hi, I’m Trix (20+ yrs old|black), and this is my writing blog where I post imagines and the such.
about: character imagines/x readers/headcanons (here’s my masterlist; I’d recommend searching through it over my selected tags bcs tumblr’s tagging system is ass and won’t actually show every post tagged under a specific tag)
my ao3 (note that my works are set to only show my work to registered users)
my wattpad
connected (secondary) blog: apocalypse-boogie
author’s ✍🏾 note: I cannot write for every type of person. Please don’t act like I can or should be. I am one singular person who has a life and feelings, not a genie in a bottle and I don’t have to do any one thing. Thx
DNI: minors; on my posts/reblogs that are 18+ (because I want peace of mind).
racists; because ‘fuck you’ that’s why. race fetishists; see above quote in orange for why.
homophobes; because I’m not and never will be in the mood.
terfs, misogynists, & pedophiles
one more time, y’all
me: Trixie
21yrs of age
black; as in brown skinned
18+ only on posts labeled “18+”; minors dni with those (I’ll just block you)
ALSO FREE PALESTINE
I don’t care about how you might want to argue with me about this, I don’t support genocide and I just want to make my stance on that clear. (Unfollow me if you want, you won’t be missed.)
Once I gather all my links together I’ll be putting resources and information on Israel’s occupation of Palestine and ways to help right here.
USCPR’s toolkit for calls (what you do - in the US - to call for a ceasefire & the end of the US’s support of Israel)
Make sure to state your name and address (& at the very least your zip code when calling) so that your call/voicemail/email is recorded by your local representative.
Here’s global protest information to look into if you are able to physically attend a rally.
Boycott! Boycott! Boycott! Boycott! (We have spending power let’s put it to good use.)
Siemens, Puma, Garrefour, Ahava, Sodastream, HP, and AXA (a multinational insurance company based in France that provides its services throughout the West) all support Israel. x x
This post gives a lot of info.
Also, protest tips to keep yourself safe out there because the right to free speech in America is a joke. If you can, look into faraday bags (or alternatively tinfoil) to combat the police tracking your cell (but, really, just try not to bring your phone at all). Look into temporary burner phones (that you can discard), and in order to better combat facial recognition wear goggles as well as a mask.
[via: comicsareforkids]
THERE IS NO BLACK LIBERATION WITHOUT PALESTINIAN SOLIDARITY (and FYI Black Palestinian Lives Matter too)
Alright, so, for those who care I’m going on a partial hiatus for a couple of months, starting in April. Which essentially just means that the writing schedule I now go by (two, maybe three, fics a month) will not be in active affect until (most definitely) October.
So I’ll still be posting on here (and reblogging things as I see fit), but some months you’ll get more from me than others. I might post no fics one month and two another and one the next, it’ll just happen when I happen to have a fic ready.
This is just so that I can focus on other things that demand more of my attention rn, and I wanted to provide an explanation for my future absence for anyone who might want one.
the fact that the creator of the dcblackout was essentially bullied out of the boycott just because other people are getting books is disgusting. people said “i don’t care that black characters/writers aren’t getting books because there are gay people getting books” and we’re supposed to act like that’s not insanely racist
Fascinating to assume that the people who show up for DC's annual queer tokenization slopfest would participate in a boycott. There was never a reality where protesting for Black visibility was going to kill whatever queer rep they decide to throw out this year, because the queer community, especially the queer community that has money, does not care about Black people. So you mean to tell me we shut down a long telegraphed boycott out of fear of taking attention from people who have no interest in standing with us? That's where we're at? We're doing a corporation's PR for them and letting them get off the hook with not acknowledging the deficiency, and the logic is that it would be bad to step on the toes of pride???!
So my queerness is more worthy of protection than my Blackness, is that what we're saying? People talk about homophobia in the Black community, about how Black religious figures failed to make coalitions and hurt the civil rights movement, and there's value to that. But the other reality is that the wins the queer movement have gotten have disproportionately benefitted people that don't look like me.
If anything, this should be a part of the politics of the month! This IS on topic, we ARE the queer community, we always have been, and we have always been on the ground floor of every movement that pushed the needle.
But you wanted your fucking low quality corporate pandering more than anything else.
Fuck that, and you know that, fuck what pride has come to represent, and be used as a weapon against dissent.
There is a reason Israel knows that bringing up queer rights to camouflage their atrocities is worth putting money into. Because people hate spending time thinking outside themselves, especially when it comes to Black and Brown people.
DC fired a trans author because of right-wing pressure and spinelessness, but you think that the decisions they are making about queer rep are for us? You think that the organization who would do that so flippantly cares about queer lib any more than it cares about Black folk?
But this proves exactly why they do it. You will rush for any scraps they give, and then be complicit in being used as a shield for any other criticism.
Curled up under a blanket and comforter, the white noise of Toji’s snores streaming into your subconscious and motivating you to fall asleep faster.
At peace.
Unlike right now.
Not that you were irritated either, but fuck The Backyardigans playing at this point. Even the theme song couldn’t get a true rouse out of you— dubbed in Japanese or not. Wasn’t doing much but making your ears ring, really.
Frankly, you should still be in the throes of a dead sleep. But you know from experience that if you don’t get some food in you ASAP, you’ll be miserable for the rest of today and a good chunk of tomorrow too.
It wasn’t like the kid didn’t need to eat sometime before brunch passed you by either, and between you and Toji it was hardly a competition over who had a rougher night.
At least you weren’t nursing the possibility of a concussion.
If that was how concussions worked, at least.
Head pounding steadfast and buzzing to its own frequency, sure, but nothing so life threatening. Mainly because you weren’t security at a club fucked enough to be known for violent altercations— or Toji Fushiguro’s rowdy, trouble looking ass.
“Aw, damn,” you huff. Brain clicking back on enough for you to clock how you’re about to burn yourself on the still cooling pot of soup. Arms full of half a melon and what’s left of a couple other pre-portioned fruit, you freeze and pivot away with a glare at the simple broth.
There goes that lack of zanshin Toji was always poking at you about.
…or was that an inkling of it just now?
Did you care?
Oblivious child babble starts up just outside the kitchen and you wince at the noise increase.
And in the wake of that you suppose the answer is a tentative yes, but not right now.
Unfortunately, you needed to agonize first.
Pain medicine is apparently not enough to beat back your hangover from Hell this morning— maybe next time you’d try elephant tranquilizer and just sleep off the consequences of your night’s tomfoolery.
Sucking your teeth, you squint down at the knife in your hands with more concentration than probably necessary. The fruit you’re about to start slicing the rind from would not be your undoing.
Even for you cutting off the tips of any of your fingers would mean vetoing many a night of partying and bar hopping for however long it took for them stitches to come out.
Could you imagine? Dancing up on your homegirl then— BAM! Part of your finger’s on the floor, there’s blood in your cup and a stiletto skewering your detached digit?
Shivering, you don’t stop the disgust curling at your lip.
Didn’t matter how much your increased involvement in the life of your boyfriend’s son was steadily domesticating you, you were still a hot girl at heart. And you would not jeopardize that until you were good and ready to retire all the intensity.
No matter how quick the ‘aww’ comes to your tongue when Megumi swings his head around to look at you as the tv winds into an ad break. Jet black hair sticking out and spiky at the top of his head from a mixture of bed head musings and lingering static.
So early in his day his eyes are accented by a low-lidded, tired stare.
Looking over at you with a pout like you were the all seeing god who was dropping ads in the middle of his show just to spite him. Swinging a whole arm behind him to point at the cause of his woes.
Megumi skips and stutters and lisps over his call of your name, then— “Fix.”
“Please,” you correct.
Megumi frowns, points a little harder. “…P’ease.”
Letting out a snort, you flick your attention to the corner of the flat screen, before meeting that dour little stare.
“It’s just three minutes, Megs, you’ll live.”
Inevitably the boy doesn’t appreciate your dry, teasing tone. His eyes narrowing for real now.
“Uh uh.”
“Mm,” you hum, barely culling a snicker. “Well then you need to tell the tv that, not me. Maybe you’ll pressure it into going faster.”
That spiky head tilts.
“•••?”
“Eat your damn food,” a low, exasperated voice orders. All groggy as Toji creaks his way down the hallway in an oversized t-shirt, one you know is hiding a kaleidoscope of bruises and patched up switchblade slashes, and sweatpants.
The steady stream of the kid’s show you both don’t understand, and whose music was starting to ring like torture dispite it’s cuteness, acts as his entrance music for the morning.
You sigh, scraping the detached pieces of rind to the edge of the cutting board. Toji’s brashness wasn’t some secret facet of himself he kept hidden from you until you were too attached to get driven away by it, but it certainly wasn’t your favorite thing about the man either.
“Morning, Toji,” you murmur, and because someone has to instill manners into Megumi you get him in on it too. “Megumi, tell your father ‘good morning’.”
If you sound a smidge too mocking when you say it, he certainly can’t tell, and said father can’t do much else than narrow his eyes at you in retaliation.
After a steep moment of concentration, eyes scanning Toji from head to toe as if even he can sense the man’s recklessly gained knicks and bruises, Megumi lets out an almost dull echo of your command.
It makes you choke on your spit.
“Right back at you, brat,” Toji greets back, ruffling his hair as he makes his way to the kitchen. Somehow it pulls a giggle from the boy, his hair getting even more gravity defying as tiny palms swat at one comparatively giant hand.
Toji hides his chuckle in the turn of his head, a purpling bruise decorating his cheek and the beginnings of a black eye opposite it adding its own creative charm.
Just behind his back you can see Megumi doing what he was told. Even his show being briefly forgotten as it comes off of its ad break when he fists a ball of food.
Why a ball? Because balls were fun, you don’t fucking know. Really, you’re just mentally crossing your fingers that he’s old enough not to choke on anything.
Toji hits kitchen tile and immediately grabs for you. The kiss he places is quick, like he thinks you somehow won’t notice if he swoops in fast enough. Warm breath over your cheek followed by a mumbled ‘mornin’’ into umber skin.
“So…?” you poke at the swell of his bicep, raising a brow at him.
“It ain’t a concussion,” The scarred corner of his mouth edges into a grin— you clearly have no clue how concussions work. His head cocks the tiniest amount. “Though I’m sure that’s disappointing news for you.”
“Please,” you scoff. Letting him take you, muscled arms wrapping around your waist and dragging you against him. He doesn’t duck away from your hand when you gently rap your knuckles against his temple. “There’s not a hit hard enough to knock sense into you.”
Besides, Toji didn’t react productively to violence. Most people didn’t, really, but most people also didn’t resort to close combat when pushed too far.
“Hm,” Toji grumbles, pressing into your knuckles until you unfurl your fingers. He doesn’t let his eyes flutter closer for more than five seconds, but that’s still five more seconds of un-utilatarian, nonsexual touch than he used to allow.
Whispy, black strands of hair to match his son's glides between your fingers. The edges of your nails scrape lightly over his scalp. They’re just about to hit where you know the butterfly bandage cinching together a nasty scrape amidst his hair lies when Toji pulls back.
Satisfied chewing couples the slowness of the morning. The only contrast being the upbeat noises from the television.
As your partner ducks behind you to peer at the food you’ve got on the stove and generally shuffle around the kitchen, his feet bare and steps whisper light, you check on his son.
Your laughter trickles past your lips unbidden.
Megumi’s cheeks are full like a chipmunk’s, pudged as he pushes them to the limit to eat. Mouth falling open like a puffer fish for a few seconds before he settles.
There’s a fish ball in one of his tiny fists, the chunk taken out of its crispy outer layer with little teeth likely what’s being chewed away at inside of his mouth. In his other fist is the softer fish ball you cooked in the soup base of his udon. Both of which leave no room for a single utensil.
The fried balls you’ve had, so you know they’re not too hot for him and that he’s only playing— though the ones in the soup you haven’t gotten to yet. On account of the boy needing to be fed ASAP and all.
Smile tugging at your lips, you just shake your head.
“Megumi,” you cut in, voice light even as you project it. “Blow on the food before it’s in your mouth. Like we practiced.”
“Hmmph,” he grumbles at you, pouting with a mini glower that doesn’t look quite as convincing as the mature version of it you get leveled at you from his father.
You raise a brow, ignoring Toji audibly drinking from a carton of juice where he’s huddled in front of the open fridge, until the boy buckles.
Megumi blows on his next fried bite. Loud and spitty enough you’re not particularly confident it does much.
Nonetheless you’re satisfied. It wasn’t like the blowing was wholly necessary this time around, you were more instilling the practice into him early as it stood.
Still ignoring the throb at your temples, you turn your attention to Toji swiping a thumb across his chin to cut off a line of apple juice. He sucks the liquid from the pad next and you’re not sure which you’re more annoyed at. Not getting to lap the juice from his skin or that he drank straight from the carton at all.
“Messy,” you chide, teeth flashing when you smile. Toji just shrugs, cornering you between the counter and his bulk— fulfilling half of your wish without a word when he swoops in to let you in on how the juice tastes where it lingers on his lips, in his mouth and the glide of your tongues, before you break apart.
When you hand him the kitchen knife in your hand, Toji takes it from you without thought.
You lean more comfortably against the countertop as you put him to work. “How’s Megumi taking to his new nanny by the way?”
“Hn…oh?” While Toji thinks real hard about his son’s day to day, you slide the cutting board and hoard of fruit atop it towards him. Knife skill superior to your own, Toji doesn’t do more than blink down at the board before he starts slicing. “Guess he’s…having trouble making friends at daycare or something.”
“Damn, for real? What’s the plan there then?”
“Hn.” His nose scrunches. “Shiu says I should try taking him out for once.”
You snort, “Sound advice. Maybe start with the park?”
“That’s too many people.” Toji makes a face like you’ve threatened him with dismemberment.
“Ah,” you draw out, thinking. The man really wasn’t a fan of large crowds and open spaces where Megumi was involved. And as a matter of fact neither was the boy himself. Last year’s carnival trip had ended prematurely for a reason; cut short by a short, terrifying search for a Megumi who’d ducked under the lip of the booth you’d stopped at thirty minutes into the afternoon with chubby hands pressed to his ears, his eyes screwed shut and a whine building in his throat.
“Kids day at the museum?” you offer. Toji grunts like he’s thinking about it.
A small, distressed gasp steals your attention from the furrow in his brow. Looking over your shoulder leads you to nothing short of a horrific revelation.
Freezing, it’s like you're watching everything happen in slow motion, heart seizing in your chest.
Megumi, all of one foot and some change standing, in his high chair midway through a bite and looking aggrieved. Cherubic features twist up with pain a second too late, and then, like he’s on a delay, the boy wails.
The hot bite of food tumbles from his open mouth as he recoils. Where he’s holding the slightly steaming fish ball, skin in direct contact with the bite he’d made in it, his hand remains clamped tight.
In retrospect you should’ve seen this coming.
The soup was cooled to a warm, cozy temperature by the time you felt okay to give it to him. But that didn’t mean the insides of the fish balls had cooled too.
Oh god you were a horrible not-mother! You should’ve cut them in half!
Fumbling, and a little awkward on your feet, you grab the nearest bit of fruit to your fingers and rush after Toji.
Toji who dropped the knife and sprung into action so fast there might as well be miles between you.
Almost on autopilot, he cuts to the dining table in four big strides. Form blurring at the edges between one blink and the next. Speedily enough you’re not actually sure if the hint at his afterimage left in his wake is real or imagined.
“Christ,” Toji cusses, dragging his hair from his face with one hand before snatching up Megumi’s wrist. Still his hold isn’t any firmer than it needs to be, and when he uses his other hand to pry stubby fingers apart it’s with one corner of his bottom lip clamped between his teeth. Fingers that dwarf Megumi’s gentle even in their urgency as he forces them open and the object in his palm out.
There are big fat tears rolling down Megumi’s face and your heart squeezes vice tight in your chest.
Food finally deposited in one of the sections of his frog plate, thick, scarred fingers wrap around one of the handles of a matching green sippy cup.
“Here,” Toji grunts. Feeding the malleable nub of a straw into Megumi’s mouth, past quivering lips.
Sniveling, the boy sips. Not fussing about Toji’s thumb rubbing over the faint pink tint of his palm.
You plant yourself at Megumi’s other side, trying not to flail and overwhelm him any further.
“I’m so sorry, ‘Gumi!” you cry out softly. Bringing an arm around to hug his front, the heel of your palm rubbing against a bib so unblemished it’d’ve given you pause in another situation.
Megumi’s breath stutters as he gasps in air, unlatching from his straw. He leans into your touch, hair tickling what skin you have exposed as he tucks his head against you.
You could die.
Even the cold slice of mandarin orange you slide into his hand to help cool it down doesn’t assuage your guilt.
In the following handful of minutes the fish balls are cut in half and blown on in equal measure.
Crisis narrowly averted, you retreat back behind the counter. Doing your best not to hit Megumi with a thousand yard stare lest you want to alarm the boy by studying him for too long.
“Everything’s fine,” Toji’s rough tone cuts into your inner spiral. A line of heat from his body curling up your side, him nudging you.
“I could’ve killed him,” you say. The space at the back of your eyes is starting to grow hot. Closer to tears than you’d like.
A low snort rattles your brain. Mouth dropping open, you look at him a little crazy.
“No you couldn’t’ve.” He shakes his head. “The shit I used to fumble my way through with him after…” He sighs, “Just relax, yeah?”
You sniff, fighting back a frown. “I’m relaxed.”
Toji doesn’t bother acting convinced, but he does move on.
“Got a bigger problem anyway,” he grunts. When you turn to him he’s running a hand down his face, glancing at Megumi afterwards with a contemplative sweep of blue eyes, before: “My kid’s an idiot,” he gripes. “Why wouldn’t he just open his damn hand?”
Clearing your throat, you take a second to rub the heat from your eyes.
“Aw, cut him some slack. He’s learning.” You raise your brow, giving him a wry look. “Besides, that’s what Papa’s for.”
Toji crosses his arms, the familiar dour turn in his expression not shaking you in the slightest. Not when you’ve seen him throw up after getting kicked in his healing spleen by a fussy Megumi. “Not mine.”
“So…?” you murmur, and it’s not an indictment. Your face opening up, and eyes widening a bit with imploring intent, before you throw one of the cubes of melon he cut into your mouth.
Toji only frowns, the muscles in his arms visibly shifting as he tightens his hold. With last night’s booze thoroughly taking its revenge though, you only shrug and finally scoop the fruit you want into a bowl of your own to fuck off with. Fully inviting yourself to collapse on his couch. Your headphones going in next to block out the music blasting from his television.
For his part, Toji simply watches you go.
Perfectly content to trace your form, brown skin and loose pajamas and a headscarf threatening to slip off your head, before you’re seated and his brain skips right back to shit he doesn’t want to remember and comparisons he doesn’t want to make.
Even idling on your back, head propped up on the armrest and the band of the arm thrown over your forehead partially obscuring your vision, you don’t miss the way he startles out of whatever mental conundrum he’s having when Megumi’s mouth opens mid chew.
Are familiar enough with the boy to recognize his lisp strewn call of ‘Papa’ by lip reading alone. Even a year plus into Megumi’s existence, Toji’s nose still wrinkles some at the term. Some unnamed revulsion you could take a guess at, but won’t.
Still, you’re familiar enough, too, with the man to clock him moving to heed whatever request was just made that much faster than usual.
NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!!
Why the backyardigans? Because it's one of the first things that popped into my mind when I thought ‘kids show’, and then the theme song haunted me for a bit.
Alright, this is officially my first ever released JJK fic, so don’t be a dick pls :D.
Also, Tsumiki, mama, I’m so sorry I forgot about you! Also, also, fun fact: in my head a salmon ball was in Megumi’s hand— which the fried version I was thinking of is Afro-Caribbean, but the version in the soup was more Japanese. And Megumi holding onto the hot food despite himself is based on a true story lol.
btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it!
(For those not in the know, @castformbignaturals is alluding to the fact Memphis is a majority Black city that stands to have its congressional representation entirely wiped out by redistricting led by the Republican governor of Tennessee who has, of course, welcomed the ICE occupation with open arms. Again, the project of MAGA is to reintroduce Jim Crow)
Keeping up with complicated lawsuits that impact our lives can be really difficult! It makes sense that there’s misunderstandings or outdated info going around. Let's clear up some info about Texas v. Kennedy. Then, you can take action with our action alert! https://autisticadvocacy.org/2026/02/take-action-to-protect-disability-rights/
Update: As of May 12, South Dakota has also dropped out of the Texas v. Kennedy lawsuit. If you live in one of the 7 remaining states on the lawsuit (Alaska, Montana, Kansas, Missouri, Texas, Louisiana, and Florida), use our action alert to push your Governor and Attorney General to do the same!
Just wanted to let you guys know that there are two pages on this app that like to troll and make very degrading stories about black readers! @/suckmuballs and @/whotookmynameareuserious these are two little white girls pretending to be black, who are MINORS.
For starters, im a black girl myself in case you guys didn’t know that. I find this very disrespectful and this is not my first time encountering something like this on an app built around community. So if you support me and follow me and you happen to find their accounts “funny”???? Please feel free to block me or message me to have yourself removed.
I don’t play that weirdo and disrespectful shit, it’s not cool and I don’t fuck with it. It’s 2026 and we’re still making trolling pages and lying out our age AND race to tear down another just because black girls and boys come on here and have to request for things to be inclusive. These are minors. Report them, do whatever. PLEASE SPREAD AWARENESS & REPOST‼️‼️
I haven’t seen any big accounts spreading awareness on this topic so please. Thank you guys, that’s all.
At least two Black women in Florida were forced into courtroom-style hearings while in labor after refusing cesarean sections, with judges b
this is fucking insane. two different cases in Florida where pregnant Black women were forced into video call court proceedings, in the middle of labor, laying in their hospital beds, because their doctors chose to go after them for refusing cesarean sections.
the first woman was able to convince them to let her continue laboring unless it became medically necessary, and ultimately chose to go through with the C-section of her own accord later.
the second woman was completely denied autonomy and the C-section was performed against her will.
the white man who prosecuted them defends the decision, stating on the record "I'm real comfortable with what we did here. I hate that she's upset about it."
the two women mentioned here, Cherise and Brianna, are calling on supporters to sign their petition to these two hospitals to:
"Stop forcing pregnant people to have cesarean births.
Take all necessary steps to end discriminatory policies and practices based on sex, gender, pregnancy status, and race.
Discipline the doctors and hospital staff who ignored Doyley and Bennett’s concerns and coerced them to undergo a court-ordered C-section against their will.
Publicly acknowledge and provide financial relief for the harm UF Health caused to the Doyley family and Tallahassee Memorial HealthCare inflicted on the Bennett family."
Cherise Doyley was 12 hours into labor at University of Florida Health (UF Health) Jacksonville when a nurse walked in with a bedsheet and t
You can keep up with Cherise on her Instagram page here, where she is posting updates and generally about being a survivor, doula, and birth justice activist.
How to check if your post(s) have been affected by Tumblr's recent auto content flagging spree:
In case you haven't noticed, Tumblr's automatic flagging and filtering system has been having a field day this week. Whatever is going on is specifically targeting reblogs and flagging/hiding them, while the original post remains unflagged, meaning the original poster does not receive any sort of notification that their post(s) are affected.
What kind of posts are being affected? I think that this latest flagging spree is heavily targeting posts with images. And by images, I mean any sort of image file. This is only a theory based on my own evidence, other posts may still be affected, too. But in my case, something as simple as a plain black 3 pixel divider triggered it (and I know this to be true because I reblogged a post as-is [FLAGGED], reblogged it with the divider image removed [NO LONGER FLAGGED]).
The only way to see if your post(s) have been affected is to individually go into the notes for any you want to check. In my experience, my affected posts have been entirely random, and some were posted years ago.
Find a post that you know had reblogs with tags
The 'reblogs with comment or tags' section will now be blank if the post has been affected
If you go to 'other reblogs' (blank reblogs) and try to click into them, they will all show up greyed out and hidden on the user's blog
Currently, the only way I can see to fix this is if the users who reblogged your post(s) go to their 'Review flagged posts' tab and submit an appeal. Note that this appeal process appears to be automatic. I tested this several times, and the appeal was approved in less than a minute.
And if your post(s) are affected, the only interim solution I have found is to edit the original post, test out removing images if applicable, and reblog it again to see if the flag has been removed. Unfortunately, it seems this will only help with future reblogs. It will not retroactively fix the reblogs that were flagged.
Why is this a problem for writers (and artists + other creators)?
Something as simple as a plain divider separating the fic summary can trigger this.
Writers are now losing years worth of reblogs that contain meaningful feedback.
Writers have no way of being notified about affected posts, because the flag only triggers in the reblog.
Flagged reblogs are automatically hidden, meaning that affected posts can no longer be reblogged. Defeating the entire purpose of the reblog website where the goal is to reblog and share content across the community.
How, and I mean this sincerely, in the fuck can a post I published have been flagged as sexually explicit and hidden within two minutes of it being posted, and that be in good faith?
NSFW ALPHABET (A-Z) w/ BLADE (Blade | Eric Brooks x Fem!Reader)
Headcanons
NSFW, 18+, minors dni, established relationship, pure sluttery, sexual intimacy, a little character study, allusions to canon action, oral (f+m receiving), penetrative sex (fem receiving), slight Dom/Sub dynamics - human!reader
Characterization wise I’m burrowing heavily from the Snipes movies (+ some of his animated Earth-12042 & 616 appearances). Continuity wise this is burrowing from Blade’s character in Marvel Rivals. (Pic source: Marvel Rivals S3.5)
6k+ words
A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)
When you first get together he’s not very good at it. Very much too emotionally stilted to do more than pat you on the thigh in congratulations after you’ve both cum, before directing you towards the bathroom to clean off with all the finesse of an emotionally repressed prepubescent boy with a crush like you didn’t just have sex with him.
Farther into your relationship Eric gets better about aftercare; he’s more comfortable with you and (so long as you’ve taken the lead on intimacy up until then) open to being affectionate.
Exchanging lazy kisses post-coital, sweaty bodies tangled around one another as he explores your body without expectation of anything more. Rubbing soothing circles into the places he held onto firmly enough to bruise — deliciously tender spots blooming across your brown, ruddy skin — and patting lightly at your ass when you whimper into his next languid kiss.
Eric will whisper about how good you did and how well you took him while trailing full lips down across the hickies and nips littering the expanse of your neck and over your clavicle and between your breasts. Will rumble a hum so soft and sweet that you turn more liquid in his hold and kiss over your heavy eyelids and slowing heart.
Blade’s too restless of a man to keep this up for long, so every moment you cherish.
He absolutely hefts you from wherever you’re resting post coitis (no matter your whining) to force your ass to piss. And to get cleaned up. All because he refuses to deal with listening to your bitching in the morning about dried cum or blood— sweat or the thick spit that gathers at the back of your throat whenever you’re giving him head that gets all over you if y’all get messy.
Eric will take the lead when it comes to cleaning you up. Easing you slow and neat as he can manage out of/through your post-sex haze or sub-dropped state. Holding you close and coaxing responses out of you, checking on your mental, while in the shower or bath. Deep breathing with you as he massages trembling muscles and moisturizes your skin, applying any creams to budding bruises or cuts.
He’s got a plan and routine down now, because Eric knows how he likes to get, and he will implement it to the fullest to make sure you’re okay (and himself, but he doesn’t treat his mentality with quite as much care).
B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
Eric’s more than aware of the effect he has on people — on you — and is quite willing to show off in response. For your part he knows the cocky tilt to his grin gets you every time. Sharp-winged bats flying around in your stomach, fluttering lashes, forgetting your words mid sentence and all.
Eric’s particularly partial of his arms himself. There’s a reason he’s always finding a way to pull up his sleeves or wearing leather coats that don’t go past his biceps. And is so often caught rocking nothing but a sleeveless armored breast plate. He gets unbearably cocky to anyone who’s not you whenever he flexes and instantly captures your attention.
In a trance you bit his bicep once during sex while he was laid over you, fucking you from behind, and he still hasn’t let you live that down.
The man’s proud of his ink too. Is up to showing it off always and invites your wandering, curious touches once you’re together. Will answer any inquiries you have about what the symbols are and how he managed to effectively tattoo himself with his healing factor.
When it comes to you Eric is mildly in denial about how obsessed he is with you (to himself at least, after all he’d never actually tell you how crazy he is about you with anything as trite as words), but he’s still very much of the opinion that every part of you is his favorite.
He touches you like it too, not with soft lingering touches, but with quick drags of his palm across parts of you to make sure you’re still intact. A touch that tingles your skin even through leather and armor, and the stark contrast of softness when intense amber eyes pass over your brown-skinned form. In the bruising grip on your upper arm when he’s pulling you out of the line of fire, and the cup of his hand over yours as he hoists you away from a fight.
Still, though, there are parts of you Eric can’t help gravitating towards when you're being intimate. In quiet moments alone with the pounding of your heart in his ears and your heat up against him — the pulse of your carotid and your calm breaths a damning siren song — he can’t help the way his eyes draw to your neck. Loves the feel of your pulse against his lips, the implicit trust of you letting him that close even without him needing to occasionally indulge in feeding from you.
Now if his obsession with the baring of your neck is cliche, then he’s not beating any allegations whenever things get heated between you two and preternaturally smooth hands ruck up your clothes and cup the plush of your breasts. Eric is always gentle with them, kissing down their umber plushness and sucking on dusky nipples until you’re slick between the thighs and trembling for him.
The guttural moan that vibrates up Eric’s throat once he’s sunk his teeth into a breast to drink your blood curls your toes.
B = Blowjob (Because I might die if I don’t make this an option too)
The sight of you, brown eyes bright and wet and eager as you gaze up at him behind lowered lids, his balls in your mouth and thighs spread wide framing either side of your head. The velvety pink of your tongue, careful and just the right amount of firm, on his testicles. Two-toned lips suckling on him nice and slow. He can't get enough.
Massaging your jaw with thick patient fingers as he feeds one of his balls into your mouth. How patiently you wait for his dick while lavashing his balls with your attention, moaning at his taste, at the sight he makes looming over you, face strewn in ecstasy and fist slowly working over his length.
You pop off and beg when he has to grip the base of his shaft to stave off an orgasm and he finally gives in without complaint. Feeding the head of his penis past your parted lips and rubbing sensitive glans across your outstretched tongue.
Eric likes to hold your head when he can. Fucking his dick all slow into the cavern of your mouth and down your throat.
Likes holding eye contact while tears gather in your eyes, swiping them away with his thumbs, and pulling you off to twist your head at a better angle for you to cough up spit. When your head’s too heavy for you to hold up Eric does it for you, laughing none too meanly at the way you moan around his penis and scrabble at his thighs, working your tongue along his dick and sucking at his tip.
Erik gets very mouthy with his dick curving down the back of your throat and making you gag. Praising you with abandon regardless of if you’re working him over or if he’s fucking your throat.
C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)
Nasty about it. Literally loves the way you two taste together. If he can come inside of you he will and then he’ll absolutely bend your squealing, panting ass over so that he can throw you over the edge into another orgasm with his tongue deep in your vagina. So long as you can match his cum-eating freak he will eat his cum out of you with gusto, even going so far as to scoop some up from your messy cunt and have you lick his fingers clean of your juices and his spend.
If coming in you isn’t an option Eric will just as happily pull out of you mid fuck to rip his condom off and pump his cum into your waiting mouth. Same thing goes, obviously, for regular blowjobs. Eric wants to see his spend filling your mouth. Calling you, “such a good slut for [him]”, whenever you stick your tongue out to show him his cum in your mouth, and shuddering once you swallow it all.
D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
Y’all already fucking know. No matter how much Eric tries to differentiate himself from full vampires, to be better than them, he still craves fresh blood as opposed to his plasma substitute and will catch himself off guard with how badly he wants to taste you. Watching you and licking his lips thinking about the pulse in your inner thigh and the give of your breasts beneath eager fangs and the curve of your neck when you bend to his will.
All this to say Eric has impeccable self control, but whenever you’re on your period (if you have one) he has to bite back the urge to ask for the chance to give you head. It’s two of his favorite things (blood and your pussy) in one, how could he not fantasize about it?
About wrapping his hands around your thighs, not holding you back or stopping you from crushing his head between them, but just wanting a hold on you as he dives his tongue between the slick lips of your red tinted labia and around your unfurled nub. Sucking on your crimson arousal and making you keen when his lips wrap around your clit. Only minding his fangs until you’re begging for a breather and then nipping bites that don’t break skin into your messy inner thighs. Feeling how you shiver at the graze of sharp alabaster teeth across your opening and over your urethra.
E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)
Eric doesn’t do hook ups. At least not anymore. He's old and he’s definitely been around the block, but that also means that he’s had time to get tired of the particular performances he has to put on because it’s just never truly safe for him to form full connections with others (romantic or sexual or otherwise).
He pushes people away because he knows how intensely he comes to care for others, and in that sense casual fucks are nothing but land mines waiting to blow. Especially when, despite all evidence to the contrary, he just doesn’t trust himself to not sink his fangs into any unsuspecting bed partner he might take.
Blade is pretty seriously married to his job, though, especially before you (even if you don’t fully change that), and so he firmly pushes down any desire to have sex after a while. Although, it helps that most of the people he interacts with — scantily dressed or not — are bloodsuckers with no remorse for human life or ruthless combatants that he’s routinely killing.
But then you come along and he falls for you and can’t run away like he normally does whenever he catches feelings (can’t push your ass away either) and so he allows himself to thoroughly, gratifyingly have sex with you. So he’s not a virgin, but he’s not experienced with anything outside of those brief detached instances. Eric has a sex drive, he’s just adept at and used to suppressing it.
Typically whenever he needed to ‘relieve some stress’ he made due just fine with his hand and his fattening, overeager dick until he was painting his chest and chin (and onto his bottom lip one memorable time) in jet after jet of his cum, and easily kept himself quiet.
F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)
Loves when you ride him in any capacity, with him laying down or sitting up. And being able to scoop you up and bounce you down on his dick— with the added bonus of having full access to your tits to suck on. Definitely a “cowgirl’s helper” type of man; meets you thrust for thrust and is fully willing (and capable) to do all the heavy lifting.
Reverse cowgirl, similarly, drives him crazy. He will squeeze and fondle and slap at your ass the worst when you're in this position though. And don’t get him started on how good your pussy looks creaming his cock every time he disappears inside of your wet heat in full view of his eager eyes. The only downside is that he can’t look you in the face.
Lotus position is y’all’s go to if he’s feeding from you. This usually means slow, rocking sex. Easy laughter and shared reassurances and twin groans. Blood coated kisses and Eric’s hand holding your head in place, fingers twisted in tight curls, while he sinks his fangs into the delicate skin of your neck and sucks. He keeps one arm around your middle and you wrap yourself around him in turn, the press of his dick in you impossible to get away from and just grinding against your g-spot with abandon.
Eating you out is typically done with you on your back, but when his cum’s leaking out of you he loves dragging you into position and having you present for him head down and ass up so he can bury his tongue into you. Would let you ride his face more often, but with the way he eats pussy you tend to run away from his efforts after a while and it’s too easy for you to slip from Eric’s grasp when you're face-sitting.
G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)
Like with everything else about him Eric is serious to a point. He can switch to worrying and not giving a shit about his dick at the drop of a hat if something goes wrong or you lose your nerve when it comes to having sex, but otherwise he’s too busy being caught up in you to crack anything more crazy than his little smart ass comments.
Eric likes to taunt you and he’s a cocky son of a bitch, but it’s not like anyone’s at risk of dying so he’s susceptible to a laughing fit after slipping out of you enough times in a row that it skips right past being frustrating and is just kind of funny. Will say something like: “I’m blaming you for this,” and scoff at you when you squawk your indignation.
Eric is also not above amusing himself by making a game out of how many times he can make you orgasm in a row — the water breaks he forces onto you and mandatory snack times don’t count — or challenging you to see how long it’ll take for you to tap out when he’s overstimulating your trigger spots.
Will raise his hand for a high-five if you squirt or break a tap-out record and once you’ve come back to yourself, out of breath and just as likely to flip him off, you slap your palm to his.
H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)
We’ve seen the hair on his chest, Eric isn’t big on feeling like a hairless cat.
Sometimes you want to lick a stripe up the thicker, darker hair along his happy trail.
The prettiest, most unfairly defined, short crop of curls make up his public hair. He “man-scapes” as regularly as he gets line-ups (he’s just vain enough before you guys get together to do so, which is not a bad thing). He’s hairy all the way down (does not wax) but he keeps things from getting too unruly on principle. Best believe you can trust the motherfucker’s clean though.
I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)
Will talk dirty to you, is absolutely filthy with it, but there’s always an element of romance too. Praise and sweet compliments and cradling you close while he rearranges your guts.
J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)
Before you he was more utilitarian and pragmatic about jerking off. Only doing enough to relieve tension built up for weeks (sometimes months if he was particularly busy) so he could keep the fight going without distraction.
Post you he’s still the same when it comes to the ‘how’, with the exception of allowing himself the courtesy of taking things a little slower and playing with himself more. Eric also now has images of you (and sometimes even pictures) to fuel his arousal, all pretty brown skin he can’t get enough of and tempting doe eyes.
K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)
Cum-eating, as has been established.
Marking you. Eric is a possessive man — though not a jealous one, mind you; he’s too self assured for that shit. He wants to remind you you’re his even when he’s gone, and he wants other people to know it too. Bruises sucked into your skin, pressed in the shape of his hands across your hips and ass cheeks.
The pleasant ache of your coupling and his bites are all things Eric paints across your body to remember him bye.
Reciprocating that claiming behavior is welcome too; fuck his healing factor, mark him up to the best of your ability, unlike the average human he can actually take it. He doesn’t mind you marking him with items either, necklaces and talismans and the like, so long as they can’t be traced back to you in case he loses them.
Be warned though, the first time he bites you after getting caught up just enough in your presence to ask, that guilt complex he pretends not to have rears its head. Eric will feel horrible once that post sex haze dissipates. You’ll have to reassure him you don’t mind the two puncture marks, they’re barely noticeable outside of a faint ache even, but it’ll probably be a while before you see him again. Baby steps, Eric’s fucking avoidant.
Impact play. He’s not too vigorous with it, definitely doesn’t want to hurt you badly, but he likes when you cry out for him. When you gasp and have tears brimming, but you still rock back into his palm and beg him with glassy penny colored eyes and trembling lips and mewling groans. Eric groans so prettily whenever you tell him thank you, trembling into his soothing touches after a hit.
He will appropriately treat your sore ass afterwards, but Eric will never tire of how gingerly you favor your backside after he’s peppered your ass with lix.
Blood play. Dhampir, half blood, all that shit. Blade is thee Daywalker and while he rarely indulges in blood from the vein (or the real stuff at all) he does crave it. The first time his fangs itch for you and you bare your neck for him or offer your wrist, eyeing the glint of his fangs behind full lips, he hardly lasts a week of mulling your offer over before taking you up on it. He likes how you taste, the warm slip of your essence down his throat, and it’s even better when you’re quivering around his shaft while he’s at it.
Eric lets out a desperate grunt when he’s able to kiss you and taste his own blood in your mouth after you’ve kissed him and licked the blood from split and bitten lips alike. He always gets carried away lapping any blood from your mouth and teeth and sucking the traces of it from your tongue. The brief sting of your tongue tracing over any wounds he still has also gets him throbbing and in dire need of you.
L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)
Eric is a gentleman, okay, he wants you in a bed. He will however fuck you standing up or against a wall, and has absolutely gotten swept up in you (and you in him) enough that you end up fucking on the floor (though he never actually lets you touch said floor).
Other than that he has been amendable to you sinking onto his dick in the backseat of his ride — lovingly named Camilla — and he has bent you over his motorcycle once or twice.
Once — just once — he took you in the closest to a public place he ever has. Spurred on by your eager, elated kiss and what was definitely a love confession on your part after you’d been kidnapped, he fucked you in the base of the vampires who tried using you against him.
You’re probably covered in blood (and it’s not yours because you’re only a little roughed up) and he’s missed you and he’s ecstatic in his stoic way that still can’t stop the blinding smile he gives you.
Desperate kisses turn into sloppily making out in between words, turns to him laying you down on his leather coat and fucking into you while you scratch up his back. Dead men’s blood and ash surround you, but you’re too caught up in one another to care.
Eric wants to keep you to himself, so true public sex isn’t a big thing for him, but that doesn’t leave pda off the table either.
M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)
The blood rushing faster through your veins in your excitement and how receptive you are to him. To his touch and his command. That does something to him, for sure.
Also, this is a man whose been fighting harder than normal all his life — whose been left behind and betrayed ten times over and who can’t so much as look too stoic without people studying him too hard and clocking him as too suspicious before he’s so much as given them something to be scared about — the instantaneous reaction he has to your presence: heart rate calming at the sound of your voice, nostrils flaring at the familiar scent of you growing closer and the slump of broad shoulders in spite of the weight of his sword on his back and the world on his shoulders, is liable to make Eric firm up in his pants in seconds heedless of his jockstrap.
Having that peace of mind is heady sometimes, especially after a grueling quarter of an eternity spent clashing with so many creatures.
Being free enough to indulge even a bit in his bloodlust and not having to suppress his vampiric side to the extent he’d normally have to is also a turn on. He might’ve been horribly tentative about it before, but as he comes to greater terms with the less human half of his nature he gets more comfortable indulging in it with you.
N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
Probably not the biggest fan of being called ‘daddy’. Fine with domming you, but y’all’re gonna have to workshop if you want to call him anything other than his name (or Blade, if you're into that).
Any soft limits you have he’s not pushing past unless you explicitly ask for it outside of sex and y’all talk through the why and the how. Hard limits he won’t even discuss with you unless he’s planning something and needs to make sure he’s properly avoiding them.
And while we’re at it, he’ll tease the fuck out of you, but he’s not degrading or actively humiliating you. Even if you wanted it I think he’d hurt his own feelings coming up with things to do to you and to call you; the intensity of the dom-drop he’d fall into would simply not be worth it even if part of him enjoyed the viciousness.
Not a fan of slapping or hitting you in the face either, it’s too much like a fight for him to stay in the mood. Doesn’t matter how much he likes feeding your masochistic and his sadistic streak with some impact play and the inevitable pain play that comes from that and him biting you.
Not too keen on roleplay either, he might put on a set of plastic fangs to get a laugh out of you and wear a tacky cape, but the closest he gets to roleplay is when you’re in themed lingerie (pls put on little leather bat wings and a matching lingerie set, he might die you’re so precious and sexy). And he doesn’t fall into a roll that’s not his usual even then, and as such neither do you, his compliments and lil comments just become pointed.
Never invoke Dracula’s name in the bedroom; you will kill every ounce of whimsy in that moment. Do not speak of that man unless you want the fuck over and Eric upset.
O = Oral (For you, lovely reader)
Takes to giving you oral like a man starved. Eric will fuck your life up with his mouth, but it’s not like you’re complaining. He likes when your thighs try snapping shut around his head and when you fist your hand into his curls and tug at his roots (he’s a bit of a slut for it in moderation). Once you start tugging and whining he’s likely to slap your thigh; “That all you got?” he’ll say, voice muffled by your folds.
Don’t let you start wiggling away either, unless you tap out he will growl out a negative and pull you back in. Then he’ll have to pin your hips down and really give you no wiggle room, he’s too strong for your bucking to be effective.
──
“Come on, Baby,” he’ll murmur, breaking for air and licking a fat strip up your arousal slick vulva. You're fisting his hair now, but all Eric does is grunt, pushing into your hold while your eyes are screwed shut and your legs are trembling nonstop. “You got it, I know you do.”
He’ll suck once at your throbbing achy clit just to bring you back to attention.
When you take in a shuddering breath and mumble a broken ‘no’ he’ll remind you about tapping out, but you’ll shake your head like that's preposterous (refusing to let him win).
“Yeahhh, I know you got it in you. Just give me another one, Baby. Let me taste more of this pussy.” Eric’s grin is sharp and feral just judging from the brief catch of his teeth against your skin, before he’s going down on you again and wringing yet another orgasm out of you. Crashing through you until you collapse and he calls it himself.
Putting you out of your misery with a chuckle and a shit-eating grin that you absolutely stick your middle finger up at.
──
Of course, he’s not just eager to tongue fuck you and soak his chin in your juices, he wants your mouth too. As has been previously established. The same way you get a little lightheaded and mean when smothering his face in your cunt is the same way he gets when you choke on his dick.
P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)
Will dick you down good every time, getting you cock drunk and incoherent, but is typically fast out of necessity. He’s got work to do— weapons to test and upkeep to stay on top of and vampire nests or hideouts to hunt down, but when you want him and he can’t resist you then needs are seldom left unmet if he can help it.
Eric is always rough and neverendingly reverent whether he’s going fast or slow, fucking you into the mattress or wall or down onto his lap with plenty of enthusiasm and growled praise. He likes to feel the impact of you slamming down on his dick (and when you get tired he’s perfectly capable of fucking you onto him himself, never fear).
Likes the way your body ripples and jiggles for him, your stuttered half punched out moans and whines— how you scramble to hold onto him whether for more leverage to fuck back onto him or just to hold on for dear life.
Sloppy kisses abound. Eric is frenzied for you, but you’re very much still his woman and he doesn't take that shit lightly. Kisses all up on you, over your whole face and against your lips — teeth clinking and gruff chuckles puffing his warm breath against your cheek. Searing wet, lingering kisses down your throat in between sounds of pleasure. Lamenting about how tight you are and how good you’re doing for him in between his incoherent cussing because you just feel that good.
Expressly prefers to take you raw, but leaves the decision up to you.
Loves rubbing his hands down your form, the press of his palms rough but moisturizer soft and vampiricly smooth.
Cataloging every tremble that racks your body and how receptive you are to his touch (which never fails to bring a cocky, sharp-toothed smirk to his lips). Feeling the blood rushing beneath your skin, your life force in his hands, pulse beneath his lips, and trust so freely given.
Eric makes love to you in the purest, most intense sense of the term. He wants to meld with you and can never quite get close enough.
Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)
Will do it, not his preferred method of fucking you, but whether he’s slamming his dick into you real quick, rubbing slick and fast over your clit to send you both tumbling over the edge; or he’s down on his knees, one of your legs hiked over his shoulder and his arms holding steadfast to your hips, eating you out until you’re weak in the knees and he’s coming all over his hand, Eric doesn’t do shit in half measures.
He’d much rather have you all to himself over the course of at least an hour (ideally a few hours). Slowly unraveling you and making you come undone to his own satisfaction. Falling into you, allowing you both the reassurance of each other’s presence and finally being able to relax (though just being in your presence has this effect on Eric, period— no sex required).
R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)
I think the biggest risk he’d take would be any form of blood play (and subsequent pain play) he introduces to you, otherwise any big risks are being posed by you.
Eric will at least hear you out, but he won’t beat around the bush if he’s not into what you’re selling, and if he suggests something he won’t let you beat around shit with your decision either.
S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)
His limitations are a joke. So long as Eric’s not too banged up after an outing, the type that requires bandages because his healing factor needs assistance, he’s ready to go for as long as you can handle him.
Like, the dry orgasms will come, but you’ll be so long gone by then that all sex has probably already ceased anyway. Hell, sometimes it seems like he gets more energy the longer you’re both going at it.
T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)
Not a personal fan of toys. A gruff “What’s wrong with my fingers? —What’s wrong with yours?” will fall from his mouth. Such an old man about integrating toys, lowkey takes any requests for them as insulting until you talk it over with him.
Like, you can have your dildos and suckers and what not, but that ain’t got shit to do with him and when he’s home that shit doesn’t see the light of day if he can help it.
So he certainly won’t recommend anything, but he’s willing to indulge you. Though it will be begrudging and he will be waiting until he can toss it aside.
He also doesn’t have any toys of his own either. Where would he even put them? ‘Cause he’s certainly not carrying any around with him.
Wait I lied, he might enthusiastically entertain a cock ring, and a bullet vibrater on occasion, but that’s literally it.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
Eric has full capacity and willingness to be a giant bag of dicks. He’s both an asshole and more playful than people give him credit for. Eric likes to tease and hearing your whiney breathless calls of his name get him going like crazy.
Will stop on the cusp of your orgasm hitting and make you beg for him to keep going. “Convince me,” he’ll simper, less out of breath than a normal man but no less worked up for it, and you’ll cuss and complain him, but he’s not budging until you give him what he wants.
Takes pity on you enough to coo and press kisses across dark, overheated skin if you sob in frustration, but not enough to cave.
Sometimes you nip playfully, pouting, at the pointed tip of whichever of his ears is nearest your teeth, but he only nips at your jaw in retaliation. Saying something joking like: “Oh, so you tryna be like me now?”, and remaining unphased and more than a little amused as he chuckles at you.
Eric makes little comments at other times too. Most of the time they stay in his head, but the more at ease he is the more they slip out. Little taunts of: “Oh, now I got you tired, huh?” and “Come on, Baby, I know you’re not giving up like that; give me one more.” and “That’s it. Take your dick, Baby.”
How physically un-rumpled he is never fails to spark some competitiveness in you. It’s, frankly, not fair. To make him pay, you milk his dick for all it’s worth. Until he’s hissing something like: “Damn, slow down, it’s not going anywhere,” and stopping you himself. Not wanting to climax so soon.
V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)
He attempts that stoic shit with you the first couple times, but even then his pussy drunk pants and growls would break past the seal of his lips and the grit of his teeth.
Now he doesn’t even bother, even when you're trying to be quiet and he muffles his cries into your skin, face buried in the crook of your neck, he’s still making noise, his voice vibrating through your skin and making you shiver.
Eric is vocal, though he’s not always super loud. He’s always talking you through it, reassuring you that you can take his length and girth and heaping praise onto you for how pretty you sound or how good you pussy sucks him in.
Eric grunts and growls and huffs too, moaning roughly and desperately snapping your name in a beg the closer he gets to climax. None of this is helped by the fact that he feeds off of the energy you give him, so the louder you get will directly affect how loud he gets.
W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)
The sloppy, well fucked, sounds that your pussy makes? He’s all over that shit. Eric can’t help his rough grunts and breathy moans whenever you get particularly wet.
Gets as high pitched as a man with a low purr of a tenor can when you squirt. Panting and whining as you get him all messy and he breathlessly praises and encourages you.
Eyes squeezed shut. This man is so down bad for you that he’s shaking apart by the end of a good fuck, your vagina clamped onto his dick too good for him to keep functioning.
Lowkey obsessed with your tits too. Will cup and knead and kiss them to his heart’s content. Nipping at your nipples when he’s sucking them.
X = X-Ray (*Cracks knuckles*) (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)
Tip: #693C39
Shaft: #2D1E17
Length: 5.7in when erect; 5.6in when flaccid
Girth: 4.49in when erect
Eric is (imo; all of this is imo) uncircumcised/uncut. Equal circumference down the length. Fairly prominent veins. Doesn’t curve; heavy enough it sits low and straight down from the base when erect.
He’s hairy, but it’s a well groomed sort of situation (that’s just how he is). His balls don’t hang too low, but they do still hang, and not so sensitive that he can’t handle them being fondled. His dick is also leaky as hell, the tip will weep precum and his shaft gets so slick once he’s achingly hard it drives you crazy. Very sensitive at the head.
My reasoning: Eric was born in a brothel and I don’t think them ladies would’ve been worrying about circumcising him while keeping him alive, and he was also born in London (Soho to be specific, but that’s not relevant) where rates of circumcision have been low from the 1980s onwards. So keeping that trend in mind, Eric’s character debuted in the seventies and was born in 1929 so I don’t think he’d have been circumcised.
Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)
Eric doesn’t so much yearn for sex as much as he yearns for you but he’ll rarely turn down a chance to make you cum and get the opportunity to relieve some stress with a good fuck.
UNLESS HE'S BUSY, obviously. The mission comes first, at the end of the day.
Frenzied is not an unfitting word to describe the way he gets with you, clingy when he allows himself to be to the point of wanting to crawl under your skin. Bringing you both to orgasm after orgasm like the faith of the world depends on how many times he can get you to cum and how fucked up he can get your throat from your screams.
Eric will deny himself you until he snaps and once that cord is broken there’s no going back because he loves hard and soul deep, and sex with him is no different. He craves you.
Even divorced from sex he always wants you — and is alternatively always worried about you — even if he’s great at compartmentalizing when he’s out hunting and cutting down his enemies. Distraction means he’s splitting his focus, means he’s slower, and slow gets people killed.
Still, sometimes he’ll thumb a locket or singlet ring he’s strung on a necklace under his armor, or any other trinket you’ve gifted him, in quiet moments. Allowing himself a few seconds to ground himself in your memory and reaffirm his mission before drawing his sword or unholstering his shotgun to take down the next slew of opponents.
Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
Doesn’t always fall asleep with you, he’s got to be real tired for that. Mostly he watches you fall asleep, rubbing soothing circles into your skin and engaging in whispered conversation until you trail off and start drooling.
Eric will drag blunt nails across your scalp, fingers planted in your kinky hair or over the silk of your bonnet, and press the occasional feather light kiss over your hairline and temple while he thinks. Letting the steady sound of your heartbeat soothe his tense form until he’s gone pliant beneath you. For once his thoughts aren’t running on a neverending track through doom scenarios and battle strategies with the fervor of a man on a mission.
He checks the security system of wherever he’s staying — whether permanent or temporary — before he drifts off with you around him. The press of you, your scent, your easy breaths all dragging his lids closed.
──
A surefire way, outside of riding him stupid, to get him to sleep fast is if you’re the big spoon. This man is gone once you’re wrapped around him, protecting him for once in your own way.
Hell, sometimes he’ll turn around and tuck his bonnet covered head under your chin, your fingers tracing patterns against the cool umber of his back and your nails scratching lightly over his scalp, and press kisses over the bite marks and indentations of his teeth decorating your clavicle and the tops of your breasts.
Enjoying himself until he falls asleep pressed into your chest and holding you just as tightly as you are him. Pull his sleeping mask with its little bat wings over his eyes and he’s guaranteed to be out like a light until dusk’s settled.
Please give this cutie forehead kisses too, he’ll grumble and make a show of ducking out of your way, but he loves that shit; he’s a six foot two wall of muscle and brimming danger, yes, but he’s also head over heels for you so show him some love.
NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!! ❤︎
I saw the “Restful Recovery” skin on Blade and had to write something. He was just so cute in his lil pajamas! The MR designers leaning into the bat motif for him is also ⋆⟡perfection⋆⟡.
This came to me so fucking quickly it’s ridiculous. I did not consistently pause until I got to the X-ray, and that was the last bit I wrote. Also had to take a page out of @greatlydelirious’s handbook bcs I’ve been wanting to do the color detailing with my NSFW Alphabet imagines, but none of them were done until this frenzy took me by storm. P3 (Hex) Color Codes were used for the x-ray btw. And the divider is from saradika-graphics [on tumblr].
Gonna mention here that Eric also has a whole ass child now, so of course he’s had sex at least once before. Anyway, whatever.
Honestly, with the way my completely non-smut shit has been being reported for being explicit, expect that this might be taken down for a while or I’ll end up having to repost it. 🙄😒
btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it!
You’re telling me I have seen actual human beings literal penises on this app under completely unrelated tags and searches (with hundreds to thousands of notes), but EVERY ONE of my Drolta fics (none of which have even written smut; which is still not a violation of shit on here) can’t be seen right now because they were flagged? I’ve had to send three appeals for nothing? The posts weren’t flagged to be labeled mature either, just completely hidden because they were reported for sexual content. Haha, alright. I see how you dirty bitches like to play.
UPDATE: They’re back now, but I’m still vex.
UPDATE: YEAHHH NEVERMIND; apparently they’ve been completely flagged as having sexually explicit content now and my two Drolta fics from last year are gone. So…
UPDATE: So they’re back, but wtf is this fuckery actually?
❝VAMPIRE SLAYER ZZZ’S❞ (Blade | Erik Brooks x Gn!Reader)
Eric shouldn’t be here, not without some new fresh Hell on the horizon, but he is anyway, and the world isn’t ending so you’re not complaining. — or a thinly veiled excuse to gush about blade’s pajamas
SFW, pure fluff, crack treated seriously, established relationship, playful teasing, Brielle mention, sleeping together (in the non-sexual way), scents, goth!reader if you squint real hard
- ft. Blade’s ‘restful recovery’ skin bcs I’m obsessed with it
I did my best, idk. ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ (Pic source: Marvel Rivals S5 & Costume Promo)
3k+ words
Even accounting for the prolonged captivity Dracula forced him into a short stint before, it’s a rare, once in a blood moon, type of occurrence for your on-again-off-again partner to be visiting.
Blade never popped in for more than a handful of days— if you were lucky. And usually not without unwelcome company— because you were never that lucky. But tonight was different.
Good different.
Multi-dimensional entanglement aside.
Well, fingers crossed, at least.
The man even knocked on your front door to be let in. A far cry from what’s become your usual routine: him rapping on and slipping through your window so he can’t be seen by the vampires — or vampire lackeys — watching your space. Because being with the infamous Daywalker brought adventure into your life just as frequently as it brought the crush of your safety whenever his enemies managed to find out about you and came to collect on grudges past.
Now, you can scrabble up and dispatch of a vampiricly inclined goon here and there just fine on your own — Eric wasn’t the type to love you and, knowing the kind of trouble he attracted, not equip you with the skills and tools he could to keep you safe — but more ambitious plots meant the big man had to come in person to muddy your trail again.
This time there’s no frantic whispers.
None of Eric’s quiet exasperation at how much heavier your go-bag is than when he initially packed it with you. Or his worried glances— or the snarl pulling at his lips to reveal the glint of fangs whenever any vampires inevitably foiled you two’s escape plan and he’s promptly about to lose his shit to protect you.
“No one’s dead or dying,” he’d said in lieu of a ‘hello’. Arms crossed and shoulder wedged against your doorframe so he could lean against it.
The grin on his lips had only widened the longer you’d stood at the threshold of your front door just…blinking at him.
His low call of, “At this rate I’ll freeze to death if you keep me out here any longer,” is what unstuck you. Ludicrous a claim as his words were. Your brain finally came to terms with the fact that he was real and the world wasn’t ending, and his appearance was good, actually.
Standing shaded by the moon’s rays. Wearing a less flashy set of armor than you’ve grown used to seeing him in throughout the last couple months. The black hoodie with its hood pulled up stretched over top of his armored vest was probably Eric’s idea of inconspicuous, but he’s sneaky enough you’re not genuinely worried he attracted anything like a tail on his way to you.
Though the bag visibly packed to the brim with weapons certainly wasn’t helping his attempts to seem more lowkey so you’re a bit surprised he bothered.
Then you’d smiled and Eric’s grin had gotten softer— and yeah there really wouldn’t be any of the hunter jumping in front of gnashing fangs to take vampire bites for you that without his immunity would fuck the course of your life up forever if they landed.
Now here you were, staring at the bookbag sitting at the edge of your bed — brimming with his trench coat with the handle of his swords’ in their sheaths poking out, knives and silver stakes in the side pockets — and mulling over the rule of life that seemed to mean Eric never didn’t smell like a mix of cold pennies and warm spices.
Not quite sage, better than Tarragon, uniquely Eric.
A larger part of you than you’ll ever admit to him out loud — because BLADE had a big enough ego as it was, no matter how much you loved it — can’t wait for the scent of him to sink into your sheets and linger in the air again.
Every part of your place (not excluding any copped clothes he ‘left’ with you) has long since lost the smell of him over the course of his absence. Which is basically a criminal offense in your eyes.
Your bathroom door clicks open, and a grin pulls at two-toned lips as the thought solidifies in your mind.
“I’ma need you to scent my shit like you're a werewolf marking its territory over the next however long you’re here— I’m sorry, are those bat pajamas?”
Halfway out the bathroom, clearly in the process of switching out the two shower caps protecting the plaits on his head for a red satin bonnet, Eric pauses.
Amber eyes flick to you as he finishes. He screws up his face.
“…The fuck?”
Already dressed for bed, the way you were when he knocked, you know you don’t look abnormal enough for his reaction to be to your appearance, but…
“Cotton button down and all,” you joke, still taking in the outfit more than Eric himself. “Okay sleep couture.”
Alright, maybe you're having more fun than you should be.
It’s not surprise that widens your eyes when he clears his throat, regardless. Unrivaled persistence thy name is Eric Cross Brooks; once he latched onto something he’d follow it to its end.
“Uh uh,” Eric shakes his head, fangs flashing for a moment like he’s holding back his amusement. “Slow your roll, we’re not skipping past what you just said.”
When you sigh it’s a heave of a thing.
Less genuine frustration and more an attempt to hide the blood warming your cheeks, though your complexion makes it harder to tell, and desperately hoping he doesn’t pick up on how flighty your gaze suddenly is.
Maybe you shouldn’t have been quite so bold.
Though it’s not like finding something plausible to have caught your attention is hard.
For all he stands a little over six foot and is a proverbial tank of a man, you’re seconds from crossing the room to pepper his face in kisses.
Doesn’t matter that he could break a car door off its hinges and throw it like a frisbee, there are bats decorating his pajama pants and you are losing it.
“Fine. I need this house brimming with your smell by the end of this week like I need air to breathe.” You wave off the broad grin you can already see taking over his lips. So much for not fueling his ego. “Nevermind me. What are you wearing?”
Almost like a flip in the universal order has occurred, now Eric’s the one to break eye contact. Looking for all the world like someone trying and rapidly failing to come up with a believable lie.
“I mean…” he starts, hand moving to run over the ridges of his braids beneath their silk covering. It takes a while for him to come up with anything else, mouth hanging open for a handful of seconds. Then, visibly, you see him give up; a huff falling out his mouth before he looks back at you with crossed arms and a shake of his head. “I lost a bet, alright?”
“…Really?”
Eric grumbles your name, already done with you.
You crack a smile, gesturing with your hands all the while.
“I’m sorry, I just find it hard to believe you let yourself be talked into a bet in the first place.”
The man talked a big game always, but rarely did he waste time trying to monetize said game in particular. Too much pride to play, too much ego to lose.
Eric says: “Brielle,” next though, and you don’t need to hear a thing more. Already laughing before he can elaborate any further. But, really, outside of your own selfish thirst for greater ammunition to tease him with, it's hardly necessary anymore.
Like father, like daughter. That girl didn’t let up on Eric until she was satisfied. Foot on his neck, she wouldn’t have relented until he’d agreed to the bet in the first place.
Said setup father is scowling at you now, but you don’t let that stop you. Well into the choking on your laughter portion of your amusement.
Eric sighs and it’s a miracle it’s loud enough you register it at all. Starts speaking like every word pains him to utter.
“What exactly were you expecting?” he asks, like he doesn’t already know. As if your eyes hadn’t bugged the second he stepped from the steam that’d built up behind your bathroom door like one of Dracula’s brides gliding from the fog in footy pajamas instead of some sprawling gown.
Though the Daywalker was far from even a groom so…
Sucking in a big gust of air, lungs twinging, you speed your way through a cool down so you can actually form coherent speech.
“Boxers. Maybe a tank top.” Still smiling, you click your tongue, taking his topic pivot in stride. “Obviously.”
“Obviously,” he echoes, voice naturally low and begrudgingly amused.
You raise a brow.
“Well, you gotta give me more than that, Eric,” you say— not begging. You’re far too distinguished for that.
“Or I could just…change?” He shoves his thumb over his shoulder like he’s genuinely going to strip out of his pajamas at your behest, his brows raised and teeth flashing in a crooked half smirk you know all too well.
“Stop your shit, don’t do me like that. Just tell me how you lost so spectacularly.” You blink up at him, sweetly almost. Smile curling a little less teasingly. “I do think it’s sweet, though. It’s also just…different.”
Good different.
“Oh yeah?” He positively beams. The butterflies in your stomach are mutinying. And the ego around your powers of persuasion is thoroughly intact. “Fine, Brielle saddled me with them after handing me my ass. Guess I was underestimating her too much during our spar; ended up lighting a fire in her.”
That tracked.
“Well that was your first mistake,” you hum, shaking your head at him. Opting to slip from your bed to meet him where he’s stuck contemplating with his arms crossed in the middle of the room.
Eric isn’t so much as scowling. Nodding along with you, with his head tilted some like he’s remembering something fond.
“Sure was,” he scoffs, more at himself than anything. Then he knocks his chin up to indicate his bag. “I got a lil keychain of her too, to hang off my sword handle. It’s plush. Has her katana,” he finishes, chest puffed up and broader features smug despite himself.
Because it’s clear from his face — brows scrunched together and lips pursing into something close to a pout — that he has zero idea as to how she even managed all that. Even if he thinks it’s effective punishment for losing their bet.
“Feel set up yet?” you tease, watching how he drops his arms. How he tracks your advance, attention slipping down your form. Thorough and slick like he’s considering how to freeze you in place to get more of his fill.
“I ain’t complaining,” he says, voice losing its projection and a hand already grabbing for you. He still sounds amused. You’re already aiming to wrap your arms around him. “Would’ve hated having an idiot for a kid.”
Letting out a tiny snort, you both finally meet in the middle. Time picking up naturally again as his arms close around your waist from one breath to the next, not missing a beat.
Not one to be outdone, you wrap your arms loosely around his neck just as soundly, fingers dancing up his nape to play at the thinner band of the sleep mask plastered to his forehead.
“You are too cute like this,” you murmur, eyes no doubt bright and expression open. “Definely in a better mood than when you usually lose.”
An aborted chuckle, the end muffled by him swooping in to press full lips to your cheek in a kiss.
“Hell yeah I’m in a good mood,” he says, pulling back while your body tingles pleasantly from the lingering warmth near your jaw. “No big nests to cull, Kid’s doing good at the academy, and now I get to be here with you. Losing one little bet is nothing.”
With a soft, almost musical, hum, you drag your hand down his chest. Gaze following as it passes over loose fabric that can’t hope to hide Eric’s physique. You run the pads of your fingers over the cartoon bat embroidered on it, letting your nails catch on the raised lines.
You yawn. Eyes fluttering shut and expression contorting in the kind of bare, vulnerable, humanity that drives your partner crazy.
“You are a nice surprise, aren’t you?”
“Mm,” he starts, and when your eyes open again his smile is the tiniest bit sharper. More teeth. His eyelids lower. “Only ‘nice’?”
Eric doesn’t even think, the moment you walk yourself back he follows. Blindly letting you lead him to your bed— or whatever passed for blind following for such a high strung man. To warm sheets that needed to be scent bombed yesterday and a reprieve from your blowing air conditioner.
“Don’t push it,” you fiddle with one of the skull buttons clipping the button down together, tilting your head at him. Playing at unimpressed. As if you're not breathing him in with every chance you get.
Like a cologne you're obsessed with. Or a high you can’t help but chase.
So caught up in your own trance that you startle against him when the backs of your legs hit the edge of your mattress.
Even more blatant than his larger hands kneading at your sides. Restrained, but eager to explore. One of his pinkies now rubbing along the hint of the band of your underwear over your sleep clothes.
Dark gaze dragging from brown eyes to quirked lips and lingering.
Eric tumbles into bed after you smoothly. Crawling over you the moment you fall back. Both of your faces close and eyes locked as you nudge yourself further onto the plushness around you and he dutifully follows. Hungry gaze reflecting your eagerness to get your hands on him again back at you— in spite of the smirk on your lips.
Still, it’s more entertaining to shift out of his trajectory when he nudges your nose with his and tries to dip in for a kiss.
Eric huffs like a whine. His eyes go molten and pleading when they snap, accusatory, to yours.
“Y/n…” he murmurs. That pretty voice admonishing and desperate. Like he thinks he can finger wag you into giving him what he wants. Too much blood gearing up to head south for him to plan through his delivery better, probably.
“Aww,” you coo, tracing the round sleeping eyes of the rudimentary bat face on his sleep mask. Eric scrunches his face up at you, and you lean in to peck him on the tip of his scrunched nose before dragging the mask down to sit across his eyes with a slap of elastic. “Not tonight. Go to sleep, Slayer.”
You had a scenting to commence.
“Goddamnit, Bat,” Eric grunts, head jerking away from you slightly. Long worn nickname for you falling past his lips like second nature. Whatever mood he’d been sliding towards put on hold with his unceremonious scramble.
Too busy poorly muffling the short lived peel of laughter that bursts from your chest, both of your hands slapped over your mouth, you don’t pay him any mind.
Eric would remember that.
Absconded by the darkness already, he doesn’t bother lifting the mask back up. Instead he sighs. Letting you guide him into a position more suited towards sleeping, listening to your little yawns, then your grumbly mutters when he tells you to turn off the lamp.
“Alright, I’m going,” you snap softly at his pushing, laughter tinging your words, blissfully unaware of what awaits you the second he hears the lights go out. “You’re real pushy for someone not even being affected by it anymore.”
A soft, gentle click.
The slayer pounces before you’ve even made it all the way back onto the bed. Snatching you around the waist and pulling you in.
“—Ah!” you yelp, bouncing on the mattress once, twice, unable to get your bearings before you're being dragged back to the center of the bed. “Eric!”
Your complaint, higher pitched and breathless as it is, goes ignored. The man far more interested in cuddling you now that anything more is off the table.
“Shhh,” he grumbles, voice already gritty with inbound sleep in your ear. You can feel him nuzzling you. “Go to sleep.”
“Oh jokes, you got jokes now too?” you whisper, wiggling around the band of his arm. Facing him doesn’t give you much more leverage than before, but you are able to catch the gleam of Eric’s teeth in the darkness as he snickers.
“Those only belong to you now? That how this works?”
He tucks you in tighter against his chest, but you don’t complain even while you get a little cramped. Are throwing one arm over his side and tucking the other between your bodies before the next words are even out your mouth, tired and slurred though they may be.
“Oh, fuck off,” you grunt, smushing your face into his chest, his chest hair peeking out from the unbuttoned parts of his shirt tickling one side of your face, and breathing deep.
Metallic and almost-sage and warmth fills your nostrils.
And when Eric presses his cold nose to the grove of your neck and the warmth pouring off of you, mumbling an ‘I’ve got you,’ into brown skin, you hold him a little tighter. Slipping off into a dreamland of clashing titans with Blade at the top before you know it.
That’s not the last of it, however.
In the morning, your eyes sleep crusted and dried drool at the corner of your mouth, bonnet askew, you rise with the sun in tandem with the Daywalker. Then are promptly treated to the indignity of having to awkwardly duck and bend yourself out of the way of Eric’s arm, spread out high as he yawns.
Despite his mask still tucked across his eyes, you narrow your eyes at him, fighting back your sympathetic yawn on principle.
He knows exactly what he’s doing, though, because when that mask comes up and he instantly seeks you out, he’s grinning and it's all fang.
“See if I make you breakfast,” you grump, although you absolutely will be. A mug of warm blood, maybe, and definitely getting his injection set up for him because you’re nice like that.
Then a plate of something far more hearty.
And chewable.
“See if I care,” Eric claps back, although he absolutely does.
Enhanced speed means he beats you to the bathroom too, but you hardly have time to suck your teeth before he’s pulling you in with him.
“Mornin’,” he grunts, pressing a kiss to your temple.
“Hm.” Lips curling, you lean into his presence. “Good morning, Eric,” you murmur, and his smile curls up against your skin in response before he mercifully turns you loose to take a leak.
NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!! ❤︎
Side note, I now know he can (newly) transform into a cloud of mist and a wolf so why not also a swarm of bats? Just imagine the cuteness overload of Eric swarming you. Bat cuddles, omg!
I tried, but this one is more OOC than I was aiming for. It’s not a huge deal, but it is something to work on later (for me). And please mind my pacing!
btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it!
Bonus(+)Pic —
The stuffed bat the I am shoving into this man’s arms as I type fr. For your viewing and imaginative pleasure, of course.
BEING IN A RELATIONSHIP w/ BLADE - 2/? (Blade | Eric Brooks x Fem!Reader)
Headcanons / Spurt
SFW, established relationship, fluff, canon typical action/violence, a bit of character study
Pic source: Marvel Rivals Banner
700+ words
ERIC BROOKS who steals touches quicker than he asks for them. Squeezing at your shoulder. Offering to patch you up. Wiping blood or sweat from your face. Hiking you over his shoulder as opposed to just snatching you out of the way of danger.
ERIC BROOKS pressing careful fingers into your jaw to check you over for scratches. Touching you while he guides you through sword drills despite how well you both know he prefers teaching by throwing you into the fire to judge how you claw your way out— who bothers to teach you at all.
ERIC BROOKS whose breath is warm on one pass and unexplainably cool on the next, puffing against the back of your neck as he shows you how to shoot a gun. Adjusting your stance and testing that you’re properly bracing for the recoil. Quiet, rumbled, comments of: “yeahhh, that’s my girl. that’s it,” and “not like that, damn,” passing freely from his mouth.
ERIC BROOKS, proud man that he is, avoiding flashing his fangs at you when you first get serious. Unfairly denying you the privilege of his infuriating, adoringly rougeish, grin for no good reason because he takes how it stops you in your tracks the wrong way.
ERIC BROOKS who ducks his head and scoffs when you march up to him after one too many an instance of his hidden smiles to tell his ass to knock it off. Who tucks you in against his side afterwards and hides his grin against your head. Pressing a kiss to your temple while you grumble.
ERIC BROOKS who takes any attack on you — verbal or physical — personal as all hell. Even if it’s over something petty he holds grudges longer than even you do. Scoffs and bluntly stated disdain and grunts of ‘I don't like you’ whenever the person who hurt you tries to be all buddy buddy. If you still want them in your life, fine, but best believe Eric won’t forget shit if the harm done was serious. And he sure won’t forgive.
ERIC BROOKS. Stoic as hell. Who chooses his words very carefully whenever he does speak. Whose grunts you learn to decipher, but who spares more frivolous words for you than he’d ever admit to anyway.
ERIC BROOKS who gets flustered if you’ve been paying attention enough to properly reorganize his weapons cache for him. Who freezes, heart pounding and mouth opening just a fraction to reveal a flash of fangs, when you casually hand him sharpened glaives and heft his newly polished sword around.
ERIC BROOKS being quick to take the sword from you before you hurt yourself, but absolutely liking the image you make with his prized weapon.
ERIC BROOKS who thanks you in more understated ways than just his gruff verbal appreciation. Things like tucking you closer more often, gifting you weapons fitted for you and your hands, mending your clothes, getting that snack you’ve been craving but couldn’t get because you’ve had to hide out, etc.
ERIC BROOKS who watches you dispose of a man twice your size for the first time and can admit wholly that he likes what he sees. The determined look on your face, the anger, how you glance over to him for any hint of approval when the fight’s over. The moment he doesn’t hesitate to grant you that reassurance he knows he’s let himself be carefully wrapped around your finger.
ERIC BROOKS whose amber eyes stick to your black leather and kevlar-clad form.
ERIC BROOKS who’ll buy time so that you can get your hair out of your face (if you need to). Natural, blowout, braids, plaits, locs, etc.— he doesn’t give a shit, you just better not be hindered by it by the time he whips this motorcycle back around or needs you to fulfill your role in the plan. He might cuss, he might cut his eyes at you, but that he’s giving you the time at all speaks volumes to his fondness for you.
ERIC BROOKS who genuinely bothers to answer any questions you have about his weapons. Who walks you through the deconstruction and maintenance of his guns; hands skilled — almost reverent — and words blunt as he instructs you. Going over hollow point bullets until you get it, the space between your bodies practically nonexistent as he speaks. Who thinks he’s slick assigning you to help him with maintenance after he teaches you, but you let him have it.
NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!! 🧛🏿♂️🩸
Another sprinkling of Blade fluff for y’all’s reading pleasure. Here’s a link to part one too!
btw: there’s not much here, but you can write a lil comment if you want to!
why wait for them to try again? grow a spine. keep going and bully them nonstop until they stop terminating trans women and promise to not even attempt to reintroduce this. keep bullying them until they have remotely ethical practices. keep bullying them after that because they deserve it. never stop bullying tumblr staff.
