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oleander-nin · 10 months

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Human Heater(Rottmnt x Reader Drabbles)

A/N, not important: All credit goes to @buggy-cj for the idea, I just wanted to write it because it's so cute! I'm also ignoring this was posted back in May. I started it, just never finished it. Sorry for skipping last weeks fic, I wasn't doing too hot. Hopefully I'm good to go now. Any criticism is welcome, constructive or not. This is supposed to be a gender neutral reader, so if I screwed up somewhere, please tell me.

-Ollie

Tw: None that I know of. If you see any, please tell me

Words: 2466

Summary: You're warm, and the Rise boys want to take advantage of it.

Mikey:

The movie droned on in the background, neither you nor your terrapin boyfriend paying much attention. Your focus is instead on him and the way his arms are wrapped around you, holding you close and keeping you against him. It was nice, being this glued to your boyfriend. His constant clinginess wasn’t a bother to you, even if he got too intense. He was always good at respecting your boundaries, backing off the moment you asked.

You feel him nuzzle his beak further into the back of your head, his eyes peering just over your hair so he could still see the movie if he so wanted. The action movie was the only thing illuminating you both in the moment, a soft light on your faces. Your eyes drift to the screen, watching Mikey’s father laugh loudly before starting to take on the twenty stunt doubles he was acting with.

“I still can’t believe that was your dad.” You grumble, taking another handful of popcorn. You look up to him, craning your neck so you can meet Mikey’s striking eyes. Mikey laughs at your puffed cheeks full of popcorn, his chest vibrating against your back. One of his arms snakes up to your head, lightly running his two forefingers through your hair as he presses a light kiss to your temple.

“Well you best believe it! My dad was the greatest ninja and actor the world’s ever seen!” His proud proclamation is punctuated with another kiss, his position shifting to be on top of you so he could use you as a pillow. He settles down with his chin on your chest, his arms wrapped around your torso lovingly.

“I think you’ve surpassed the greatest ninja thing by now, love.” You say with a grin, cupping his cheeks and pulling his face closer. Mikey melts in your hands, his expressive eyes letting you see every bit of love he holds for you. Mikey shakes his head, moving his face into one of your palms and kissing it softly.

“Considering he beats our tails every other week, I’d think he still holds the title.” Mikey chuckles. You roll your eyes and scoff, rubbing his cheeks as the movie plays in the background. Silence washes over the both of you as Mikey settles back down, his head turned towards the open laptop Mikey had balanced on a chair with some books. As you both watch the movie, you can feel your lower stomach tighten in discomfort, your eyes dropping accusingly to the half-empty bottle of soda set to your right. You lightly pat Mikey’s cheek, his eyes drifting to you with a questioning look.

“Can you let me up? I have to go to the restroom.” You say softly, propping yourself up on your elbows. Mikey juts out his bottom lip in an exaggerated pout, his pupils dilating while his chin is stuck firmly to your chest and his arms tightening on your torso.

“Can you wait for the movie to end?” He whines, burying his face into you. You snort, patting his head to try and get him to move.

“Sorry Mikey, I have to go. I’ll be right back though, I promise.” You lightly push at his head, making him blow against your shirt while he starts to stir.

“You’re so warm though, and I’m comfortable.” His complaints are theatrical, his head lolling to the side like you were sentencing him to the gallows instead of simply asking him to move. Despite his protests, he lets out an exaggerated groan and slowly rolls off you to let you up. You shift off the bed and scurry off, wanting to be able to crawl back into Mikey’s arms as quickly as you could.

Donnie:

The quiet clacking of the keyboard reverberated around the lab, adding a quiet percussion to soothe your thoughts. The warmer air of the lair was nice on your skin, a comforting feeling stripped away once you entered Donnie’s lab. It was always kept colder due to the sensitive equipment Donnie had acquired(stolen) over the years, but now that winter was here, the colder air seemed like you had just stepped back outside. You pull your jacket closer over your shoulders, debating zipping it up as you follow the sound Donnie was creating on his keyboard.

The sight of him curled up in his chair with his knees to his chest made you laugh soundlessly, his eyes focused and drawn eyebrows furrowed while he stares his computer down. Moving closer, you see he wasn’t working. A game is on his screen, the loud clacking of his keys coming from his violent spam of buttons as he fights the characters attempting to attack him with their pixelated weapons. You pull another chair up next to him, curling into yours in the same manner he had his own. His wayward glances showed you he knew you were there, but you both bask in the silence of each other. You wanted to lay your head on his shoulder as he plays, to get a small amount of heat transfer to your freezing cheeks, but you hold back.

His game seemed to be in his peak, a larger character coming onto the screen and making it virtually shake. If you laid on him now, his arm would be stunted, and he would most likely lose. You sulk as you sink further into your chair. Cuddles and warmth would have to wait. His screen flashes a few times as the game goes on, his character pulling out different weapons and healing items as the larger boss attempts to pummel him into the ground. You try not to laugh as Donnie starts to get frustrated with his game, his concentration breaking as he sits up more to heighten his button smashing. The screen flashes an end title, the mocking “GAME OVER” making Donnie grumble under his breath.

“My fingers were frozen.” Donnie mumbles out a defense, not meeting your eyes. You look at him, a bit confused at the random statement. His fingers didn’t look frozen, they were still intact and a bright green.

“What do you mean?” Your query gets Donnie to clear his throat, his cold hands cupping your slightly warmer ones. You shiver from the contact, a movement not gone unnoticed by the purple banded turtle.

“I lost because my hands are numb, dramatic sigh.” His voice gives off an over exaggerated flair of devastation, something that makes you start to laugh. He rolls his eyes at your chuckles, a disgruntled “scoff” accompanying his previous theatrics. “Laugh all you want, but I still lost.”

“Then turn the heat up.” You tease, rubbing his hands to try and warm them up more. Donnie shakes his head, his shoulders drooping.

“You know I can’t. I have a lot of sensitive equipment in here.” You smile softly at his defeated look, patting one of his hands in light sympathy. He sinks back into his chair, glaring at the still flashing end card. Amidst the clear annoyance on his face, he seems to perk up, an idea running through the cogs in his brain. Without saying a word, he leans over to your chair and scoops you into his arms, quickly depositing you into his lap before you can protest.

“Sit sideways,” He says quickly, his knees coming up and sliding you down into the divot of his waist. You fumble around a bit, doing as he says. You could feel his heart beating when you lean into him, his warm breath ghosting your neck while you both shift into a more comfortable position. He kisses his forehead, smiling softly.

“You could have used a blanket.” You mumble, clearly enjoying it despite your words as he starts his game back up to try again. Donnie shrugs, a smug grin settling on his features.

“You’re warmer.”

Raph:

The cushions of the beanbag are more comfortable than expected. When Raph first suggested laying in the living room on them, you were skeptical. With their dingy look, you doubted they would be a good place to sit, but they worked fine for what they were needed for. A small smile comes to your face as Raph buries himself farther into his own bean bag, his posture more relaxed than it had been all week. His eyes are lighter as he stares at the movie catalog, one arm absentmindedly patting around for the remote..

“Are you ready to watch the movie?” Raph asks, his hand finally finding the remote and starting to flick through the movies. You absentmindedly confirm his question, getting up as the microwave beeps to signal the popcorn being done. You can hear the clicking from the TV as Raph scrolls through the selections, his bean bag sometimes crying out in protest as he shifts. Returning with a large bowl of popcorn in your arms, you bypass your own bean bag. Raph notices, his gaze shifting so he could follow your movements with a curious eye.

You carefully sit down on Raph’s bean bag, making sure to be on the edge so you didn’t accidentally invade his personal space, as well as make sure he had the option to send you back to your own seat if he wanted. After a few moments of Raph staring at you, he shrugs and settles into his seat more, scooting over to make sure you have room. You smile, leaning into him and resting your head on his plastron. Raph jumps slightly, his eyes going wide as he looks down at you, a large cocky grin adorning your face.

“What are you- Oh… Oh you’re warm.” Raph reaches his arm around to scoot you closer, pressing you firmly against his chest. You situate yourself into a better position, letting your head loll over onto him. He snuggles into you as well, melting against you.

“Are you comfortable?" Raph asks softly, holding you close as he picks up the remote again to continue the movie night. You nod, grinning. The hardness of his plastron was surprisingly nice to rest on, although it might just be because of how tired you were. Keeping your head nestled just underneath the point seemed heavenly in the moment, although you wouldn't have complained even if it was a bit too hard. His brothers were finally out and you both had the lair to yourself for a movie night.

"Is that the movie you wanted?" You ask, watching curiously as the selection highlights a movie different to the ones Raph had been raving about wanting to see for the past week. Raph glances away from you, his arm pulling you closer.

"Raph thought you might prefer this one more."

"Raphael, put on the movie you wanted or I'm going back to my own bean bag."

Raph huffs at the playful threat, pushing you almost fully onto his chest in retaliation. A laugh bubbles from you as his face morphs into a light frown. Despite his newly fortified way of holding you, he still bypasses the movies he was hovering over before finding the ones he had been excited for, a wide from now on his face. As the opening sequence of the movie plays, Raph leans down to kiss the top of your head with a quiet "thank you". You pat his stomach twice, too entranced with the movie to respond.

Leo:

“You’re really warm.” Leo mumbles into your skin, his face pressed firm in your chest. His hold was still strong, not giving you much room for movement. You roll your eyes, rubbing your boyfriend's head softly and raking your nails over the soft scales.

“So I’ve been told.” You muse, a soft grin etched into your tired face. Leo mentioned it every time he corralled you into a cuddle session, weighing you down as he lays on you for hours. You didn’t mind, of course. Any time spent with your boyfriend was time well spent. At least, until you had somewhere to be. You didn’t have to leave for classes for another hour, but it would be better if you got up now to get ready. You were fighting to gain the will to push him away, liking watching Leo sink into you while his fingers drummed where they held you. His weight was comforting, keeping your body from really waking up as your eyes fight to close. It was a trap you really needed to fight out of soon.

“Leo,” You murmur, cupping his face at the cheeks. It was better to try and weasel away from him now, especially if you want enough time to go about your schedule. His eyes drift over to yours, a lazy smile on the terrapins face. “I really have to get up. I need to get ready.”

Leo’s smile morphs into an exaggerated pout, his arms quickly looping around your midsection as he squeezes you close. “But I’m cold.” He whines, trapping you under his body. “And you’re so warm. Can’t you stay a bit longer?”

You sigh, rubbing the back of his head tenderly. The young slider melts into you as his face disappears into your stomach, causing you to realize he really wasn’t letting go. You chew on the inside of your cheek. While you very well could demand him get off(and you knew he would listen, if begrudgingly), you weren’t sure you really wanted to. You continue to rub his head for a moment more, speaking up again in hopes he’d give up so you wouldn’t have to be firm. It wasn’t like you really wanted to get up either.

“Leo, please? I just need to go take a shower.” You pull his face up so he has to look at you, his eyes playful and light. He sticks his tongue out at you before rolling up, crushing you under his weight as you groan in defeat.

“All I’m hearing is that you want me to freeze.” His voice is muffled from being buried into your skin. His words vibrate against you and force you to stifle a laugh, your sides spasming from the accidental tickle. Leo picks his head up to look at you, a bright grin on his face. “However, if you really want to leave, I could be persuaded with a kiss.”

You laugh and lean in to meet his lips, kissing him softly to pay your toll of leaving. Leo lets his head fall into your stomach for a moment more before slipping off your stomach to curl into your side, letting you take a full breath now that his weight was off his chest. Finally free, you slip out of bed, tossing the blankets you left onto Leo and make your way out of the room to start your day.

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astrologicalsstuff · 2 years

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Astrology observations

Another one I think this is 3

Back at it again with the astrology observation again please don’t take my ideas I actually work so hard to come up with these concepts

Capricorn placements are so funny I swear to god. They are underrated in this regard because they don’t make a lot of jokes but they always have the perfectly timed dry humor that is just so funny. They can make giving you a real talk so funny because they just make everything else seem so dumb.

Idfk who said libras were balanced under developed these people are so selfish it’s like whatever their version of balance is…

Virgo women can get really caught up with trying to be the “perfect” or ideal women. They struggle the most with self image issues.

Pisces placements… I’m so sorry and I never speak in absolutes but spirituality community service or art is really the best manifestation. If you have Pisces sun or moon you have to learn to be in service of something or you can lose your sanity pretty easily and you may not be able to tell. Pisces is a karmic sign that has debts to pay. Maybe you don’t have to be the most selfless person because that doesn’t always do Justice but you have to learn to devote yourself to something or you could be susceptible to mentali ilness, alcoholism, depression, or drug abuse.

Scorpio mars anger is so real my little sister has this and she always bring up shit from when we were 4 in arguments. I’m 20…

Cancer taurus and Scorpio mars hold onto shit for WAY TOO LONG

Gemini + Virgo big three = a know it all

Even if they don’t know they act like they do

Aries moons are the true babies of the zodiac watch them react when something doesn’t go their way(esp. if mars is debilitated)

Virgo mercuries can be so… confused? I know they get the credit for being smart and I don’t doubt they are but when it comes to real world experiences. I don’t wanna sound mean but this placement can be so clueless. I think they get really fixated on details that they can miss quite a bit.

Venus debilitation mostly just has to do with self esteem and how it relates to your relationships. These people are so attractive tbh.

10th house ruler in the 8th has so much potential for success.

Pisces moons roll their eyes or look up when they’re lying thank me later. (Women)

Planets at home can sometimes just be way too much cancer moons are overly sensitive Virgo mercuries can be fixated on minute details venus in Taurus will never get over their person.

I don’t know why Pisces is exalted in the Venus position, they are the people always getting walked all over in relationships because they love their partners so much.

Sagittarius and Pisces moons escapism😔

Scorpio Mercury likes to be exclusive. In friend groups they like to make sure people know that they’re lucky to be in this closed circle with them. (ESP. W libra sun/placements)

Water sign moons (under developed) can be so untrustworthy tbh. They’re on your side till you piss them off then they use your vulnerabilities against them. This is mostly true for cancer and scorpio.

I have so many Venus conjunct mars in scorpio in my life and let me tell you👏👏THESE👏👏PEOPLE👏👏 GET 👏👏WHAT 👏👏THEY WANT👏👏

Not in a malicious way it’s just they’re gunna do what they wanna do.

With sag sun though🫣 very sweet people but when they’re not paying attention to your needs you gotta step it up if you want them to be held accountable.

Libra moons are annoying asf cause how u always get me to agree w u. Like these people are so charming it’s annoying.

Taurus moons are the best and there’s no competition

Gemini Mercury is very good at talking and listening but Mercury in the 3rd are the really talkative ones.

Check aspects to your 10th house ruler to discover your relationship with your father.

If you have planets in the 8th house im sorry there’s always some sort of intensity there but tbh as a person with 8th house placements I wouldn’t want it any other way.

Mercury placements are usually so thin… and Mercury risings can have problems with eating.

Libra risings are so soft spoken. Even when they’re yelling it’s like 🎶🎵🎶

#astrology #astro placements #astro observations #astro chart #love astrology #astroblr #venus #virgo #virgo mercury

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severalforraelee · 1 year

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The Wedding: Thomas Shelby x Reader

Photo credit to the.shelby.followers on Instagram

Word count: 2,072

Written by raelee / Posted Sep 6

Masterlist

Peaky Blinders Masterlist

I stare at myself in the mirror, dabbing a bit more blush onto my cheek.

“Can’t you just say that you love me, Tommy?” The tears fall down my cheeks as I stare at him, desperation written all over my face. He just stares back at me with a blank expression. “You- you don’t even act like it.”

“What do you mean I don’t act like it, ay?” He asks, taking a step forward. His eyebrows furrow, showing anger, however it’s a hint of emotion. “I bought you that necklace you couldn’t stop staring at the other day.”

“Just buying me things isn’t the same thing as showing me that you love me, you use it as a way to shut me up every time this conversation occurs.” I throw my hands up in frustration.

I could repeat that a hundred times- in fact, I have, but Thomas Shelby is never going to understand what he doesn’t want to understand.

“You know what, I can’t do this anymore,” I stomp towards the door.

“Do what?”

“This, Tommy,” I shout, turning around to face him for the last time. “Be in a relationship with you. You’re too focused on your Peaky Blinders shit to ever pay attention to me, and I deserve more than that. Well, I’ll give you all of the time you need, because we’re done.”

I shake myself out of the memory, quietly cursing once I realize that I put on too much blush. My hand reaches for the brush to blend it in.

This is my wedding day. My wedding day to Oliver. Tommy is the last person that I should be thinking about.

Tommy and I had that passion and intimacy, everytime that I was near him he would reach for my hand to hold to rub his thumb on the back of, or wrap an arm around my waist to squeeze. I could always rely on Tommy to feel like I was protected.

But I can rely on Oliver to actually be protected. Tommy lived a dangerous life, head of one of Britain's biggest gangs, while Oliver is just a banker. But being just a banker is okay because I don’t have to worry about staying alive every single day.

I can go to school and teach without having my partner’s safety on the back of my mind all day, and then go home and spend my evening with him without having to go to the bar every other night.

A loud bang goes off on the other side of the door, followed by screams and shouts. I rise from the chair in front of the vanity, staring at the door with fear and curiosity.

Do I leave the room to find out what’s going on? Or do I stay in the safety of the room, waiting for the danger to find me?

Before I can make a decision, the screams and shouts stop and it’s dead quiet again. I still have a decision to make of when I leave this room. My feet turn me around and I’m staring back at myself in the vanity’s mirror.

My white dress is on, my hair is curled, my makeup is done, and my ring is on my finger. I’m ready to get married.

My heels click on the tiled floor as I make my way through the church to the great room. My father stands in front of the large wooden doors, facing them.

“Papa?” I call out softly.

He turns around and smiles lightly at the sight of me. That’s not what I’m focused on, though. I’m focused on his pale skin and the sweat covering his forehead.

“You look beautiful,” he compliments.

Despite it, I frown. I step closer to him, gripping the bouquet of daisies tighter in my hand. I don’t even like daisies, but Oliver’s mom grows them so they’re my bouquet.

“What’s wrong?” I ask him.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he stutters out.

“Are you sure? You just look… disheveled.”

“Everything will be alright, Y/N,” he tells me.

His tone is reassuring, but it’s difficult to distinguish who he wants to reassure, himself or me. But why would he be trying to reassure me? What’s going on?

He holds his arm out and I lock mine in, both of us facing the dark wood now.

The doors open and the church music begins to play. My eyes are forward and a bashful smile is on my lips before it drops completely once I see who’s standing at the altar.

There’s not the familiar blonde hair or brown eyes of Oliver. There’s no shy smile that I’ve become accustomed too, or his tall, lanky frame. Nor the powder blue suit that we’ve been planning he would wear today for months.

Instead, I’m facing familiar brown hair and blue eyes. The cold, blank expression that he’s become known for is on his face- surprisingly, a cigarette isn’t hanging out of his mouth, but I’m sure in five minutes it will be. A full navy blue suit sports his frame, the chain that I got him for his birthday last year decorating his torso.

It’s Tommy Shelby.

“Papa, what’s going on?” I whisper softly, anxiety starting to flood through my veins as my eyes flit around the room.

My family and friends are still here- all seated on one side of the room and appearing petrified as they look back at me. On the other side, though, Oliver’s family is not to be seen. Instead it’s filled by Tommy’s friends and family and all of the Peaky Blinders.

My eyes return to Tommy and he gives me a small smile once he sees the gears in my head begin to shift.

“Just walk for now, darling, don’t think about it,” my dad’s words are reassuring but his voice breaks, telling me that whatever’s going on right now isn’t good. I could’ve guessed that by the way my stomach dropped as soon as I walked into the room.

I follow his advice, keeping my eyes on the cross behind Tommy as we walk down the aisle. I avoid eye contact with everyone, unsure of what’s going on and what everyone knows that I don’t.

“Tommy,” I whisper as we reach him and he reaches out for my hands. “What are you doing?”

“Let’s take that off,” he grabs my left hand, tugging off the gold band with a diamond on it, holding it behind him. “Arthur.” Arthur grabs the ring, throwing it on the ground and instantly stomping on it. My eyes widen at the action and I hear several gasps of shock from the people seated on my side of the aisle.

Tommy pulls a ring out of his suit jacket’s pocket, sliding the silver band with a much bigger diamond onto my finger.

Finally, he looks at me, smiling. “Marrying you.”

“Tommy, I-”I look around nervously, then speak quickly. “I’m supposed to be marrying Oliver, you and I broke up-””That doesn’t matter,” he harshly interrupts me.

I stare at him in shock, both from what’s occurring right now and the tone that he spoke to me in.

He clears his throat.

“None of it matters,” he speaks more smoothly now. “What matters is that we’re in love, we’re going to get married, and then we’re going to build a family and a life together.”

“I don’t know if I’m in love with you,” I confess gently.

His grip on my hands tightens then loosens. “What do you mean you don’t know if you’re in love with me?”

“It’s just, it’s been a while since I’ve seen you, Tommy. I mean, the last time we saw each other you couldn’t even say that you love me and now you want to marry me?”

His facial expression doesn’t change. “You’re right, I can’t say that I love you. But I can show it.”

I let out an exasperated sigh. “We’ve talked about this-””You’re right, we have. Fine. I love you. Is that what you want to hear?” He asks, anger lacing his tone.

“You shouldn’t have to be pressured into saying it,” I argue, “You should want to do it because it’s true and you want to tell me, not because we’re fighting about it.”

Like he read my prior thoughts, he pulls a box of cigarettes and a lighter out from his pocket, plucking one out and lighting it.

I’ve always hated it when he smoked, but I know that it’s a hard habit to break. He says that he smokes so much because he’s stressed all of the time- and I understand why this conversation is stressing him out.

But this conversation shouldn’t be happening in the first place. I’m supposed to be marrying Oliver today, god forbid he’s still alive, but Tommy says that I’m marrying him instead.

“I can’t marry you today, Tommy,” I confess.

He tilts his head, an unasked question.

“We have so many problems and a negative history. I’m supposed to be marrying Oliver,” I remind him.

His face darkens at the mention of Oliver. “Well, now you’re marrying me, love.”

“What if I don’t?” I whisper out.

His face darkens even more. “What if you don’t what?”

My breath quickens, unsure if I want the words to escape my lips. Tommy will definitely have a negative reaction, but just how bad I’m not sure of.

“Go on, speak up,” he encourages mockingly.

“What if I don’t marry you?”

His hand reaches out, gently caressing my jaw. Just by that soft action, I know how much I fucked up.

“Oh sweetie,” he talks softly, like he almost feels sorry for me. “I think we both know what will happen.”

And I do. I know that he would burn down my flat, get my father and brothers fired from their jobs, threaten the local grocery store into not selling to my mother, and have Peaky Blinders follow me around so that I’m constantly paranoid and checking over my shoulder.

In fact, I’m surprised that didn’t happen when I first broke up with him.

But I guess I didn’t matter that much until he found out that I was marrying another man.

“So what do you say? Do you want the priest to start the ceremony?”

A single tear rolls down my cheek as I stare back at the man that I once loved, his cruelty now controlling his personal life as well as his professional life.

“Yes.”

“I haven’t gotten the chance to tell you how beautiful you look tonight,” he whispers in my ear, arms wrapped around my waist. Mine are around his torso, resting my cheek against his chest as we sway slowly to the gentle romantic tune that I had picked out as Oliver and mine’s first dance song.

“Thank you,” I whisper back.

Thomas Shelby is a troubled man. He has dangerous enemies all around the globe trying to find out his weakness to use against him, hoping to gain power and control.

Thomas Shelby has never had a weakness. He’s physically in shape and active so his body’s not weak. He’s cunning and intelligent so his mind’s not weak. His family is just as tough as him so they’re not his weakness.

His enemies have been waiting for years for him to get married, hoping that a potential spouse and children would be his weakness.

And I know we will be.

It makes me angry that Tommy put me in this situation where I have to always be looking around for someone who might end my life. I want to be able to walk to the coffee shop and meet a friend, or go for a walk around the local rose garden without looking over my shoulder or having a peaky blinder assist me.

But… he’s Tommy. And he’s been my Tommy since the day that I first laid eyes on him. His cold exterior is what drew me to him, the curiosity of what hardened him, keeping me hooked on him for a year before our break up.

It still draws me to him.

When he gives me that look that he reserves just for me, I know that there’s a sweet man inside who just wants to feel my love surround him.

And that’s why I lean up, kissing him on the lips in front of all of our friends and family.

#tommy shelby imagine #thomas shelby imagine #peaky blinders imagine #thomas shelby x reader #peaky blinders x reader

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selunesdreams · 5 months

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Chapter 23: Desire

Smut chapter from ongoing fic Forms of Imprisonment. Full chapter/story on AO3.

Pairing: Spawn Astarion (post-tadpole) x OFC

Word count: ~1.7k

Warnings: 18+!!!, smut, piv, oral, blood drinking, dirty talk, cumplay, slight fluff, preexisting relationship, part of a series (but readable without context)

A/n: a very specific part/scene was inspired by this post from @looneylolita and they deserve credit!

—

“You know, darling, I could do this all night, but it would be more fun if you were paying attention while I did it.”

Astarion rises from his position between her legs, where he’s been watching her stare and sigh at the ceiling as he’s worked his mouth against her for the past twenty minutes.

Celeste snaps to attention and blushes. “Sorry.” She squeaks.

His tongue gives a few final lazy strokes against her cunt before he wipes his mouth, glistening with her arousal, against the back of his wrist. The vampire kisses his way up her torso until he’s hovering over her, hands bracketing her on the bed.

“I know that look. I invented it. You’re a million dimensions away.” He cocks his head. “What’s troubling you, my dear?”

Celeste turns her gaze towards the balcony. “My thoughts are so demanding,” she exhales slowly. “I want to be here. I’m trying…I just can’t find a moment of quiet in my head.”

“Only you could overthink yourself into oblivion far enough to only casually enjoy my talents.” His words are mocking, but there’s a gentleness to his demeanor as he speaks to her. “If you’d like me to stop, darling, you only need to ask.”

“I don’t want to stop,” she says, frustrated tears brimming her eyes, “It’s just…everything is so horrible and I can’t focus, can’t relax,” she lets out a sound of agitation, “I can’t come.” She says and flushes with embarrassment.

“Oh, little love,” he says, kissing her jaw, “I’m acquainted with that feeling better than anyone. Just let yourself enjoy something for once. That pesky guilt of yours is getting in the way,” He reaches down for his trousers and unlaces them with one hand, pumping himself against her thigh. “And getting on my nerves.” He adds with a growl. She whines as the tip of his erection weeps precum against her skin.

Astarion sits up on his knees, baring every inch of his chiseled torso to her as he continues stroking himself. “Are you sure about this?” He asks with a raised eyebrow.

She nods and he removes the rest of his clothes, returning to his former position over her, catching her lips with his own.

“That’s okay, you don’t have to say a word.” He whispers against her upper lip, releasing it from between his teeth. Her throat feels dry and all she can do is whimper in response, eliciting a smirk from Astarion.

He teases the tip of himself against her entrance. “But I will need you to look at me so I know you won’t wander off again.” He purrs the words into her ear and grips her face, the tips of his fingers pulling at her skin as he enters her. A gasp of surprise escapes Celeste and Astarion offers her a roguish smile.

“Is this what you wanted?” He feigns a pout as he works in agonizingly slow, yet powerful movements that rattle her with every push, eyes locked on hers with a dominating intensity. She arches her back in response and rakes her nails down his shoulder blades, causing him to tense.

“That’s my wicked girl.” He says with a snarl that turns into a kiss, bringing his mouth against hers as he thrusts.

Astarion had fucked hundreds of people before her, but it was kissing that had always left him hesitant, not the sex. The vulnerability of baring yourself in that way to someone. He could flip a lover over, turn away to escape as he did nothing more than service them, but the meeting of lips, the exploring of tongues in mouths and hands tugging and pulling and grasping…it was hard to fake that kind of intimacy. Not impossible, especially for him, but it took more out of him. More care, more energy. With her, it made his chest ache, his throat tighten with want. Need.

Astarion’s hands squeeze her upper thighs apart as he drives himself into her, while his thumbs trace circles and lines, feather light, before they roughly dig into her skin. Her moans become sobs of pleasure against his shoulder, hands desperately grasping at his scarred back as she draws herself closer, as if she could merge with him, dissolve into his very being.

“Celeste?” He asks apprehensively, a pang of concern in the pit of his stomach as her cries become more and more tortured. He pulls away, tilting her chin towards him so he can search her face for signs of genuine distress. Her breath comes in pants as her lips crash into his, answering with a demanding buck of her hips.

Astarion wraps her legs around his waist and pulls her closer by the small of her back. He lifts her with him as he leans back on his ankles, situating her in his lap between his knees. She takes over his rhythm, riding him as he peppers her neck and chest with kisses. Her fingers weave through his curls as she straddles him, lowering herself so he’s buried deeper within her.

He lets out a groan as she grinds into him with her entire body, controlling her own pleasure, tightening around him every time he bottoms out inside of her. Celeste pulls away, hands grasping his shoulders as she watches him. Astarion meets her stare reverently, as if worshiping her from the mattress. He finds one of her breasts and sucks at its peak, languidly flicking his tongue against her nipple, looking at her underneath lowered eyelids.

She melts in his arms as she feels a warmth at her core, her cunt clenching and dripping more of her own desire onto the base of his cock. Astarion releases his mouth from her skin and closes his eyes, appreciating the sensation. His deft fingers crawl down her stomach, a thumb finding her slickened clit and tracing delicate, then firm circles. She bites down on his shoulder, muffling a guttural scream.

“Now, now, darling, if you get to bite, then I do too.” He teases as he kisses the base of her throat. She bends to nip at his ear.

“Do it.” She rasps, and he throws her onto the pillows without warning, realigning himself and rutting into her with rugged precision. His fangs brush her neck, waiting for permission.

“Are you sure?” He breathes, fingers twisting themselves her hair, tugging her attention towards him as he searches her face for hesitation. She bites her lip and nods. Astarion shakes his head and pulls back and looks at her. “I need your words, Celeste.”

“Yes.” She squeezes her thighs against his hips as he drives into her.

Astarion hums in approval and leaves one hand knotted in her hair while the other returns to her center, teasing at her while he fucks her.

“I think you’re close, Celeste. Let’s help each other.” Astarion grins before his fangs find her again, piercing her skin without warning. Her breath hitches and her chest buckles as he sups at her neck. The mounting pleasure nearly sends him over the edge and he tries to keep from spilling himself as her walls tighten around his erection. When she clenches again, he knows she’s doing it on purpose.

“Fucking hells, Celeste,” he murmurs between pulls at her vein. Blood trickles past his bottom lip and his tongue drags a sloppy line up her neck to catch it. “That’s going to make me come, and I’d rather not do it alone,” he grumbles as he reaches her ear.

She cries out and he licks away the rest of the blood as he pounds into her. Her throat bobs, as if stifling a scream, and his lips cover hers to capture it before it escapes.

“What was that earlier about you not being able to come?” He pants. The vampire listens to the racing of her heart and the blood furiously rushing through her veins, sensing her orgasm approaching. She squirms underneath him, a whimpering mess as her climax finds her. Astarion finally allows himself release, groaning her name like a prayer, his forehead pressed to her shoulder as she mewls in his ear. They stay intertwined for several long moments before he pulls back to assess her.

Her cheeks are flushed as she gazes back at him. A smattering of blood on her neck where she’d bled more while he’d been fucking her catches his attention and he sucks his teeth and smiles.

“Oh dear, I’ve gotten sloppy.”

Her brow furrows, and her fingers fly to the wound. She stares as they come away slick with blood, glancing at him with concern. Astarion takes her fingers in his mouth and cleans the blood from them before rolling her on top of him, his hands eagerly gripping her waist as he draws the flat of his tongue over her neck, moaning at the taste of her. She grasps his curls with both hands and presses herself to him, her breasts flattening against his torso. Astarion’s hand ventures over her ass and back between her legs, encountering the wetness of his own spend seeping from her cunt. He slides his middle finger inside, teasing more cum from her as he laps at her throat.

Satisfied, he eases her back onto the mattress, a sly smile playing on his lips. “Are you still with me?”

“Mmm,” she sighs contentedly. There’s a tug at his heart as he takes her in. She’s stunning, all mussed hair and flushed skin, like a painting against the white sheets.

“I love you, Celeste,” he croaks, the words catching in his throat. His chest tightens with icy dread as he anticipates her response. They’d been skirting around those three words for days, repeatedly prompting arguments and slammed doors.

Her fingers reach up, wrapping themselves around his throat, exerting a slight pressure as she pulls him down until his lips hover above hers. Astarion swallows nervously, surprised by the shift in control. What’s left of his erection pulses against her thigh and he hopes she doesn’t notice his revived arousal.

“Getting sentimental on me?” she teases, a sinful smirk gracing her lips as she kisses him passionately. Sensing his trepidation, she breaks away, holding his gaze as she whispers back, a mix of understanding and desire in her voice.

“I love you too.”

—

Thanks for reading! Please like/reblog/kudos/follow/interact on AO3/whatever if you did? It helps so much!

Full story on AO3!

#astarion smut #astarion fanfic #astarion fic #astarion romance #astarion #astarion fluff #bg3 astarion #smut #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate oc #forms of imprisonment #formsofimprisonment

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redfurrycat · 5 months

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🤠🩰🎤🎶🐓Musicians, Singers & Dancers Fic Recs🐓🎶🎤🩰🤠

(Pic credits: GP - MT)

Check the Top Gun Masterlist post for the latest updated version. 💕

Ao3 Authors: Coconutcordiale, Dalearden, Hangmanbradshaw, Haridwar, LulaluzHazel, Multifandommonster, Perishablealex, Road1985, SunMonTue, Tearsricochets, ToukoJalorda003, Trinipedia, Vahosi, Youlookgood.

Music & Dancing within the Top Gun Verse {🤠🐓} > Actors & Celebrities {🤠🐓}

the happy daggers band AU by multifandommonster

in the morning, when you wrap me up {G}

“I’ll make sure to keep up the complimentary breakfast,” he jokes back. “Gonna give me five stars?” “I’ll give you whatever you want if you keep pouring the coffee,” Jake replies, turning in Bradley’s arms until their noses touch. “I have the GQ shoot today. Probably won’t be home until late.”

kiss you too hard and follow you west {T}

Bradley’s shirt is drenched and his hair sticks to his forehead, sweat dripping into his eyes and ears still ringing, breath coming in uneven ragged pants. He can feel the patchy flush spread across his neck– knows without a doubt that the sheer amount of exertion has left his eyes red and his cheeks splotchy. Jake never takes his eyes off him.

pay for my coffee and leave (before the sun rises again) by haridwar {T}

chance encounters in a diner at 2 am

let me put on a show by dalearden {E}

Stripper Bradley falls hard for Navy pilot Jake. The trouble is, he doesn't realize it until after a series of hook-ups following which Jake has already disappeared from his life, seemingly never to return.

I Don't Wanna Live Through This Comedown - Top Gun AU [Jake "Hangman" Seresin/Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw] by Road1985, trinipedia {E}

Meet Bradley, a struggling musician working at a strip club to cover medical expenses. Then meet Jake, who joined the Army in a desperate attempt to atone for his muddy past of drug abuse and get back the respect of his family. They couldn't be more different, but their needs are the same, so they agree to marry solely for military benefits. However, when tragedy strikes, the line between real and pretend begins to blur.

takin' my heart out (of its zone of comfort) by tearsricochets {T}

Javy, who is still holding on to Bradley like they’re best friends, shakes his head. “Sorry, boss man, I walked all over set. This Tanner dude just isn’t here.” Who the fuck is Tanner? He tries to convey this question to Javy with his eyes, but the actor is not paying a lick of attention to him. He’s looking at the man in front of them, who is instead looking at Bradley like the brunette is the sole cause of every problem in his life right now. “Then who the hell is this guy?” As of finally noticing their boss was no longer pacing in front of them, or that he was suddenly getting louder in tone, Natasha and her friend look up at the new additions of their group. Bradley pretends not to notice the blonde taking an appreciative look at him, but he’s a simple man and absolutely preening under the attention. “This is Bradley,” he gives a meek way to the man burning holes in his head. “And he’s going to fill in as my other half today.” “Excuse me?” He’s going to what? OR: the one in which Bradley is not an actor, but he is going to film a music video for the hot singer

Shimmering Beautiful In The Moonlit Glow by perishablealex {E}

Bradshaw nods and Jake swallows. He begins to slide his hand down from Bradley’s ribcage, gliding over the muscles of his abs, inhaling sharply when he feels the other man’s breath catch. His hand continues pressing onto the hot skin, brushing over the ridge of Bradley’s hips before it finishes its path, sliding to the man’s inner thigh. Holding up the leg, mouth next to Bradley’s ear, he breathes, “There.” Or: The Ballet AU

Cambiaste un Ferrari por un Twingo by LulaluzHazel {T}

Jake Seresin is a famous songwriter in a long-term relationship. He has been living in Barcelona for the past five years living the most romantic and beautiful dream. Until one slip from his partner reveals on National TV the dream is not a dream and Jake has been cheated on for the past year and a half. Heartbroken, he doesn't know to function, until his younger sister suggests he could do a song with one of the most controversial DJs and producers to 'vent' and start healing. A music producer he doesn't respect much. But he knows that between both of them, they can put out a song that will follow the Fucker who played with his heart like that.

blue memories by coconutcordiale {E}

Taking a deep breath, Jake tries not to lose his nerve, summons the last bit of anger and discontent that’s been simmering for nearly a year now. “I want a divorce.” Bradley blinks from his spot on the annoyingly stylish chair next to the bed. Rolls the rocks glass of whiskey in his hands slowly before answering. “Okay.” + aka the musician bradley au

muse by youlookgood {T}

Lately, it's like the spark that would keep driving Bradley forward each night, the fire on his fingertips hot and blazing just like the sweet burn of the drink that comes between and after sets, has been snuffed out. He sees his half-steady gig work and instead of a semblance of comfort and that sun-bright thrill, he feels... ...a little empty. Then, "Can I get you another?"

You and Me, We Got Big Reputations (the fame AUs) by hangmanbradshaw

Love (Suite Love) {T}

Jake never thought he'd leave a pop concert with a public crush. Bradley was on vocal rest. Really, he was.

takes one to know one {E}

He decided to go for broke. “I could handle you.” Jake’s eyes sparked. That smirk on his face grew. “My, my, Bradshaw. That a threat or a promise?” “Depends.” “On?” He shrugged. “On what you want it to be.” Or, rival popstars Jake & Bradley have been circling each other for years. Add in a supposed romance with star QB Javy Machado, a SNL appearance, PR, and Jake throwing down a challenge...and things get interesting.

I've loved you three summers now, honey, but I want 'em all {M}

Jake's been singing songs about himself for longer than he knows, but in the end, he finds out singing songs about Bradley is so much better. Or Writing love songs is hard until it isn't (the musician/producer AU)

Songs of Ballads and Lullabies (Always Revered for Their Adoration) by ToukoJalorda003 {M}

Of all the things that Bradley had wanted most, creating a name for himself was one of them. And given that his friends and he were set to create one of the most iconic rock bands in recent years, he would do anything to keep it that way. Except that Hangman was there, too. That was bad enough - particularly when the guy kept getting on his nerves. Dealing with those put together was going to be…a challenge, to put it lightly.

suburban legends ✈ by vahosi

we were born to be suburban legends {G}

we were born to be the pawn in every lover's game {_}

Take more chances, dance more dances by SunMonTue {E}

Meet!Cute with Jake as the best man at Natasha and Javy's wedding and Bradley is the instructor teaching them how to dance...

#Musicians Singers & Dancers Recs List #hangster #sereshaw #hangaroo #bradley rooster bradshaw x jake hangman seresin #bradley rooster bradshaw #jake hangman seresin #🐈red🐈furry🐈cat🐈tag🐈

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d-criss-news · 6 days

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Darren Criss Says Maybe Happy Ending Is a ‘Phantom-Level’ Spectacle

If you'd asked Darren Criss years ago what his dream stage role was, “Hedwig was it,” says the Golden Globe winner. Well, Criss did perform the title role in Hedwig and the Angry Inch on Broadway in 2015. So in the decade since, what is his new dream? Answers Criss: “If I'm being really honest, it's being able to originate something that hasn't been done on Broadway yet.” So, you can say his newest Broadway project, the new musical Maybe Happy Ending, is another check off the bucket list.

When speaking to Criss about this show in July, he hadn’t yet started rehearsals. But he spoke about the musical with a palpable excitement—after all, it is the first original musical he’s done since his days with the musical theatre company he co-founded, Team Starkid. In recent years, the Emmy winner (who rose to mainstream fame after starring in Glee and The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story) has done mostly revivals on the stage, such as Little Shop of Horrors and American Buffalo.

----------

But to Criss, the particular pleasure of doing something like Maybe Happy Ending is the opportunity to utterly surprise the audience. “Being part of something this original is always a bit of an exponential curve,” admits Criss. “It's always a tough climb at the beginning, because people might not have an instant familiarity with it. But I think that it pays its dividends real soon, once they see what they're in for.”

For Shen, though Maybe Happy Ending follows robots, it touches on deeply human questions—both Helperbots are nearing the end of their lifespan and so they must decide if they want to take that emotional leap to make a connection, even if it means they might lose each other. “It feels like there's a ticking clock at the end of it,” she says. “And so, they're a little bit forced to live life to the fullest while they have this opportunity to do so.”

It’s not just the show that’s new. This is Shen’s Broadway debut. While Criss has over 15 years worth of experience under his belt, Shen is a relative newcomer. She was born and raised in New Jersey; her parents immigrated from Shanghai to America. They both play the violin, passing down their musical aptitude to their daughter, who grew up playing piano. She graduated from the University of Michigan (Criss’ alma mater) in 2022. Though she is still green, Shen’s credits are impressive: This year alone, she starred in the Off-Broadway musicals The Lonely Few and Teeth—both of which were favorably received. “I suppose, in a way, it feels like arriving,” Shen says with hesitancy, as if she doesn’t want to spoil this lucky year. “I think it's a cautious arrival. It's so wonderful and such a blessing and gift to be working with this particular team.”

Criss met Shen during her final callback for the show, which was a chemistry read with Criss where they sang a song together (though years earlier, Shen had attended a master class Criss held at the University of Michigan). More recently, the two have quickly bonded over being trained musicians who eventually became actors (Criss plays guitar, violin, and a bevy of other instruments).

When it’s pointed out that he’s now effectively a Broadway veteran, Criss exclaims (to the giggling Shen), “I cannot fucking believe it. That sounds so twisted, like so Twilight Zone. To me, I've always been the youngest, like, I was always the kid.” But then, he brings it back to his co-star, which he does multiple times during the interview saying, “She'll kick so much fucking ass. That's one of my favorite parts about being in this, I get to forever now be part of the inevitable rise of a young star.”

It’s not just talk. Criss recently had Shen perform multiple songs at his music festival Elsie Fest. When asked what they’re excited for in Maybe Happy Ending, Shen’s answer was getting to sing the score. “The uniqueness of the sonic world—the music is so ethereal, and it's so gorgeous,” she enthuses. “The music feels so beautifully understated, but also, it's orchestral and sweeping. And not to mention, the people who are already attached to the project are people that I look up to in my own career so much.”

There is the assumption that because the show has a chamber musical sound, and it has four cast members, that it’s a small show. Think again, teases Criss: “It's four people, and the story is a ‘smaller’ story, but it has really, really big ideas.” So much so that in July, Maybe Happy Ending announced it would be delaying the start of previews by a month, citing supply chain issues that prevented crucial components of the set from getting to the theatre in time.

Though, Criss admits, “it sounds like we're covering up some nefarious reason.”

Laughs Shen: “We had to clear our beef.”

“Yeah, our beef,” smiles Criss. “Supply chain delay sounds like, kind of made up, but it's literally that.” Though he can’t say much more about what this intricate set design entails, other than it will utilize “cutting edge technology” to match its robot protagonists. As he excitedly puts it: “We're talking [Phantom of the Opera] level of production. This is a spectacle…I can categorically say that this will be something that you have never seen the likes of before on a Broadway stage.”

#darren criss #playbill #helen j shen #maybe happy ending #maybe happy ending bway #uofmichigan #press #sept 2024

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ruelpsen · 24 days

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Current fantasy: going out to dinner with my fave, ideally at a nice restaurant or somewhere where we're expected to mind our manners. Thanks to the long tablecloths, though, nobody else can immediately tell that he's actually let an attribute or two slip out from the bottom of his waistcoat and reach under the table to my carefully hidden dick. He'd stroke me gently, effortlessly, slowly though to increase my pleasure and to tease me, since I don't want to slip up and reveal what we're really up to to all the people around us. He'd edge me with each course, increasing the intensity of his stroking as I grow closer to finishing each dish, forcing me to bite my tongue and grip my utensils as I blush and force myself to hold back moans.

But no, I can't cum yet. Not until I've eaten everything he's ordered for me, and it's a lot. He of course is eating a lot too, and watching him indulge only arouses me further. The fuller we get, the more desperate I become. Surely our waiter at least suspects that there's something going on under the table by the time they bring out our desserts. Try as I might, I can't keep myself from blushing and flushing when I'm being played with like this. Maybe others are noticing, too. I'm too focused on him and on my food to pay it much mind, but it does turn me on further to briefly float the idea that people might be able to see how much of a gluttonous slut I'm being for the ambassador. Look at how much I can put away for him while trying to be a good boy for him. Look at how long I force myself to hold on so he won't have to punish me.

"I think we're finished here," he says as he finally hands his credit chit to our waiter. That's my cue. As soon as our waiter turns away, I bite my lip while a feeling of tightness rises in me. I try to look down, but with one hand he angles my gaze up to meet his. And with the other, he presses a fist to his mouth, muffling a long, deep, rumbling belch. I cum instantly. The tightness releases and ebbs through me, making me shiver and pant as I come down from my high. If people hadn't noticed before, they certainly knew what we were up to now. Look at how much of a whore that human is, they must be thinking. And the ambassador too- such a slut he must be if he's not above jerking off a human in public!

Once the chit's brought back to us, he stealthily zips my pants back up before we stand to head out. I leave a sizeable tip on the table- it's the least I can do after cumming on the bottom of the table. Now that I've released once, it dawns on me just how full I am. It hurts and I know I need to burp, but not yet, not while we're still in such a nice establishment. I look at him though and know that he's ready to help me with that once we're back to his quarters, a method that will perhaps make use of his attributes again...

#was not expecting this to be this long but enjoy ig!#i really need to sleep but my mind would much rather fantasize than allow me to drift off #anyway time to go take care of myself iykwim ;)#burping #stuffing #not sfw #londarling #ruelpsen writes #sure it's long enough that i'll tag it with that

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jebewonmorelike · 1 year

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Pay You Back

wc: 1.3k (failed my own 1.1k challenge but close enough) pronouns: none used; n/a warnings: fluff, some themes of social anxiety/embarrassment in public but nothing descriptive, asking about financial troubles, hao being both your mom and boyfriend, he's in zb1 in this summary: idolboyfriend!hao has to come rescue reader when their card declines at the grocery store and he is not prepared to find out the reason it's maxed out. ~masterlist~ ♡ ~kofi (no pressure at all)~ so i wrote this to see if i could force myself to limit to under 1.1k words... i have a tendency to get carried away and not as many people like longer fics so. i failed bc i went 200 words over but it was a pretty close. anyway if i write shorter works, i can write more so i want to get back in the habit of it. better for my stress levels too lmao. just finished my second "semester" back at school i'm so happy!! third semester stars 7/3 tho so that's annoying but. i have one whole week to do nothing (except work but). ANYWAY hope you enjoy :)

“(Y/N)?” You hear your boyfriend’s voice as he enters the grocery shop. Even though Zhang Hao is quite reserved, he’s more than willing to make a small scene if you’re in trouble. “(Y/N)!?”

The store owner, who is also manning the checkout counter, lifts his arm high enough for Hao to see it over the aisles, pointing at you exaggeratedly— more than unamused.

Hao rushes over to where you stand in the checkout lane; your groceries half-bagged, half sitting askew on the conveyor belt. A couple people are beginning to line up behind you. He frowns, trying to decipher what about this scene could’ve possibly made you text him:

🚨 EMERGENCY AT MARKET!! PLEASE COME HELP!! 🚨

“Honey, what’s wrong?” He asks, brows furrowed in confusion. “You said there was an emergency!”

“Is not being able to pay for your large grocery order after someone has already gone through the trouble to scan and bag most of it an emergency?” The owner asks, resentful eyes still locked on your embarrassed ones.

Hao starts to open his mouth to respond, but the owner cuts him off. “I’ll answer for you. It is an emergency... if the owner forgot to pay his utilities bill and the electricity went out while his wife was curling her hair for work this morning.”

Your boyfriend glances at you then back at the store owner. “Right…”

“I tried to just leave, but he kept this exact same rant going for ten minutes,” you whisper to him as the owner continues to moan and groan about how his wife chased him around the house with a slipper. “I’m really sorry to bother you. I know how busy you are.”

Hao shakes his head definitively. “It doesn’t matter how busy I am— I’ll always have time to help you out,” he says with an affectionate smile, raising his hand to squeeze your right shoulder comfortingly. “As long as you continue to conveniently call when I’m already on lunch break.”

You sigh, looking back down at your shoes in embarrassment.

“Did you forget your credit card? Is that the issue?” Hao asks, taking his wallet out of his back pocket before you even answer.

The store owner laughs. “Worse. It declined.”

Hao looks at you concernedly. Maxing out your credit card was not like you at all. Despite the occasional shopping splurge, you were usually quite practical with money. The look of worry on Hao’s face is valid.

Still, he hands his own credit card to the store owner and begins throwing some of your grocery items into bags himself. As the owner hands Hao his receipt and credit card back, you pick up a few of the bags and head toward the sliding doors. Hao grabs the last bag and follows quickly behind you.

When you’re outside, you breathe a deep sigh of relief; even a couple of people’s annoyed stares had caused your heart to speed up and your body temperature to rise. Hao falls into step beside you, but it takes you a few moments to relax enough to remember he’s there.

When you finally look over at him, he smiles reassuringly. The token introvert had set aside his nature (and sacrificed his coveted lunch break) to rescue you. And he’d also paid for your groceries.

“I’ll pay you back,” you promise softly, cheeks turning rosy once more.

Hao purposely bumps into your side as you walk, trying to get you to smile and break your tension. It works. You scrunch your nose up at him in a smile and he glues himself to your side, hooking a finger in your back pocket to keep you as close as possible as you make your way down the quiet street.

After another few moments of comfortable silence, Hao clears his throat. “So,” he starts, trying his best to sound nonchalant. “Are you behind on credit card payments? There’s no shame in it; it happens.”

“No,” you answer simply, shaking your head as you steal a glance at your boyfriend. You watch as his brow furrows in confusion.

“Oh,” he replies, lips forming a small pout. “Well, you know you could tell me if you were, right? I'd do my best to help you if that’s what you needed.”

“I know,” you say with a smile, watching again as he blinks curiously-- trying to figure out what the problem could be. “I’d tell you if I was having financial problems. I'd refuse your help, but I would tell you.”

“Right,” he affirms, nodding as if to convince himself that he could end his interrogation there. He fails, of course, and an unstoppable flurry of questions begins to fall from his lips. “So... So what happened? Did the card expire or something? Why didn’t you use your debit card? There’s money on your debit card, right? And I know you despise cash, but--.”

You stop walking and Hao’s finger still hooked in the pocket of your jeans pulls him back to face you. “There is an incredibly simple explanation for this,” you explain, placing your grocery bags on the ground for a moment as you pull your credit card out of your phone case. “This card isn’t my usual credit card. It’s a very limited credit account that I opened for a specific purchase. It looks almost identical to my actual credit card I use on a normal basis so I grabbed this one by accident before I left this afternoon. I was in a rush and couldn’t find my debit card, so I took what I thought was my credit card thinking I’d be fine, but... I was obviously not fine.”

“Ohhh,” Hao sighs, nodding in both comprehension and relief. “Well that makes a lot more sense. I was worried about you! I didn’t think you’d suddenly developed some sort of debilitating shopping addiction, but...”

“Rest assured,” you soothe, picking your bags back up and continuing with your boyfriend down the street to the bus stop. “I have plenty of money. I wish I had more, of course. But it’s enough to survive for now.”

“Are you sure you want to take the bus?” Hao asks, running his hand down your back comfortingly. “I can drive you.”

“No, you can’t,” you reply, taking the last grocery bag from his hands and draping it on your arm. You rummage through it for a moment before pulling out a fresh deli sandwich. “Your lunch break is almost over and I've used up all of it already. So, eat this on the way back to Wakeone or I will find you and I will shove it down your throat myself.”

“I can see you’re back to normal,” Hao says with a grin, taking the boxed sandwich in his hand as you reach the bus stop. “I love you.”

“Love you more,” you say, checking to make sure no one is around before kissing his cheek. His eyes closed, he sighs blissfully.

Your bus makes its way around the corner, pulling to a stop in front of you.

“Oh, I forgot to ask,” Hao says quickly as you walk up the steps. “What was the purchase that you opened that new credit card for?”

You turn around, biting your lip in a smile. “I bought 40 copies of your debut album!”

“YOU DID WHAT!?”

You’re not sure if you’ve ever seen Zhang Hao more shocked than he is right now. You’re lucky the sandwich box didn’t fly out of his hand and onto the sidewalk.

“It’s okay: I’m pretty sure I made a good investment!” You call back with a wink to your boyfriend, whose jaw is still dropped as the bus door begins to close. “Didn’t I?”

All Hao can do is nod-- a slow, exaggerated nod as he processes what you’ve said.

You wave at him, grinning-- any embarrassment you had felt ten minutes ago entirely washed away. Zhang Hao may have had to buy your groceries for you, but you think you might’ve already paid him back.

As the doors close, you call to a now smiling but awestruck Hao:

“You’re welcome!”

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angelkhi · 1 year

Text

having many thoughts about bodyguard!joel (f!reader) like maaaany. have em x (banner credits: @cafekitsune 🩷)

bodyguard!joel who wasn’t always on the straight and narrow and when an old contact calls in a favour he has no choice but to agree.

but imagine how pissed he’d be when he finds out he’s being payed to babysit a spoiled little daddy’s girl. he’s over it before he’s even started.

but then he meets her and she’s a ray of fucking sunshine and somehow that’s way worse for him.

he soon learns that when she wants to be a spoiled brat she lays it on thick.

his restraint is hanging on by a literal thread after a few days and if he sees her wondering around her apartment in nothing but a t-shirt, those tiny little sleep shorts and an attitude so help him god.

bodyguard!joel who goes to sleep half hard every night cause of the woman he’s meant to be protecting and he’s finding it harder and harder to not cross that line.

the only time he speaks is to give her orders and it’s barely a sentence but he’s so commanding it’s actually a crime.

bodyguard!joel who has no choice but to follow her around whilst she shops. forced to watch her deliberately pick out panties that look like pure sin. he can’t decide if he wants to stuff em in her mouth whilst he eats your pretty cunt or pull em to the side as he fucks her dumb.

car rides are literal torture. especially when he’s next to her in the back of one of her dad’s fancy new cars. he has to refrain from reaching over and pulling her into his lap each and every time.

him watching her get all dressed up for galas, knowing it’ll be wasted on little rich boys who wouldn’t know where to put their dick if they had a map.

joel being in a constant state of torture around her. when she’s so sickly sweet and he has to talk himself down from doing absolutely anything for her. or when she’s being bratty and he barely holds himself back from bribing her over his knee.

joel in an absolute frenzy when she’s in any kind of danger but no he has absolutely no romantic feeling for her (he’s so emotionally constipated it hurts)

her being an absolute angel and doing his laundry only to accidentally mix her underwear in with his clothes and now he has to decide if she really needs them back that bad.

he’s always close to her. always ready to step in if things go south. very very protective.

also kind of a gentleman even if he’s grumpy? pulling out her chair, holding open doors, etc etc. also he’s always guiding her. literally always. that man’s hand is superglued to her lower back.

joel helping her buckle up her heels, the slightest bit contact sending him literally insane. imagine him kneeling in front of her, catching a glimpse up the slit of her dress. mans finished.

him not being able to get through dinner without imagining her spread out on the table instead.

when he finds out she only acts up to get a rise out of him? restraint has disappeared. gone. poof.

bodyguard!joel finally getting his hands on her. brain literally shuts down he doesn’t know where to start. he just knows he’s not stopping til he’s had his fill. 100% overstimulates her til she’s almost crying.

he’s most definitely a switch fucking fight me.

i feel like when he’s in charge, he’s borderline mean, grabbing her jaw to make her look at him, gives major pleasure dom vibes. he 100% gets off on her getting off, also calling her names but the praise!!

“dumb baby” “my pretty little cockwhore” “look so good choking on my cock” “perfect little slut” okay shoot me

SO. POSSESSIVE. always reminding her who’s pussy it is his. always reminding her that her little rich boys couldn’t give her half of what he’s giving her.

naw but when she’s in charge my man whimpers and i’ll swear this in a court of law if i have to.

joel miller is a whimpering little bitch (but only for her) and she fucking loves it.

cause how can he go from being on the verge of tears as she teases him, riding his cock painfully slowly, to pulling her on top of him, fucking up into her until she’s dripping jon his thighs.

fave position is missionary (cause he’s in love) cause he loves watching her go from mouthy to absolutely fucked out. also he def loves her legs over his shoulders it’s just a fact.

A+++ aftercare. he’s got her rehydrated, running her baths with her favourite scents, all the cuddles. he babies you. but sure he’s definitely not in love with her.

bodyguard!joel is filthy and possessive but only wants the best for her, job be damned.

in conclusion

(half tempted to turn this into a full fic 👀)

#i’m going to sleep before i go insane #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #the last of us #the last of us smut #tlou headcanons #joel miller headcanon #bodyguard!joel miller #joel miller x f!reader smut #bodyguard!joelhc

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kissami · 10 months

Text

sum. You never thought you’d find the one at your best friend’s coffee shop.

genre: fluff..super super fluffy

fem reader with she/ her pronouns

WARNING: I’m uploading this while at work so I’ll edit it once I’m home ! So it’s not cute and aesthetic rn 🙄🙄

"I just don't get why she keeps thinking this nonsense, Kyo! I mean, I help with taking care of bills, buying groceries, what else does she want from me?!"

Kyo rose an eyebrow towards you, watching you slam your head on the counter gently and placing your cup on the table, begging for the next round.

"I need another one."

You ordered, but he only rolled his eyes in return.

"You had four cups of coffee in just two hours, you had more than enough for at least a week."

Groaning, you squished your cheeks between your arms as you hid your head.

Your roommate had been annoying lately. Always being so stern with you even when you did almost everything so you two could have a comfy environment to live in, but no matter what you did, she just seemed to hate you more and more.

It was tough moving out of your parent’s place, but this girl truly was testing your limits it seemed.

It wasn’t always like this. When you first met her, she was very sweet and understanding with you which made you think that maybe you finally made a friend who wasn’t your childhood friend.

All you wanted was a friend, but ever since you introduced her to Kyo, she seemed to do a 180 and completely shut you out.

Only for you to find out the two were put together for a date…one he never showed up for without notice.

But speak of blinding dates…

"Oh my gosh! This is the third time you left me alone, you asshole! That's it, I'm done!"

A loud slam quickly brought you out of your mini crisis as your eyes averted over to the couple near the entrance.

Raising your eyebrows in amusement, you saw a girl with black hair grabbing her bag and leaving with a pissed off expression on her face. The blond she was sitting with that you assumed was her date, rubbed his face in annoyance.

He's gorgeous.

You turned to your friend and smiled as a bright idea had quickly made its way into your head which made him tense up a bit, shaking his head quickly as he knew exactly what you were trying to do.

"Nope, I'm done trying to set you up with my customers. You're on your own."

You pouted, watching as Kyo walked to the back room to speak to Tifa about the upcoming schedules.

You could see how close Tifa and him were getting, how flustered he’d get or rush at any moment to be with her. That was enough leverage for you to use against him.

Smirking, you turned back around to see the boy talking on his phone, his face showing not much concern it seemed, but by the looks of it, it seemed like he was being scolded like a cat from the other line of the call which had you intrigued.

Your eyes widened when he slammed his phone down on the table and sighing, digging inside of his pocket to grab his credit card from his black leather wallet.

He's gonna pay, no he can't leave yet!

That's when you thought of a great, amazing, and most definitely the best idea ever.

Walking over the counter as stealthy and quickly as possible, you hid behind it as you waited for him to ring the bell to pay.

DING!

Rising up, you smiled gently and leaned your hands on the counter.

"Hey, what can I do for ya,cutie?"

You could almost feel your eyes sparkle in amusement when he scoffed and rubbed his neck, looking at you with those bright blue eyes you could stare at forever.

"I'm just paying. And who are you? I've never seen you work here before and I come here everyday."

He spoke lowly and looking anywhere besides your face, his eyes fixated on a dancing chunky cat on the tv screen above your head.

"I just started…today? Right I just started working today!" You smiled nervously, rubbing your ring on your right hand.

"Oh, that's good to know I guess."

"Yeah, it is good to know, huh?"

Shit.

You thought as you turned around to your best friend, seeing him rise an eyebrow and clearly questioning your 'amazing' idea to get to know the cute boy that was looking at the both of you now even more confused than before.

"Yup! Aw Kyo don't act like I'm not the best employee you have!" You slapped his arm, glaring at him for him to play along.

"Yeah okay, anyways Cloud it's on the house today."

Cloud. What a cool name.

Cloud nodded, saying a small thank you as he began to walk away.

Your eyes shot over to your best friend, giving him a pleading look to have him stay a bit longer which made Kyo scoff.

If this guy had you pretend you worked at his coffee shop, the one place you said you would despise working at and rather lick the carpet, then you clearly were way more interested in him than he thought.

And boy were you going to be in debt for this.

"Only if you tell us what happened on your 5th blind date."

Kyo smirked, watching as Cloud stopped almost instantly.

Cloud stood there quietly. Usually he’d pretend he didn’t hear anything like this but he truly did need someone to listen to his frustrations and what better yet than the guy his best friend, Tifa, had a crush on?

"It's like no matter how many dates I'm set on, no one wants to continue dating me. I don't mind though, I don't need a partner to be happy I guess."

Hearing a bell ring, Kyo looked over to you and smirked even more, watching your sparkling like eyes looking even more interested in the blond and what he needed to say next.

"Well my favorite employee, it's time for you to get back to work, right?"

You opened and closed your mouth repeatedly like a fish out of water but it only resulted in him pushing you away to take the new order.

"Get along now stupid and do your job! I'm not paying you for nothing!"

"But you're not pa-"

"What was that employee of the month, I didn't quite hear you?!"

"Yeah yeah whatever."

Slumping your shoulders, you made your way to the cash register, and instantly losing braincells on how the hell to work it.

Kyo looked back, seeing the blond still looking over to you as you groaned like a little kid trying to figure out how the monstrosity worked.

A small smile slowly took the blond’s old sour frown which Kyo was quick to catch.

"She's single you know. Plus, she thinks you're really cute. The idiot doesn't even work for me but she did that to talk with you."

Cloud looked over to his friend and shrugged.

"I think she’s cute too, but she needs to work harder to get me. I'm not that easy you know."

"Yeah that's what all your old dates said too,huh?"

"Kyo…" Cloud sighed again, but kept his mako eyes on your cute figure who now was scrambling around like a lost puppy, following Tifa around as she laughed at how silly you looked trying to learn how to charge orders.

Kyo chuckled, shaking his head at how adorable you looked. "Besides, the idiot owes me. She'll be working here for a while."

To say Cloud wasn't looking forward to waking up everyday and heading to the café, was an understatement.

He was less grumpy now and would spend hours texting you all night, but he tried his best to show no interest in you at all, which to Tifa and Kyo, was obvious he had a thing for you.

You had no clue if he felt the same or not, which Cloud was a bit thankful of you being so oblivious.

That was until you finally had enough and needed to know exactly what was going on between the two of you.

Clearly there was something there, so what better way to figure it out than what you do best?

A hot americano with whipped cream topped with cinnamon and caramel was what he would get all the time, but you added something more for him.

Are you a loan bank? Because you got my interest.

Ah yes, your cheesy pick up lines. No matter how hard Cloud tried to keep a straight face, he still managed to let out a small smile that made your heart burst.

You've been doing this for three months straight now, but he finally had the guts to do something.

Can I borrow a kiss? I promise I'll give it back!

That was all it took for Cloud to lean over the counter and place his lips on yours.

#kissami #x reader #final fantasy 7 #cloud strife x reader #cloud strife #cloud strife x you #cloud x reader #ff7 cloud #final fantasy 7 remake #final fantasy vii #final fantasy cloud #x reader fluff #ff7 tifa #tifa lockhart #ff7 #fluff #ff7 fanfic #ff7 fic

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centralperkchenford · 6 months

Note

Can you do one where a random guy asks to spar with Lucy and Tim gets jealous

I have another jealous Tim I’m going to write! Also this is an ambiguous fic. It could take place in the Rookie verse or it’s an AU! It’s up to you! 😏

Can you do one where a random guy asks to spar with Lucy and Tim gets jealous

More jealous Tim, it’s my favorite

How can I be with another? I don't want any other I want nobody, nobody, nobody, nobody

Lucy looks around the gym, it’s empty save for a guy in the corner punching a bag and Tim who is lifting weights. She stops to admire him, as she watches his muscles flex. Shes so caught up in staring at him that she doesn’t notice the guy in the corner approaching her.

“Excuse me?” She looks away from Tim somewhat reluctantly because damn her boyfriend is hot and she definitely would be admiring him later. At home. She turns back to the guy and raises her eyebrows.

“May I help you?” She asks. He nods and glances over at Tim who is still lifting waits not paying any attention to them. She bites her lip as his shirt rises a little showing his skin and then it drops as he drops the weight.

“Would you like to spar with me?” He asks. Lucy turns away from Tim again who chooses that exact moment to look her way. She can feel his eyes on her back, could practically see him licker his lips. She was wearing a sports bra but had chosen to put a shirt over it. But it was shorter so she knows she has some skin showing. And she had put on tight leggings that hugged her curves and she knows it was probably driving Tim crazy.

Lucy blinks at the man in front of her. She had never seen him outside of the gym, and he had never even uttered a word to her till now.

“You want to spar with me?” She asks. She glances over at Tim who has his eyes on her, but she can practically see the wheels turning in his head. His blue eyes go to the man in front of her and then he’s standing up and walking towards them.

“Hey.” He says and he brushes his fingers with hers. It’s the lightest touch but it sends sparks up her spine. “What’s going on?” The man glances at Tim, and now he looks annoyed.

“I was just wondering if she wanted to spar with me.” He says. She feels Tim stiffen behind her and his hands go to her waist.

“Who are you?” Tim asks. “Why are you asking someone you don’t know to spar with you?” Lucy elbows him a little bit in the stomach making him grunt but he doesn’t move. She can practically feel him shaking a little bit behind her. He was jealous, she could just tell without even looking at him. And while it was hot, that he was indeed jealous…it also wasn’t necessary.

“I’m Jeremy and I have seen you around.” He says turning back to Lucy and ignoring Tim. “You look like you could use a sparring partner.” Lucy wants to roll her eyes, she has a sparring partner one that pushes her to be her best until the very end. And then he rewards her at home, if she happens to beat him.

“Oh well—” Lucy begins but Tim cuts her off stepping in next to her. She looks up at him and he’s wearing a frown while glaring down at Jeremy. To his credit, Jeremy doesn’t back down.

“She has a sparring partner.” Tim snaps. Jeremy looks between them and a sly grin appears on his face. He narrows his eyes at Tim, his lips turning down in a frown.

“Yeah well. Maybe she could make that decision herself instead of having her boyfriend jump in.” He says bravely. Tim glances at Lucy, disbelief in his eyes and then back at Jeremy. Lucy cuts in before he says something he’s going to regret.

“I appreciate the offer.” She says. “But no thank you.” Tim taps her thigh, something she knows he does when he’s seeking comfort.

Jeremy narrows his eyes at her and steps forward. “You don’t want to do it because of him.” He jerks his thumb at Tim. “How about you make your own decisions huh? He’s jealous because another man wants to spar you and it may hurt his ego.” Tim growls from next to her and takes a step forward and glares at him.

“How about you take no for a fucking answer.” He snaps. “She said she didn’t want to spar with you. End of story. You need to leave.” Lucy looks between the two men and shakes her head a little. Tim is much bigger than Jeremy and could probably crush him. And she really didn’t want her boyfriend to end up in jail.

Jeremy steps towards her now and reaches out to tap her on the shoulder. “Your boyfriend shouldn’t be making decisions for you sweetie.” He says and she glares up at him and pushes his hand off. Tim steps in front and pushes at his chest, Jeremy stumbles backwards a little. He looks up and glares at Tim, stepping towards him.

“Do not call me sweetie.” She snaps. “And don’t fucking touch me. I said no.” Jeremy once again narrows his eyes, looking her up and down. “Well when you two break up, you know where to find me.” He says and smirks at her before he’s walking off. As soon as he’s out of sight, Lucy turns to Tim with raised eyebrows.

“Really?” She asks amusement lining her tone. “You got jealous over him?” Tim shrugs wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her close. She can smell him, his cologne and sweat mixed together.

“I am your sparring partner.” He says tersely. “No one else.” Lucy laughs and stands on her toes to kiss the frown off his face. Because of course he is her sparring partner, he’s her partner in everything. Gym, work, sparring, and life partner. She wouldn’t have it any other way, and there’s no way she would spar with a random guy. Ever.

“Of course you are baby.” She tells him. “I wasn’t going to say yes.” He kisses her then, his hand sliding to her ass and then back to her lower back.

“I know.” He says. “I just get a little frazzled and—”

“Jealous?” She asks him smirking her fingers tangled in his shirt. They really should leave but there’s no one around and Lucy wants to get this out. “You have no reason to be jealous Tim. I only have eyes for you.”

A small smile appears on his face and he kisses her again before leading her away, they grab their bags they put in the corner and then they slowly walk out of the gym hand in hand.

“I just didn’t like the fact he couldn’t take no as a answer.” Tim says as they approach his truck. Lucy looks over at him. “I know.” She says. And she gets it, she gets a little jealous when women flirt with Tim as if she’s not right there. “I get it. But—” She pauses as she slowly backs him against his truck. She presses herself against him, and then loops her arms around his neck.

“You are kind of hot when you are jealous.” She says. He smiles smugly at her, his blue eyes bright as he effortlessly switches positions so she’s against the truck.

“Yeah?” He asks. “Just kind of?”

“Mmmhmm.” She says and yelps when he bites down on the skin on her neck. “Yep.” It’s all she can get out because Tim’s mouth and hands are everywhere. And they are in the middle of their gym parking lot. They would bound to get caught soon, she pushes him back and he groans.

“Tim?” She says and he looks up blue eyes bright. “Take me home.” Tim straightens out and grins at her. He opens the passenger door and she slides in, Tim steps between her legs and kisses her one more time. It’s slow and perfect, a mix of love and desperation. She knows this isn’t the last time Tim would get jealous but she would reassure him over and over again that he was the only one for her.

She didn’t want anyone but him. And she knows he feels the same way about her. He steps away from her but she pulls him back.

“I love you.” She says and a smile spreads across his face. He steps back and kisses her again.

“I love you too Luce.” He says and he steps back again. “Now let’s go home.” She swings her legs into the truck and smiles as he shuts the door. She lays her head on the head rest, home with Tim sounded perfect to her.

#chenford #the rookie #tim bradford #lucy chen #tim x lucy #chenford fanfic #anon answered #chenford fic #lucy x tim

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27dragons · 9 months

Text

New Year Countdown: Dec 26

Ack, I almost forgot again! I blame the doctor appointment I had earlier today. Have a Stony paranormal/urban fantasy AU featuring motor repair shop guy Sam, money-poor Steve, and Tony the technomage!

Dec 26 - Stony - Paranormal/Urban Fantasy AU - Cookies

When Sam came into the shop’s waiting area, Steve leapt to his feet like an expectant father from half a century ago, waiting to be told if it was a boy or a girl. “Well?” Steve demanded. “Can you fix her?” He’d gone into the parking garage that morning to head to work and his beloved motorcycle had refused to start.

Sam grabbed a grease rag and scrubbed his hands with it, looking grim. “Your ECM’s died,” he said. “That’s the computer that actually runs everything. It’ll have to be replaced. Under normal circumstances, that would run you about a thousand, but you’ve had so much custom work done... it’s likely to be closer to fifteen hundred.”

Steve literally couldn’t draw a breath for a moment. “Sam, I don’t... I don’t have that kind of money. Not right now. I could...” He paused, trying to figure out how to get that kind of money. Without his bike.

“There’s more,” Sam said. “The ECM’s dead because someone hexxed it.” He wiped his hands one last time, then dug his cell out of his pocket and thumbed up a photo. Under a feylamp, the hex-mark was easy to see. “Someone’s got a grudge,” he said. “Someone with the ability to get through your wards. So even if I replace it, they’ll just hex it again. Unless you know who it could be?”

Steve stared at the mark for a long minute, but it was impossible to recognize the hand that had drawn it. He shook his head.

“Yeah, that’s what I figured,” Sam said, sighing. “I’d do the job on credit -- you’ve been a good customer for long enough that I can trust you -- but I can’t do the hex. Luckily for you, I know a technomage who would enjoy the challenge, if you can meet his price.”

Steve snorted. “I can barely see my way clear to paying you,” he said. “No way can I afford a technomage.”

“Hear me out,” Sam said. “Tony’s from one of the Old Families, he’s rolling in money. He doesn’t care about money. What he wants is... something a little different.”

Tony’s high-rise office did not look like a mage’s lair. Or especially affluent, though it was definitely nicer than anyplace Steve had ever worked.

Tony himself, when he emerged, did not look anything like Steve had expected, either. He was young, for a mage, probably not more than forty, if that. He was dressed in loose, worn jeans and several layers of shirts that looked like they belonged in Sam’s repair garage more than a moderately fancy office downtown. He had immaculately-sculpted facial hair, warm honey-colored eyes that Steve could lose himself in, and an ass that wouldn’t quit.

“You’re Wilson’s guy,” Tony said.

“Sam sent me to you, yes,” Steve said cautiously.

Tony lifted a hand and the air beside him suddenly filled with pictures of Steve’s bike and the hex Sam had found on it. Holograms, or illusions? Steve wasn’t sure there was a difference. “It’s an interesting problem,” Tony said. “Did you bring the payment?”

“Uh. Yeah, I, uh--” Steve handed over the large tupperware container he’d been carrying under his arm.

Tony cracked the lid and his eyes closed as he inhaled. “Vanilla, almond, butter, brown sugar... Dark, I think. And... rum?”

Steve blinked in surprise. “Yeah. It was my mom’s recipe.”

“Did you think of her while you made them?”

“I always do.”

Tony opened his eyes. He took one of the cookies from the container and bit off a piece. “Yes,” he said slowly. “Yes, I can taste it. This will do nicely. Consider me on the job.”

“Uh. Can I ask... What do cookies have to do with technology?”

Tony sealed the tupperware again and tucked it into a drawer of his desk. “They don’t. There’s more to me than just technology, you know.”

“Like...?”

Tony grinned. “That’s not really a first-acquaintance story. Maybe after our third date.”

Heat climbed the back of Steve’s neck. “Date?”

“Yes,” Tony said decidedly, then reached up to snare one of the floating images and turned it to look at it. “But we’ve got to get your bike up and running first. I need to get this gorgeous beast between my legs.”

Steve’s blush climbed a little higher.

“Come back in... seven days and seven hours,” Tony said, consulting a watch that didn’t have any numbers or hands. “I should have the problem nailed by then. And then you can take me for a ride and we’ll see if any other nailing needs to occur.” He winked at Steve, which did nothing to help the blush situation, and dismissed the pictures with a careless wave. “I look forward to working with you, Steve.”

#my writing #countdown to 2024 #stony #stevetony #paranormal au

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maggotbxby · 1 year

Text

Coup De Grâce - Deadite Ellie x OC/Reader - Chapter One

"and the devil who had deceived them was thrown into the lake of fire and sulfur where the beast and the false prophet were, and they will be tormented day and night forever and ever" Revelation 20:10

Or...

Greta is a God-fearing, wannabe actress with a particularly strange family history, and an impressive talent of stumbling upon disgusting scenes. When tragedy strikes her home in an old LA high-rise, she quickly realizes her fate may be much more twisted than she was brought up to believe.

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 6,349

TW: Religious Trauma; Gore; Suicidal Thoughts; Violence; Everything in Evil Dead Rise.

---------

This building is dead.

It died a month ago when the landlord dropped letters in our mail slots letting us all know we have to be out by next month. He didn't even give us the courtesy of calling, just a print and copied half-assed apology letter to the tenants who pay out their livelihoods every month in rent so he can buy a new Ferrari and not fix the lights.

It’s not that I want to be here, particularly. There is just no other apartment on this side of LA that I would be able to afford. No others would even consider me, if I could. No stable job and a 480 credit score doesn't bode well with most landlords.

A category 5 earthquake was just a death blow, and exactly what I needed to truly understand it was, in fact, God's will for me to return to Tennessee.

The apartment is nearly pitch dark, even with the couple of candles I lit. A blackout coming with the aftershocks while I was packing explains a lot about how my luck has been the past few weeks. It’s as quiet as the dead, aside from the typical moans and groans of the old building. If my neighbors weren't stomping around, I would consider it eerie.

I sit on a rickety stool that came with the place as I sort through my papers. Every tiny shift in my body causes the stool to creak and groan, just like the rest of the wretched building, so I try to be perfectly still.

The candlelight picks up my papers just enough for me to sort through them and chuck them into boxes- or the trash. It's nearly 10:00 and on a normal night I wouldn't keep packing, especially during a post-earthquake blackout, but I want out of this place as quickly as possible, and if I have to suffer for a while to do that, I will.

I pick up a folder on my desk, and even in the dark I recognize it as my portfolio- or my pathetic excuse of one. I open it up to see my year-old headshots and my resume. I’ve never been a bad actress, particularly, I’ve just been bad at landing roles. Sure, maybe I didn't work hard enough to find a manager, but even if I had, my off-screen charisma has always been lacking. I scored one decent role in a film, only for it to be scrapped halfway through production. But I have kept trying, I tried theater, I tried commercials, I even tried volunteering into the musical theater at my local church; I’ve tried lots of things.

Because my father left me on this earth alone, and try is all that I can do.

I need to keep living, for reasons undisclosed to even my own mind.

I tell myself that my father left because God wanted him to come home. He spent years of his life driving out evil spirits, freeing tormented souls from the clutches of the Devil, and maybe God thought his work was done? I like to believe that over the probable truth that his fear overcame him; that what he has been running from his entire life finally caught up to him. There is a devotion to God and, with it, a fear of the Devil that has been passed down for generations throughout my family. My father, and many men before him, suffered because of it.

But if God called my father home, what does that tell me about our home? Does God not care about our family? Why wouldn't he take both of us? No matter what I have done to myself after he died, the agony I have both endured and inflicted upon myself, I am still here. So maybe I do have a purpose on this earth. Or maybe God doesn't want me in His Kingdom at all.

I remain faithful that these thoughts are untrue. I pray to God every day and every night. I spread His word to those I meet, and I follow His guidance in everything I do, so maybe that’s why I'm still here.

Packing my, and the rest of my fathers belongings a second time has my mind cruelly bogged with memories, scents, feelings; just pure sentimentality. I have never been host to it before, being estranged from the rest of my family young never granted me the privilege. I do not have the patience for it. My body aches as I look at my shattered dreams, and I feel something cold and awful prick at the throbbing muscle inside my chest, frigid claws that dig deep into my being and tear away so subtly.

My anger gets the better of me and I throw the folder into the trash, causing it to topple over and spill papers and garbage all over the floor. Tears of exhaustion and frustration well up in my eyes, and I grip the sides of my head in my hands and bite back a scream. I will not let myself cry over this. I created this problem, I have to dig -or well, clean- myself out of it.

I admit, I am an exposed nerve, and have been for the last year, my father's death having ripped off my epineurium.

I hop up from the stool, making it creak wretchedly, scraping the wooden floor, and I grab a broom from the kitchen to clean up the mess.

It’s because it is so quiet that I hear footsteps outside my door.

In most apartments, this wouldn't come as a surprise but considering I live around a corner, at the end of the hall, on the top floor, it’s a bit odd to have foot traffic this late. I tend to be left alone down here, no one vying to get in aside from the rats and dust bunnies.

I keep cleaning, because if someone has come to rob me, they will surely be disappointed, and if they have come to kidnap or kill me, my weak body and dry-rotten broomstick surely aren't going to stop them.

The steps draw closer, and I can hear their breathing; sharp, heavy, fast. The pattering footsteps stop but the breathing doesn't, however it draws farther away.

My curiosity gets the best of me, and I slowly approach the peephole in the door. I take in a deep breath only to relax when I see it’s one of the neighbor kids, peering around my little back corner out into the long-stretched hallway with the other apartments. I can’t see that hallway from my room, however.

The moment of relaxation is cut short as I realize the kid is crying. His eyes are wide and red, and his breath is quick, like a rabbit being hunted by a fox.

Then I hear a scream coming from the hallway.

Then another.

The child is still hiding around the corner and even though I can’t see what he’s hiding from, everything in my nature tells me it is something he needs to get away from, now. I go to open the door and before I can unlock the deadbolt, the kid takes a mad dash down the long hallway.

…

……

...……

Another scream.

A thud.

My eyes well up in tears of panic and fear as I stand frozen, staring out of the peephole. I see nothing, but I hear everything.

Screaming, crying, ripping, squelching, banging, a gunshot.

Laughing.

Across that sequence of events, which lasted all of 3 minutes, I decided to make peace with death. Because it is all that I can do.

Then it goes quiet again. This time the quiet is eerie. No loud neighbors, no footsteps, nothing.

The air at the top of the high rise is thin, always has been, but trying to breathe it in during a panic feels like there is no air left at all. My hands shake, my chest feels as if it is about to explode. I unlock my cell phone and dial 911 only to be met with a repetitive beep. The earthquake took out the cell towers, of course. Self-preservatory panic overstimulates my senses and I drop to my knees at the door in a terrified heap. I cannot stop the sobs that choke out of my throat, and I fear even my body knows that whoever- or whatever is out there is going to come for me soon.

I clasp my hands and bow my head as I sob out the only thing I can “The lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside still waters; He restores my soul. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death; I fear no evil; for you are with me.”

I whisper prayers until my voice is hoarse. Because that is all that I can do. If anyone saw me at this moment I would be mortified. My neighbors are being attacked just outside my door and I have done nothing . But what can I do? Face a mass murderer by myself. Whoever is out there hasn't been stopped by the entire floor of people. They're a predator, and I am just as much a lamb to be slaughtered as anyone.

What I do need, is to get out of this place.

My mind is frequently unreliable, especially with time, however I have been hyperfocused on sounds tonight and I can confidently say the hallway has been pretty silent for at least 10 minutes now.

This can mean one of two things:

Everyone here except me got the hell out of this building, because they didn’t hide in their apartments like cowards, and the authorities are on their way.

Or everyone here except me has been killed, because they didn’t hide in their apartments, and ran out like idiots, and I am just waiting for my turn to face death as well.

Regardless of the right answer, staying in my apartment is going to get me nowhere. The only available exits are the elevator -which is a terrible option post-earthquake- or the stairs, both of which are at the end of the hall.

I get up from my heap on the floor and scour my apartment to grab the rest of my essentials to get out of here. I toss my phone, keys, wallet, and bible all into my purse, and I slowly and quietly unlock the deadbolt.

The moment I put my hand on the door handle to pull it open I feel my stomach sink and my body tense. The narrow hallway feels like a chute, and I feel as soon as I turn the corner my executioner will be waiting with a captive bolt ready to be driven into my skull.

I take two quiet steps outside my door towards the other hallway and I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and my heart threatens to crash its way out of my chest, sending a painful wave of thunder to my wrists and my neck. The sheer force of my blood pressure reverberates into my ears. I keep my body to the wall and clutch my bag to satisfy my brain’s need to have leverage and I use every ounce of courage in my body to peer around the corner into the hallway and-

Corpses.

There are corpses.

Horrifying, mutilated corpses of my neighbors. The corpse of the child who, if I was a second faster, could have been brought into my apartment.

Skin sloughed from muscle, muscle from bone and I am sick sick sick sick si-

The putrid, infectious scent of bile, blood, and exposed flesh makes its way to me, and by some miracle I do not vomit but my body doubles over, and my eyes and mouth are pooling while a black haze creeps into the borders of my field of view.

When I glance up, the sensible part of my brain makes my obscured vision focus on the only thing still moving in the hallway.

I, as anyone who knew her would, recognize her from the tattoos on her exposed flesh and the distinct red hair on her head, Ellie Bixler.

But very much not Ellie Bixler.

Her skin is pale and gray with death, and she is caked in blood and bits of everything that are no longer inside my neighbors' bodies. The curve of her arm is made jagged, and My God limbs are not meant to bend that way.

I suddenly believe that every prayer I have ever spoken has come to protect me at this moment, as she somehow does not notice me while she is focused on what I think is the door to her own apartment. I do not let my luck go to waste as I rush back behind the wall, out of sight of anyone in that hallway.

The quiet I got too comfortable with finally comes to an end in what I assume is the sound of her breaking, or trying to break through her door.

I peer around the corner like an idiot in some sick daze of infatuation when I hear the scream of a child.

Ellie is pushed halfway into her apartment, holding onto what I can only imagine is her youngest daughter, Kassie. Someone else inside the room comes to help as the door is slammed onto Ellie’s arm and she recoils back into the hallway.

She then throws herself into the door, furiously banging on it.

“OPEN THE DOOR LIKE YOU OPEN YOUR LEGS YOU STINKING GROUPIE SLUT!”

The voice sounds like a twisted, savage, faux version of my neighbor’s and I feel the overwhelming urge to vomit again as I dart back into hiding, and I take the opportunity of the noise to rush back to my apartment.

The contents of my stomach do end up on my floor after I close and lock the apartment behind myself.

I despise vomiting. Tragically, I was cursed with a weak stomach and an impressive ability to stumble upon revolting sights. A deadly combination only I could be so lucky to have.

I do not think to clean up the vomit on the floor that will soon be covered in my own blood when I am inevitably found.

I quickly realize as my body autopilots into my bedroom, that spilling my guts combined with a severe spike in adrenaline has given me three things; sharp chest pain, energy renewal, and a massive degree of mania.

I now know what I need to do.

I haven't touched these books since I moved out of Tennessee, not that I should have. Every time they have been opened they consume the one who opens them. My father was constantly buried in these writings, wasting his life trying to make something of them. Something that would allow our family to repent from the sins of our ancestors. I have never been so unlucky to read them, until now.

I know exactly where I hid them. I drop to the floor in front of the old, dusty armoire that came with the apartment, that definitely should have been thrown out years before I moved in here.

I flatten myself on the splintery floor and snake an arm under it, finding what I was looking for. I pull out the wooden box and rise to my knees as I pop open the latch. There is a stack of 3 handwritten journals. Journals scrawled by my great-great Grandfather, Marcus Littleton.

My body quivers, and adrenaline and fear flow through my veins as I pull one of the journals out of the box, illuminated by the moonlight.

I take the box and journal to my desk. I re-light the candle upon my desk and I open the treacherous tome up. My heart is frightened; however, my mind is set.

I have heard my father describe demons for the entirety of my life. ‘Twisted, rotting corpses intent on causing chaos, destruction, and pain everywhere they are found.’

I never fully believed his tales. Of course I didn’t, there was never any public recordings of such events. His stories were from the 1920’s, it could have been nothing but hearsay. Hearsay that he lived and died for. Hearsay that, if I do nothing, I will also die for.

He never let me touch these books when he was alive, he kept them hidden for himself. When I inherited them, I never opened the box. Partially because I respected my fathers wishes, partially because I didn't want to become consumed in them as he was. My father and I always were alike.

The handwriting of my great-great grandfather is sloppy, and every word is abbreviated, shortened, or misspelled. These books were scrawled in a panic. I knew this. I was, however, never told the extent. I skim through the most legible parts of the pages, many words and phrases unreadable.

“The words I uttered have unleashed a demonic entity beyond my darkest nightmares”

“The book, it cannot be destroyed.”

“Their bodies twisted, decaying.”

“Rotted from the inside out.”

“It does not stop.”

“The possession will spread.”

“They will tear you apart, and bathe in your guts.”

“Run.”

“It cannot be stopped until innocence is destroyed.”

“I cannot escape this.”

“It's going to get me soon.”

I slam the book shut. My body trembles so wildly I begin to spasm. My heart is beating as fast as a racehorse’s and my breathing refuses to slow. The fear of being discovered from the thing just outside my apartment is the only thing keeping me from screaming.

The chicken scratch writing described a book. I have heard about this book for years. A book that was hidden away for the good of humanity. My father wanted to keep us as far away from Los Angeles for a reason. He never knew where the book was hidden away, but he knew it had to be here.

And of course, it would make total, logical sense, that by some absolute joke from God, out of all the old buildings in this city, I manage to land an apartment in the one the book was being held at.

Or perhaps I really am cursed, and some sick string of fate brought me here to die and end my family's bloodline.

The only way this could be happening is if someone found the book. My father always said, ‘They have no power without the book, so long as the words aren't spoken.’ I’m hoping he is right. If he is, maybe there is something in the book that can be used to save whoever is left in the building. Something my great-great grandfather missed.

There is only one problem.

I have absolutely no idea where the book is.

This building has 14 floors, and hundreds of tenants. It would be nearly impossible for me to find it without a mass murderer trying to kill everything in its sight.

The chaos does seem to be contained to this floor, and by the looks of it, Ellie is the only one causing it. That could potentially narrow it down to someone on this floor having it, unless of course Ellie was just the unlucky one, in the wrong place at the wrong time. It could have been anyone.

Ellie Bixler didn't deserve this. The journal said the souls of those taken were corrupted by the demon, damning them to burn in hell while their body and partial consciousness remains to wreak havoc among men. Ellie Bixler does not deserve hell.

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

Ellie Bixler was one of the first faces I saw when I moved to this treacherous place. Moving alone was a nightmare, especially moving alone into the top floor of a high-rise, into the apartment farthest from the elevator.

I thought the nightmare was ending when I got to the last boxes in the truck. However, when I picked them up, and almost toppled over with the weight of them, I realized my bad luck streak continued. I glanced at the label on the top box and sighed—of course it would be my dishes. I hear the ding of the elevator and feel a sudden whoosh of thankfulness.

“Hold the elevator!” I called, hoping that whoever was inside of it heard me. But seeing as I didn’t run into the doors, they must have. “Thank you," I said breathlessly, in passing, and then slumped against the wall of the elevator, balancing the bottom box on my thighs.

“Do you need some help?”

I peered around my stack of boxes to see the woman who had been kind enough to hold the elevator door for me; she was still standing there, dressed in a Guns N’ Roses t-shirt, dark blue ripped jeans, and leather boots. She wasn't dressed like the women I grew up around in the Bible Belt, that's for sure. And judging by her dyed red hair and tattoos, I would guess she didn't act like them either. She was staring at me hesitantly with blue eyes that looked as exhausted as I felt.

“Oh, no, I’ve got it,” I said quickly, disappearing back behind the boxes once I realized I had been staring a few moments too long at the gorgeous, courteous stranger while looking like I had been hit by a bus. “Thank you, though.”

There was a soft hum of contemplation, and then, a few moments later, a swish of the elevator doors sliding closed. I slumped against the elevator wall, thankful that I wouldn't have to converse with my new neighbor while coated with dirt and sweat.

“I think I have to insist, then.”

I jolted up so quickly that the box on the top wobbled precariously, only for it to be slipped off the stack and into the arms of the tall stranger. I stared at her, eyes wide, as the woman slouched under the weight of the box and flushed, before straightening up and smiling at me.

“Um.” I cringed at myself. What a way to be eloquent. “Thank you, but you really didn’t—”

“I know,” the woman smiled back. “What’s your number?”

I blinked in surprise.

“Excuse me?” There was no way this lady just asked for my number. Who did she think she was?

The woman’s mouth fell open and she was immediately blushing. Her brow furrowed and she chuckled awkwardly, shaking her head. “Your floor… Number. Is what I meant. For the elevator?”

Oh . I looked over at the rows of glowing white buttons; I hadn’t pressed the floor number when I rushed in.

“Oh, yeah! Right!” I replied awkwardly, still not looking at the woman. I shouldn’t have felt bad—after all, this stranger is the one who said it—but I couldn’t help feeling like I was the one who made everything uncomfortable.

“Fourteen,” I finally replied, sighing, after clearing my throat. The woman grinned, a big beautiful smile, and pressed the button.

“Well hello neighbor! I’m on 14 as well, apartment 85.” I looked back over at her sheepishly. “Expect to climb a lot of stairs. This elevator is out of order more often than it’s working.”

“Of course it is,” I commented dryly. Well, at least it appeared to be working on the day I needed it to be. Hopefully that luck holds true for grocery days, too. I thought. “Stairs aren’t a problem. Besides, it gives me an excuse to drink a third cup of coffee in the mornings.”

The woman laughed. “Sometimes I need at least five. Don’t have kids.” the stranger joked.

“You have kids?” I asked.

“Three.” She started, “Two sweet girls, Bridget and Kassie. And my boy, Danny, who is always the culprit if you hear loud music coming from my place.”

“Wow you've got a handful then.” I replied. “I’ve always wanted kids… but it doesn’t seem in my cards anymore.” I winced, and wanted to kick myself so bad for accidentally sounding super melancholic.

The woman nodded kindly, smart enough not to pry. Or maybe she just didn't want to entertain depressing, deep conversation with someone she met less than 3 minutes ago.

“I’d shake your hand…” the woman said, her voice hesitant as if she could sense the awkward tension in the elevator, “but…” she glanced pointedly at the box, and I couldn’t help but smile.

“I appreciate the concern for my dishes.”

“Dishes,” she said, staring at the box. “Well, that explains things.”

Like the fact that it’s a lot heavier than you thought it would be , I thought, and couldn't hold in my chuckle.

“My name’s Ellie.” The stranger—or Ellie, apparently—looked over at me. “By the way. Since we’re… Going to be neighbors.” This time, Ellie was the one who cringed.

“Well then, neighbor.” I stressed the word around my smile. “I’m Greta.”

“Greta.” Ellie said. My name sounded so pleasant coming from her lips compared to my own. I quickly eliminated that thought from my mind.

“Ellie.” I intoned in the same manner, and Ellie laughed. The elevator dinged and the doors slid open; Ellie inclined her head, as if to say you first , and I nod as I step through the doors.

“I probably should have warned you that I live all the way at the end of the hall.” I shifted the box in my arms and glanced over at Ellie. “Before you decided to be a good samaritan.”

“I’m always a good samaritan,” Ellie responded, her tone of voice slightly defensive.

“Careful. You told me where you live. I might abuse that.” That sounded a lot creepier than I meant it, but Ellie just laughed, which slightly lifted my embarrassment.

I stepped through the doors of my apartment. I didn’t expect Ellie to be impressed—chances are we had the same exact apartment, hers just… properly decorated—so rather than trying to play the role of host, I simply led Ellie straight to where I put the box containing my disassembled Ikea kitchen table.

Ellie did, however, let out a low whistle as she looked around.

“Wow, you’ve been at this all day, haven't you?” She slipped the box on top of the Ikea box while I laid mine on the floor.

“Yes, tragically. I slept on the floor and left the truck full of my non-essential stuff last night. Looking back, I definitely should have gotten robbed.”

“Long drive then?”

“You could say that.. Knoxville.” I sighed.

“You're telling me you drove here… from Tennessee?” She looked at me, eyes wide in shock. “With seemingly no help?”

“Just me and god.” Ellie laughed at that, but then caught herself when she noticed my expression, and the cross on my necklace, and realized I was serious.

“Well, then… I’d be happy to help, if you’d like?”

“That’s really nice of you, Ellie, but I’m afraid you're just too late. Those were my last boxes.”

“I have impeccable timing, huh?”

“Seems like it.” We both laughed, a bit awkwardly.

“What brought you all the way to the City of Angels?” Ellie interjected, cutting the awkward tension once again.

I breathed a heavy sigh, “It’s a long story…”

“Well, you could tell it, if you come have dinner with me.”

I recoiled, “I couldn’t- No. No thank you, I really should start putting all this stuff away.”

Ellie put her hand on my arm, “I insist. My husband, Jay, is making steak tonight and when he cooks, he cooks for a village.” Not that 3 children isn't a village.

I flinched, then relaxed slightly under the hand on my arm, I looked up at Ellie, contemplating, but there was little I would do to argue. I was exhausted, and I shouldn’t decline free food, even from a stranger. “I suppose I can't say no.”

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

That night was the first, and the only time in a long time I felt safe.

I didn’t spend a lot of time with Ellie outside of that night. She was a very busy woman, and I was constantly trying to find work, or locking myself in my apartment stressing about trying to find work. I often passed her in the hallway, or stopped to chat while doing laundry, but that was the extent. For the most part.

We were also very different, spiritually and morally. She wasn’t religious and I was not going to try and convert an entire family of 5. Our lives were just very different, as much as I felt drawn to her. I often, for some reason, constantly had the gnawing ache to go back to her apartment and spend time with her, and just be in her presence more than I should. It’s a feeling I have felt before, when I was young, and something deep rooted in my consciousness told me I shouldn’t give into that ache.

‘For god cannot be tempted by desire, nor does he tempt anyone; but each person is tempted when they are dragged away by their own evil desire and enticed.’

I found out about her divorce when we crossed paths in the hall. It came as a shock, to an extent. Externally they seemed like the perfect couple, but being their neighbor, I had heard a fair number of screaming matches between the two of them. Divorce is something my family has always been against, especially when there are children involved; however, I believe that God would forgive Ellie if her husband abandoned her.

Ellie was a kind person; Ellie does not deserve Hell.

Ellie’s family –by the looks of it– is still alive in her apartment. As long as no one in the apartment has been possessed, it is possible they can be saved.

I just have to, you know, get there, without the demon in the hall ripping me to shreds before I take a step.

I sit at my desk, chewing on my cheek as I think out the most insane, ludicrous plan to save my neighbors, and to free my family from this book that has haunted us for generations.

There is an estimated 10 percent chance of getting out of this alive, but there are little alternative options.

There was a shotgun in the hallway.

If I can get ahold of it, and subdue Ellie long enough for her family to let me in, I can get ahold of the book, and with it, and my great-great grandfather's journals, I could find a way to get us all out alive.

That is, if they will even let me in, and if the book is even with Ellie’s family. This is where my odds drop further.

This plan is flawed. It is dangerous. It is stupid.

But I am all of those things, yet God has kept me alive, so perhaps there is hope to be found somewhere.

As I pack the journals into my bag, and I pull my largest and sharpest knife from the kitchen, I feel the full weight of my mortality sit upon my chest.

I am mad for this.

But what is my life going to be otherwise? What did God keep me alive through so much for? I have to have faith.

I bear the knife in my hand, and wrap a rosary around my arm and wrist. My bible is held in my bag and I stand before the door to my death once again, praying for my father’s forgiveness if I mess this up.

As I carefully unlock the piece of wood separating me and the Devil, I go white-knuckled on my knife, and I feel bile begin to creep up. I am already out of breath due to panic, dissociating out of my mind, and trembling so forcefully that my teeth chatter. I bite my tongue until I taste blood, and I push open the door.

I am not sure how I want to do this, but planning now would only exhaust me further, and I need to think on my feet.

Grab the gun, shoot the demon, get inside.

I take a few, quiet, petrified steps into the hallway and look around the corner when I see-

Kassie?

Ellie’s youngest daughter is standing in the hallway, moving to help a young, dark-haired woman off the ground. From what I have heard, this is Ellie’s sister, Beth, whom I have heard referred to as ‘The Groupie’ from various neighbors.

Their attention turns to me, Beth looks shocked, eyes wide, as she moves to grab the shotgun from what I now sickeningly realize is the corpse of Mr. Fonda.

The smell, Christ. I have sworn off vomiting again, but my body desperately wants to overrun my mind at this moment. I fight bile and slowly approach them. Kassie puts a finger over her lips, assuring I know to stay quiet.

Where are Bridget and Danny? I already know, at least, I should already know. My twisted mind does not choose to process that in the moment, only focusing on the two people merely 20 feet from me.

It is my fear that allows me a keenness to sound -even over my heartbeat in my ears- and I hear the cracking of glass and bone behind me as I begin to pass Ellie’s apartment.

No.

Please, God, don’t let this happen to me now. Not when I’m this close.

I freeze, because I am a prey animal, no matter what anyone says, in this building, right now, I am prey, and as a prey animal, I have developed the intuition of knowing when I am being watched.

Its gaze is fixed on me, and I am all taut muscle and dilated pupils underneath it. I know it is behind me, and I know with every fiber of my being that I am going to die if I do not move.

But my body will not allow my muscles to relax enough to bend my limbs.

I am gripping the knife in my hand for dear life and my eyes are locked with Beth’s, who is, currently, my only hope in surviving this. The groupie raises the shotgun, and points it behind me. It is then that I decide to turn and look at-

There is a hand on my neck.

There is a hand on my neck. There is a hand on my neck. There is a hand on my neck.

It is cold and wet and awful and I set my jaw and every muscle in my throat tenses more than they already were. My teeth threaten to break each other under the force caused by my fear.

I attempt to drive the knife into the flesh behind me, when my arm is caught in the grasp of another hand. The grip is tighter than the sickeningly gentle hold on my neck, and its claws dig deep into the tendons of my wrist, making me scream out in pain, my eyes screwing shut as my hand involuntarily releases the knife.

There is a wet, breathy, crackling chuckle behind me, and the grip on my neck releases, and I open my tear-filled eyes, only to be thrown into the door across from Ellie's apartment.

It is on me swiftly after that. It grabs my wrist again and pins it against the door, like it’s body alone wasn’t doing that enough.

Its stare is predatory and piercing, nothing like Ellie’s once was. It is feral, and it's burning into me. Wide, consuming and unblinking as it stares down at me, I am drowning in it. Pupils like a pinpoint amongst a pale blue, scleras dark and bloodshot.

It leans down for an awful moment, a pit forms in my stomach and I want to vomit as it licks the blood dripping down my forearm from its claws.

I look over its shoulder at Beth, who Kassie is hiding behind and gripping for dear life.

“Please.” It is my voice that pleads, but I have never heard myself so breathless nor shrill.

“Pl…ease.” The demon's voice mocks me, eyes still burning into mine. It's voice hoarse and deep and repulsive, but the thing that makes me want to upchuck more than anything, is that I can still hear Ellie's voice underneath it. Sweet, funny, no-bullshit Ellie Bixler, consumed by the Devil.

Beth is looking at me now, fear in her wide eyes, as she aims the gun down sight for a moment, aiming directly at the demon.

Pull the trigger.

PULL THE GODDAMN TRIGGER.

This is my apex of disaster. This is all that my mind has been made to handle. I have hit the limit of my unluckiness and hit it so damn hard I might as well have heard a comedically timed ‘bang’ and seen stars dancing around my head.

Beth is unmoving, and my breath catches in my throat as I choke out a strangled sob when I see the woman mouth ‘I’m sorry’ before the shotgun it aimed at the door to apartment 82, and it is blasted open.

The demon before me jolts upright, but doesn't take its smothering gaze off of me, even when Beth grabs Kassie and runs through the door.

My fate is sealed as the door slams behind her, and all that is heard is the clanking of the security chain lock, as Beth well and truly escapes.

Then there is a deafening silence…

…A pattering of footsteps…

…Heavy, excited, wheezy, panting.

An excited panting that is coming from the creature before me.

This is where my faith in God has led me. Like my father, and his father, and the father before him. All of my life, and all of their lives, have led to this very moment. My death will be the fated coup de grâce of our cursed bloodline.

I am crucified to my place, paralyzed from the neck down as it looks upon me. I am fated to be consumed by this monster. This is my destiny.

#ellie bixler #ellie x reader #evil dead rise ellie #ellie evil dead #expect this to be gross in future chapters #this is my corruption kink fic and will be VERY graphic #do not expect ellie to be nice #i love deadites sm #and i want her to be as nasty as possible #evil dead rise #evil dead oc #yes greta is related to the priest who made the records #and her family is tormented bc of it

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