart. Truly.”

“Mm-mm,” you shake your head with your bottom lip caught between your teeth. “Came out here to see you… This part was just a bonus.”

He happily accepts the kiss you give him, though he tenses against you when your hands travel from his jaw and to his chest, trickling down his torso like drops of rain until they rest on his belt.

“Something tells me you don’t mind either way,” you murmur against him when your palm settles against his hard cock trapped in his tight jeans.

He can hardly hear you, though, too trapped in his own head.

He can’t fuck you out here, not like this.

Maybe it’s too stereotypical for a virgin, but he wants his first time with you to be on a real bed and not some bench that threatens you with splinters. He wants to wine and dine you, and treat you right like he’s supposed to, not fuck you in the middle of nowhere like you’re a plaything he can do whatever he wants with.

But he doesn’t know how to tell you all this, so he parts from you with a wet click and shakes his head. “You don’t— You don’t have to—”

“I want to, Eds,” you assure him. “I promise.”

“I can’t… I mean, I guess, I’m not really…” he stammers out. He has no idea what to say to you, totally at a loss of how to turn you down. The way you clutch his covered dick, make his toes curl in his sneakers and his brain go all stupid, doesn’t exactly help either.

“What?” you tease with a light-hearted chuckle as you squeeze his rock-solid cock through the denim. “Not really hard?”

“No, it’s just…” he breathes out a laugh, or rather tries to.

He watches with wide and frightened eyes as you work at his belt buckle, struggling to unfasten it without his assistance. There’s a tug-of-war playing in his brain right now, because he wants you — he wants you so bad — but not like this.

Not when he hasn’t been completely honest with you.

It’s not fair to either of you.

Least of all when he has to turn you away without explaining why.

“I don’t think we— we really shouldn’t,” he tries to let you down easy, but to you it just sounds like he’s being coy, playing with you so you’ll beg to suck his cock. And you keep on going because you’re not totally above that. “No, really. I can’t— seriously, stop. We need to stop.”

The sudden firmness in his voice makes you still. Eddie’s never talked to you like that before. The stern, foreign words he spits at you tells you that he’s serious.

You jerk away from him like he’s burned you.

Embarrassment sets fire to your face.

“Sorry. I just— I thought that— I just wanted to return the favor,” you stammer out in an apology, frightened you’ve crossed a line with him.

No one’s ever turned down a blowjob from you before. Most times, that’s all guys want.

“No, yeah, I know,” Eddie nods understandingly when he sees how you’ve started to shrink into yourself. He steps back from you and tucks his belt back through the loop of his jeans “I just… I— I have more customers coming… And everything, so…”

“Right.”

“Yeah. And I don’t really, you know— I don’t want them to see…” he trails off with a shrug because that’s easier than saying, I don’t want them to see you sucking my dick. No one deserves to see you like that. That’s for my eyes only.

It would’ve been something short of a compliment had he said it out loud. You would’ve blushed with a shy, cheeky smile — “For your eyes only, huh?” you would’ve teased like you weren’t enlightened by the prospect of belonging to him and him only.

But because he doesn’t say that, you take on a whole other meaning to his words. I don’t want them to see me with the town whore, you can imagine him thinking. I might be the freak, but being associated with the slut would be a whole new low.

Maybe it’s irrational thinking, but it wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened to you. The fear has turned into a full-blown phobia.

You’ve made a boogeyman out of the clothes in your closet because you’re so frightened of him leaving you. And he doesn’t even fucking belong to you.

“Right,” you echo with a nod. “Okay.”

You find it suddenly hard to meet his gaze as you slip off the bench, sliding your panties back into place before pulling your skirt down again.

You’re so deep in your own head, wallowing in your woe, that when Eddie leans down to kiss you, you jerk away from on instinct. Like your body’s telling you not to play with fire, something that’s destined to burn you.

Because Eddie can’t ever belong to you. In some ways, you can’t really belong to him either, not when you’ve belonged to half of Hawkins.

But your wordless rejection sends a shock to his heart, a bolt of blue that pierces the beating organ. Your denial feels like heartbreak and you can see the anguish coat his features. He looks at you look a wounded puppy, glassy eyes going wide and thick brows frowning softly as he wonders what he did so wrong.

You kiss him anyway, if only to tell him that he didn’t do anything wrong — that it’s all you and your stupid brain that won’t let you enjoy a good thing while you’ve got it. It’s the briefest little peck, a brush of your lips against his, and it has his mouth tingling anyway.

“I’ll call you later?” he says to you, though it comes out as more of a question than he intended it to.

You shrug with pursed lips, then try your best to smile. “Whatever you want.”

Eddie watches you walk away and feels like an idiot to let you go.

He can tell that he’s upset you. You’ve had too many shitty experiences with guys not to be weary of another, and he knows that.

But he also knows he’s a total fucking coward — he’s always ran away from things, never towards something. Because that shit? — That shit was fucking scary, even for a so-called devil-worshipping freak.

But he finds himself hurrying towards you anyway.

His raggedy sneakers practically float on air as something short of muscle memory carries him towards you before you can get too far away.

And when he reaches you, he takes you by the arm, spins you and pulls you towards him. You barely get the chance to blink before he presses his mouth against yours.

He cradles you by the neck, resting large palms on either side of it, as he slots his lips against yours. And he does that thing where he just rests his kiss there, just feels you.

Eddie notices when you relax against him. You sigh against his cupid’s bow, your hands fall to his waist, and you melt totally into him. Your lips untangle slowly and tingle when he parts from you. You know you’ll be feeling him there all night… there and everywhere else.

“I’m gonna call you later,” he tells you, voice confident and unwavering.

He hopes you understand what he really means by them — whatever you want, you’d said when you saw how unsure he was. And now he’s telling you what he wants, not to make some stupid phone call, but that he wants you.

He can tell you get the hint when you smile at him. It looks like the pinky-orange sunset that bathes you in warm-colored hues.

You nod. “I’ll be waiting.”

have any more virgin!eddie thoughts? or just thoughts about my writing/requests in general? leave them here if you want! ꒰◍ᐡᐤᐡ◍꒱

#virgin!eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson smut #virgin!eddie munson x reader #published by bug

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thebellearchives · 11 months

Text

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐘

~ inumaki toge ; jujutsu kaisen

✧˚ · . S Y N O P S I S : you’re daydreaming about watching your favourite film with toge when he surprises you, maybe it’s time to live romance instead of watching it in movies?

‧₊˚ c o n t e n t s : gn!reader, fluff, he uses his cursed speech for a tiny bit!

‧₊˚ a / n : as always: onigiri ingredients are in japanese!

part 2

Video rental stores weren’t really a thing anymore, but when your friends suggested a movie night you came up with the idea of going to rent some movies together. There was a very specific store you had in mind, which you had visited several times as a child. It was owned by a very sweet elderly woman who had held onto it despite the low business. The visit of a group of friends might lift her spirits, you thought when the chime of a bell announced your entrance.

Yuuji had made sure everyone knew he was picking some street racing movies, but as soon as Nobara had mentioned The Hunger Games the pink haired boy changed his mind in a second, so they both sprinted off to the action alley. You didn’t really pay attention to where Maki, Fushiguro and Toge had gone, because you quietly wandered to the romance alley hoping no one would notice. There was a romantic movie you really liked and it had been a while since you last watched it. The possibility of everyone else agreeing to watch it was definitely 0%, but still your fingers picked it up as soon as your eyes found it. Maybe some day you could come back for it, you’d somehow get Toge to watch it with you. Maybe if he lost a bet? You could sit together in your dark living room with only the screen illuminating your faces, perhaps you’d even gather the courage to search for his hand. Just the thought of cuddling with the white haired sorcerer tinted your cheeks with a tingling shade of pink.

“Tuna?” Toge’s elbow in your ribs almost made you jump, immediately hiding the movie against your chest.

“Toge! Don’t scare me like that!”

He giggled and pulled his scarf down, his brows raising curiously towards the hidden case in your hands.

“It’s nothing, really” your arms relaxed as you tried to put the movie back in its place, but then remained stiff when you realized that he’d totally find out what movie it was if you did that.

So your eyes went back to him expectantly, staring until he decided to leave. But he smiled wider, he had read your thoughts in your eyes as easily as he would in a book.

“So? You’re just gonna stand there?” he nodded with a small giggle “don’t you want to let everyone know your opinion on their choices? you should hurry or they’ll chose without asking”

He shook his head.

“Tuna mayo?” he pointed to the plastic case you were holding tightly.

“Stop asking, it’s nothing, i’m telling you” you pouted “i’m just gonna pick something else”

He pressed his lips together into a fine line, and then pointed to something above you. You raised your head upwards and your face went red in an instant. Legible bold letters spelled “Romance Section” in an annoying pastel pink tone.

“Yeah, I know” you cleared your throat “that’s why i’m picking something else, i’m in the wrong alley”

An incredulous frown appeared in his face, along with a mocking smile and some over exaggerated nods. With his hand he gestured you to put back the movie, sneering.

You bit your lip and frowned too, not moving an inch.

“You’re so annoying”

Laughing, Toge moved closer and tried to take the case away from you, but you turned around quickly.

“Don’t!” his hands tickled you, your laugh escaping from your now smiling lips “Toge!”

Turning around again, you tried to push him away hitting his chest, but his arms were then locked firmly behind your back. You hitched a breath when his lavender eyes hovered over yours in suspicion, his breathing now grazing your skin as lightly as a feather. Goosebumps ran through your body like electricity, and a sweet nervous feeling bloomed in your chest, complementing your beating heart and making sure your cheeks flushed once more. You couldn’t help it, your eyes drifted away from his and followed his curse marks to settle on his lips, shiny, rosy, inviting…

Immediately your lashes fluttered back up to his eyes, hoping you hadn’t lingered too much on his mouth for him to notice, but his eyes were fast to widen in surprise.

“W-we should find the others”

Turning on your heels, you made a quick escape in the opposite direction. Not like you managed to take more than one step though, because his panicked voice forced you to remain in place.

“Wait!” a wave of cursed energy stunned you momentarily, his hand grabbed you from your shoulder and turned you around.

Once again he was too close to you, and this time you weren’t sure if you were immobilized by his words or something else. He blinked, hesitantly glancing towards your lips, you noticed the way the muscles in his neck twitched when he swallowed nervously. Your breathing was now faster than before, your lips parted in expectation of his next move. Toge inhaled some courage, and then leaned in to kiss you. The moment his lips laid on yours you blissfully closed your eyes and kissed him back, reveling in his warmth and softness, your body relaxing to the point where it felt like it was melting. The velvet touch of his fingertips in your jaw leading you tenderly towards more of that intoxicating elation you were sure was only held in between his lips.

“Those are seriously too many movies, there’s no way we’ll watch them all tonight”

“That just means we’ll have to do more movie nights!”

Both you and Toge quickly jumped away from each other.

“What? How many movies did you guys even pick?!” you tried to hide the panic in your voice, speaking loudly and dragging Toge by his wrist behind you.

“Just a couple!” Yuuji smiled at you as soon as you caught up with him.

“Did any of you pick any?” Fushiguro's eyes carefully studied you and Toge, you licked your lower lip nervously.

“Okaka”

“Not really, we didn’t find anything interesting”

They didn’t comment anything else and instead proceeded to check out their movies, giving you time to take a deep breath and calm yourself down.

“Are you sure you didn’t find anything that caught your eye sweetheart?” the elderly woman behind the counter brought you back to reality, while your friends started to walk away.

“Oh, hi” you smiled to the familiar pair of eyes that stared at you fondly “not tod-”

Wait, where did you put that movie? Did you put it back? Did it fall? Your hands searched all around you, wondering if you had placed it in any of your pockets, until the sound of the plastic case hitting the counter made you look up.

“Oh, you picked it for her? That’s her favourite, you know? She used to come look for it a lot when she was younger”

You stared at Toge in surprise, he had pulled up his scarf again, but thanks to the crinkles around his eyes you were able to notice he was smiling. His eyes went back to you and he smiled even more, a mischievous wink making you smile back.

821 notes · View notes

onsunnyside · 2 years

Text

³.⍭ 𝐖𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐈 𝐌𝐚𝐲, 𝐖𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐈 𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 (𝟐/𝟐)

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 | ghostface!ex-boyfriend!Ari Levinson x airhead/dumb!reader

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | soft DARK/DARK!Ari, obsessed/controlling!Ari, possessive/obsessive behaviour, manipulation, blood, murder (not in detail), side character(s) death (it had to be done). implied: stalking. dumb!reader, size difference: 6’10!Ari, condescending!Ari, DD/LG undertones, manhandling, alcohol, weed (edibles). SMUT - minors DNI, fingering (f), non-con/dub-con: aphrodisiacs & stealthing, unprotected sex (p in v), daddy kink, choking, p*ssy spanking, mating press, dirty talk, rough sex, spit kink, dacryphilia, degradation, heavy dumbification, size kink, breeding kink, squirting, creampie.

𝗪/𝗖 | 9.71K

𝗔/𝗡 | thank you everyone for being patient with me, we all know pacing is my enemy and I can’t write anything short ever. mean daddy!ari makes an appearance here, so do a few of his fellow frat bros. As always, all mistakes are my own and i hope you all enjoy !!

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐅𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 & 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲: @𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲

𝐖𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐈 𝐌𝐚𝐲, 𝐖𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐈 𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | ˗ˏˋ𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟐 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭ˎˊ˗ ⋰˚ 𝐂.𝐄. & 𝐂𝐨. 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“Am I stupid?”

“Huh?”

“My friends say I’m not the sharpest… that’s why Ari treated me that way.”

Bryce opens his mouth to answer, but quickly rethinks his blunt: “yes, you are.”

In a way, your friends were right. It was rare for you to be out of that dreamland of yours. You were a little stupid—okay, maybe a lot stupid, but that surely wasn’t a bad thing. Everyone knew about Ari’s domineering attitude, and how he babied you and treated you like his property.

Bryce is only frustrated because he didn’t get to you first. Now that you’re single, free from your overbearing six-foot-ten ex-boyfriend, he can take his chance.

“I think you have a particular way of figuring things out, but that isn’t bad. It’s just you.” He gently pinches your cheek, and you smile shyly, “There’s nothing wrong with that, sweetheart. Nothing at all.”

Through the eye mesh, Ari watches you giggle and sip from the new solo cup. You’re practically snuggled into Langley’s arms, giving him that dumb-spaced-out look as you listen to whatever shit he has to say. His fist tightens around the aluminum handle when Bryce’s fingers trace up your cheek, drifting to your shiny forehead.

“You’re burning up.” He can barely read his lips through the dim red lights.

You blink slowly and nod before your head falls back. A hot feeling builds in his stomach, either rage or desire, as your thighs clench and you subtly rock against the couch. The hem of your dress rides up your flesh, exposing the delicate white nylon begging to be torn—sliced to shreds.

It was a shame, you being so woefully ignorant to leave your drink unattended while you and Bryce danced and mingled. You were lucky Ari was there to watch it—and slip in some crushed pills. A part of him was disappointed that when you returned and drank it all, not thinking about the creeps who would take advantage of you.

Better him than anyone else.

That’s what he found sickeningly comforting until Bryce brought you some more brownies directly after and shoved them into your pretty mouth. Anyone could smell the desperation radiating off of your body, and judging by the way Bryce was licking his lips, he was seconds away from devouring you on the damn couch in front of everyone.

If only Bryce knew that you wouldn’t need anything else after those pills. The brownie was overkill, but Ari did love it when you were just a needy, whiny, dumb whore.

Despite being dumped over text, Ari couldn’t escape you. You were plastered on his bedroom walls, from framed pictures to love letters you’ve written him—with all your spelling and grammar errors. Your scent was ingrained in his pillows and sheets, regardless of how many times he’s washed them. Dashes of pastel and lace were in every drawer and cranny, from your flimsy panties to itty bitty skirts that always showed your ass.

You haven’t asked for any of your belongings back, and he wouldn’t tell you what he’s done with your favourite lacy underwear. He wants you to wear them without a clue that they’ve been covered in his seed while he rewatched the tape of you in one of your tiny cotton shorts, the crotch pulled to the side as he fucked your ass for the first time.

He bets Bryce had no clue you were an anal slut.

Over the booming bass and loud chatter, Ari can almost hear Bryce’s revolting thoughts—your friend has waited too long for this golden opportunity and it’s fucking soaked and needy, only inches away from him.

Moments drag on and Bryce stands to leave, telling you to wait while he gets you cold water. Ari watches him waltz into the kitchen and check the fridge but comes up empty. On the way out, he swipes a brownie and goes to the garage.

Ari follows after him, being masked and unrecognizable, he’s able to blend in with the bustling mob. He lingers around corners and spots the strobe lights don’t hit, the pitch-black robe morphs him into just another tall impending shadow. With a casual pace, his eyes remain locked on the younger man drunkenly humming to himself as he stumbles through the halls that were getting less crowded.

He was making this far too easy.

A loud crash sounds through the empty hallway, bouncing off the panelled walls and expensive paintings.

“Aw shit.” Bryce curses and crouches to assess the damage, the china is scattered across the carpet, bits and pieces of the priceless artifact owned by the spoiled brat and party host. “Fucking shit.”

He looks up at the hooded, looming figure by the door clad in a dark robe with tattered sleeves. A stark white mask contrasts with the black eyes, nose, and dramatically wide-opened mouth—as if it were screaming or crying.

“Hey, uh, don’t tell Ransom about that. I still owe him for the other vase I broke.” He tries to laugh off the nerves. He makes quick work of covering his ass and kicks the shards under the couch. “God knows he’ll never let me over again if he knew it was me.”

Ari locks the door after him, slowly slipping off his mask because he’d rather have his face be the last thing the shithead sees.

“I don’t think he’ll care.”

Bryce’s frame stiffens and he stares forward at the window, instantly making out the long hair and pale skin. Even a few feet behind, Ari is still strikingly bigger than him.

“He’s a good friend of mine, we both see things like that as disposable.” Ari steps forward, crushing the ceramic fragments under his heavy boots, “albeit, it would be impossible to replace the original. Nothing could amount to the first, it could look the same, feel the same—but if given the choice, only a fool would choose the fake.”

“What a drawn-out way to say you’re jealous.” He quirks a brow, “I knew you’d be an obsessed freak, just let her go, man. She’s about to get something—someone who’s actually good for her.”

“She doesn’t know a damn thing, much less what’s good for her.”

The other man glowers, “does she know you talk about her like that?”

“Does she know you’re a pervert who’s taken pictures up her skirt?”

Bryce’s skin goes pale, all colour draining from his cheeks until the only noticeable hue is his blue eyes. He doesn’t move or even twitch, hoping the lack of movement would make him magically disappear.

“You’ve got pictures of my girl’s cunt.” Ari could rip him to shreds and not break a sweat. “And you’re calling me the freak?” Another step closer and more delicate shards crack under his weight. “A sicko like you must get off to that, huh? I wonder what the dean would think of that, you’re already on thin ice after that changing room incident. Fucking pervert.”

The younger man clenches his fists and grits his teeth but he doesn’t speak.

“You aren’t going to ask how I found out?” Ari tilts his head, waiting for a response but he gets nothing but long, ragged breaths. “My friend is fucking the dean’s secretary and she’s got loose lips,” He smirks and chuckles lowly, “in more ways than one.”

In terror, his gaze darts towards the back door between two towering bookshelves. The various lamposts surrounding the property call to him like a beacon, so close yet so far with the menacing shadow only mere feet away.

Do it. Ari has always loved a chase.

In a split second, Bryce takes off, bursting through the door with a leap and racing across the lawn.

Ari cracks his neck and slips on the mask again, his hood following suit. Under his robe, he grasps the cold handle of the knife and follows after him. His heavy footsteps halt when he grabs a sharp fragment of the shattered vase—options, options, which will he choose?

With the taste of revenge on his tongue, he contemplates. One will do the dirty work for you and the other will for himself, his pride and sanity. He couldn’t care less about those other victims when you were so disgustingly violated multiple times, and tonight could have been the worst of all. The difference between Bryce and him is that he’d do all those sick things to you because he loves you so much, and this fucking coward just wants to get his dick wet.

Ari picks up speed, easily following after the drunk, horrified man. They both disappear into the abyss of the night, deeper into the woods of the secluded property. One of them unknowingly races closer to inescapable doom.

A hand cradles your cheek, the touch was so comforting and familiar that you automatically lean into it.

“There you are, bunny.” A drawl pulls you from the shadows, “There’s my girl, are you okay?”

If that voice had a taste, it’d be warm caramel on a vanilla sundae, with rainbow sprinkles and a candied cherry on top.

When you come to, still heavy and disorientated, your blurry ex-boyfriend is knelt by your side. “Ari? Wh-What happened?” You’re sprawled on a bed like a ragdoll. Your legs are spread wide with one hanging off of the edge and the hem of your dress barely conceals your modesty.

The brunette hasn’t stopped caressing your cheek, his gentle motions a stark contrast to the darkness in his eyes, “Bryce slipped something into your drink.” He answers calmly as the aching in your head builds to a pounding.

It takes a few seconds for you to process his words. “N-No… He wouldn’t—he’d never.” Your heart sinks.

“He did. He told me himself before he got into his car and drove off.” Ari explains, “I guess he got scared when you passed out and decided to just leave you here. You’re lucky Steve found you and called me.”

Distraught and sick to your stomach, you try to stand but collapse back onto the mattress, your legs too weak and unstable to support your weight. “Feeling—ugh.”

Ari sweeps you into his arms, “Hey now, take it easy or you’ll hurt yourself. Deep breaths, you’re getting overwhelmed.” He cradles you like a princess, his little damsel in distress.

“My basket…”

Ari chuckles, even at a moment like this, your priorities haven’t changed. “I’ll find it later, baby. Just gotta calm you down right now.”

You almost cry at that. Whether it was the alcohol or the drugs, you feel as exposed and vulnerable as a wilting flower. Like a strong breeze could knock you over, you’re helpless to everything—the loud music, the bright lights and the many guests downstairs.

You feel small.

Tucking yourself into the crook of Ari’s shoulder, you inhale his cologne. The warm musk of cypress and cedarwood seeps into your senses, followed by the gentle undertones of patchouli. You dig your nose deeper, determined to soak up as much as you can before he goes away again—you missed him so much.

Your unfocused eyes dart around the bedroom, from the cream walls and dark furniture. The soft, expensive duvet is wrinkled from your weight and your heels lie forgotten on the floor. Slowly but surely, the lights and pounding become bearable, and you can finally hear yourself think.

Would Bryce do that to you?

If not, why would Ari say he did?

No, Ari never lied. Lying was deceitful and wrong, and Ari would never do that to you.

It seems too soon when Ari returns you to bed. You begrudgingly abandon your safe place and get a good look at him.

“You’re bleeding!” There were red splatters on his face to his neck, a bit even blending in with his dark beard. You quickly touch your own face and gasp when the same vermillion is on your fingers, “it’s still wet!”

Ari quickly cleans your face, a soft chuckle flowing past his pink lips. “It’s fake, bunny. Just touched up my costume before I found you.”

Your eyes fall to his attire, the black hooded cloth draped over his massive shoulders and mask atop his head, holding back his long hair. You tilt your head.

Ari sighs fondly and pulls down the mask, revealing the eerily expressive big eyes and elongated mouth. As haunting as it was, you couldn’t ever figure out if the expression was upset or terrified.

“Oh! I remember that mask.” You recall all the times he’s scared his friends with it. He messed with you a couple of times too.

“Why are you scared, bunny?” He asked, his voice slightly muffled under the guise, as he pinned you against the wall, “it’s just daddy, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

What followed was a night tangled in his bedsheets, the mask only coming off after you came all over his length twice. Ari wasn’t satisfied until he was soaked with your essence, he’d spend hours breaking you apart, only to put you back together with loving aftercare.

You wonder if any of that has changed now—if he’s changed since then.

He goes towards the ensuite and switches on the tap. He wipes his face with his sleeve, cleaning away the red.

“You don’t have to take it off.” You hesitate. It was awkward to see him again, he was so nonchalant about it too. “The fake blood is a part of your costume. And you’ll need it if you leave.”

He snorts. “If I was leaving, I wouldn’t care. It makes you uneasy.” He meets your gaze through the reflection, “You never liked scary movies anyway.”

"Bunny, nothing is happening."

"I don't care!" You squeal, shaking in his arms with your face buried in his neck. Your eyes are squeezed shut and if you could, you'd cover your ears too but you refuse to part with your big, protective boyfriend. He was your unofficial bodyguard! "P-Please, turn it off! It's too scary!"

"You said you wanted to do something fun." Ari rubs your back under your shirt, gently dragging his nails down your spine. "Isn't this fun?"

"Not fun at all." You huff in frustration and fear, trying to ignore the creepy music flowing from the speakers, it paints the entire living room eerie and deeply unsettling. "Ari, please!"

"Stop being such a baby." He scolds, spanking your ass. "It isn't even gory."

You pull away with a pout, "not a baby..."

A slow, sinister smile crawls onto his lips. "No? Why are you crying like one then?"

"You're bein' mean..." You move to climb off his lap but he locks his built, firm arms around your waist. "I don't like it."

He ignores you and swoops forward, kissing from your forehead to your wet cheeks, across your nose and finally your lips. He makes obnoxious puckering noises, nibbling on your warm skin until your teary-eyed sulk faded into a sweet, giggly glow.

It never takes much to distract dumb little you.

"How about we get your mind off it, huh?"

"Are we gonna go upstairs?" You ask cluelessly as he lays you on the couch, bracing himself above you. "You said you'd help me with my math homework?"

"I know, baby, I know." Ari sighs softly, lowering his hips between your spread thighs. "You still don't understand? I just tutored you last week."

"I-I tried, but it's still too hard!" You sputtered, "I promise I did all the steps you put on the checklist, but I just—I can't, daddy."

He coos, "Don't worry, bunny. I'll dumb it down for you again."

Your eyes flutter shut when his hard length rubs against your core, and only then do you notice the sticky mess. You squirm, embarrassment flooding your body.

"You're so wet, baby, how long have your panties been soaked?" He asks, kissing from your jaw to your neck, his thick beard tickles your skin.

You moan quietly, "I d-don't know, daddy."

"Pfft, what do you know, ya little dummy." His voice lowers as he rocks subtly into you, his muscles flexing under his weight, "Just let me feel you, yeah? You've been grinding on me all fuckin' day."

You lazily blink up at the ceiling and don’t realize your hand is drifting between your thighs until his voice rings out, “how are you feeling?”

“Uhm—hot.” You immediately retreat and kick your legs in hopes of cooling down. “Like really hot, is that bad?”

He enters the bedroom again, clean and devilishly handsome, “Yeah, I think the drug is still active, it might get worse before it gets better. Did you have Jensen’s brownies too?”

“Oh… only a few. Should I go,” an odd tingling sensation flutters through your body as you sit up, you feel lightheaded, “to the hospital?”

“You could.” Ari considers, his blue eyes trailing from your crooked bunny ears to your pout, “But what if they ask what happened to you? You’ll have to tell them what he did.”

A dreadful weight fills your chest, sinking you deeper into the plush mattress. “...but he’s my friend.”

Ari clenches his jaw, “but lying is bad. Do you want to lie to all those people who are trying to help you? Do you want him to do that to someone else? Because I can guarantee he will if you don’t tell the truth.” He chides with a deep voice, “You know he used to snap pictures up your skirt? The drunk bastard showed me everything on his phone, the entire photo album of your cunt, like you were some cheap slut.”

Your heart shatters, cracking down the middle and bleeding on your trembling hands. The colour absorbs all light, abandoning you in nothingness and leaks onto your pretty dress, tainting you like a white dove in viscous oil.

No, no, no.

“Think about all of the people you’re putting in danger just because he’s your friend.”

“He wouldn’t do that to me.”

Ari cocks his head, “Are you calling me a liar?”

“No! I just—” you heave, blinking profusely, “he’s my friend. He’s nice to me… or was. I don’t know!”

“You should know by now that you aren’t the best at choosing friends.” Look at what they did to us.

You sniffle, wishing to be swallowed whole. Ari was right, your judgement was severely lacking and more often than not, it led you to a road of pain and loneliness.

Could it be that you’ve never had good intuition?

But you picked him, didn’t you? No, Ari picked you. He chose you above everyone else, time and time again.

And you let him go.

“I-I’m sorry, but he’s gonna hate me…” Your vision blurs as your eyes water, “I don’t—I don’t want him to hate me. Don’t want a-anyone to hate me.”

You thought Bryce was kind to you, but that was before tonight. It turns out, he was nothing but a creepy pervert. He violated you and acted like your friend. And stupidly naive little you didn’t notice a thing.

“You wanted him, didn’t you?” Ari crosses his arms. “You wore all those fuckin’ skirts for him? You wanna be photographed like a dumb whore?”

“Wha—No!”

“You did or you still do.” His expression hardens, a deep wrinkle settling between his dark eyebrows. “And everyone’s going to say it’s your fault too.”

You quickly shake your head, wispy no’s tumble from your mouth. That seemed like the only word you knew.

“Did you let him drug you because you wanted him to touch you? If you did, just admit it now.”

“I didn’t…” Your bottom lip wobbles, shiny tears prickling at your waterline, “Ari, please. I only…I didn’t think.” You choke out, “I only want you. It’s always been you.”

And just like that, the switch flips.

In the blink of an eye, he’s knelt next to you on the bed and is cupping your cheeks in his warm palms, “Hey, hey, no need for the tears. We could stay here until you calm down and can make the decision yourself.”

“Can’t.”

Ari’s chest vibrates with his deep growl. He fights every urge to taste those tears on your pretty cheeks. “Can’t what?”

“Can’t think—don’t wanna.” You blubber helplessly, all too overwhelmed with his accusations. “Don’t make me, please.”

“Oh, poor bunny.” He coos, thumbing your cheekbone dusted with glitter. The sparkles are washed away by your tears and make you look even more divine. “I know. I know you can’t think for yourself. That’s why you had me, right?”

You cry harder, beautifully needy and miserable, just how he liked you to be.

“Had me make all the choices for you, do all the thinking and all the work.” He hungrily licks his lips, watching the droplets seep into the corners of your mouth. “Because daddy always knows best. Ain’t that right, bunny?”

“Missed you, daddy.” You manage through hiccups and weakly clamber into his lap. You nuzzle his chest, holding one of his hands to your cheek to ground yourself.

Every part of Ari was your haven. Whenever you sought comfort, you found yourself in his presence, grasping for any piece of him you could reach and holding on with all your might. There wasn’t an instance when he didn’t provide that sweet security, especially now when your head is so muddled and lost.

If only you knew what those very hands did an hour ago.

“Daddy missed you too, princess.” Ari murmurs, massaging the back of your neck and feeling the tense muscles under your skin, “But you broke up with me, remember?”

“Didn’t wanna! My friends—they made me feel dumb for letting you treat me that way.”

“And, where are they now?”

You shrug, “Dunno, they left me a while ago.”

It’s terribly sad that you don’t know they’re already dealt with and their miserable lives were put to an end at the hands of three masked men. They were gone before he even touched Bryce.

All of them are burnt to a crisp, their bruised and battered bodies utterly unidentifiable. You’ll ask about them soon and he’ll play the concerned boyfriend as always, then return the next day to get rid of the remains.

Sometimes it feels like clockwork, except this time, he had the help of two close friends.

He wonders if you remember that stranger who kept you company when he was late for your cafe date one day. Tired and sweaty from practice, Ari waltzed in to find you in a friendly conversation with the other man. Laughing and chatting like you’ve known each other for years.

Lucky for him, the stranger was just another drifter. No family, no home, no friends—except for you, of course. Shortlived that friendship was.

It takes you a while to calm down but Ari never leaves your side. He rubs your back and hums softly, letting you soak his clothes with your tears. He’s painfully missed holding you like this, feeling the little trembles of your body against his and hearing each stuttering word fall from your lips.

You used to cry to him for everything. A late assignment or a failed test—tears, or the store ran out of your favourite comfort snacks—even more tears, perhaps the most you’ve ever cried was when you thought you lost Hazel, the stuffie he gave you.

What’s even more upsetting is when he found it in your friend’s dorm, along with the rest of his gifts to you.

Good riddance, your friends deserve everything that came to them. He hopes they burn in hell.

Eventually, he leaves to get some water for you. He wears his mask while passing through the still ongoing party, dodging drunk students as they screamed to whatever song was blasting through the speakers.

He retrieves a water bottle and some snacks before heading back to the bedroom. Upon reaching the second floor, he flips up the mask and spots a tall figure clad in brown, baggy clothes and leaning against the wall.

“How is she?”

“She’s still a bit shaken. I’m taking her back to the house later so she can sleep it off.”

Steve nods, fixing the worn, burlap mask atop his head. “Okay, do you want me to stay for some extra help? You walked here after all.”

“No, I’ll just call a taxi.” Ari slaps his shoulder, taking out the single key to unlock the door. He couldn’t let you get away as soon as he got you back. “You should head back home before some cheerleader rats you out to coach again.”

Aside from the obvious, their disguises are also because the coach had annoying rules that forbid partying before a big game. It wouldn’t be the first time they were scolded after someone reported them.

Mr. Nice Guy Steve had arrived at the party earlier and kept tabs on you like any good friend. He called Ari right away when you were getting close to Bryce. Unfortunately, sweet as he was, Steve was just like you. Dumb and dim, and painstakingly benign. He failed to notice Ari was already there, and so were Curtis and Bucky. All of them masked and with dark intentions.

It wasn’t like them to leave him out of things, but tonight it was vital he remained unaware.

“I hope she gets better soon. Bryce is a fucking asshole for doing that.” The solemn expression on Steve’s face transforms into determination, “You know I’ll always have your back.”

“I know.” Ari smiles, and a tinge of something more lurks in his eyes. “You’re my best guy, I don’t know what I’d do without you. I think you’ll be my best man too someday.”

The blond laughs and walks towards the stairs, his brown velvet suit complements the vintage-style decor. “Someday as in a few months?”

“Less than a few if I get lucky.”

Steve pulls the burlap mask down, concealing his features but Ari knows he’s wearing a crooked grin. “I don’t think you need luck. She needs you, I know it.”

Ari knows it too.

Beyond the door, you’re still sweating up a storm with your hand tucked between your legs, desperately rubbing yourself over your tights. The door opens and you hurriedly hide your wet fingers under the bed sheet, blinking up at the intruder with wide eyes.

“You okay, bunny?”

“Y-Yes, uh, are you?” Your chest rises and falls unsteadily.

He nods, his gaze drifting over your sweaty skin and hard nipples. “They left with some guys just now.”

“...Without me?”

Ari shuts and locks the door behind him. A deep frown plays on his lips, “I’m sorry, baby, I didn’t have a chance to tell them about you, I just saw them drive off.”

As expected, tears well up in your eyes for the umpteenth time that night. Poor little you, your delicate soul probably couldn’t take anymore.

He sits next to you and wraps you in his arms, “I’m so sorry. It isn’t right of them to treat you this way. Like you’re garbage on the side of the road.”

While that was true and they were hypocrites for saying how badly Ari was treating you only to treat you even worse, that wasn’t why you were crying.

“They don’t deserve you, bunny, much less your pretty tears.”

“N-Not crying ‘cause of that.” You whine against his neck.

“Why then?” He asks although he already knows the answer.

You don’t speak and shamefully open your legs, refusing to meet his eyes. The fur of your dress rides up, revealing a soaked patch of your panties through the white nylon, and the wet spot on the bedsheet. “H-Help me, please?”

Every inhale brings your scent deep into his senses, snipping the final threads of self-control. “I don’t know, bunny. It isn’t right.”

“But I want you! I never wanted to break up, never wanted to leave you…” You sniffle, bringing his hand to your core. His long, thick fingers barely brush your tights, but having him this close is enough to send shivers down your spine. “My friends pressured me—and I still want you. Need you, daddy.”

He groans, letting you helplessly grind against his hand. “Yeah, baby? You want me to take care of you?” That glazed look in your eyes almost brings him to his knees. “I’ll help you, but on one condition.”

It was remarkable how you got this far while being so dim.

“Knew you’d like this. My bunny hates scary movies but gets soaked even when I’m wearing this—” In a daze, you stare at the black eyes, getting lost in the endlessness. The hand around your throat tightens, “There’s my little dummy—you get your tits touched and lose your fuckin’ mind.”

You should be scared or at least on edge with him mounted above you, broad shoulders blocking any source of light. His skin is already covered in your nail marks, from his neck to his lower stomach, just above the band of his jeans.

He massages your breast and pinches your nipple, “Are you gonna say something or just cry like a baby?” He tilts his head, dark shadows enhancing the ghostly expression of his mask.

You cup his monstrous bulge, tears leaking down your face. “Want you in my mouth, daddy.”

He grips your chin, digging his fingers into your cheeks until your lips pucker. “You want daddy’s cock or balls, bunny?”

“Ya kno’wha’….”

He smirks, his hand releases your tit and his rough fingers trail down your clothed slit, “I want you to say it. I know this mouth is more than just one of my holes.”

“Daw-dy,” You exhale shakily, “please, c-can I—ah!” You squeal when he rips a hole in the crotch of your tights, but he doesn’t go any further. His touch lingers on your inner thighs, inches away from your sticky, smeared arousal. “Will you—”

He shakes your head, making you squeak, “Spit it out, dummy.”

You weep, your jaw is getting sore from his harsh hold but you’d be lying if you said you hated it. “Let me suck on your balls, please. Need to taste them. Need them in my mouth, on my face—everywhere, daddy.”

He lifts the mask and hums thoughtfully as if he were pondering a philosophical question. With every slow blink, his eyes get a shade darker and darker, soon becoming a colour you’ve never seen before. A twinge of panic blooms in your stomach, and for a moment, you’re scared of him, of what he could do with you in this vulnerable position, in a full frat party where no one could hear you scream.

But he grins, his pink lips stretched in the sweetest smile that blossoms uncertainty into mindless hope.

Then, it’s all crushed. “No.”

“But—”

“I said to ask. I never promised I’d let you.” The mask covers his face again, but you know he’s still beaming. “You did dump me, don’t you remember? Or is your dumb baby brain too stupid right now?”

“I remember…”

“Yeah, should make you read that fuckin’ text right now.” His fingers press against your slit, immediately seeking your little button. He doesn’t give you a moment to breathe before he’s rubbing the bundle with his thumb and pinning your hips down. “But judging by your face, I think my bunny is too dumb to read.”

“I can.” You force your eyes open, toes curling in pleasure. “I can, daddy. I-I can do it.”

“Do you think your little head can handle reading right now?” Ari quizzes slowly. If he weren’t immensely enjoying this, he’d pity you. “Poor baby, you just wanna me proud.” He ridicules, drawing out the last word as his voice goes high. “Stupid bunny just wants praise, how adorable.”

Someone hurt you badly, and a sick part of him wants to thank them for making you into the perfect little airhead for him.

He adds pressure as you weakly thrust upward. His other digits join too, fucking your tightness through your soaked panties as you moan quietly. A few slaps land on your cunt, and sopping noises fill the room over the bass. You’re a disgustingly creamy mess—and the weed brownies were such a glorious overkill.

You whimper, fruitlessly trying to remove the mask. “Off, daddy. Wanna kiss you, pretty please. Missed you so bad, need—” He slaps your pussy harder, “—need you.”

Oh, how could he deny you when you asked so nicely?

He rips the mask off and dips down, capturing your bitten lips. His tongue slides against yours as he groans heavily, “If you keep begging like that, you’re gonna regret it.”

“Pl—Please ruin me.” You ached for him. Every part of your mind, body and soul burned for any sliver of him but at the same time, you were overwhelmed by the slightest graze of his fingertips.

You blame the drug Bryce slipped in your drink.

“I’ll do a lot worse, and never let you leave me again.” He murmurs into your mouth, his facial hair rubbing against your tear-stained cheeks. Then, he stands to undress you entirely. Your dress and leg warmers fall to the floor, along with your torn tights and messy panties. He fixes your bunny ears before stripping off his pants, and soon enough, he’s standing fully nude. You don’t know if it was your time apart, but he looks bigger and stronger.

His skin stretched around his rippling muscles and coarse, dark hair mapped out all of your favourite spots. From his beefy chest and his tummy to the fat base of his throbbing length, and finally, his thick powerful thighs.

Wait, the tiniest voice in your head pleads as he slowly rolls down the condom. With the latex snug, he leers at you and jerks his cock slowly, his fingers meeting around the girth. You watch as the angry red head immediately fills the tip with pre-cum and your core throbs, awakening a hunger inside of you.

He kneels on the bed, “What’s wrong?”

“No–Nothin’...” You gulp and surge forward. “Need you, daddy. So bad.” You mutter against his lips, sucking his tongue messily. Saliva is exchanged and smears down your chin, following in the trails of drool and tears. Your makeup is beyond salvation but he thinks you’ve never looked more angelic.

Ari lies on his back and pulls you on his lap, your creamy folds enveloping his length. He rubs up and down your sides. “You know what to do, bunny.”

You obediently nod and rock against his cock, pouting at the latex barrier. You quickly shake that thought from your head, you’ve never had unprotected sex and you won’t start now.

You focus on rolling your hips, rubbing your swollen button against him as he slides along your soppy folds. The mushroom head pokes out every time you thrust back and his sack brushes your opening, getting covered in your arousal.

When your cream covers him from base to tip—and his firm lower stomach too which surprised you because you’ve never gotten that messy before—you lift onto your knees and gently grab him. He’s hot and heavy in your hand, still too thick for your fingers to wrap around his width. You angle yourself and his tip circles your hole, catching on it before popping back out.

“Deep breath, bunny. Open up for me.” He coos softly, holding back from pulling you onto his cock and fucking you stupid.

You dumbly nod, biting your lip as you sink down again. The fat head breaches this time, feeding your needy hole. You slowly start bouncing, bracing yourself on his beefy chest and fucking yourself on his tip. Overstimulation prickles but you force yourself to ignore it.

“Take more, baby, you can do it. Stretch your little pussy for me. All the way down.” His deep growl contrasts with your high-pitched gasp. “Don’t you wanna feel me in your tummy?” He’s missed that initial resistance of your tightness, the way your hole would struggle to take him as if he hadn’t fucked you with his dick and a few fingers before.

Taking a deep breath, you sink further. A choked whimper escapes from behind your clenched teeth when he slides deeper. His protruding veins drag along your pulsating walls until his balls are flush against your ass. All air is shoved from your body, making room for his dick.

Ari groans, losing himself in your heat, “There’s my good girl. Daddy’s so fuckin’ deep, yeah? That’s why you’re crying like a little baby?”

“T-Too big, da—ddy.” You gasp, thighs tensing at his sides. Little exhales shake your frame, that drug wasn’t holding back.

You can’t ride him, not in this state of mind and he knows that. So, he helps you out. His fingers dig into your flesh, moving you back and forth on his cock. The bulbous tip hits your special spot insistently, and your clit grinds against his pubic bone, the dark tufts of hair sending tingles through your body.

“Look at that fuckin’ mess. Leaking all over me, that little fuckhole must’ve missed me, huh?” His eyes bounce between your face and the stickiness covering his skin, all coming from your weepy core. “Missed me so badly you can’t even think right now. Cockdrunk little bunny.”

You want to do more, but you don’t know what.

It’s a good thing Ari knows, he knows you better than you know yourself. He knows that your head is all jumbled right now and nothing makes sense. He also knows that you want to feel his warmth skin-to-skin, the weight of his bare cock against your throbbing walls.

You don’t know it, but you want it. You’ve always wanted it, and that’s why he’s broken or taken off the condom every other time you’ve had sex. This was no different, besides the hints blood still on his neck and arms, and the missing necklace from your throat. The same one that one of your stupid friends delivered to the frat house, along with a note scribbled in blue ink: ‘don’t contact her ever again.’

As if they ever knew what was good for you—as if they could protect you as he has.

Seeing your collarbones rid of any sign of him, he yanks you down by the back of your head, locking you close with his hand around your throat. “Speak up, dumb bunny. You’ve got a mouth for a reason, tell daddy what you want.”

“But, uh! I-I don’t know!” You lift off of him, tears streaming down your cheeks as you grind against his cock. Your slick smears to his abs and down to his balls, making a whole damn mess of his lap and the sheets underneath.

“Put me back in.”

You shake your head, a burning sensation zips through your system, “C-Can’t—don’t know what’s happening—daddy.” If you weren’t so gone, you’d be embarrassed about the rush of slick pouring from your cunt.

Ari huffs and easily lifts you off of him. Your body flops onto the mattress, the cool sheets soothing the heat momentarily, but the confusion is still high.

Why was this happening?

Bryce. It was Bryce. And this could’ve been with Bryce instead.

While you cry into the pillows, helplessly clenching your thighs, Ari slips off the condom. He crawls behind you, keeping you on your side while slipping his arm under your head and pressing his chest to your sweaty back. His nose nuzzles in the crook of your neck and he delicately lifts your leg, guiding himself to your hole and thrusting forward in one go.

You moan loudly and convulse, “O-Oh, wait—”

“Hush, sweetie, let daddy take care of you.”

You go slack when he presses balls deep, his heavy sack flush against your soppy hole as his length throbs within your walls. His skin tingles with desire and pride. It’s been too fucking long since he’s felt your bare skin against his.

“How does it feel? Is this better?”

“Mhm, so much better, daddy.” With a stupidly blissful smile, the heat inside you is finally bearable, you don’t know if it’s the position, or maybe you just missed him so much, but this is better than anything you could’ve dreamt of. “What did you do?”

“Nothing you need to know about, bunny.” He rocks slowly, wet noises filling the room over the muffled bass.

He fucks you like that. Pounding you on your side, keeping you firmly against him as he tears your little cunt apart. His tip slams into your spot ruthlessly and he groans and grunts into your ear, whispering filthy things you can’t hear over the rush of blood in your head.

You can hardly breathe with his bicep locked around your throat. Drool drips down your chin as you gasp for air that’s no longer there. Your mind goes blank and sparks dance along the inside of your eyelids, painting a photo of him—your saviour and captor.

“Should’ve never left me, bunny. Could’ve been fucking you like this every day.” He digs his nails into your leg, messily kissing your jaw and you spasm in his hold. He growls when you tighten, milking him, “Fuck, just like that? I haven’t even touched your little button yet.”

You missed him so much that having this intimacy again heightens all of your senses. You can feel him so closely, the dull thump of his heart, his skin brushing against yours and his breath fanning across your neck.

You loved this man with every fiber of your being.

The gentle ghost of his lips against your cheek shatters you.

Your juices spurt out as your legs attempt to shut, but he forces you wide open. Fucking your cunt as you squirt, coating him in the most obscene way. You just lie there, helplessly taking whatever he has to offer, and all of your surroundings mash together, blending into one another.

“I think that’s a new record, bunny.” His voice is muddled. He gives your sensitive pussy a slap, he should’ve done this a long time ago.

Ari manhandles you like a doll, pulling you to the edge of the bed as his feet land on the floor. Your back collides with the bed and you’re immediately bent in half, with your legs on either side of your head and your arms sprawled over the pillows. His massive frame covers you almost completely and you want nothing more than to drag your hands all over his body, to feel him.

Your dazed eyes never leave him, but he knows you’re barely comprehending anything right now. He’d bet you’d let him fuck your ass without prep.

He loves when you look at him like that. Like he made the sun, stars and moon, and he could never do anything to hurt you—like you’d never leave him, but you did anyway.

Rage bubbles in his stomach and he roughly slaps your creamy cunt in quick succession, the sound echoing through the room as you weakly squirt again, this time it’s far less. Electricity burns through your veins, making you cry out and quiver, trying to escape his hard spanks.

He gets tired of your relentless whining and wiggling and finally lowers himself, inserting his bare length into your ruined, weepy pussy. He watches your hole stretch to accommodate his girth, “Look at us.”

You take a second too long to do what he wanted, so he forces your head up and that’s when you see it. He loves the look of surprise on your dumb face.

“A-Ari, what are you—you can’t!”

“Hush, bunny.” He bats away your hands, “I’m gonna come in you, and you’re gonna fuckin’ thank me for it.” He lowers himself, his beefy thighs flexing from the measured, steady motion. He wants to see your reaction when he presses deeper, “And you’re gonna tell me how much you love my cum, got it?”

He rises calmly, allowing you to see your eager cunt suck him in and coat every inch of his length in your cream. You don’t know how long he does that, the seconds feel like hours as he imprints every one of his protruding veins into your inner walls. Every time he drops down, the fat head rams into your sweet spot, shoving a choked gasp from your throat.

You can’t bring yourself to look away, even when he removes his hand. Drool seeps out of the corner of your lips as your gaze locks on his monstrous cock spearing into you at a brutally gentle pace. You shudder when his thighs tense under his hairy skin, lewdly wishing to sink your teeth into the flesh.

He’s so much bigger and stronger than you, in an almost scary way. Just a fucking mountain of meat and muscle, an impenetrable force that could crush you like nothing. You must look comically and pitifully small and lost under him, bent in half with your face covered in spit and tears.

The fat tip slips out with an indecent pop, he’s throbbing and hot, covered in your shared arousal. He rubs the head on your clit, dribbling pre-cum all over your sore button.

Your next words even shock yourself.

“Back inside—please, daddy.” You can’t do much in this position. You can only watch him leisurely trace his bulbous tip along your drippy petals, circling your hole. “Daddy—stop teasin’...”

“You want me bare, sweetie?” He asks, lazily dragging his balls over your folds. “You have to say it, or else I’m just gonna rub my balls all over your cunt and you’re gonna come like that.” He lifts easily despite being in a squatting position and stays there above you. Taunting you, making you sweat and whine.

You stare at the string of arousal between your puffy folds and his full sack. “Daddy, I—p-please, want—”

He spits on your cunt and pinches your clit meanly, “You can do better than that. I know you’re dumb, but you know how to speak.”

“Please fuck me—bare,” You sound utterly broken, “W-Want to feel your big cock in my little pussy, want you to pump me full. Make me your cumslut, please! Get—Get me pregnant, daddy.”

Ari spits on your core again and lowers, penetrating you in one thrust, and pinning you down with his weight. He forces your flailing hands to hold your legs in place, keeping you wide open for his carnal gaze. The number of times he’s dreamt of having you in a mating press, one would think he was fucking obsessed. And honestly, they wouldn’t be wrong.

Your eyes roll back and you get that exquisitely stupid look on your face. He smirks, “There, was that so fuckin’ hard? Such a dumb little whore begging me to fuck you bare, you remember how you didn’t even let me finish in you with a condom on?”

Not really, all of the times you’ve had sex, you were too fucked out to notice anything. This time was no different.

Ari builds speed, harshly pounding down into your hole and fisting the bed sheets. “Now look at you, cockdrunk—fuckin’ ballsdrunk too I bet.” Your mouth drops open in a silent moan and all he can think about is gagging you on his sack.

Your response is a garbled yes daddy.

“I fucking knew it.” He drops to one knee and leans over you. His thrusts are harder at this angle and this proximity, he can see every useless thought leave your pretty head. “Little slut, you wanna be daddy’s cumdump, sweetie? You want me to fill you up and toss you aside, treat you like a stupid cumrag?”

You nod helplessly, choking out pathetic uh’s with every thrust. He’s so ruthless too, spitting on your cunt or tits, and easily overpowering your squirming body. His length forces out your juices and it leaks down your ass.

“Begging me to knock you up, and treat this little cunt like a cumdump. I thought you were supposed to be my good bunny?”

“A-Am, daddy…”

That earns you a glob of spit on your face. “I don’t like liars. Admit it, ya little crybaby. You just want daddy’s cum in your pussy.” He admires the fat tears pouring from your eyes, “If you could see yourself now, going fuckin’ stupid for cum.”

He’s so deep, his balls slap against your wetness as he rocks into you—stuffing you to the brim. You’ve never felt this full before. Your body begins to ache from this position, but you don’t want him to stop.

Hot streams of euphoria almost knock you unconscious, but Ari’s fingers jamming down your throat make your eyes shoot open. His chest is flushed and the red bleeds onto his face, his dark hair sticks to his sweaty forehead.

“Keep looking at me, baby. Want you to see when I breed this little pussy.”

Automatically, you suck on his digits and taste yourself. He drops forward, completely covering you and hooking your legs over his shoulders. If possible, his dick hits deeper, and for a moment you confuse his fingers in the back of your throat for the tip of his dick.

“Are you ever gonna leave daddy again?” He prys your mouth open, messily spitting on your tongue as you gag. “Poor girl fucked stupid already. All dumb on daddy’s dick, and crying like a fuckin’ baby. Not a single thought in that pretty head.” He pulls out your tongue and chuckles when it just hangs out, saliva smearing on the bottom half of your face, joining your pretty tears.

You’re just a useless little bunny, crying your little heart out on his dick as if you didn’t ask for it and he isn’t doing you a damn favour—without him, you’d be a wet, pitiful mess and probably getting pumped and dumped by some shithead.

Ari would demand you thank him, but he knows you’re too cockdrunk to speak. So, he rails your tight cunt, splitting you open on his girth, claiming his rightful property. He’s determined to fuck a baby into you.

Your senses go in overdrive when your swollen button is bullied by those same rough fingers. You cry out, trying to shove him away but he only gets meaner and pinches your bundle. You mewl and tremble beneath him, creamy and nearly shattered as he thrusts harder and deeper, hitting that rough patch with cruel precision.

“I fucking love you, bunny.” He grunts, eyes locked on your leaking juices that only make him more ravenous. His whole cock is covered in you, and he can feel your excessive arousal dripping down his balls. “Love you so much—you’re never gonna get away again. You hear me?” He grabs your face, still torturing your clit with his other hand. “I said do you fucking hear me?”

“Yes, daddy!” You sob brokenly, struggling to keep his devious glare, “I-I won’t, uh! Promise!”

When you clench tightly, he shudders and falls on top of you, crushing you to the rocking bed. “Fuck, that’s a good bunny.” He groans deeply, licking up your salty tears. “Daddy’s good little bunny, I fuckin’ love how stupid you are.” He bites into your throat, then soothes the spot with his tongue.

“Luh y-you too, daddy.”

With both of his feet firmly on the floor again, one of his hands grips your shoulder and the other lands above your head, his fingers securing your bunny ears to your head. He can’t look away from your glazed-over eyes, too beautifully ruined, and teary and twinkling. “You leave me again, and I’ll do much worst next time.”

If you weren’t all over the place, you’d wonder what he did this time.

He pulls you down to meet his thrusts, and you can offer nothing but weepy moans as your walls tighten, choking his dick, and bringing him closer to a blissful end. Your legs flail, the band in your tummy so close to snapping with every brutal pound of his hips.

“You wanna know something, dumb bunny?” He leans down, spitting on your cheek before smearing it into your skin. The single action has you spiralling. “This isn’t the first time I’ve filled you up.”

You can’t process his confession since your body loses control. Your juices squirt out forcefully and your walls contract, almost trying to push him out but he doesn’t falter and pumps harshly. Your sharp squeal wrecks your throat as you coat him in your orgasm, soaking his cock and balls, all the way down his thick thighs.

Ari presses your legs into the mattress, lowering his weight onto your convulsing frame. “F-Fuck, that’s it. Milk me, ya little dummy, make a stupid mess all over me. Show me how much you love me.” He hisses, his muscles tensing under his flushed skin. His cock pulses as his balls tighten, then finally, he teeters over. “Oh shit, fucking take my cum. I’m gonna fuckin’ breed this little pussy—” His words break off into a guttural groan that bounces off of the walls. Hot streams of his seed flood your insides, stuffing you full until the white pours out from around his girth.

You fade in and out of consciousness, eventually landing in an in-between. The numbness swallows you up from your limbs, slowly but surely reaching your quaking chest. You don’t know if you’re just breathing unevenly or full-on sobbing, but the wet feeling on your face suggests the latter.

Ari pants heavily, his warm breath fanning over your cheeks. He cradles your hot, sticky cheek and slips his thumb into your mouth. In this floaty headspace, you suckle on him lightly, feeling immediately grounded. “It’s okay, sweet bunny, go to sleep. I’m not going anywhere.”

A brightness pulls you from that special place of dreams, and your surroundings trickle into your air-filled head.

First, you smell him. That familiar musk floods your nose in the best way, calming you like a lullaby. You could’ve fallen asleep again, but a faint conversation sparks your curiosity, so you flip over, still hugging a pillow and slowly open your eyes.

At the doorway, two men peer in with their arms crossed.

You wave sleepily, “G’morning guys…”

“Morning, bunny. You have a good sleep last night?”

“Yeah, I—” you yawn, “—love Ari’s bed. It’s so big and warm… nothing like mine.”

“That’s a good thing since you’ll be staying here a while.” Curtis gestures to the side of the room currently occupied by a few of your bags and some stuffies. “Ari had us pick up some stuff from your dorm.”

Your heart swells, you missed this so dearly.

You missed hanging out at their frat house every day, listening to them joke around and say the most vulgar things. Most of all, you missed having zero worries. Ari made everything as easy as possible for you, and you wouldn’t have it any other way, regardless of what your controlling friends thought. A part of you only wishes you realized that sooner.

“Thank you.” You smile softly, “Did you two go to the party last night?”

Curtis waves dismissively, “Nah, we stayed in. You know coach and his dumb rules.”

You pout. “Yeah… Wish you could’ve came though, it was fun.” You try to recall the previous night, but only get glimpses of strobe lights, cute spooky goodies and getting fucked stupid. Your cheeks heat up, “Uhm… from what I remember anyway.”

“It’s alright, we had our own fun. Right, Buck?”

The brunet nods, almost too enthusiastically. “Most definitely. I look forward to having that much fun again.”

“I wanna have fun too!” You lazily blink at them, not even noticing your breast peeking out from under the covers. “Can I join next time?”

Bucky chuckles deeply, “I think you’d have to ask your daddy that question, bunny. We have big boy fun, nothing that your little head could handle.”

You give them your best pout and even clasp your hands under your chin.

“Nice try, sweetie, but we aren’t big softies like your boyfriend.” Curtis snorts playfully, “speaking of, he made you breakfast.”

On the surface of the bedside table is a full platter of pancakes, fruit and juice. You squirm all giddily, “Ah yay! He is a big softie, right? Just a jumble of all the nicest, sweetest, kindest things!”

How ironic of you to say that as Ari walks up the stairs, freshly showered with his hair still dripping on his shoulders. “You two are still here?” He asks.

“We’re just checking up on the little bunny. Making sure she’s not going anywhere.”

Ari quirks a brow, “As if she could walk after last night.”

The two of them know all too much about that. After all, Ari had them help clean the bedroom and bring you back home. You were knocked out cold the entire time and snoring. None the wiser to the men stripping the bedroom of all traces of anyone’s presence.

When they arrived at the frat house, you were clad in Ari’s shirt, bunny ears, and covered in cum, spit and tears.

They thought you’ve never looked better.

Bucky tuts, “you know, went through a lot of trouble for that little dummy in your bed. Isn’t just perfect how she doesn’t remember a damn thing?”

The two other men hum in agreement, studying your sleepy face as you blindly eat the pancakes, humming, swaying and never once opening your eyes.

“I’d do it again. Wouldn’t you?” Curtis asks.

Bucky is silent for a few moments, only staring at Ari with that sinister smirk on his lips. “In a heartbeat.”

“You sound awfully eager…”

“What can I say? I had fun—and your little bunny wants to join next time too.”

“Absolutely not— ” Ari is cut off by the front door downstairs slamming open.

Steve’s voice rings out, “I hope everyone’s awake! I just ransacked the farmers market and am in a baking mood, so music will be blasting all day!”

The three men sigh softly at the obnoxious pop song ratting the house. They glance between the stairs and you, who was still eating your breakfast—except now there were pieces of fruit and syrup on your face, and you’ve reclined on the bed, undoubtedly making a damn mess on Ari’s clean sheets.

“We’re just surrounded by idiots, huh?”

𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: once again, thank you very much for being patient with me !! i often find myself adding and moving parts while editing, so for me, editing can take a long while and sometimes a whole day. i don't write much of anything 'sneaky dark' if you get what i mean, so i hope you all enjoyed dark ghostface ex bf!ari !! he was fun to write !! I also wrote most of this fic while listening to brown noise, it helped me focus a lot.

𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞! here are the rest of my upcoming kinktober fics: ˗ˏˋ𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟐 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭ˎˊ˗

As always, I hope you all enjoyed this and I’d love to hear your thoughts/feedback !! <3 — ☼ 𝐃𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐊𝐨-𝐟𝐢 ☼

I don’t do taglists anymore. ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐅𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 & 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲: @𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲

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httpstes · 1 year

Text

ੈ✩‧₊˚ Random things that remind me of Venus in Water signs <33 *ੈ✩‧₊˚

: ̗̀➛ Cancer venus

Moon goddess, white cupcakes, soft makeup, pastels, twinkling stars, ball gowns, sleeping beauty, Bridgeton, velvet dresses, aurora borealis, moonstone, labradorite, ex lovers, childhood crushes, historical events that for some reason bring you a lot of nostalgia, warm cardigans, rosy cheeks, plump lips, angel wings, tattoos that are aesthetically pleasing but also have some rlly deep meaning behind them..in saying that probably has tattoos that are related to their loved ones, mini skirts, crescent moon, autumn leaves, picnics in the park, constantly getting hit by nostalgia then crying about your childhood, sad/serene resting face, calm river flow in forests, doll eyes, cathedrals, atonement, victorian homes and decor, mid-western gothic towns, struggling to live in the present because you’re in a constant state of reminiscing on the past, red and white candles, love spells, love sick, Ludus (playful love) and Agape (love for everyone), learning that unconditional love has its consequences.

: ̗̀➛ Scorpio venus

The mystics, love magick, killer smile, captivating love, people are addicted to you and the way you love, possession, the goth kids from southpark 😭, the hot detective in crime/horror films, small snowy village, probably went through a creepypasta phase, alex g, rlly cool piercings, coraline, uniquely shaped snowflakes, ending up on the scary side of Ao3, twitter, tumblr on multiple occasions, whimsigothic clothes, bela lugosi's dead, american horror story, finding solace in painful memories, joe goldberg (derogatory), exploring abandoned buildings, dark crystal, Evanescence, religious imagery, cathedrals, questionable taste in people, alluring eyes, creepy cute dolls, interest in the paranormal, sirens and pixies, deftones, obsidian, malachite, lavenders, twilight, overgrown houses.

: ̗̀➛ Pisces venus

shells, frozen lakes, Falls for the wrong people, likes the idea of light and dark energy.. yin and yang.. opposites attract type of beat, gives out too much love, normally the medic or healer in video games, always there for moral support, grandfather clocks, mermaids, poison tree by grouper, randomly remembering early childhood memories, angel numbers, spiritual/astrological tattoos, auras, maladaptive daydreaming, falling for the idea you create of people, kogal gyaru or Himegyaru, snails or turtles both seem very wise :), castles, the backrooms LMAO, angels, water lilies, american horror story (specifically the coven and hotel season), ENA, blindly following a cult or being the cult leader, playing in an empty park, rainbows, cottages, persephone and hades, blue lace agate, aquamarine, mazzy star, the cure, koi fish.

<<Hello everyone sorry for my long hiatus! It has finally come to an end!! School has already started for me so I’ll try post once a week however that’s just me saying shit and it’s not guaranteed 😭 I hope everyone has been doing well :))>>

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bwabys-scenarios · 7 months

Note

Hi there you've probably seen me liking a bunch of your reunited chapters. I absolutely adore what you're doing and what you're planning on in the future!

I would like to make a request with the werewolf kurapika! (Im hoping a spelled that right)

Can we get werewolf kurapika slowly falling in love with sweet fluffy witch reader? ( you see witches in black this witch wears pastels in the highest fasion)

Its only when kurapika ends up in a rut does he realize how much he loves his little strawberry witch and that's not the rut ridden breeding obsessed brain of his talking.

So if this is alright I hope you have a wonderful day and always remind werewolf kurapika that only good boys get head pats!

A witch and her werewolf pt2

Werewolf!Kurapika x Fem!Witch!Reader

warning: spicy, Kurapika is going into rut ><

a/n: I had to split this up into another part because tumblr is being laggy, sorry! 😭🙏

!!REBLOGS APPRECIATED!!

part 1

part 3

Kurapika watched over you as you slept, pulling your blanket to your chin. He was humming gently, petting your head much like you to him.

He didn’t understand quite why, yet, but he’d grown incredibly protective over you the past few months he’d been under your care. Kurapika enjoyed watching you, being near you, feeling your touch.

You seemed to think of him as a friend, perhaps even a pet, but Kurapika was neither. He was your protector, the only one allowed to curl up next to you in bed and give you secret kisses on the top of your head.

He couldn’t help it, gently lapping at your cheek. You grumbled in your sleep, cuddling into him further.

Kurapika rested his chin on top of your head, tail smacking against the bed as he held you. ‘Happy…’ he thought, a purr rumbling in his chest.

——————

“Pika… you gotta let me get up.”

You attempted again to wiggle out of his arms, feeling him growl lowly. Kurapika was usually very reasonable, but when it came to getting out of bed in the mornings, he became stubborn and whiny.

“Just a little longer…” he said, nuzzling his cheek against yours. “Sleepy…”

You pout but give in and scratch between his ear, earning a content sigh. “Okay, okay, but only five more minutes.”

He cooed, happily burying his face in your neck to inhale your scent. You’d gotten used to his affections, continuing to pet his head.

After the five minutes, he finally let you go, allowing you to go and bathe as he prepared breakfast. Once you were out of the bath, he was quick to rush over and sniff you, causing you to giggle. “Kurapika, don’t forget you’re cooking!”

He blinked, pulling his head away from your neck to rush back to the kitchen.

After breakfast, you go about doing your chores. You wash clothes, fix up a few potions and salves to sell, sew up a hole in one of Kurapika’s tabards, then get yourself dressed to go into town.

Kurapika always felt his eyes soften when he watched you walk out of your room. You wore the prettiest of dresses, today it was a soft pink covered in little strawberries. You grab your basket and Kurapika holds your satchel.

“Alright, Pika, let’s get going!”

He follows you around town, occasionally growling at anyone that got too close, especially those of the male variety. Another disguised werewolf attempted to get near you, only for Kurapika to quickly nuzzle into you, marking you with his scent.

‘Mine, back off.’ Kurapika says with his eyes, his teeth bared at the man. He was quick to leave, sensing Kurapika was much stronger than him.

“Hmm? Something wrong, Pika?”

He melts when you scratch under his chin to calm him down a little, the blonde shaking his head. “No, no nothing is wrong. Never when I’m with you.”

You laugh. “Okay then, let’s get the shopping done then.”

—————

Kurapika helped you put up the provisions you bought, stealing a piece of jerky, which earned him a giggle for you. “If you’re hungry I can make you something.”

He’s quick to shake his head. “No, just wanted to try it!”

You pet his head, causing his tail to wag. “Okay, okay. I’ve got work on some chores, could you hunt something for dinner?”

He jumps up, nodding. “Yeah, anything you want in particular.”

“No, get whatever is easiest for you.”

Kurapika begins undressing, handing you his tabard before pulling off his shirt. Even though he undresses every time he transforms, it still flusters you every time. He finishes, turning his head away as he folds his clothes and places them in your arms.

“Kurapika?”

He turns his head, ears perking up at your voice. “Yes?”

“Be careful, okay?”

His face turns red and he can’t help but keep forward and muzzle against you, cooing happily. “I will! You don’t have to worry about me!”

You squeak, wiggling out of his arms. “Kurapika, no, you’re naked!”

You hide your face, and his ears flatten against his head. “Oh, sorry…”

You peek at him from behind your fingers, seeing that he was pouting. “Aww, Pika… I’m not mad, come here…”

He did so, purring when you scratch under his chin. “Okay, now go before it gets too dark.”

Kurapika whined a little, but did leave. His body was still buzzing from your affection, and when he looked down, he became confused.

His cock was standing at attention, twitching. He took it in his hands, whining slightly. ‘When did I get so hard? Hope she didn’t see…’

Kurapika found a secluded part of the woods to jerk off, his mind going back to you. He thought about you petting him so gently, about the few times he’d walked in on you naked, about how cute you would look with stuffed full of his cum!

“(Name)…”

He whimpered, ears flattening as he came. “Hahh…”

Kurapika whined, watching his cum fall onto the forest floor. “Want it… inside (Name)…”

He blushed. “Why..? Why am I thinking about her like this? I…”

Kurapika had never been in love before, having dedicated his life to avenging his clan. His ceaseless mission didn’t give him much time to fall in love or even find a mate.

He dealt with his ruts alone, often coming out of them exhausted and feeling more alone than ever. A few female werewolves had attempted to woo him, but he had never been interested in them.

But now… he felt strange. Thinking about going back to you, about how you’d coo at him and tell him how good a boy he was for catching dinner, about how you’d give him forehead kisses after his nightmares and sing him to sleep… made his tummy fill with butterflies.

His heart was thumping against his chest at just the thought of you alone. His pretty little (Name), who treated him with such kindness and helped him with his mission. His tail began to wag as he thought about burying his head in your soft tummy, your hands running through his hair as you sang him a lullaby.

“Mine… she’s my (Name)…”

He made quick work of catching dinner before rushing home, stopping along the way to pick up a shiny rock that caught his eye.

You opened the door, giving him a sweet smile. “Oh, good job Kurapika! This will make some good deer stew!”

His tail thumped wildly against the door frame as you pet his head, the tall blonde leaning into your touch. He blinked, clearing his throat.

“Hmm?”

He held out the rock, his ears flattening against his head in embarrassment. “For you…”

It looked like some sort of crystal, maybe quarts. You tilted it in your hand, eyes wide with wonder. “Really? For me? Oh Pika!”

You gave him a hug, then a peck on the cheek. “This is gorgeous, thank you so much!”

His ears perked up, tail smacking against your leg. “You’re welcome!”

His cheek nuzzles his cheek against yours, holding you tight against him. ‘So happy…’

You placed it on the shelf near your bed, where you kept all of your favorite things. This made his heart soar, feeling very proud that something he gave you was now one of your cherished items.

After dinner, he tugged on your sleeve to get you to bed, wanting nothing more than to cuddle his little witch. “Haha, are you sleepy, Kurapika? Well I’m fine with going to bed early.”

The two of you cuddled in bed, the blonde next to you cooing and purring as he cuddled into your chest. “My sweet Pika, did you just need some cuddles? Aww, cute!”

You scratch between his ears, causing his tail to wag. “Goodnight, sweetheart. Sweet dreams.”

You kiss his forehead before getting comfortable and falling asleep. He stared up at your sleeping face, before scooting up and hovering close to your face.

Kurapika gently lapped at your lips, feeling himself get hard. He leaned forward and pressed his lips against yours, melting into the kiss.

When he pulled back, his red eyes couldn’t look away from you. His hand slipped down to his hard cock, gently stroking himself as he buried his face into your neck, gently lapping at your sensitive skin. You smelled so good, tasted so sweet, it didn’t take long for him to cum.

“(Name)…” he panted out, pulling you closer and whimpering into your neck. You woke up then, still half asleep you hummed, running your fingers through his hair.

“What’s wrong, Pika? Another nightmare?”

Although he didn’t like lying, he nodded, ears flattening against his head. “Aww… it’s okay, shh…”

She kissed the top of his head, pulling him into her arms. “Come here, Pika.”

He did, sighing in contentment. After his orgasm, he was feeling even more cuddlier than usual, wanting nothing more than your gentle touch.

——————

You pull on your coat, Kurapika following behind you. “Okay, I have a meeting with some of my witch friends today. You’ll be on your best behavior, right?”

You scratch under his chin, his tail wagging. “I will.”

“Good boy~”

He felt his face turn red. “I’ll grab the basket!”

Kurapika rushed away, wanting to hide how flustered he was. You tilt your head, confused. ‘Weird, I thought he loved chin scratches.’

If you were spotted somewhere, odds were Kurapika was close behind. He never let you go anywhere alone, not after you were nearly robbed at the market a few months ago.

And especially not after he’d decided on courting you.

Kurapika realized the night before that you were everything he wanted in a mate. Kind, caring, soft, and absolutely adorable. Therefore, he would begin courting you before his rut came.

The first step was gift giving, and as the two of you walked down the path to the weekly witch meeting, he would stop and pick flowers for you.

“Aww, Kurapika, thank you!”

His heart raced when you placed the flower in your basket. Kurapika was so happy you were being so receptive to his affections, cooing as he followed behind you.

The thought of his courting being a success and being able to breed you during his rut almost made him pop a boner, but he stopped himself by focusing on finding you more little gifts.

By the time you reached the meeting spot, your basket was full of gifts your werewolf companion had brought for you. “(Name)!”

He’d brought another shiny rock for you, placing it in your basket before nuzzling his cheek against yours. “Oh, Pika, it’s so pretty. But…”

You pat his arm. “I can’t fit anymore in my basket, sweetheart.”

He pouted a little, taking your basket from your hands and holding it for you. “Aww, don’t pout!”

You cooed at him, gently rubbing his tummy. He paused, his tail wagging as his pout faded into a content smile. “There, that’s my pretty Kurapika. Come on, we’ll be late if we don’t hurry.”

‘Pretty? Me?’

His cheeks turned pink, his ears twitching as you pulled him along by his hand. “Almost there. Now, you’re going to be a good boy, right? No growling at my friends?”

His ears flattened against his head as he scowled. “I’ll try…”

You sigh, squeezing his hand. “Try you best, okay? If you’re good we’ll go swimming tomorrow.”

He perked up, jogging to stand by your side. “We will? But it’s autumn. Humans can’t swim when it’s cold, correct?”

You giggle, looping your arm with his. “Well, you’ll be swimming, I’ll be collecting some mushrooms and plants that grow near there.”

He was excited, Kurapika loved swimming! And doing anything with you was fun.

It was a perfect opportunity to find more gifts for you as well! Perhaps he could catch some fish, or find pretty shells you could put in your room or ingredients for your potions! Would you pet him and tell him how good he was if he did that? Would you agree to be his mate?

“We’re here, Pika.”

You pull him a little closer. “Behave.”

That was easier said than done.

——————

You pass through a curtain of moss covering a hole in a large tree. “Hello!”

A blue haired woman sat at a table looks up, her face brightening. “(Name), it’s good to see you!”

Kurapika hesitantly allows you to let go of him and if the woman, holding himself back from growling. “Menchi! How have you been? I heard you’ve been busy lately, I haven’t seen you in months.”

The woman grinned, patting her satchel. “I found a lot of good stuff on my journey to the north. I brought a few things for you today. In exchange for your homemade cherry blossom syrup, of course.”

You giggle, gesturing for Kurapika to carry your basket over. “Of course, here you are!”

You hand Menchi the jar, receiving a pouch of herbs in exchange. “Ooo, these are rare? Are you sure just one jar of syrup is enough?”

Menchi nods, squeezing your cheek. “It’s plenty. You make the best around, after all.”

Kurapika tugs on your sleeve, causing the blue haired woman to frown. “(Name), your mutt stinks. Has it bathed recently?”

The blonde growled, you silencing him by gently scratching under his chin. “Menchi, be nice. He takes a bath every day, and he smells fine. Right Pika?”

He hummed in response, happy to have your attention on him. ‘But you smell a lot better…’

Menchi rolled her eyes, opening the curtain behind her. “Go ahead, then. The meeting is about to start.”

They walked through an arch way, revealing a field of flowers, with large toadstools serving as seating. Several witches, of various ages and genders loitered around the place, eating snacks or practicing spells.

“(Name)!”

One of the young apprentice witches ran towards you, clinging to your skirt. “Alluka! If you’re here, then that means-“

“Hello.”

Killua, a white haired witch said from above. You looked up to see him perched in one of the cherry blossom trees, tipping his witch hat at you. “Brought the dog again? Can’t wait to see what he does this time.”

“I won’t do anything…” Kurapika said, hand gripping your sleeve.

“Yeah and I have curly pink hair.”

You gather Alluka into your arms, laughing. “He’s going to be good today. After all, the queen said he had one last chance before he’s banned.”

Kurapika stiffened at your side. ‘Forgot about that…’

Last time, an older male witch had flirted with you, being a bit too handsy. While this was not allowed, Kurapika changing into his wolf form and mauling the man was not allowed either.

Given that he was only defending his witch as your familiar, he wasn’t held liable, but was told that doing something like that again would get him banned.

“Is Gon coming?”

“He’s already here, but you know him, he’s searching for Kite.”

Kurapika scowled as Alluka pulled on his ears, laughing. “Aww, your puppy is so soft, (Name)! It’s not often you see a witch with a werewolf as a familiar!”

You perk up a little, clearing your throat. “Well, I’m lucky he agreed to be my familiar. Kurapika is not only my familiar, but my dear friend. He’s saved me countless times, and I’m happy to have him in my life.”

The blonde blushed under your praise, his tail wagging. Killua made a gagging motion. “Ew, I think you need to get your mutt neutered (Name).”

The blonde growled. “Watch your mouth, Killua. I’ll come up there and-“

“Kurapika!”

The blondes ears flattened, whining slightly at your raised voice. You set Alluka down, allowing her and Killua to run off towards your other friends. “Pika, you promised you’d be good. I don’t want to have to leave you outside the barrier, but I will.”

You cup his cheeks, the blonde continuing to whine. “It’s hard to be good when everyone here treats me like an outsider, or some pet.”

“I know, I know. They’re just not used to seeing a werewolf as a familiar. There’s only been a handful of them in the history of witchcraft, and… I’m the only witch that has survived the first month of it.”

The blonde blinked, pulling back. “… survived?”

You now. “Yes, the others were either killed by their own familiar, or hunted down by poachers to take their werewolves pelt.”

Kurapika pulled you closer, rubbing his face into your neck to make sure you smelled like him. “I wouldn’t kill you, wouldn’t even hurt you, ever.”

“I know, I know. I’m sure the witches made those werewolves their familiars using… unethical means. It’s hard to feel sorry for them. We formed a partnership without the use of spells or magic, meaning it was consensual for both of us. But some witches…” you sigh, petting him.

“I don’t know a lot about werewolves, but they’re very misunderstood. People assume they’re beasts incapable of thinking, only wanting to kill. But I know that’s not true.”

You plant a few kisses on the top of his head, feeling him purr against your neck. “You’re intelligent, kind, and carrying. My sweet Kurapika would never hurt me, I know that.”

He looked up at you, really taking your face in. He’d never heard someone say these things about his kind, always being told he was a monster, that no one besides a fellow beast would ever love him.

And here you were, proving them wrong.

“Come, Pika. It’s time.”

He nodded slowly, giving you one last squeeze before sitting with you as the queen of your witch colony walked onstage.

“Hello witches! Who’s ready for this months meeting?”

Bisky, a woman the age of 560 that could pass for 12 asked, her blonde pigtails bouncing as she walked.

——————

Kurapika slept soundly with his head on your lap as you chatted with some friends after the meeting. The topic of your familiar came up again, Neon, a young blue haired witch tutting.

“You’ve heard the rumors haven’t you, (Name)? Every witch with a wolf familiar has died a month into their partnership.”

You roll your eyes. “That’s because their bond was made using black magic, causing the poor familiars soul to be corrupted. Instead of protecting their witch, they killed them.”

Neon nodded. “Yes, but they say that werewolves aren’t typically so friendly with humans regardless! And that’s not just a rumor, it’s true. They stick to themselves, avoiding humans. The way he acts with you is… not normal.”

You look down at Kurapika, who was nuzzling into your tummy in his sleep. “Not… normal?”

“Yes, I’ve never seen a case like this.”

The two of you jump when Bisky sits between you two. “Madam Bisky!”

The woman coos at you, pinching your cheek. “How is my beloved (Name) and her wolfy familiar doing?”

You pout, petting Kurapika’s head absentmindedly. “We’re doing fine, he’s even been bringing gifts to me lately.”

Bisky raises an eyebrow. “… gifts?”

“Mhm, like shiny rocks and flowers. It started yesterday.”

Bisky hummed, reaching out to touch (Name), but pulling back when Kurapika growled in his sleep. “Hmm… and you said he sleeps in your bed with you?”

“Of course, as most familiars do. It’s a good way to bond.”

The blonde girl sighs. “I see. Neon, could you leave us for a moment? I need to speak with (Name) alone.”

The girl attempts to argue, but with a look from Bisky she leaves. Once she’s out of earshot, Bisky sighs. “My dear, your familiar may… be attempting to court you.”

“Court..?”

Bisky snapped her fingers, a book appearing out of thin air and falling into her lap. She opened it up, flipping to a page. “Courting is the process werewolves undergo to woo a potential…”

She glanced down to the blonde sleeping in your lap, you purred as he held you close. “Mate.”

Your face heats up, pulling your hand away from the blonde lying in your lap. He whines and begins to stir, and Bisky gestures for you to continue petting him. You do, and she lets out a relieved sigh.

“Yes. Werewolves choose a mate to spend their lives with once they turn 18, but because Kurapika’s clan was wiped out and he’s been trying to avenge his clan, he hasn’t had the time to choose one.”

You look down at your sweet Pika, running your fingers through his hair. “You must be mistaken, Bisky, he doesn’t view me that way. He’s affectionate, of course, but aren’t werewolves just like that?”

Bisky frowned. “In fact they’re not. They are only as affectionate as Kurapika is with you when they’re with family or their mate.”

You fidget a bit, becoming flustered. “… maybe he was separated from his mother too soon? Dogs that-“

“Kurapika is not a dog, (Name). He may seem like it sometimes, but Kurapika is as human as you or me, only having wolf like qualities and anatomy.”

You pout, causing Bisky to sigh. “I know you want to treat him like a cute puppy, but he’s not. He’s a man, a dangerous and powerful one at that. And…”

She flips a page. “Werewolves mate for life. If you are not interested in it, he may leave to find a mate.”

You jump, eyes widening. “Leave? But I don’t want him to! He’s…”

You tear up a little, sniffling. Almost as if can sense your change in mood, Kurapika snuggles into your tummy gently, kissing at your soft flesh in his sleep. You look down at him, smiling and scratching between his ears.

Bisky clears her throat. “It could be possible he just views you as a family member due to the familiar bond, but…”

She watches as Kurapika’s cheeks turn pink, his tail wagging lazily. “… anyways, I just wanted you to be aware of this. What you choose to do is your own business.”

“Family… maybe that’s what it is. I… I don’t think he’d see me as someone to… um… mate with.”

Bisky sighs. ‘Oh dear, it seems she’s still as insecure as she was when I found her as a child.’

“Regardless, try to keep a tab on his behavior. He may seem like your sweet puppy, but werewolves become dangerous when protecting their mate. Especially…”

“Madam Bisky, you’re needed in the 7th Sector!”

She groaned. “I’ll have to leave, but please come visit me next week when I come back. We’ll talk more then. For now…”

She patted the girls head. “Be careful.”

Kurapika stirs a few minutes after Bisky leaves, looking up at you with sleepy red eyes. “Mmm… is the meeting over?”

You nod, pushing his hair out of his face. He nuzzled against your hand, and you sigh. “Yes. We should be getting home soon.”

He stands, helping you up before stretching. “Would you like me to carry you, (Name)?”

You nod, and watch in fascination as he transforms into his wolf form. Even now, he gently nuzzles against you, purring as you scratch between his big ears. “Let’s get home, Pika.”

You jump onto his back, waving goodbye to your friends before taking off.

——————

Kurapika wakes up early the next morning to get ready for your trip to the lake, preparing a picnic basket and packing towels and a change of clothes for himself.

“Mmm, you’re up early. Too excited?”

You walk into the kitchen, rubbing his tummy, causing him to pause and purr. “Yes, you could say that.”

He places his hand over yours, eyes half lidded as he gently guides your hand lower. “K-Kurapika?”

He stops right above his crotch, ears flattening as a blush settles over his face. “Rub here?”

And you do, careful not to go any lower. He cooed and purred the entire time, dropping to his knees after to bury his face in your tummy. “(Name)…”

The second part of courting was giving your potential mate affection, along with showing them how good of a mate you would be. He was too shy to actually ask you to go lower, feel his bulge and how big he was so you would know he could satisfy you. It was something werewolf males did with females, but Kurapika knew humans were… different. He didn’t want to scare you off!

He followed behind you, carrying your things for you and growling at anything that came to close. When a crow demon attempted to jump out and harm you, he defeated it easily. Kurapika was now attached to your hip, looking over your body to make sure you were okay.

“I’m fine, come on.”

You huffed, pulling him along the path until the two of you reached the lake.

Kurapika helped you set out the picnic blanket before racing towards the water, throwing off his clothes and transforming. You giggle as you watch him dive into the water, his pretty golden fur shining in the sun.

As he swims, you walk around the lake, placing mushrooms, moss, and spider lilies into your satchel. You hum to yourself, jumping when you hear the water next to you shift.

Fortunately, it was just Kurapika, who carried a large fish in his mouth, dropping it at your feet.

‘For my (Name). I’m a good mate, I can provide you with all the food you need.’ He thought to himself, looking up at you with his pretty red eyes. You coo, petting his furry head.

“Aww, Kurapika, you’re so sweet. This will be perfect for dinner tonight.”

You kiss the top of his head, and he nuzzles his large head against you. “H-hey! You’re still wet, Pika!”

———————

The final stage of the courting process had begun, and Kurapika’s rut was only a day away. He left you home alone for the first time since he’d become your familiar to go to town alone.

‘These are perfect…’ he thought, grabbing the plush blankets and furs. He paid the shop owner before stuffing the materials into his pack. He gathered many soft things including stuffed animals, blankets, furs, and pillows.

‘Need her favorite snacks and drinks too…’

He perused the farmers market, packing food into the basket he borrowed.

You waited at home, sewing up a hole in one of his tabards. ‘He hasn’t left me alone in months… I hope…’

You remembered Bisky’s words. ‘He may leave to find a mate.’

Your heart ached, tears beading at your eyes. ‘I… I don’t want him to leave me…’

You’d gotten used to having Kurapika in your life, his presence making you feel safe and loved.

‘Loved? Do I…’

You blush, jumping up from your chair and rushing to the bathroom to splash some cool water in your face. The sound of the front door opening makes you jump. “(Name)?”

You hear Kurapika yell your name, the sound of him dropping something and sprinting through your home making you squeak. “(Name)!”

He throws open the bathroom door, eyes wide with worry. “Pika, I’m right here.”

He sighs, pulling you into his arms and gently rubbing his chest and head against you to cover him in his scent. “I couldn’t see you, (Name). I… I was scared that you were hurt or taken just like…”

‘Just like his clan.’ you thought, cupping his cheeks and nuzzling your nose against his. “Shh, I know, it’s okay Pika. I’m right here, puppy.”

His eyes shoot open at the pet-name, his tail wagging. “Puppy?”

“Yes, my puppy~” you coo, giving him a peck on his cheek. He melts, beginning to purr and nuzzle against you, his arms wrapping around your waist.

“I’ll be your puppy, (Name). Yours, and only yours.”

He kisses your forehead before pulling away. “I have a surprise for you, okay? Stay out here until I’m done.”

You giggle, nodding. “Alright, I’ll be reading. Take your dinner with you, okay?”

————————

Night falls, and Kurapika can feel his body beginning to heat up. ‘It’s starting soon… almost done!’

He looks over his work, nodding. ‘It’s done.’

The blonde peeled his head out of your bedroom door. “(Name), it’s ready!”

You look up from your book, smiling. “Coming!”

Whne you open the door, you gasp. “Kurapika!”

Your bed was covered in soft furs, pillows, blankets, and stuffed animals. He had made a nest for the two of you, standing next to it. “Do you… like it?”

“It’s amazing! It looks so soft!”

His chest swells with pride when you curl up in his nest, rolling around a little before sitting on the edge of your bed. You were about to thank him, but you were stopped when his lips crashed into yours, pushing you back down onto the bed. “So happy… so happy you like it, little one.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to speak, kissing you again, his hand traveling up your shirt to cup your breasts. He shoves his tongue in your mouth, and you can feel his tail thwacking against your leg.

“K-Kurapika, what are you-“ you try to say when he pulls away so you can breathe, but he’s already moving to your neck, sucking and nipping at your sensitive skin.

“(Name)… my angel…”

He gazes up at you, face flushed and a soft pant leaving his lips. “I want you… I wanna breed you until you’re carrying my puppies…”

His rut was making him incapable of sugarcoating things, his lips returning to your neck. “B-breed? You…”

‘Bisky was right, he was courting me!’

You mewled when his hand moved down to slip under your shorts, rubbing your clit your panties. “Hahh, Pika!”

He pulled away from your neck, kissing you again. “Will you be mine, (Name)? Mate with me for life?”

You look at him, the familiar fuzzy feeling you felt earlier returning. You were in love him, and had been trying to suppress your feelings by pretending he was just a familiar to you.

“Yes, Kurapika. I’m yours, puppy.”

Tears fill his eyes, and he can’t help but crash his lips into yours again. “Thank you… I’ll take care of you, okay? Keep you safe and love you forever.”

And as you feel his cock harden against your leg, you begin to understand he means he’ll take care of you in more ways than one….

TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 3

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sevendeadlyheadcanons · 6 days

Text

I may get into the ask box or I may disappear for another 4 years.

but for now

The Seven Deadly Dungeons and Dragons

I don’t play DND but my girlfriend does and she’s sitting next to me so let’s go

-In this AU they’re all normal humans who just get together and play DND sometimes.

-Merlin is the DM.

-Merlin sits for hours writing all sorts of lore and intricate backstories only for them to commit their classic chaotic shenanigans and screw with all her plans. Luckily, she’s good at thinking on the fly.

-Meliodas plays as a halfling paladin from a noble background. His character’s goal is to get information and find his brother.

-Diane plays as a half elf barbarian (my gf thinks this is contradictory but in a fun way) (“she’s too pretty to be a half orc 🥺”)

-Her goal is to find her sisters murderer and bring them to justice.

-Ban would play a tiefling rogue. His goal is to revive his dead lover (Elaine is alive but she thinks DND is ‘nerd shit’ so she just stays at their home. sometimes she’ll come and watch them though)

-King would play a gnome cleric. He is from the fae realm however it recently got raided and he is seeking revenge from the perpetrators.

-Gowther would play as an automaton wizard. His goal is to find out what happened to his creator and gain a heart.

-Escanor would play as a half orc barbarian (when he rages it’s like his daytime form when he’s normal it’s his nightform)

-His goal is simply to find friends who don’t think he’s strange and he simply goes along with the gang because he feels accepted.

-Elizabeth would play as a aasimar cleric. Her character writes stories and is going on the adventure simply to find inspiration.

-They all gather together and play in Escanor’s basement. He makes a little food spread. They don’t appreciate him enough honestly.

-Escanor and King are chronic note takers. They have notebooks full of the lore.

-Diane also writes notes but she writes them aesthetically like

Liones is the country we live in

and highlights it in pastel. She never writes down useful information and spells everything wrong. King usually helps her with his notes.

-Ban forgets everything lore wise and all of his abilities. He never knows when he can use sneak attack and keeps getting in trouble for trying to pick pocket his party.

-“I just think it’d be funny if he wasn’t actually a good rogue because he’s so big”

-Gowther would keep getting the party in trouble by using dunamancy on random NPCs. Merlin is sick of his shit and having to rewrite the plot of her campaigns.

-Meliodas always has weirdly good roles. They have investigated whether his dice are rigged and they’re not he’s just crazy lucky.

-Elizabeth would put a lot of thought into her characters backstory and motives. She would have a very thought out lore.

-Hawk is Escanor’s cat that they all loved so much that they put him in the game as a pig that can eat ranged attacks if a 20 is rolled and also is immune to poison

-Gowther tries to romance every npc. He rolls nat 20 for every persuasion check and Merlin has to let him have the most rizz in game.

-The party all met in the Boar Hat and decided to help each other reach their goals.

-In this canon the Boar Hat can also move. Meliodas has a spell that can create the Boar Hat to be constructed infront of him.

-They all met in real life because Merlin works with Escanor and they got talking about it and she was like “Hold up let me bring my friend Gowther” and then Gowther invited Meliodas who then invited his girlfriend Elizabeth and best friend Ban and then Ban was like “Hold up we need this dude too” and invited King and King’s girlfriend was like “Omg i wanna join” yeah

-King would paint a lot of miniatures

-Elizabeth would be a dice fiend. She would have so many dice and a cute bag for them.

-Meliodas and Ban both use the same pair of black dice that have chipped paint. They just pull these crusty dice from their pockets. The numbers are barely legible anymore.

-Merlin makes her own dice out of resin and sells them on etsy.

#merlin nnt #gowther nnt #meliodas nnt #ban nnt #elizabeth nnt #king nnt #diane nnt #escanor nnt #nanatsu no taizai #the seven deadly sins #headcanons

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chaos-in-one · 1 year

Text

Saw this and it is genuinely one of the worst "DID red flags/DID faker signs" type post I've seen in a while and a few of these genuinely pissed me off so let's unpack these one by one!

!!! Long post !!!

Active in the Fandom of popular gaming youtubers

If it's a large Fandom, it's going to attract more fans. Which also means more disabled people will be in it. Including people with DID.

Certain youtubers yes it could be a red flag to be a fan of them. Isn't related to the person's DID though, it's about them choosing to support a shitty person.

VERY vocal about their diagnosises, think their experiences are the only valid ones and thus everyone else is faking but them

This one I do actually agree with! It absolutely is a red flag to use your diagnosis and how you experience your disorder to put down others!

Literally will not shut up about it

You are probably looking at an account made specifically to be open about DID. Because believe it or not, outside comparatively very small circles on the internet, DID is highly stigmatized. It is hard to find acceptance in real life, so some people go online to look for spaces they can talk about what they can't in the real world. Saying it is a negative thing actively hurts people with DID, because it says that them having spaces to freely exist is bad.

Active in fake claiming communitites

... you haven't been on r/systemscringe very long, have you?

Uses r/plural and related subs

Same point as the 3rd one: DID is highly stigmatized and people with DID are allowed to look for places they can talk about their experiences with DID.

Posts in those subreddits things like "am I faking?" Or "my alters disappeared when school started?"

The first one is actually a rather common thought for a lot of people with DID! For most people with the disorder, it is meant to be covert. Your brain doesn't want you to know you have it because it is trying to protect you from what caused it. So when you do recognize you have the disorder, it is going to try to push you back into denial because it doesn't want you to know you have it.

The second one, while how it is worded certainly could be a red flag as alters don't just disappear, alters seeming to be gone during stressful situations is also actually really common! The entire point of the disorder is to protect a traumatized child from their trauma and future trauma as best as it can. And by extention, it tends to see certain intense emotions as a warning sign, and will lock a particular alter in control to protect as much of the mind as it can from potential trauma.

Minor

It is a childhood trauma based disorder. Every person with DID was a minor with DID at some point.

Typing Quirks

Typing quirks should never have been associated together in the first place. Typing quirks are not a DID thing, or a system thing at all.

I do agree that if they don't have a translation it is a red flag though, it makes it difficult to impossible for multiple groups of disabled people to access.

Pastel or kidcore aesthetic

An aesthetic is not related to DID. At all. Two completely separate things. The only time either of these are a red flag is if the person is using the aesthetic to sexualize things related to children.

Medically recognized

Literally all this means is that a medical professional has agreed that you might have the disorder. Almost everyone now diagnosed at one point was medically recognized, because diagnosis is a process, not a single event.

Makes picrews of their alters

This is literally just like anyone else making a picrew of themselves. Someone making a little character of what they look like (or want to look like in some cases), is not a red flag. It is not uniquely wrong with someone with a specific disorder does this.

Ftm or nonbinary

.... do I even need to spell out how calling being trans a red flag is transphobic?

A-spec

Again, do I really need to spell out how calling someone's orientation a red flag is bigoted....

Dyed hair

See the point on kidcore & Pastel aesthetic: someone's style choices aren't related to any disorder.

Looks like they would microwave their hampster for tik tok clout

Based on physical appearance? No that's not a red flag, because physical appearance is not an actual indicator of what a person is like. Based on personality? Yeah it is a little concerning if that's what you get out of how someone acts.

Furry or furry adjacent

For the last time. People's style choices are not related to their disorder.

Likes east Asian media

Depends. If they're not Asian and like it to an almost obsessive or fetishistic degree, yeah, big red flag. If they're not fetishistic about it or literally Asian themselves? No. People are allowed to like media from other cultures.

I genuinely cannot read most of the next point so I'm not going to try to answer that for now

List of triggers never ends

Personally I think publicly listing triggers in general is a very bad idea, especially for people with disorders that could make them more vulnerable already. So I do for the most part agree with this point.

Probs mentions pro-shippers somewhere

If it's to tell them to stay away/not interact/etc. No. Again, not related to DID, and also a reasonable boundary to have. If it's in support of proshippers, still not DID related, but yeah definitely a red flag in my book.

Fujoshi

If you actually mean non mlm or nblm who fetishize mlm then yeah, that is a red flag. If you mean anyone who liked any mlm ship ever... yeah no. People are allowed to like gay ships. Gatekeeping who can like a ship based on the genders of the characters ends up just othering us.

Username contains words like system/collective/etc

Again, it is probably an account about DID specifically. Not necessarily a red flag for the reasons previously stated.

Uses we to refer to themselves

A lot of people with DID consider alters to be someone else, not themselves. So they see all of them as a group. It's grammatically correct to refer to a group using 'we' instead of 'I'.

"Diagnosed" by their therapist

In a lot of cases, yes. Most therapists cannot diagnose. Certain therapists who are also things like trauma specialists are licensed to, however. It just isn't very common.

Endogenic

I am going to stay out of this one for the most part, as no matter what I answer it will most likely drag me into an argument that detracts from the point of this post. However I do think it is a red flag to claim DID itself can be non traumagenic, it has been proven time and time again to be caused by trauma.

Wants to be an oppressed minority soooo bad

You know, on any topic, I always hated this point. Because nine times out of ten, the person doesn't actually WANT to be an oppressed minority. They just want their struggles as an actual minority to stop being dismissed.

Usually claims other "popular" disorders/illnesses too (Autism/NPD/BPD/POTS/hEDS)

I have a few points for this one.

One, a lot of disorders do actually make it more likely to develop trauma based disorders. Disorders like autism can lower the trauma threshold and make it more likely that dissociation is how the person copes. And disorders, especially physical disabilities, can cause trauma in and of themselves!

Two, these disorders can all be comorbid. Trauma disorders have high comorbidity rates with certain physical disabilities because the stress that caused those trauma disorders puts tangible, physical stress on your body and it's limits. And trauma disorders also have a very high comorbidity rate with other trauma disorders. It's pretty common to have more than one.

Three, NPD most definitely is not a "popular" disorder. Neither is BPD, in my opinion, although the amount of acceptance for it is higher than with NPD. NPD is quite literally one of the most heavily stigmatized disorders. There are articles after articles, entire forums and communities and more, built around calling people with NPD abusers. You look up NPD and you can find page after page after page telling how to spot a narcissist, how to psychologically damage a narcissist, how to hurt one. It is not by any means a "popular" disorder to have.

System of mostly introjects

Current generations literally have the highest amount of access to fictional media in all of recorded history. And when there is more access to fiction, more people will use it to cope. When more people use it to cope, it becomes more common for it to influence how people are. And DID is a disorder highly influenced and tailored by the specific individuals situation.

New alters always appearing

Again, another situation of a person's experiences being misinterpreted: a lot of the time "new" alters aren't actually new. Many alters are hidden from the person for days, weeks, months or even years before they are discovered. And sometimes they don't even realize how long they have been there, because they had no communication with any other alters. Having a poor perception of time is a very common symptom in most dissociative disorders.

Has tik tok

Someone with DID having a social media is not any more a red flag than someone without DID having it. The two are not related.

Has recordings of themselves "switching"

I do personally find this uncomfortable. Especially since, for a lot of people with DID, or OSDD, switching is often completely uncontrollable. A lot of the times it also is uncomfortable or even painful or stress inducing. I can understand how this could be a red flag, although it is not impossible for it to actually happen, especially if someone else is the one filming.

Neopronouns

Points to the previous point about how saying someone's transness is a red flag is transphobic

"Stims"

This one is a grey area. If they are romanticizing them, fetishizing them, treating them like they're cute, spreading misinfo, etc. Then yes. Just showing or talking about stimming in general though? No. That is an actual thing people do, especially people with disorders like ADHD and autism. Calling a symptom associated with disorders a red flag by itself is ableist and harmful to people with those disorders.

Will do literally anything but show their diagnostic paperwork to "prove" they aren't faking

Diagnostic papers are quite literally private medical information. Depending on how they are formated (differs from company to company), they also could include other private information that sharing online could put you in danger. Depending, showing these could literally get a person doxxed. Them keeping themselves safe online is not a red flag, and it is a red flag to demand someone risk their safety to prove their disability to you. Even employers are legally not allowed to demand this information in most cases.

If you don't like them you're ableist and/or homophobic

If said because someone doesn't like them as a person and as a serious thing, then yes. If said because the reason the person didn't like them was because of their orientation or disorder, or as a joke, then no.

Their "therapy" goal is to live in harmony with their alters, instead of reintegration

The thing you are trying to talk about actually has a name! It is called functional multiplicity. And it actually is not "not integrating", it still is a form of integration. Just like final fusion, the goal is to lower dissociative barriers and heal from childhood trauma over time. The only difference is the alters "fusing" or becoming one with one another, is not part of the treatment plan. Functional multiplicity is not the opposite of integration, it is a form of integration in and of itself. People with that goal still want to heal. They just don't feel that final fusion would benefit them. Both are goals approved by many actual professionals.

"Getting a diagnosis would put me at a disadvantage in xyz" (it won't)

Again, this is a grey area and highly depends on the individuals living situation and where they are.

If they are spreading misinformation, like the idea that employers in the U.S. all get to see your diagnosis (again, quite literally illegal for them to try to force you to give them that), then yes, red flag!

However there are certain things that in some places in the world, a DID diagnosis can make harder to access. For instance, it can be harder to get a driver's license in some places.

Additionally, depending on who the person is living with, it could be actively unsafe for them to be diagnosed. Again, in real life, DID is highly stigmatized.

Advocates for self dx

It really depends on how this is gone about. If they are encouraging people to do things like take quizzes or saying "if you do x you have DID" then yes this is a red flag! However, encouraging people to do actual research into the disorder is a good thing! People realizing they have symptoms of something can majorly help them! So can educated self dx, in some cases. It can help them access spaces with resources for people with symptoms like theirs, it can help them learn ways to cope with their symptoms specific to that disorder, it can help them know what to tell their psychiatrist they suspect is going on, and a lot more!

Alters are fully fleshed out characters

Honestly this is another one that rather pissed me off. Alters are not "characters". People with DID are not fictional. These are actual people. As for them being more "fleshed out"... that's part of the point. Again, these are real people. They are going to be complex. Yeah it's rare for ALL alters to be that complex, but the existence of any alters or even multiple alters who are is not a red flag. Distinctly different alters is quite literally one of the symptoms that sets DID apart from other dissociative disorders, like OSDD-1.

Sign offs with alter names

Someone with DID trying to decrease confusion for themselves and those around them is not a red flag by itself. It is literally to help themselves. It is a lot easier to deal with memory barriers if you can look and see something physical telling you what happened and who did it.

Headspace "maps"

Again, this is usually done to help with memory barriers. For a lot of people, DID or not, physically making something to show you what is going on in your head makes it easier to understand for you. Trying to help yourself deal with a damaging symptom of your disorder by giving yourself something to lay it all out is not a bad thing.

Well that was All! Hope that makes sense and cleared some things up.

And before anyone tries to use this to say I'm faking DID: I do not have DID.

#syscourse #fakeclaiming #r/systemscringe #long post #debunking #debunks #misinformation

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jomiddlemarch · 4 months

Text

Sunt Leones

The first time Draco saw her, he didn’t recognize her.

Hermione Granger, whose face had haunted him for over thirty-five years.

The first time, he only saw a middle-aged brunette woman with her hair in a tidy bun, a plain smock with a badge over a jersey, a nameless volunteer at St. Mungo’s.

On the Janus Thickey ward.

The second time, he wasn’t sure.

It was her again, the same woman, but was it Hermione? It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen her properly since the Battle of Hogwarts, he had, quite often in fact, since she’d risen in the Ministry to become a senior-level civil servant and he’d managed to rehabilitate himself with the help of ample donations to good causes, Astoria’s refusal to live at the Manor, Scorpius’s Sorting into Ravenclaw. His platinum blond hair fading to a non-descript pale grey hadn’t hurt, nor the rumpled, academic air he’d picked up during the year he spent teaching at Ilvermorny.

He was familiar with Hermione Granger, senior liaison to the Wizengamot, her neatly braided coronet a far cry from the riotous curls of her girlhood, the Golden Girl Maenad of his youth now entirely discreet, circumspect, so well-respected her divorce from Ron Weasley hadn’t made a scarlet woman of her, the author of a dozen consequential bills, the mother of two highly competent adults, both pursuing advanced studies, her son doing something like a Potions Mastery at Oxbridge without requiring any Muggles to be Confunded.

She wore opal earrings and tailored robes in navy or charcoal. She held your gaze without flinching. She carried her wand in her ringless left hand and cast wandless with her right. She smelled of bergamot, orris root, vetiver. She was resolute, poised, the epitome of competence.

He’d never seen her at St. Mungo’s. He’d never seen her crouching beside a patient to offer a plate of ginger biscuits. He’d never seen her pause and look across the room, her eyes unfocused, one hand balled into a fist.

He’d never seen her begin to cast a spell, the darkness collecting near the ceiling, and then pull it back.

He’d never seen the bright streak of silver in her hair like a Goblin-wrought filet.

Astoria would have told him to approach her and simply ask.

Astoria would have said he was being a bit silly, that she wouldn’t bite and if he were wrong, the woman would likely take it as a compliment.

Astoria would have smiled at him, but she’d been dead for over three years and he couldn’t bear to talk to her portrait, even if it hadn’t been hanging in their son’s suite.

He asked Mizzy for lemon biscuits and ate a plateful, brooding.

He considered Owling Neville, but it was end-of-term and the latest batch of venomous tenaculas were especially fractious.

He waited. He knew how these things went. He’d find out, if there were a third time.

There’d be a third time.

“Madam Granger?” he said, using the workplace honorific because it seemed far too presumptuous to use her first name, even though at arm’s length he was sure he was right. It was her.

“Not here,” she said. He thought she meant outside the day room on the Thickey ward, from whence the tinkling of the enchanted piano drifted, the spell too heavy on the bass clef, though he supposed that might make it easier to dance to, if one struggled to dance to a waltz in the first place. The witches and wizards he could see were all settled on sofas and armchairs, engrossed with dust motes or discussions, sometimes with others. Their conventional robes were cleverly modified to keep from tangling or tripping, easily secured by shaking hands, in the soft pastels one associated with the very elderly though half the people in the room were obviously under forty and half of those had scars no Healer could remove.

“The canteen?” he offered. St. Mungo’s wasn’t known for their cuisine, but the tea was passable as long as you didn’t rely on the cart, and he didn’t imagine either of them was hungry.

“I’m Jean here,” she said, tapping the badge above her heart with her finger. “No surname, no title.”

“I don’t—”

“It’s easier,” she explained. “To be no one of consequence. For those who’d remember. For those who wouldn’t, one name is simpler.”

He wanted to say she could call herself Nobody and she’d still be someone of consequence, that it was in her bearing and her expression, but he wouldn’t argue, because she might expect that and because it would be rude, even if he meant it to be praise.

“I see,” he replied.

“You want to talk, I gather,” she said. “The canteen will do for me, though I warn you the cakes are almost horrid.”

“Almost horrid?” he asked.

“They’re too bland to merit actual revulsion,” she said. “You probably aren’t familiar with something like that.”

“On the contrary,” Draco said. “I’ve been striving to achieve that status for the past thirty-odd years. But if you’re willing to sit down and talk with me, I would appreciate it.”

“Why are you here?” he said once two cups of tea sat between them, charmed to stay warm however long they sat. He didn’t expect it to be necessary.

“You asked me, if you recall,” she said. Her eyes were darker than he remembered, perhaps because of the shadows that lay beneath them. The drab volunteer smock she still wore did her no favors, while only inciting more questions.

“I meant, why are you here at St. Mungo’s? Why are you spending your precious free time volunteering on the Janus Thickey ward?”

Draco heard himself as she must have, his confusion masked by his drawl. She would assume he meant to be snide, had asked her to tea only to sneer at her.

“You don’t really want to know,” she said, gently enough given his provocation. “You think you do know, you think I’ve got some sort of martyr or savior complex. Or you think I’ve nothing better to do with my time, since my marriage ended, a pathetic divorcée filling the empty hours—”

“You think I am still a cruel boy who cannot bear your success,” he retorted, keeping his voice even, but the damage was done and hadn’t he done enough to this witch? She pressed her lips together and he took a breath. This wasn’t what he’d wanted, for her to withdraw from him, to expect him to try and hurt her. He began again. “I was curious, seeing you here. Healthcare hasn’t been one of your areas of reform, I didn’t know it was an interest of yours. It never occurred to me you would be here. Virtually incognito.”

“I’m not incognito. I’m Jean, I volunteer on Tuesday and Friday evenings, a dab hand at knitting charms, terribly fond of Kneazles. That’s true, even if it isn’t all I am. It’s enough here,” she said. “I’m not here because I’m lonely. Alone. Because I’ve no better offers—”

“I didn’t mean to suggest that,” he said. He’d wondered though, whether she wanted anyone in her life. Whether he might ever be someone she considered in that way. Draco could hear Astoria’s voice, amused, fond, repeating in that way and then reminding him she hadn’t wanted him to mourn for her for the rest of his life and oughtn’t he get back on the broom as it were. Astoria had only been clumsy when it came to Quidditch metaphors. “I saw you, from the hallway and I couldn’t believe my eyes—"

“I belong here,” she said.

“I don’t understand,” he replied.

“I spent three months here, right after the War ended, with my parents. Here, the Janus Thickey ward. I’d Obliviated them, to keep them safe,” she said.

“You did what?” he said, the realization dawning even as he spoke. She’d undertaken something he would never have dared, to keep her family safe.

“I Obliviated them. I removed every trace of myself from their memories, from their lives. Riddle would have had them killed, tortured first, to get to me. To get to Harry. I broke them first,” she said. “I always meant to bring them back. Casting the spell was difficult. Undoing it was harder. I couldn’t do it alone without killing them. It wasn’t clear anyone could.”

“Did they survive?” he asked.

She looked down at her hands, the ones that had done the work. Draco had often wished to cut off the arm with the Dark Mark emblazoned on it. He suddenly knew she felt the same about her right hand but it didn’t seem like Harry or her husband had ever talked to her about it the way Astoria had spoken to him. Quietly, patiently, without any determination towards success. There would have been nothing for Hermione’s parents to say to her, once they had been resurrected. She had to live with what she’d done; his brand had faded, but the weight of the casting could not be washed from her palm.

“Yes. They did. And they forgave me. But they still left Britain and won’t come back,” she said. “I thought, when they left here, St. Mungo’s, I’d never come back.”

“But you did,” Draco said.

“I was wrong. I thought I’d survived the War,” she said. “I didn’t understand right away I was another casualty. That I could leave this ward but I really wouldn’t.”

“Trauma, the Muggle Healers call it I think,” Draco said, very carefully, seeing now how vulnerable Hermione was.

“I mean the girl I was died in the War. The woman, the witch I could become, was murdered,” she said. “I’m what’s left, worse than a ghost or maybe less than one—”

“Hermione—”

“Jean,” she corrected. “It was already too late the first day I came to Hogwarts. When I thought everything was possible. When I thought there was a whole new world for me. That I was welcome.”

She shrugged. The boxy cut of the canvas smock emphasized how slender she was. She’d always been slight, likely hadn’t grown as she was meant to, the War stunting them all in myriad ways. She’d spent a year on the run in the woods with Harry and Ron, returning pale, a belt cinched tight around her waist, too slim, drawn too fine. He’d never seen anything as delicate as her wrist when Bellatrix tortured her. A parent now, he could see how she’d starved, how she’d held a burden too great, Ron supported by his clan, Harry by his two best friends and Dumbledore’s confidence. What had she had besides her own will?

“You might have been,” Draco said. “If you’d been Sorted otherwise, maybe along with Neville, if bloody Dumbledore had listened to McGonagall as much as Trelawney, if I—"

If I—what? If he’d had a spine? If he’d asked questions, listened to the portraits stuck in the far corners of the Slytherin common room, sought out his Aunt Andromeda, his cousin Tonks? He’d only been a boy as she’d only been a girl. Both of them had been set firmly on their paths by the adults around them, whether or not they were seen as pawns.

“I was going to die, the girl who had such infinite hopes, so many wishes, for the fact of my birth. She couldn’t survive if we were going to have a chance,” she said. She spoke as if the words carried a bitterness she was used to tasting. “Harry doesn’t understand. He says we won and look at what a wonderful life I have, such bright, beautiful, accomplished children, my career, all the good work I do—”

“It’s not what you wanted,” Draco said and that, of all things, made her lips curve, ever so slightly, into something like a smile. That, of all things, made him want her, ever so much. That she would admit it and to him, an intimacy he hadn’t anticipated. Couldn’t have let himself long for and yet, once again, had found himself given his heart’s desire.

“I can’t have regrets like that, can I? I can’t regret my children, nor my marriage. But I married the wrong man for all that I loved him. I can’t regret my children, but I regret I had them when I was barely older than a child. If I weren’t a witch, I wouldn’t have had a baby when I was at university. I would’ve gone to university and then to work, maybe an advanced degree, I would have chosen—”

“What?” Draco said. It had taken him the past thirty years to comprehend that the Muggleborn witches and wizards lost something when they crossed over. Over thirty years, he’d learned a little about what it was. But Hermione would have known something about it when she was eighteen. It had taken her until now to feel the full impact of that life she hadn’t lived in either England.

“I don’t know what I would have done. Studied, worked at, where I would have wanted to travel to. Discover. Here or there,” Hermione said. “I can’t say I ever had a chance to really figure out what I was most interested in, only what was most necessary for Harry’s survival. For my own. I don’t have a secret passion. It was all taken from me and I can’t ever get it back. Too late.”

Too late, she’d said, a witch who could live for another hundred years. Had anyone told her, reminded her? Had any of her friends noticed how she was suffering? Had she let them? She had not had to agree to talk to him, to sit with enchanted tea between them, she had not had to tell him about Jean and her parents, had not had to let him hear how angry she was and how despairing. Like calls to like, the Astoria of his memory said, and you’ve liked her for so long.

“D’you know, the divorce was Ron’s idea. He thought, if I wasn’t bound to him, it would be a gift. I could become myself. He loved me enough to give me that.”

“He’s more astute than I’d given him credit for,” Draco remarked.

Hermione laughed.

“You’d never given him a knut’s credit. Nor a ha’penny,” she said. “I don’t know why you thought I’d marry someone stupid. He’s very bright, it’s only that we’ve no interests in common beyond our children and he decided that wasn’t enough for me.”

“Why do you come here?” Draco asked again, after there’d been a long silence between them, long enough for the tea to grow cold if that had been possible. Hermione was looking down into her cup as if she’d divine something in the leaves. As if she’d ever given Divination the least credence.

“Because I need to see how much worse it could have been to bear how it is,” she said. “Who is cruel now, Draco?”

He looked at her, Hermione and also Jean, the grey in her hair evident, the grey she must glamour when she was not here, and he wondered about the other scars she carried. He knew about what his aunt had done, he’d heard rumors about how Dolohov had cursed her, and he knew what had been expected of her: an endless competence, an infinite hope, a gratitude for it all, the wand she’d killed with, the world that required her to mend it. What could he give her, not as a debt repaid, but as an alternative, the choice that had always been denied her?

They were old enough for him to get it right. He was not as brilliant a strategist as her husband had been, but he could play one final gambit.

“I haven’t heard you use my first name in over thirty years,” he said. “It’s a kindness I don’t deserve.”

“Haven’t you learned yet kindness isn’t deserved. Or earned?” she said.

“Haven’t you, Jean?” he said softly and reached out a hand to cover hers, except that she turned it over and grasped his, palm to palm. It was the old way of handfasting, but she wouldn’t know it.

(Though she’d been married to a Pureblood for twenty years and Draco had heard what store Molly Weasley put on the old ceremonies.)

“Hermione,” she said. “If we are beginning again, I’d like to be Hermione, I think.”

She kept going to St. Mungo’s every Tuesday night. After three months, she’d stopped going on Fridays and let him give her dinner at his flat, usually takeaway curry. After six months, she left the Ministry.

She dropped the glamour, learned Bactrian and Saka, bloodied her hands on thorns grafting roses for Neville. She wrote letters. So many letters. She only sent half of them and none by owl. She started writing a novel. Draco wasn’t supposed to be able to tell, but it was about Snape and somehow, also the Silk Road.

She invited their children to dinner. Rose shook Draco’s hand, Hugo hugged him, Scorpius brought Hermione an enormous bouquet of camellias. After the meal, they played Exploding Snap and Draco learned Rose was short for Rosemary.

She fell in love. Draco had been willing to wait but she caught up.

A year and a day later, after their friends and family witnessed the handfasting, Draco made the first toast.

To Jean.

#dramione fic #draco malfoy #hermione granger #take a lot of unresolved trauma and add one midlife crisis #middle-aged wizards #angst #fluff #rose weasley #hugo weasley #scorpius malfoy #astoria malfoy #canon au #no ron or astoria bashing #happy ending #artielu #st mungo's #in no way is this an endorsement of TERF JK

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nine-of-words · 7 months

Text

Something Borrowed (Part Five)

M Gargoyle x M Reader

PREVIOUS || STORY TAG || NEXT

Wordcount: 5134

Content Warnings: Discussion of a Breakup, Drinking (Reader)

This one being a day late may or may not have to do with the fact I've finally started playing bg3...

Today, so far, has been one of those days that everything just feels wrong.

The midsummer wedding rush is in full swing, you’re baking the batters for a wedding cake off in the morning and finishing a different one for pickup each afternoon. And that’s on top of every birthday and pool party and every other sort of occasion under the sun, all demanding sweet, celebratory confections.

“Ugh, I just don’t get it…” Kirby grumbles and snaps the old tome closed, an uncharacteristically gloomy pout on their face. They lean their head on their hand, their palm squishing their cheek.

“Something I can help with?” You’ve told them pretty much everything you think may be pertinent, and happily entertained any of the failed spell purging attempts they’ve tried on you so far, but you still want to assist in any way you can.

“Not really- I’ve had no luck with leads at all. And none of the methods in this book that operate without knowing the origin of the curse look very promising. But there’s, like, definitely a curse here! The vibe in the shop and on you- The energy is there, it feels like it’s yours…but it can’t be from you! You’re a numan!”

“Yeah, imagine how frustrating it is on my end.” You chuckle.

“Ohh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that… No offense!!'

"None taken."

“It’s not your fault at all!” They sigh. “It just… doesn’t make any sense… y’know? I'm like, really good at breaking curses. Even the sneaky ones. It’s kind of my thing. But this one is like, hella hella HELLA sneaky!!!"

“Well, here, try one of these.” Doing what you know best in terms of soothing frayed nerves, you carefully pick up a cupcake from the case- Kirby’s favorite flavor, you've learned- and set it down in front of them. You hear yourself echoing the words your own mother told you growing up countless times: “It won’t fix the problem… but it might help you feel a little better.”

They let out a small, strangled gasp in glee.

“Oooooooh gosh! You're so good to meeee!” The faun takes the cupcake into their hands immediately, holding it like a small treasure. “I’m really going to need to hit the gym after this case, hahah~”

They devour their little treat and seem a bit less bogged down by the weight of your case afterwards, back to their normal peppy self. Helping to lighten their mood at least makes you feel slightly less guilty that your curse is the reason they’re having a hard time in the first place.

Kirby ends up heading out for the weekend not long after, deciding that fresh air and a change of scenery might help jog their investigative thinking.

You find yourself heaving a sigh as you look at the clock,clock, that closing time is creeping ever closer.

It's been so busy you haven't even been able to bake anything for when you see Carlyle later…

You go about the rest of your tasks, a little nervous about the tasting the closer it looms. Devin is pleasant enough, but working for someone you know socially is always a bit of a roll of the dice, unless you really know them well. You can’t imagine her being a problem client, though…

So, what could go wrong?

Nothing, you decide.

This tasting will go well, and even if it’s painful to be reminded of your past for a little bit, your reward for getting through it is getting to go on a date with a wonderful, kind, handsome man later this evening.

Any anxiety about the tasting seemingly disappears as you go through the motions lost in your smitten daydreaming.

Finally, you tidy up a little bit, taking care of what you can of closing while you wait, the table setting for the tasting already set.

Not too long after, Devin appears, all pastels and sunshine.

“Hi, hello there!” She chirps and all but flutters over. When she gets to the table, she grasps your hands and gives them a gentle squeeze with her small, graceful hands, still clearly brimming with joy. “Thanks so much again for fitting us in!!”

“You’re very welcome. Go ahead and take a seat- Oh, and where’s your partner?”

“Pookie will be here in a minute! He’s on his way.” She daintily takes a seat, tucking her ornamental bag in the sill of the window. “He had to stop by the music store before it closed. Lost all his picks again, hehe.”

“Oh, that’s funny.” You snort, reminiscing a little. "My ex used to lose all his picks all the time too, haha."

"It's the worst! I cleaned out one of my old purses once and found twelve at the bottom! Twelve! Then this one time-"

Devin continues to chatter excitedly about anecdotes involving her partner, most of which you relate to with your own stories. It seems you and her have dated similar types of men, for sure.

The conversation is enjoyable enough, but you can't help the strange sense of foreboding weighing on your chest.

"If he'll be here soon, I'll just go ahead and fill these, if you don't mind." You say, motioning to the flutes and the iced bottle of champagne in the bucket. You just want your hands busy to assuage some of the inexplicable nerves. "He'll miss the lovely pop, though."

"Oh, sure, go ahead! I don’t think he’ll mind." Devin assures you with a nod, so you grab the bottle and a cloth napkin.

After neatly removing the foil and the muselet, you cover the cork with the napkin and twist until it goes.

POP-

Devin laughs happily, clapping. The noise drowns out all the sound of the shop door opening, up until the end of the door bell jingle tapering off. A bit of champagne foam drips down the bottleneck and over your palm, then down onto the table.

You look up just in time to see your other guest- your body freezing in place as soon as your eyes fall on them.

You know this person anywhere, down to the tiniest details. A familiar lanky grey elf man; long brown hair tied back in a lazy half-bun, a worn band t-shirt with a flannel wrapped around his waist, and wrists wrapped in braided cord bracelets that move towards calloused fingers.

He looks the same as ever. He was wearing that t-shirt the day you moved out.

It’s Trevor.

You just look at him, speechless. He looks just as shocked- pale as a ghost, and frozen in place just past the threshold of the shop.

There is a loud maelstrom of emotions churning in your chest; you can hear it as blood rushing in your ears. Part of you is just so happy to see him again- but it’s quickly drowned out by months of suffering and grief and anger-

But before you can get so much as a ‘what the hell are you doing here?’ out, Devin speaks up, confirming the worst possible reason to be true.

“There’s my Pookie!”

"Hello." You force out. Finally reacting, you clean up the bottle and take the champagne flute from in front of her, turning your focus on filling it, trying to maintain some facade of normalcy as your heart starts racing.

“Oh… Heeey…” Trevor says awkwardly, seeming to find his ability to speak and move his limbs as he creakily approaches the table.

“What are you doing standing around, silly?” She pats the pink cushion on the seat of the metal chair beside her. “Come sit, you can finally meet my sweet friend!”

He finally takes the seat next to his new fiance, timid and flighty as if you’re going to jump up and sink your teeth into him at any moment. The expression is only made more intense when Devin leans over and gives him a large affectionate peck, the septum ring in her nose smooshing flat against his cheekbone.

“Let me introduce you! So,” She says your name. “This is my fiance, Trevor, and Pookie, this is my friend-”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to…” Trevor cringes slightly at hearing your name.

“Oh… um, do you two already know each other…?” Devin puts a polished finger to her lips, tilting her head quizzically.

“Yeah, Pookie,” You barely manage to keep from spitting the word out like venom. You pick up the second flute to fill it, your fingers pressed forcefully into the stem. “We do, don’t we?”

“Uh. Yeah, Dev. We know each other.” Trevor rubs the back of his head, that little motion of self-soothing that you’re not sure he picked up from you over the years, or vice versa. “We used to date.”

Used to date? That’s it? That’s how he’s going to describe you devoting almost a decade of your life to him, and him tossing it away when you needed his support the most?

You expected to be sad. To be utterly devastated. And while you are certainly feeling heartbroken… You in no way expected this level of indignant anger bubbling in your gut in addition to that stabbing, crushing sadness in your heart.

“Oh, that’s wonderful! It’s so sweet you two can still get along.” Devin says, and you try not to scoff at her absolute failure at reading the room. “If you’re already friends, that makes introducing you a whole lot easier!”

“Yeah. Sooo, uh… You moved the shop and changed its name, huh?” Trevor asks, daring to address you directly for the first time since he meandered in.

The quiet part: This would’ve never had the chance to happen if I knew it was you.

“Yes. It felt necessary at the time.” You say through your clenched jaw, filling your own flute of champagne.

You can’t even look him in the eye while you speak to him. Looking at the familiar hazel of his eyes- it just hurts too much.

“It… looks nice in here, man. I’m glad you’re doing okay.”

Doing okay?? You're most certainly not- or at least you weren't.

Either way, what would he know about it?! Like you haven’t been struggling to crawl out of a deep pit of sadness and self-loathing over the last year… Spending so much time blaming yourself for getting cursed. For not being good enough…

But… at the end of the day, you are a professional. You mentally pull yourself together, remembering your customer service voice and mustering all of your strength to get through this tasting on your raw charisma and goodwill towards Devin alone.

“Thanks.” You say, neutralizing the emotion in your voice to a smooth, pleasant tone. “Let’s get those cake samples out for you to try, aye…?”

You mercifully move away from the table, grabbing the plate of small, delicately cut cake samples from the front cooler. Some of these samples are flavors you always include, while others are ones Devin asked for specifically.

You set the plate down on the table- each neat square of cake accentuated with flower petals.

You watch as they try the cake samples, talking amongst themselves. You provide guidance and offer information when prompted, but you mostly just sit and drink your champagne, trying not to scowl or otherwise provide bad service.

…They're not agreeing on any flavors.

You've been in this business enough to know that's a bad sign. Not that they have completely different preferences itself- that can be worked around, and you've made multiple split cakes, or had people opt for different flavored batches of cupcakes in the past. It’s not uncommon, but it’s the way that the couple comes to that agreement that’s important. It's the way that they're addressing, or in this case, failing to address, those differences of preferences that's the bad sign.

"I like the pistachio creme, oh!- and the apricot curd- but the rose filling is nice too… and the marble cake is so good! All of these are so yummy, how are we supposed to ever choose?" Devin sighs happily, holding up the tiny fork as if trying to defend herself from having to make a decision. She has a point- not being able to pick which cake flavor is better is probably one of the best dilemmas you can think of to have. "What do you think, Pookie?"

“Whatever you want is good, babe.” Trevor bobs his leg under the table in rhythm, the way he does when he's bored. If he wasn't acutely aware of how bad it would look, he'd probably already be scrolling.

Awkwardness aside, he could at least try to act involved… Some things never change, you guess.

“Oh… I don’t know. What do you think?” Devin turns to you with a bright smile, practically wriggling in her seat in child-like excitement. “You’re the expert after all, hehe.”

“Well, I could’ve saved us some time if I had known… He won’t like any of these three- definitely not the marble, he hates chocolate cake.” You lean over and say, pointing to a few of the cake samples. “Regular white’s his favorite, but you probably didn’t like it much. It’s the most popular for weddings, but it's a wee bit boring, if I’m being completely honest. And he’d prefer the Elven berry compote filling with it.”

Trevor looks pale, like he’s going to be sick. He doesn’t protest, though- you already know you’re right.

“Oh! Wow, you’re really amazing!” She says, impressed. “How did you know all that?”

“Dev…” Trevor cringes, but doesn’t say anything more.

“Oh you know." You brush it off with a bitter smile. "Years of experience."

"Hmm…"

"Not to overstep too much," You can feel the champagne starting to influence your commentary just a tad. "If his parents are going to contribute financially to the wedding, they'll probably appreciate something classic, like that combination. They're sort of traditional. Might help you get on their good side."

Devin looks at Trevor, who nods weakly.

As you expected, they end up going with what Trevor (and ultimately his parents) would enjoy, over the less common combo Devin preferred. You can't help but feel a little bad, seeing a lot of your past self in Devin while watching that compromise take place.

You take down the details of the order on your datapad, desperately holding onto your sanity because you're trusting relief is coming soon.

"You'll still come to the wedding, won't you?" Devin asks you, puppy dog eyes already engaged. "I've got the save the date right here-"

She retrieves her bag and digs through it for a little box filled with twee, flowery wedding announcements printed on nicely textured card stock. She hands you one.

"Sure. I'll be there." You say, reflexively placating without giving it much thought.

Ugh, why did you agree to that…? Surely you could've thought up some excuse.

Trevor seems to be having much the same thought as you, brows almost imperceptibly twitching through his sheepish expression.

"Oh, good!" She claps.

A small bit of gleeful small talk and Devin’s profuse gratitude later, they finally leave.

Somehow, you managed to get through the entire tasting without making a scene, no matter how badly you wanted to.

You plop down in the stool behind the counter, not even bothering to lock the front up or turn the sign off.

As soon as you’re sure they’re gone and absolutely won’t be coming back for any reason, you let yourself become undone- bursting into raw, pained sobbing in the silence of the empty shop.

It’s like a knife in your chest, seeing him with something else and doing well, when you’re an absolute wreck, still struggling to pull together the broken pieces of your life.

As much as you’re hurting and never want to see him again, on the other hand, a small, weak, part of yourself still wishes that he would change his mind, come to his senses, show up and ask you to come back. Or that you would wake up one morning and all of this would’ve been a particularly long and excruciating dream…

You know you would take him back in a heartbeat. And it disgusts you.

It’s hopeless. It’s pathetic.

But…

It’s not fair.

That was supposed to be your wedding.

Once you’ve had a good cry and drained most of the remaining bottle of champagne by yourself, you’re staring down at your shop counter, zoning out.

Your eyes drift from the wedding announcement, instead choosing to fall on the vased bouquet of flowers still sitting nearby. They’re doing well still, not wilting yet at all. You've been taking good care of them.

You're hit with the sudden, shattering recall of the fact you have a date in less than half an hour.

Carlyle!

You jump up from your seat, then are forced to sit back down at once as your world spins nauseatingly.

… There’s no way you can let him see you like this.

You pull out your device, and desperately hammer out an admittedly sloppy message.

< Canb we rain check? Had a v bad dday today

You decide that will suffice and take another long glug from your champagne flute- the last of the bottle.

Carlyle, bless him, is punctual as ever, and responds to your message with concern before you’ve even put the glass back down on the counter. You would’ve noticed this if you weren’t completely lost in your own spiraling thoughts.

When you finally wipe your bleary eyes on the inner elbow of your button up to get a more clear picture of your device’s screen, you see a bundle of messages waiting. He must really be worried, because it's not in his nature to send multiple messages without waiting for a response first.

> Already on the train to the restaurant

> Are you okay?

> I'll change lines

> Be there in a few

“Dammit,” You swear, hanging your head in your spread palm, staring down the screen.

Great. Perfect.

You tried to spare him the sight of you, and managed to summon him here instead.

Not only did you have to see stupid Trevor today and agree to make his stupid wedding cake for his stupid wedding with someone new, but now the amazing man that has somehow managed to show interest in you is going to see what an absolute trainwreck you actually are.

You didn't even bake him anything!

…You really are cursed.

And maybe you're to blame…

You’re stuck in that same loop of catastrophic thinking until the bell chimes, taunting, above the front door that you couldn’t be bothered to lock earlier.

“Hey.”

It's hard to stay devastated when you see Carlyle walk through the door, wearing a subtle, well-concealed look of concern that you may not even have noticed if you were less familiar with him.

"Sorry." You say in exasperation, voice hoarse, trying not to burst into tears again. "I'm fuckin' tossed."

He takes that as his cue to approach the counter.

"Hah- It’s fine." He glances around at the half-closed state of the shop with raised eyebrows, then back to you. "Bad day, huh?"

"Awful. Terrible. Dogshite."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No!" You whine, and then immediately launch into talking about it. You explain the awful day you’ve had even before the event, and he listens attentively.

"And it was fuckin' Trevor of all people, because of course it was-" You seethe. "One of my clients is marrying my bloody ex! Of all the people in this city!"

Carlyle nods to confirm he's listening, so you take that as the go ahead to just spill everything.

"You should have seeeeen them- He hasn't changed at all. He still leaves his stupid guitar picks everywhere! And he sucks at guitar. He was always better at drums. And she just coddled him n’ doted on him n’ babied him the whole time. Just like I always did- He didn't deserve it then, he sure doesn't deserve it now!"

"I knew he was going to pick the vanilla sponge and the berry filling. I knew it! He is so predictable. You know she picked the marbled sponge and the pistachio cream? There is no way they're going to work out. I make a lot of wedding cakes, Carlyle! Those flavors don't work together!"

"And she calls him Pookie." You gag.

At some point during your rant, he removed his suit jacket, rolled up his sleeves and sat down on one of the metal stools across the counter from you. A glass of water has appeared within arms reach, and you didn’t even notice him going to find the sink.

"You should drink some of this." He taps a dull, stony claw against the trim of the glass. "You'll feel better."

"Ah, bless." You gratefully sip at the liquid, only now realizing how parched you were.

"Sounds like you've had quite the day indeed. At least it’s over?” Carlyle tries to reason.

“I agreed to make their wedding cake. AND go to the bloody wedding.”

“Spirits.” Carlyle laughs softly, cringing and rubbing his neck with his palm. "You could always say something came up."

"Yeah, but my… Client? Friend? Client-Friend? Devin- she’s lovely. Absolute sweetheart. She was so excited to invite me and… I just don't want to hurt her feelings."

“Oh. That is pretty rough.”

“Right? It’s downright tragic, is what it is!" You find yourself quickly becoming all giggles and giddy bubbles."That's why I'm such a mess- well no, I won’t lie, I'm a mess anyway- but tonight I am a HUGE one. We were supposed to be on a date right now, but instead you're here listening to me blubber and winge on about my ex."

"Believe it or not, I've actually been enjoying listening to you. Moreseo than I already do." He smiles at you warmly, fingers flexing where they're laced together on the countertop.

"An' why's that?" You ask, putting on your best attempt at a flirty tone, given your state. You’re convinced you’ve nailed it.

"For one, your accent seems to be stronger when you're intoxicated. It may not be the most appropriate time to mention it, maybe… but it's too cute to not point it out."

You laugh giddily, suddenly filled with a surge of confidence.

"Cute, eh?"

"Very." He affirms, obviously genuine through his amusement.

Your face flushes, and you beam with glee.

"...You wouldn't like me better with a twee septum piercing?"

"That's awfully specific…" Carlyle taps his fingers on the countertop in thought, a soft clicking of stoneskin on marble. "I suppose if you wanted one, it's your choice and I can't really complain… It isn't something I would personally find aesthetically pleasing. …Though I could get used to it…"

You crack into laughter, giggling until you're wheezing and dabbing at the tears in your eyes.

"Oh… that's such good news, hahah…"

"Right. …Maybe it's for the best that we get you upstairs?" Carlyle rises, then comes around to your side of the counter, where he idles beside you.

"Oh? You want to leave so soon?" Your hands find his tie, gently but clumsily fiddling with it between your fingers. "But I'm really enjoying your company."

"You can enjoy my company whenever you like." Carlyle smirks. He does not stop you from playing with his tie. "But for now, you could probably use the rest. Allow me to help you upstairs."

You pout, giving the striped pink fabric a few gentle tugs, but he has a point. You are so exhausted and drained from the day already and now with the intoxication on top of it- you're barely holding yourself upright.

"I don't think I need much h-" Shifting your weight to get down off the stool, you fail to find your balance and stumble. The stool clatters and wobbles behind you, and your hands fly out, grabbing at his shoulders.

But a set of firm hands is there on your sides to keep you from collapsing into a puddle on the floor.

"Careful."

You laugh breathlessly, and let your full weight rest against his form in relief. You let your hands twine at the base of his neck and sigh, relaxing against him.

"Okay. So. Maybe I do need a tick of help."

"Just a bit. But everybody needs a bit, sometimes."

You scoff appreciatively.

"You are so nice to me and so handsome and you make me smile so much." You start gushing words with your face pressed to his solid stone chest, lacking any filter or shame at this point. You're so happy your heart could burst- in stark contrast to the absolute emotional pit you were just languishing in earlier. "Kirby said that's a low bar, but nobody makes me smile like you do. I like it- it feels good to really smile again."

"Hahah, you're flattering me here. …But I'm pleased you feel that way." Carlyle says, seemingly not in a hurry to escape your hug. You can hear the hollow rumble of his laughter in his chest through the thin cloth of the button-up, with your ear flush against him like this. "I would be remiss to not admit I feel similarly.”

You’re too happy for words. For a brief moment, nothing else matters.

“...You probably don't want to sleep in this."

You feel his hands migrate back around your waist, delicately picking the knot of your apron loose with his claw tips.

Despite your strong desire to cling onto him indefinitely, he eventually helps you put your weight on your own feet again. Then, after you've worked together to remove your soiled apron, you wobble towards the stairs, guardian gargoyle in tow.

"Those stairs are a hazard for someone in your condition. So I'll be right behind you. If that’s okay?"

"Yes." You mutter in agreement.

You feel a heavy, reassuring hand place itself on the center of your back, keeping you steady as you climb the narrow stairs up to your loft.

Somehow, you manage to crest the stairs without incident.

"Nice little place.Very stylish, but not too visually loud." Carlyle says as he looks around the space, hand still lingering on your back as you stumble towards your bedroom. "It suits you."

"Oh, you're just so sweet…"

You cross the threshold into your room, the full weight of the day starting to bear down on you. You plop down on the edge of your bed, completely spent, and kick your shoes off.

"Ugh, I can't sleep in these, they're covered in flour." You gripe and gesture to your work clothes, not wanting to get up as soon as you’ve sat down. "I'll get my bed sheets fully dusted… But I don't think I have it in me to stand."

"Not to be too forward, but I can assist. If you feel comfortable with it."

"You're keen on stripping poor defenseless me down?" You tease.

"I meant I could retrieve some sleepwear for you." His dark eyes clearly fix on where your hands are working off your shirt buttons, obvious to you even when the alcohol has dulled your awareness. "Nothing untoward."

"I would like that." You continue to unbutton, a smirk settling on your face. "Or I could go without completely…"

Carlyle's lip twitches into a wicked smile too, but he quickly turns around and disappears past the hanging pink curtain, into your small walk-in closet.

"So. …In here, then?"

"First drawer on the left." You call.

He returns by the time you've partially removed your shirt. It's proving more difficult than expected, and you've somehow got yourself tangled in the process of pulling it off. Clearly a failing in the design of the shirt, and not a reflection of your ability.

Carlyle sets the folded set of pajamas next to you and stands for a moment, assessing the damage caused by leaving you alone for a moment.

"Hahah, here." He pulls it the rest of the way off. You can't help but appreciate the sight of his exposed forearms flexing to maneuver the twisted fabric free from your body. It makes your heart start to race.

"I thought it might end up like this- I was hoping," You look up at him with slightly glazed eyes and say, with what you are absolutely sure is a very sultry, alluring tone. "Tonight was supposed to be a date, after all."

"Hmm."

Your hands reach out, brushing against the edge of his leather belt.

"Don't you want me?" The words tumble out before you can stop them.

"...I do." Carlyle smiles warmly at you, letting out a breath he was seemingly holding. "But not like this."

"Probably for the best." You laugh in agreement, not even offended- you're far too pleased to have that confirmation to be upset. "Thought it was worth a shot."

Carlyle proceeds to help you change the rest of your clothes, mostly acting as a glorified handrail, as he stands firmly in place with his eyes averted.

Eventually you're fully reclothed, and let yourself fall back against the mattress.

"On your side, please-" Carlyle instructs, holding your bedding up while waiting for you to settle.

"Look at you, in here tuckin' me in and everything. You're such a stand up fella."

Carlyle doesn't say anything, just laughing and shaking his head, slender dreadlocks swaying as he pulls the quilted comforter up over you.

"...You're not mad, are you? I'm sorry, I went and mucked things up tonight."

"No, I'm not. It’s no trouble." He leans over with one knee resting on the mattress, constructing a wall of the available pillows on your bed against your back. "Things are still fully unmuckable. We can always reschedule."

You're so giddy, you can't stop yourself, and your hands reach up to affectionately touch either side of Carlyle's face where he hovers over you.

His cheeks are hard underneath your fingertips, like a marble baking table surface before it’s been dusted with flour. But instead of being cold stone like you expected, they're pleasantly warm and soft to the touch. The porous, sculpted surface of them feels good on your skin.

"You… You marvelous man. You still wanna take me out?" You whisper hoarsely. You'd jolt up and kiss him right here if you had any energy left. "After all this?"

"Yes." He finishes securing the pillows to his satisfaction, patient enough to allow you to continue drunkenly cradling his face.

You chuckle, and manage to raise yourself up, just enough to press your pursed lips square in the middle of his stony forehead in a quick, affectionate peck. Then, you release your hold on him and settle back down, snuggling into the bedding.

"Goodnight, Carlyle." You say, already starting to fade off to the sound of him quietly humming in amusement and shifting his weight off the bed.

"Goodnight."

>> ✨ MASTERLIST >> ☕ KO-FI

#exophilia #monster lover #monster romance #monster x human #monster x reader #gargoyle x reader #gargoyle #male x male #mxm #mlm #male reader #series: something borrowed #oc: carlyle #oc: declan #nine of words

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