The Fact That Eddie Died Before He Could Watch The Princess Bride Come Out In Theaters Hurts Me So Bad!!

gotta reblog this because

1- its fuckin amazing

2- i need to draw this its not a want its a need

Bandanna anon back again, different thought this time. Ok so Eddie lives (obviously, why wouldn’t he?) but he has to go to the hospital where they shave his head in order to give him stitches and just Eddie with a buzz cut 😌 convincing Eddie you still love him without his hair 😊 Eddie growing it out and having these little ringlets that you fight him to not tease out 😍 Eddie’s hair growing back as a reminder of him healing 🥰

bandana anon i love youuuu *mluah* 😛

as a traumatized and healing bitch i love this. i 👏🏻 love 👏🏻 this 👏🏻

eddie x hopper!reader bc parallels 🥺

Your father is up before anyone else in the house, as always. You roll out of bed to find him at the kitchen table, reading the day's newspaper and nursing his second cup of coffee. Instead of saying good morning, he just grunts at you.

"How's he doing?" he asks as you help yourself to what's left in the pot.

It's an odd question, coming from him.

Jim Hopper had always hated the "him" he was referring to - the scruffy miscreant who he'd busted multiple times for vandalism, petty theft, public intoxication, possession...

He hated him even more when he found out his eldest child had fallen hard for him.

Even more when the way he found out was walking into your room one evening after he'd snuck in, finding the boy in a precarious position between your legs.

But since the earthquake, he'd softened. He saw the way Eddie looked at you, the way he risked his life to protect you, and suddenly a criminal history didn't matter as much.

He was troubled, sure. But he was good to you. He made you happy. And that was enough for Jim.

"He's okay," you reply. "Nightmares again last night. Couldn't sleep."

Your dad hums, sympathetic.

"Those'll stick around for a while."

As if on cue, the man in question emerges from your bedroom, looking as ragged and sleep deprived as he feels. He wears a gray beanie over his newly shaven head, hiding the ugly gash that lies beneath. He doesn't meet your eye, popping a cigarette into his mouth and slipping onto the back porch. You sigh.

"Still upset over his hair, huh?" Jim comments.

"Yeah," you confirm. "It, um... It reminds him of his dad, I think. How he used to make him shave it."

Your father is also familiar with the elder Munson, the crime that got him thrown into prison with a life sentence. More so with the abuse he used to inflict upon his son, since he was the one who answered many of those calls.

"Munson was a scumbag," Jim grumbles. "Hard to believe a kid as good as Eddie came from him."

You smile at the compliment, which your dad shares over the edge of his paper, pursing his lips together to try and hide it. Coffee in hand, you open the back door and join Eddie, sinking down beside him on the porch steps.

"Mornin', angel," he greets you.

You lay your head on his shoulder, and he wraps his arm around you, keeping you warm against the spring chill. In the distance, what remains of downtown Hawkins smolders, sending ribbons of black smoke into the clear blue sky.

"How's your head doing today?" you ask.

He doesn't answer, opting instead to take a long drag of his cigarette.

"... You've gotta show me at some point."

Eddie huffs, flicking ash into the tray your father keeps on the back porch.

"You don't wanna see it," he mumbles. " 's pretty bad."

"So are the ones on your neck," you remind him. "But you let me kiss those."

He side eyes you, and you can tell he's trying to argue the sense you somehow manage to talk into him. You were the one who dragged him back through the portal when he tried to be a hero, after all.

"... You're not gonna like it," he finally admits. "I'm not... I'm not me anymore."

"You still eat Froot Loops for dinner," you contest. "That's pretty you."

He tries to fight the laugh that bubbles in his chest, the resulting smile warming your heart with just how genuine it is. You haven't seen him smile like that in far too long.

"I'm just worried you're not... You're like, serially into guys with long hair," he continues. "My hair was what got you to notice me in the first place. What if... What if you're not... What if I'm not attractive to you anymore?"

You sit up, taking his face in your hands; almost a little too aggressively, because he flinches the slightest bit in surprise.

"Eddie," you say. "Do you know what the sexiest thing about you is?"

He stares at you blankly.

"That stupid demon voice you do when you're playing a villain in a campaign," you tell him. "The over the top, snarly, borderline feral voice that comes out of you when you get really into it. It's ridiculous. And I'd be lying to you if I told you I didn't cum so hard the couple times it's come out during sex."

Eddie's eyes pop, mortified.

"I've used it during sex?"

You laugh, nodding as you lean forward to peck his lips.

"Yes. But my point is that you're goofy, and dramatic, and clever, and sweet, and so shamelessly you that this-" you pat the beanie covering his head "- doesn't matter to me. What matters is that you're safe. That you're still with me."

Eddie raises a hand to your cheek, gently running his thumb over the high point of the bone. He gazes lovingly, dreamily down at you, a bemused smile curling his lips.

"I don't deserve you," he murmurs.

"You deserve me more than anyone."

---

"Stop."

You lift the comb out of Eddie's hand, kissing him on the cheek as you do.

"They're cute. Leave them."

He tsks, snatching the comb back up when you set it on the bathroom counter, resuming the process of teasing out the ringlets his hair has started to grow into.

"It looks better longer," he growls, frustrated. "I hate my fuckin' hair."

"Can I have help?"

El appears in the doorway, holding her own set of styling tools. Her hair has also grown out quite a bit, now at the awkward length where it has to be styled every day or else look totally unpresentable. You gesture her inside, perching on the closed lid of the toilet as she sits on the floor in front of you, letting you work your older sibling magic. In a matter of minutes, her locks have been tamed; she bounds up to the mirror beside Eddie to inspect your work.

"It's coming back," she notices, looking up at him. "Your scar is almost gone."

He hums, running a contemplative finger over the raised, darkened bit of flesh peeking from his hairline. The scar runs all the way around his skull, down the back of his neck, but it's disappeared under the nest of dark brown curls that have grown in since his stint in the hospital.

He grins at her in the mirror, pointing to her wrist.

"So's yours," he notes, indicating her tattoo. "Ink's fading."

El smiles back, positively beaming. Her hand lifts to trace the bats etched above his elbow, a habit she's picked up in the months since Eddie moved in. She loves him like a brother. It makes your heart want to explode.

"I like your hair like this," she admits. "You look better than before. You're healing."

Eddie pauses, his face crumpling like he's about to start sobbing. You hide your smile behind your hand as he takes a deep breath, regaining his composure, then takes one of El's own curls between two fingers, pulling and releasing so it bounces like a spring. She giggles at him, playfully smacking his hand away.

"You're lookin' better too, short stack," he says. "Guess we're both gonna be okay."

when are you going to write the Sapsorrow fic 💀💀💀💀

Oh, you mean this one?

I'll just need to watch this to refresh my memory.

The Storyteller - Sapsorrow

"Whom so ever fits the ring becomes wed to the warlord who owns it"

Themes: enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, forced proximity, lord and subordinate, one bed trope, apprehension, mutual pining, obligation, slow burn, eventual love, protective, "where is my wife" trope.

I would love to give this a go. I gotta think of a playlist to hyperfixate on it.

(And Sis, I know it's you 💀).

Chapter Links:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

How (Not) to Summon a Demon: Chapter 7

SURPRISE!!!!!! It's another chapter! What? So soon! You betcha! The last chapter had me in a chokehold and I just couldn't. Stop. Writing. So here's chapter seven, lengthy af. Like... it's longer than all the others. I'm so sorry, but it's necessary, I promise! Pairing: Alastor x fem!Reader Warnings: mentions of blood, death, violence, Alastor being Alastor Word Count: 3,477 … what have I done XD (Link to the Ao3 posting just in case you wanna read it there and not here!)

“Maybe it’s about a subscription,” Veronica says as you pace back and forth in your room. “You know, letting you know a free trial is up?” You shake your head. You knew what the text was as soon as you saw it. It had woken you up from such a wonderful dream, your mind reeling when those seven letters glared at you. You had laid there, waiting for hours, until you heard Veronica leave her room in the morning before dragging her into yours.

“It’s him, I know it,” you seethe, trying to stay calm. You’re unsure how he even got your number, but if he had that much, then he knew everything. Where you lived, where you worked, who you were in contact with. Veronica. You glance towards her, guilt rising in your chest. She was only aware of the basics of your past fuck up, barely scratching the surface of the shit pile that laid beneath. He could hurt her, no. He would hurt her. Just to get to you.

“Ok, so your crazy ex has your number, no big deal! Just block him.” Veronica grabs your phone, tapping the number of the message. It disappears. “See? Gone.”

“It’s not that simple,” you say, sitting on your bed, placing your head in your hands. “He’s a creep, a level ten stalker. He’ll stop at nothing to find me. Again.” You flinch as you remember everything. He had been such a smooth talker, charming his way into your heart with empty promises. It was a high school love, a dream come true. The unpopular girl getting the prom king type story. After graduation, when the two of you moved north,  that dream turned sour. His true colors slowly showed themselves as he took his anger out on you, the marks on your lower back and upper thighs evidence to that. You managed to run away, to leave him but not for long. Within a few months, he had found you and the treatment was worse. You thought you were going to die, at the hands of that merciless pig.

How you managed to escape the second time, you were unsure. Call it the will of the Divine, but you did escape. You had returned home, scared and always looking over your shoulder. It took Veronica nearly a year just to get you to go anywhere. She thought it was just cause your ex was an asshole. She didn’t know how his hands had been wrapped around your throat, how he sneered at your face turning blue, or how he laughed when you coughed in attempt to regain your breath. He was a monster and now he had found you.

“Girlie, ain’t nothing going to happen,” Veronica says, bringing you back to the present. You don’t mean to flinch when she reaches for you and she pulls away. You apologize but she shakes her head. “Not in this house. There ain’t nothing to say sorry for, ok? You got me here, and even Alastor! He sure as hell will protect ya!”

“Yeah, ok.”

“Oh come on, don’t tell me you don’t see how he looks at you?” You gawk at her, eyes wide. “Figured you didn’t. You’re blind as a bat, you know that?”

“What are you talking about?” you ask in disbelief.

“Girlie, that man has looked at you with hearts in his eyes since he showed up. He is hooked.”

You bark out a laugh, bewildered by her statement. “Veronica, I’ve only known him for, what, two days? Three? We barely know each other!”

“Time has nothing to do with love, honey. It can show up and bite you on the butt whenever it wants to.”

“No,” you deny, shaking your head. “It’s impossible.” Not to mention, he’s a demon. You’re pretty sure love is an emotion demons can’t feel, whether they were human before or not. Right? You stand and walk to the foot of your bed, crossing your arms.

“Any why is it impossible, hm?” Veronica follows, stepping in front of you with her hands on her hips. “For the past five years, I’ve been trying to get you set up with someone. I’ve been patient cause I figure it’s hard getting over shitty exes, but girlie, I’m tired of seeing you feel bad for yourself.” You look away from her gaze, guilt rising in your throat. “It’s about time you let someone love you.”

“I can’t.” Your arms drop to your side. “I’m not…”

“What? Worthy?” Veronica looks at you angrily. “You’re worth far more than you think. I see it.” She tilts your chin up, forcing you to look at her. “And he does, too. Give him a chance.”

“Veronica,” you sigh. “He doesn’t like me.” He can’t, you think. He’s only here because you summoned him.

“Alright, that’s it!” You startle when Veronica claps her hands. She walks to your closet and starts yanking out clothes, throwing them right and left.

“What are you doing?”

“Picking an outfit for you,” she answers, spending a second to look at a pink shirt before tossing it, too.

“Why?”

“We’re going out, that’s why!” She stops finally on one of your nicer, pastel blue shirts. It’s cropped with a white daisy printed on the back. She pairs it with some blue jeans shorts and shoves them into your arms. “Put this on. I’m going to go tell Alastor.”

“Wait, what if he’s asleep?” you ask, trying to stop her without dropping your clothes.

“It’s nearly noon, girlie, I’m sure he’s awake. Now hurry up!” She’s out the door before you can protest, leaving you to stand alone the middle of your room. You sigh and drop the clothes onto your bed, knowing there wasn’t any way you were getting out of this.

 —

Alastor quirks a brow when it’s the black haired woman at his door and not you, taking a second to applaud himself for answering with his human disguise. “May I help you?” he asks, making sure not to sound annoyed.

“Wear something comfortable, we’re going out.”

“Beg your pardon?” Alastor’s grip on his door tightens. Veronica looks at him with a smile.

“Not like that, ya goof,” she explains. “Me, you, and girlie are going out for today. She needs it.” Veronica leaves him after, heading to her own room to no doubt get dressed. Alastor glances towards your bedroom, relaxing slightly. An outing did sound nice. He only got to see New Orleans at night when you had taken him to that strange sandwich place with the green interior. The fact that you thought the food there was worthy of multiple visits astounds him. You obviously didn’t know what good food was and he had been tempted since to show you. Perhaps, after the outing, he’d offer to cook tonight’s supper. Yes, that’s what he’ll do.

With a snap of his fingers, Alastor fixed his clothing. It was an outfit he adored when he was alive; a white button up, dark brown pants with suspenders attached, and black dress shoes.  Satisfied, he walks out to the living room, finding it empty. Not wanting to wrinkle his clothes, he stayed standing by the coffee table, idling himself with nails.

Your door opened first as you step out and Alastor can’t tear his eyes off you. It’s a simple outfit, nothing extraordinary about it, but on you, Alastor is captivated. The blue of your shirt makes your skin glow like the sunrise, beckoning him to come bask in its warmth. He has to still himself to keep from moving toward you as you sit on the couch.

“Sorry about this,” you say, your voice meek and shy. Your cheeks are red and you keep looking at his body. Alastor feels his smile widen, eyes lidded. How deliciously adorable.

Before he can respond to you, Veronica comes out of her room, very loudly to Alastor’s distaste. She’s wearing a more revealing outfit than you, her breasts pushed together and up. Men will no doubt be staring once she’s outside, but Alastor’s attention is already back on you, barely giving her a thought.

“Damn, Al, you don’t dress to disappoint, do ya?” Veronica comments, the nickname sounding revolting from her lips.

“Yes, well, one should always strive to look their best, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Fair,” she shrugs. Alastor’s lip twitches. “Let’s get going. I’m ready to have some fun.”

“Where are we even going?” you ask, standing up. Alastor once again has to still himself, the urge to stand next to you pulling at his core.

Veronica garbs her wallet and tosses you your keys. You’re caught off guard and attempt to catch them, but they slip past your fingers. Alastor reaches out swiftly and grabs them. “Here you go,” he says, watching you take them, the blush from before returning. He chuckles and watches it deepen as you dip away from him, following after Veronica. He straightens up and trails after you, holding the front door open for you to pass through. Veronica is already waiting outside in the hall.

“I figured we could go to Bourbon Street. I haven’t been in a while and it’s got lots of things for us to do there.” Alastor’s eyes widen. He remembers Bourbon Street, the nightlife of New Orleans back in his day, littered with speakeasies and jazz clubs. It wasn’t exactly what he imagined when invited to ‘hang out’. Waiting for Veronica to get a few steps ahead, he lowers himself to reach your ear.

“Is this the same Bourbon Street in the French Quarter?” he whispers, nearly laughing when you jump at his voice. Your face has been a constant red this entire time and he finds the color becoming his favorite all over again.

“Yeah, you know it?” she asks, her voice low to keep Veronica from hearing. He glances at the black haired girl before answering.

“Darling, I was the highlight of it,” he teases. “Though I doubt it’s still the same scandalous street I once knew it to be.”

“What do you mean by scandalous?” she asks but Alastor straightens back up just as he sees Veronica turn toward them. She’s standing by your car now, waiting. Alastor is quick to walk around to the driver’s side and hold open the door as you step in. You thank him, hiding from his gaze as he shuts the door. Veronica waits by hers for him to do the same, but Alastor simply hops into the back. He chuckles low when Veronica huffs with a frown and gets in, fascinating her seatbelt.

The drive to the French Quarter isn’t long and Alastor feels nostalgic watching the newer parts of New Orleans bleed into the city he once called home. It both shocked him and made him proud to see some parts of her never changing despite how big she’d gotten. Since his death, it seemed New Orleans doubled in size, gaining attraction for its historical beauty. It kind of irked him knowing his era was only a fad, a quick interest to younger folks nowadays. They knew more of it than he did, getting to see the evolution through time.

Ignoring the annoyance, he chose to look at you as you drove. Your attention was hard focused on the road, your eyes checking the mirrors and streets every so often. When you caught him looking in the rear view mirror, your eyes would widen slightly and blush. Alastor was becoming addicted to that look on you. He wanted to see more. Too bad it wasn’t just the two of you right now, he thought to himself. He looks away from you. Too bad? Was he disappointed he wasn’t alone with you? Veronica had said this was for your sake, a chance to get you out of the house. He understand that, knowing how important it was to change scenery when things were becoming stale, but why did he want to be alone with you?

This was becoming absurd. Ever since you summoned him up him, things have been different and new. You were suppose to have made your wish by now. Most humans he’d heard of usually did. The demons he heard talk about being summoned would boast about how easy it had been to get the human to wish, especially when told they could be granted anything. Humans were easily entertained and were greedy, wanting nothing but money, fame, or sex. Yet you were different. You wanted nothing, it seemed, even going as far as to asking if you could use your wish for another. Such a selfless act, it had Alastor baffled. He assumed it was then that you caught his attention, wiggling your way into his thoughts. Yes, all you were to him was a fascination, a curious mortal he wanted to know more about. That’s all. 

“Woo, we’re here!” Veronica shouts, breaking his train of thought. Alastor looks up to see her climbing out the car, you as well and so he follows. Looking around, he’s once again surprised at just how much hasn’t changed. His smile grows.

“What do you think?” you ask him.

“It’s like I’ve never left,” Alastor answers, smiling down at you. You don’t seem to notice but your small hands grab his arm, interlocking as you wait by his side. His chest swells and he feels heat itching his nose. “Shall we, my dear?” You giggle, a heavenly sound to his ears, and nod your head. He begins to walk, following Veronica who is already heading down the street into a bustling crowd. It’s definitely more crowded than he remembers.

“I bet these shops weren’t here,” you say. Alastor agrees, looking at all the colorful signs lining the buildings you pass.

“The buildings were, but - oh!” Alastor points to a small shop with an antique sign. “That one is still the same.” You look to where he’s pointing and laugh.

“A dentist? Really?”

“Well, the dentist himself may be long since parted, but the shop itself was around, yes,” he tells you.

“This is so weird,” you comment and Alastor tilts his head.

“How so?”

“I mean, I’ve lived here my whole life practically. I’ve seen these streets hundreds of times, but, walking with you, it’s like seeing them again for the first time.” Your eyes light up as you talk, leaning into him slightly. “You have access to a history I would’ve never been able to know had I not met you. It’s nice, being with you.” Alastor feels something in his stomach stir, something moving around. It’s a strange feeling and he doesn’t like it. Perhaps he’s just hungry.

“I’m glad you think so,” he says. He looks around for your roommate, the other woman long since disappeared. He wants to find something to eat, but doesn’t want to be rude. Then again, if she was doing her own thing, that meant it was just you and him. How nice that sounded, you and him. “Are you hungry, my dear?” You look relieved that he asked.

“Starving. I haven’t ate breakfast yet,” you admit. Alastor hums, searching for a decent spot to pick. There are plenty of restaurants to choose from, some small while others seem to take up a whole block. Some have awfully bright colors and he decides to stay away, not wanting to eat at a place with a giant, yellow M fixated above its doors.

“How about that one?” you ask. You’re pointing at a bistro tucked away in the middle of two larger businesses. There’s barely a soul inside. It’s perfect.

Alastor happily leads you to it, opening the door for you like the gentleman he was raised to be. He finds it unpleasant that you’ve had to deal with men incapable of even this much, wondering just how many have attempted to court you and failed. It would be such a pleasant sight to watch them perish at his hand, watching as they realize with fearful eyes that they never stood a chance with you. He bites his inner cheek to keep his smile from growing sinister, feeling bloodlust crawling through.

“Welcome to The Little Easy! Table for two?" a middle aged woman asks, approaching the two of you with menus. You nod and together, the waitress leads you to an open table. Alastor pulls out your chair, waiting for you to sit before he does. The woman chuckles. "I haven't seen manners like that since my husband was alive!"

"Your husband sounds like a gentleman, then," Alastor comments.

"Oh, he was. A dying breed today, I'm afraid." Again, that statement angers Alastor. Has the world of men truly fell so far after his passing? "What can I get you folks started with?"

"Um," you look at the menu provided, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth. He wants to bite it. Wait, what? Alastor quickly looks down, jaw aching. He wants to bite, to maim, to eat. His mouth waters. Hopefully there is something appetizing here, for his sake.

"Can I get the pulled pork po-boy, a side of fries, and a glass of water?" you ask and Alastor perks up. He checks the menu and sure enough, there's a list of famous pressed po-boys. Excitement fills him. He hasn't eaten a po-boy since he was alive, a delicacy that had just recently caught on before his death.

"Sure can, honey, and what about you?" the waitress asks.

"I'll have the roast beef debris, swiss cheese, thank you." She nods and takes the menus.

"And to drink?"

"Water, as well."

"Coming right up!" The waitress leaves and Alastor glances over to you. You're fiddling your thumbs on the table, obviously trying to avoid looking at him. He chuckles, making you look up now.

"What?" you ask.

"I was just surprised, is all," he answers. You tilt your head, nose scrunching up. It reminds him of a rabbit. "Po-boys were a classic in my time. I'm surprised they're still around." You smile, nodding.

"They're still a classic," you state, folding your arms on the table and leaning forward. He forces himself to stay locked on your face, ignoring the way the collar of your shirt dips down. "New Orleans is famous for it's shrimp, jambalaya, po-boys, and voodoo. At least, to tourists, it is."

"And what do you find it famous for?" Alastor asks.

"Well, as silly as it sounds, I kind of like it for the bayous," you admit, blushing slightly. Whether from him or embarrassment, he's unsure. "Most people look at them and think, ew, muddy waters and alligators. I look at them and think -"

"Beautiful."

You look back up at him and smile. "Yeah, beautiful. The moss covered cypresses, the way the sunlight dances on the waters, it's captivating. I love them." Alastor nods, knowing the feeling.

"The bayous were also an admiration of mine when I was alive," Alastor says, watching how you lean closer to listen, enthralled. "They weren't exactly a playground back then, people often warning not to go in unless you sought the workings of a voodoo witch. Yet I found them peaceful, using them to take quiet walks whenever the city became too much."

"I get that," you comment and he knows you're telling the truth. He can see it in your eyes, that you've dealt with some hardships in life. He wants to take those away, to never let you be burdened by anything ever again. That terrifies him.

"Here's your drinks," the waitress announces, setting down the red plastic cups in the middle of the table. "I'll be right back with your plates." She's gone again and your quick to grab your water, gulping some down to ease your nerves, he assumes. Alastor takes a sip from his.

"I should probably text Veronica," you say, taking out your phone. "I totally forgot about her for moment." As you mess with the annoying hand held thing, Alastor can't help but feel a bit proud. He had caused you to forget about her, your focus only on him. It made him strangely happy.

Happy.

No. What was he doing, acting like some school boy? He was a powerful Overlord, for Hell's sake. A wretched demon who tore apart any who defied him, devouring them and basking in their screams. He sent fear shivering down the spines of all who unluckily crossed his path. To you, he would - he… He sighs inwardly.

Who was he kidding? Whatever it was you were doing to him, no matter how much it angered him with the way his dead heart felt, he wasn't going to stop it. Alastor had already decided, soul or not, that you were his.

Now he just needed you to make the wish, so that you could never escape him, even in death.

taglist: @i-like-potatoes12533, @girl-nahh-two, @mcntsee, @projectdreamwalker, @sassmasterxx, @alsemain, @yunimimii, @noraunor, @justneo11, @dragonlover123a, @falsemain, @ephemeralxv, @theshello, @wonderlandangelsposts, @weirdflower2024, @yourworstgf

Phew! So long, again, so sorry, but hope you dear readers enjoyed! Comment below to get added to the taglist and, as always, see you all in the next chapter!

Entering this piece of TMA fan art into an art show

Here’s to hoping the judges appreciate some fun semi horror art

case study vanitas has taken over my mind and im loving every second of it XD

My body may be gone, but not my love

MASTERLIST

Seeing as how this probably won't be my first fanfic 👀, I noticed a lot of writers do this masterlist thing and be very organized. So that's what I'm doing! ... Even if it's just one fic so far XD

How (Not) To Summon a Demon

Hazbin Hotel (Alastor x fem!Reader) ; Fluff and Eventual Smut Ao3 - updated when Tumblr is. Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 - ❗️ new ❗️ *surprise!!!!* Chapter 8 - coming soon (3/6/24) Chapter 9 - coming soon (3/7/24) Chapter 10 - coming soon (3/8/24)

Also, to those commenting about being on the taglist, do not worry! You've been noted down and will be tagged when the next chapter is posted!

Take my idiocy and find the humor yeee

#i drink to forget but i always remember #digitalart #flipaclip #animation practice

Eat You Alive

❤︎ trafalgar law x fem reader ❤︎

༉‧₊˚✧ (nsfw, afab!reader, 18+ only) ༉‧₊˚✧

cw & summary: law eats you out ;)

word count: ~700

note: yes, you can also find this fic here: eating you out headcanons but i wanted to post them individually 'cause they're long enough & i had different titles for each of them!

Eat You Alive

The wall you’re pressed against is cold against your bare back, nearly making your teeth rattle in your skull. But the contrast is stark as your captain's tongue, hot and wet to the touch as it grazes down your skin, makes up tenfold for the frigidity of the submarine corridors. 

Law kneels before you with a reverence that sends a thrill coursing through your veins. His uncharacteristically vulnerable position at your feet is a sight that leaves you breathless, his grey irises locked onto your doe-eyed gaze with undeniable intensity. 

But it's not just the ferocity of his gaze that sets your heart racing; it's the way his lips and tongue trail down your bare skin with a deliberate tenderness that contrasts starkly with the coldness of the submarine walls. Each kiss is more delicious than the last, leaving you rolling your hips, unapologetically aching for more. 

You can feel the goosebumps rising in response to his ministrations, the contrast between the frigid air and the warmth of his touch sending shivers racing across your skin.

As Law's kisses descend lower, a primal need surges through you, causing your breath to hitch in anticipation.

"Law," you whimper, your voice filled with longing, abandoning all dignity.

The doctor's smirk is teasing, his white, toothy grin shining faintly in the dimly-lit corridor.

“Tell me what you want,” he rasps, “Use your words.”

“You, please-”

And then, he does something new, lifting your leg up by your thigh to rest on his shoulder, leaving you standing on one shaky leg. The sudden movement leaves you gasping for breath, your body arching towards him instinctively as he opens you up completely to his touch.

The vulnerability of the position only serves to heighten the intensity of the moment, your senses ablaze with both vulnerability and desire. You suck in your breath sharply, biting your lip in a futile attempt to stifle the moan that threatens to escape your lips as Law begins to kiss closer to your aching cunt.

Your breaths turn ragged as he finally nuzzles his head between your legs, locking eyes with you as his tongue meets your slick folds with a meticulous stripe. You lean your head back against the wall as you mewl out moans of pleasure, a shiver travelling up and down your spine as your limbs become tingly with need. You can already feel your leg beginning to shake as it dangles over his tattooed shoulder, making a deep blush rush to your cheeks.

Law is undeterred, however, your squirms only aiding his urge to please you. 

You manage a weak whine, your hands tangling in his unruly black hair as you urge him on. His tongue is hot and expertly skilled, and you simply can’t deny yourself the pleasure of grinding against it as he kneels before you. 

“Yeah?” he groans against your slit before flicking his tongue back and forth, “This how you like it?” 

"Mm-mhmm," you manage to whimper, confirming his question. 

His mouth meets your clit with a few gentle sucks as he raises your leg higher, granting himself with more access to your needy entrance.

His tongue is relentless, exploring every inch of your sensitive flesh with expertise. He idly shakes his head back and forth, his tongue dancing along your folds in a phenomenal rhythm. 

With each stroke, each caress, he pushes you closer and closer to the edge, goosebumps erupting all over your skin until you're teetering on the brink of your orgasm, ready to fall into the abyss of pleasure at his command.

Your moans grow louder and more desperate with each passing moment, filling the dimly-lit corridor with the symphony of your pleasure.

Doubling his efforts, Law’s eyes meet yours with a dark, hungry gaze that sucks the air from your lungs, 

"Let go for me,” he groans into you, “Let me take you there."

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