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sansaorgana · 6 months ago

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— THE PROPHECY

PAIRING — Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Fremen!Reader

SUMMARY — After failing to protect your tribe, its members leave you behind to die according to your customs. When Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen finds you, he immediately knows you are a daughter of the desert that was promised to him in the prophecy. Just like you were promised a man from the stars to come for you.

REQUEST — (1)

AUTHOR’S NOTE — I changed the request a little and I hope it's fine – I just had this idea and I really wanted to write it but the request itself inspired it! 💛 By the way, this request was sent in April... 🙈 I am so ashamed of myself and it's not even the only request like that because I still have one left to write with Feyd... Please, do forgive me... 🙏🏻 I know nothing about Fremen customs and I didn't bother to Google them because I had this idea in my head and I liked it so I didn't want to change it either way. Therefore, keep in mind that I treat The Fremen culture pretty loosely here. Reader is a Princess (I don't think they have royalty at all in canon), she has ritual tattoos on her body (not as many as Lady Jessica but still) and she has blue eyes from the spice (which is not even mentioned I think 🤔) but other than that I did not describe anything about her looks.

WARNINGS — mentions of slavery, mentions of sexual activities including non/dub-con (no actual smut), mentions of suicide, Reader gets beaten up badly in the beginning by The Harkonnen soldiers

WORD COUNT — 4,200

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

THE PROPHECY

In other worlds, noble families had all the possible privileges alongside the burden of responsibilities. In other worlds, Princesses were spoiled and insufferable creatures who had all their whims and wishes fulfilled. But it was no other world – it was a cruel and harsh Arrakis. It was a hot desert filled with nothing but sand and spice and your tribe expected that your parents would help them to survive – no matter what price.

Everyone had the same duty to keep the rest alive – your father, your mother and even you, a simple Princess. The Fremen were not rich, therefore you were wearing the same clothes as everyone else. But even if you tried to blend in with the crowd, everyone would recognise you because of the ritual tattoos covering your skin. The noble blood was nothing but poison running through your veins – it was unwanted. Every failure was blamed upon you and you would drink the collected water as the last because your job was to make sure your tribe would live.

You had lost your mother first, even before the new Harkonnen invasion and the oppression of The Atreides. But your father died recently, in the very same ruins where your tribe left you to die in the ashes and heat before they attempted to run away. You were their Princess and your family had failed to protect them – the tough custom was to leave you behind and let the desert take care of you. It would either swallow you whole or you would prove yourself by digging yourself out.

But in this case – it was leaving you behind for The Harkonnens to find you and take care of you. It was worse than death in the desert. Perhaps their ways of murder were quicker and more sophisticated but they were unnatural. You were a Fremen and if you were to die, you wanted to do it by slowly decaying in the sand.

“Mercy… Mercy…” You begged quietly in Chakobsa language when they found out that the body laying amongst the ruins was still alive and breathing.

One of the Harkonnen soldiers pulled you up by your hair and you could see them all through hazy eyes, in their black uniforms covering their unhealthy pale white skin.

“That bitch is alive,” one of them drawled out. “Are you going to talk?” He leaned in to ask you but you didn’t answer. You had no physical strength to answer him but also no spiritual motivation to keep going.

You were already prepared to die and you felt so indifferent that their punches and kicks did not bring you any pain at all. They dragged you by your hair and bruised your skin, they threatened you and cut you in a few places but with each drop of blood, you also felt your life leaking out of your body and what a sweet relief it was.

You were lying curled up on the ground and completely lost track of time. You could have been there for centuries, long hours or mere minutes only. You had absolutely no idea. You only waited for death to finally release you from this life and from the endless sands of Arrakis.

Your dream was to fly – fly away and see other worlds. See the worlds with greenery and water. To breathe in the fresh air and to be invisible in the crowd, to no longer be a Princess.

Or to simply disappear. That option was not so bad either. Everything was better than this life, certainly.

For now, they left you alone and proceeded to ruin the temple around you. And some part of you grieved this loss of your culture but the other part had no love for it anymore because you couldn’t care less at this point and because this world and these people had brought you nothing but pain and oppression. You loved and hated the Fremen equally.

Perhaps The Harkonnens had left you alone to regenerate before they’d start kicking and beating you again. Perhaps they would let you die in peace – that was doubtful, though. Perhaps they thought you were already dead but you were sure they did not because they were very committed to their art of killing.

When you heard heavy steps approaching you and their muffled voices explaining something to the man who had just arrived, you realised that they had been simply waiting for someone more important. And he was probably the one who would bring death to you. You tried to open your eyelids at least a little to see the face of your killer as you prayed quietly for a painless death even though you knew very well that no gods were listening to you. No gods would listen in a destroyed temple anyway.

The gods were angry and their anger was always aimed at people like you – the noble Fremen who hadn’t managed to keep their people safe. You were doomed in this life and in the afterlife. There was no escape.

The man who had just walked inside the cave in which you were lying had an intriguing face because he was quite handsome for a Harkonnen. He had to be someone important, too, because his clothes were more elegant. He even had a cape attached to his stillsuit.

“Spy. Left behind,” one of his soldiers informed him and the man finally looked down and spotted you.

You bravely kept looking at him even though you knew already that painless death would be no option from his hands. You even straightened yourself up, slowly and gritting your teeth because you didn’t want to hiss out of pain and give them any satisfaction. Now, you were on your knees.

“No trace of the others,” the soldier explained.

“They’ve gone South to hide in the storms,” the new man commented and his voice made a shiver go down your spine and formed a knot in your stomach. There was something extremely eerie about him in a way that no ordinary Harkonnen could match. He was evil and twisted – even his voice was.

He was given a blade and he examined it as you were examining him, trying to figure him out even though it was pointless since it was the last minute of your life, most likely. Yet, stupid human brain always had to be kept entertained, always needed a distraction – even in a time like this.

“Send this message to The Baron,” the man commanded. “The North is liberated and secure. Harvest spice at will,” he looked back at you as if he was trying to mock you or tease you – so unaware how much you simply did not care anymore.

If it was up to you, you would blow up the whole planet. You would wipe Arrakis out of every galactic map.

“Yes, Na-Baron,” the man behind him bowed his head and then you realised that the demon in front of you was Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen himself.

It was quite ironic – he was of noble blood, too. Perhaps it would be an honour to be killed by him if you were a simple girl but you were not. Maybe it was a small mercy of the gods – a small, ironic smile. Yes, they would bring death now but at least your murderer was your equal and not a common Harkonnen scum.

Feyd-Rautha approached you slowly, clenching his jaw and your own sore muscles tensed, expecting another kick or a blow or things much, much worse. You just kept sitting there and looking up at him, too weak to even beg for mercy anymore.

And you didn’t want to either.

“She won’t talk,” another soldier of his told him and Feyd-Rautha tilted his head.

After a short while of silence, he crouched down in front of you and he tore a part of your stillsuit off of your body, revealing your arm and one side of your chest. You made no attempt to hide away from him or to yell for him to stop because you knew it would not help you in any way and it would only cost you even more of your dignity.

He smirked at the sight of your exposed body and stood up again.

“She is their Princess,” he pointed out loud. “Her marks give her away,” he added. “She is no spy. She was left to die as a punishment of her tribe.”

You were surprised how much he knew about your customs. Feyd-Rautha turned around to look at you again.

“I do not care about the Fremen traditions,” he informed you. “You will go with me,” he ordered.

You were too weak to move, of course. When two of his soldiers forced you to move up as they dragged you by your hair, you fell down on the ground. They kept forcing you up again and again, until you completely lost consciousness.

A man from the stars.

You were a young girl again or perhaps you were a visitor in your old memory because you could see yourself sitting there, inside the dark cave deep under the temple with a Reverend Mother and a few other veiled Bene Gesserit women. A young girl with tears still in the corners of her eyes from the painful ritual of marking her body with the black ink. She had just become a Princess and she already knew it was a path of pain and sacrifice. Now, she had been tested with Gom Jabbar – another suffering filling this small body of a little girl. She hadn’t asked for any of this.

“A man from the stars,” the Reverend Mother said to her. A prophecy.

“What about him?” The girl asked, wiping her tears away with the palm of her hand, forgetting that they were sensitive now. The tears burnt her freshly-inked skin and she hissed. Bene Gesserit women smiled contemptuously. It was the Princess’ punishment for shedding tears and wasting water.

“He will come for you,” The Reverend Mother found her eyes through all the chains in her veil. Little girl felt a chill going down her spine at those words and she was not sure whether it was a promise or a threat.

She never told her parents about this prophecy and soon she forgot about it anyway. She grew up to be too big to believe in fairytales.

When you opened your eyes again, you gasped and sat up rapidly as the water splashed all around you. You looked down, terrified, and realised that you were naked inside a bathtub, surrounded by a few terrified maids who had moved away at the sight of you awakening.

“Wh-what is happening?” You asked them. Some of them were clearly Harkonnen with their white skin, big black eyes and bald heads. Some of them were Fremen slaves but they were not from your tribe because you couldn’t recognise any of them.

“Na-Baron asked us to clean you up and take care of your wounds, my Lady,” the Harkonnen maid informed you. She was not sure how to address you but you couldn’t care less about that. What shocked you the most was…

“Water!” You yelped and tried to get out of the bathtub although you were too weak to do so. “You are wasting water!”

“We have more than enough water here in the palace,” the Fremen slave woman told you and you calmed yourself down although you couldn’t help but feel angry about the injustice.

Of course they had water in the Arrakeen’s palace. The Harkonnens, The Atreides… People like them never suffered – even in a place like this.

You allowed the maids to go back to cleaning you up. When you were as fresh as never before, you couldn’t recognise yourself in the mirror. Even your skin looked a shade paler because it was no longer stained with the sand. Your hair was shining and the skilled hands of one of the maids braided it before your wounds were patched up and your body was covered with a semi-transparent dress. It was very feminine and quite revealing and the colours were all hues of orange.

“Na-Baron wishes to see you now, my Lady,” one of the maids bowed her head at you and two other maids took you by your arms to help you walk down the corridor to join Feyd-Rautha since you were still too weak to walk.

He was sitting by the big table that was filled with so much food you had never seen in your life. The colourful fruit filled with juice and water made your mouth drool.

The maids let go of your arms to bow down in front of him. You did not bow down but he did not comment. He had his legs placed up there on the table’s surface and he smirked at you, beckoning you over with his finger.

“Come, Princess,” he mocked your title and you limped towards him. “Leave us,” he ordered the maids and they left the room with their heads kept low out of fear and respect.

You finally reached the table and you grasped the edge of it for support as you moved even closer to Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen. You were not scared of him because you were not scared of death anymore and his title did not intimidate you because you were of noble blood, too – even though in his eyes you had to be a dirty savage anyway.

His face fascinated you because it was so unnaturally beautiful in a way that no Harkonnen should be. But still, you kept staring at his face with nothing but pure hatred.

“You must be starving,” he pointed out at the chair nearby. “Treat yourself.”

“Thank you,” you drawled out through your gritted teeth and took the seat, too hungry to dismiss such an offer.

You were devouring a grapefruit, allowing its sticky juice to run down your chin when Feyd-Rautha put his legs back on the floor and leaned in over the table to take a closer look at you.

“What do they call you, Princess?” He asked in a low, raspy whisper. “Have my men hurt you badly?”

“(Y/N),” you answered and looked deep into his eyes, showing him that you were not scared of him. “I can handle that.”

“That is a pretty name for a strong woman,” he commented. “You will be my slave,” he said casually and leaned back on the chair.

You didn’t know what to say to this, really. You knew that protesting was foolish – you didn’t want to lose the opportunity to keep your stomach full and it was obvious from the beginning that he hadn’t brought you to the palace as a guest anyway. Still, it felt wrong to quietly accept such a fate.

“I am no maid,” you only said.

“Not like that,” Feyd-Rautha smirked. “Not a maid. A special slave,” he explained but you kept staring at him in silence, killing him with your gaze only. He found it amusing as he chuckled. “You know, Princess, you are a daughter of the desert,” he pointed his finger at you and you raised your eyebrow at him. “I was told by a Bene Gesserit witch that a daughter of the desert would give me a strong heir who shall inherit the Empire. The Harkonnen and Fremen bloodline could not be further apart and that is why mixed together they will create the most powerful species of men. An ultimate man,” Feyd-Rautha explained.

“You are the man from the stars,” you mumbled out, feeling weird with the fact that your prophecy had been true, after all.

Feyd-Rautha was taken aback by your question and he had no idea what it meant but you did not feel like explaining.

“You want me to be your whore. You want me to push out your heirs but they will not be any powerful, ultimate beings, Na-Baron. They will be pure chaos. That is the only thing that can ever come out of our bloodlines mixed together,” you pointed out harshly. “You poison my world, you oppress my people, you killed my family. And now you’re asking me to be your concubine.”

“I must have missed the part where I am asking,” Feyd-Rautha clenched his jaw. You were getting him angry and it was nearly funny how spoiled he was that he really had thought you would agree to such a proposition after such a past.

“Kill me,” you requested and put the grapefruit down. “Kill me because I will be no use to you. I will never be your whore and I would rather die than give birth to your sickly bastards.”

“Why are you loyal to the people who left you behind to rot in the sand?” He asked, tilting his head. He was no longer angry but simply curious.

“That is the custom,” you only answered.

Your relationship with your tribe and your world was of a difficult kind but Feyd-Rautha did not need to know about it. He was an intruder, an outsider, an oppressor. He didn’t deserve to know your heart.

“You can’t run away from your prophecy, Princess,” Feyd-Rautha reminded you before leaving the table and leaving you alone inside the room.

When he left, you went back to eating – as much as you could and as fast as you managed. You felt like an animal and a savage indeed but there was no one to witness that desperate act anyway and you could not remember the last time you had something in your mouth.

Feyd-Rautha did not bother you personally but the maids were following you around and even though you were given your own room with a beautiful view of the desert, you were never truly left alone. You had beautiful but pretty humiliating dresses to wear and you were given baths every day which felt like a profanity for a Fremen.

You were well fed but most of the time you were bored. You knew that Na-Baron was awaiting your answer. You just hadn’t been told how much time exactly you had to make a choice.

Choosing death was simple and easy. Choosing to be his slave-concubine meant betraying your people and betraying who you were, even though you had always felt like you did not fit in with the Fremen and you always wanted to leave Arrakis. It had been a distant dream, too foolish and impossible to even be mentioned to anyone. But now, it could be true. As Feyd-Rautha’s new pet that he seemed to already be pretty fond of, you would be able to visit other worlds.

Your prophecy had claimed, after all, that the man from the stars would come for you. His prophecy had claimed that the daughter of the desert would give him a powerful heir. If it was true and you would become a mother of the future Emperor – well, that was quite tempting, indeed. No matter the price.

Staring at the desert behind your window, you were hugging yourself and biting on your lower lip while you were spending your evening overthinking – it had been your only occupation lately.

You had a feeling that this evening Feyd-Rautha would join you because you were left alone by your maids which was unusual. And indeed, a few moments later the doors opened again and he walked inside. His steps were heavy and confident as usual. It would be your first conversation ever since the one after your arrival.

“My Princess,” he greeted you in that harsh voice of his as he stood behind you and put his hands on your arms in quite a gentle but still very possessive manner.

“I have not made my decision yet,” you only said.

“Decision?” Feyd-Rautha was surprised and then he laughed. “You do not get to choose. Do you think I would let you choose death when I know that your womb might give me an heir that has been promised to me in a prophecy?” He lowered his voice and his words sent a chill down your body. His lips were brushing your neck and earlobe and you tried to get away from his grip but he tightened it and you couldn’t do anything about it.

“I should have killed myself,” you drawled out through gritted teeth.

“I suspected you might do so, therefore I ordered the maids to invade your privacy all day and night, my Princess,” he smirked. You could feel his lips curling on your skin.

“I’m going to kill every child you put inside of me,” you threatened.

“You can try,” he kept smirking but his grasp tightened even further.

“I will not be your slave,” you protested and kept shaking your head even though you knew it was pointless.

“Concubine,” Feyd-Rautha tried to convince you as if he really cared for the transaction to go pretty smoothly. And, apparently, he was in a mood to bargain.

“Wife,” you spat out and a long silence occurred. His grip loosened and he took a step back, eyeing you up and down as he let out a deep laugh. You turned your head around to look at him. “I won’t push out bastards,” you stated.

“I have no desire for a wife,” Na-Baron dismissed you.

“And I have no desire for a husband but that is the only way I see it working,” you explained. “Of course you don’t need my permission to do anything with me. You might use me, imprison me to make sure I won’t get rid of your spawn and then you can kill me. But I am not as weak as you think of me, I am a daughter of the desert. I will change your life into hell and I will make you regret every hour, every day until I eventually die but believe me, I will make this time pass by very slowly,” you threatened.

“And why would I want to marry such a woman?”

“Because I have not described a wife. I have described a slave,” you explained. “Do you wish to know what kind of wife I would be?” You raised your eyebrow and took a step further towards him. He seemed to be intrigued as he tilted his head and you smirked to yourself. It seemed to be working – your plan to tempt him and convince him.

You had to secure your future and your position and since he was your oppressor, you felt no guilt about using manipulation to get there.

“You might think of me as lower than you but I am a Princess just like you are a Na-Baron and only our customs differ. Imagine taking me back to your world, your exotic war prize from Arrakis. You can dress me up in those pretty dresses and show me off, swollen with your special heir. I am a savage to the outsiders but couldn’t you turn the tables and make it an advantage? Your wild, savage wife that nobody knows anything about and who everyone fears?” You whispered, seductively.

“I know what you're doing,” Feyd-Rautha breathed out but even though he was aware of you trying to manipulate him, he was visibly giving in anyway. “You’re going to kill me in my sleep,” he added, looking intensely into your eyes and you chuckled at that.

“Perhaps,” you shrugged your arms. “But isn’t the prophecy worth the risk?” You asked.

After all, you were sacrificing and risking a lot, too. And it would be only fair if the transaction costed you both the equal amount.

“You are the jewel of Arrakis,” Feyd-Rautha chuckled and raised his hand to undo your braids and watch your hair let loose.

“And you are its poison,” you remarked as he smirked, eyeing you up and down.

“Together, we can rule over the worlds,” he whispered.

“Or destroy them,” you added.

Na-Baron shook his head but the smirk remained on his lips. He found it amusing that you had an answer for everything and how gloomy they all were. However, so far, it was entertaining for him. He brushed your collarbone with his fingertips.

“I surely have more experience in destroying them than I have in ruling over them,” he confessed but the hunger in his eyes was a clear message to you that he did not mean only Arrakis but also women overall.

“Some are too wild to be ruled over and too wild to be destroyed,” you informed him and he found your eyes again after staring at your chest and neck. For the first time, you saw that he was genuinely intrigued. Perhaps he finally saw you as a challenge. A riddle. A savage to tame.

Whatever would keep you alive and in a position of power.

Because no matter how much you were trying to convince yourself that you were ready to die, this life stubbornly seemed to keep you alive and there must have been a purpose in it.

Therefore, you were ready to receive everything this new life had to offer for you now. As if you had died in that temple and now you were given a second chance.

MASTERLIST

#feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha harkonnen x reader #austin butler x reader #lilysfiction

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lucauali · 2 years ago

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princess treatment - michael kaiser

warning: suggestive but not fully nsfw, kissing, sensual touching, groping, kinda bratty attitude but mostly in a playful way, reader wears a dress and heels

this is very loosely inspired by that one tik tok trend about having a princess attitude and it made me think of him <3

205k likes, 30k comments, and 1.7mil views in less than three hours.

When Michael posted the tik tok featuring you as his one and only, you knew it would probably garner some attention, but not this much. Not only was it a hard launch for your relationship, it also showed bits of pieces of what it was like to be Michael Kaiser’s partner:

It was late into the night and all you could think about was satisfying your midnight cravings.

You got out of bed and slipped on some shorts and a random shirt that you found in Michael’s closet. The plan was to silently leave the apartment and go grab the food you craved before Michael could notice your absence. Said plan, however, fell through as soon as you grabbed the door knob of the bedroom.

“Mein Liebchen, where are you going?” Michael’s groggy voice interrupted you. The German sat up as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. He pat the empty space next to him and urged you to go back to him.

You felt bad for waking him up, especially when he looked so sweet and precious in his tired state, “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to wake you up. Go back to sleep, I’m gonna run out at get a snack. I’ll be back soon.”

You tried to leave again, but you heard the sheets shuffling on the bed. Michael was walking towards you with his eyes barely open.

“I’ll drive you. Wanna stay with you.” He tried reaching for you hand and finally found it after a few attempts due to the lack of light in the room. You tried to reassure him that you could manage by yourself and he needed to rest, but he insisted on going with you.

This led to you being in the passenger seat of Michael’s Porsche as he drove to the closest McDonald’s. His hand was caressing your bare thigh as you both hummed along to whatever song was playing on the radio.

Only Michael would take you to McDonald’s to satiate your spicy nugget craving in the middle of the night.

After another successful victory for Bastard Munchen, Michael wanted to take you out to a fancy dinner.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna go to the after party? I don’t want to take away you away from your team and ruin the post-game excitement.” Michael simply huffed at the inquiry as he adjusted the rolled up sleeves of his button down dress shirt.

“Yes, I’m sure. They’re probably just going to the club. After all, they don’t have an angel of a partner waiting for them at home like I do.” Michael winked at you and laughed as you rolled your eyes at his last statement.

You walked over to the assortment of clothes you had as options for tonight, “okay fine, but don’t complain when you get bombarded with texts and calls from Ness and the others begging for you to join them.”

Michael completely ignored your statement and stood flush to your back, examining your options.

“Wear the red dress. The one with the slit.” His hands lay on your hips and slowly rubbed up and down your sides.

“Since you’re begging for me to wear it, I guess I have to.” You let out an exaggerate, but amused sigh as you felt Michael smile against the back of your neck. You slipped into the sleek dress with a pair of heels and applied makeup as quickly as possible. All the while, Michael wouldn’t let you go. Even as you were applying your favorite lip combo, he insisted you do so while sitting on his lap. His tattooed hand grazed tour thigh that was exposed by the slit.

“On second thought, let’s just stay here.” The sheer audacity to say that as you were getting ready made you side eye the blond through the mirror of your vanity.

Michael giggled as you simply ignored his suggestion, “I’m kidding, Meine Prinzessin, don’t worry. As much as I would like to keep you here for my eyes only, I want to show you off as much as I can.” He kissed the nape of your neck. You knew that his club manager’s request to keep your relationship a secret was starting to get to him. He had done well to keep it low key for the past year and seven months.

You turned around so you could see him and grasped at his pouty cheeks. It was a sight that you hoped only you would ever behold. Placing a gentle kiss on his pouted lips, you leaned your forehead against his. Michael closed his eyes and just basked in your presence and warmth. After a few minutes, he suddenly lifted you up bridal style and made his way to the front door. You giggled as he carried you all the way to the Porsche.

You’re the only person in the world that Michael would choose to celebrate with in such an intimate way.

Even as you scrolled through all the comments from the video, the buzzing didn’t cease. Thus, your beloved woke up from his midday nap, it’s for his much needed beauty sleep, he claims. Michael lifted his head from your stomach with his eyes closed, as he tends to do. His arms that surround your middle section squeezed just a tad tighter as he groaned and grumbled.

“What are you looking at? Put that down and nap with me.” You ignored his demand and simply turned your phone towards him. It took him a few seconds to adjust his eyes before he started to absorb what was in front of him. The smug grin on his face was expected due to the comments you saw that praised him as ‘god-tier’ boyfriend material. As fast as his smile appeared, it vanished.

Michael abruptly sat up with a mortified look on his face, “excuse me?! Did you see this? User ‘iluvkais3r’ said that you should leave me!” You actually didn’t see that comment, but it still made you let out a full belly laugh. Michael scoffed and pushed his face back into your stomach while grumbling incoherent words. Your hand found its place in his hair and you scratch his scalp. After a few minutes, you felt his breathing pattern even back out. Putting your phone down, you chose to join him in his state of slumber.

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #michael kaiser #michael kaiser x reader #kaiser x reader

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httpsserene · 1 month ago

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𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡 ��𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐪𝐮𝐨𝐫 - 𝐝𝐫. 𝟑

summary: driver, roll up the partition, please.

pairing: daniel ricciardo x fem!black!reader

3.5k words. requested. title and fic inspired by beyoncé's partition. explicit sexual content. mdni 18+ only. pwp. alcohol. one night stand. car sex. mild exhibitionism. oral sex (male and female receiving). using daniel for sexual gratification, maybe? reader has $$$. reader will ruin your life and look hot doing it. daniel "till the skin falls off" ricciardo.

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. funnily enough, i have no words. enjoy reading, babes xxx

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From the moment you strolled by to reach your reserved table, his eyes have been locked on you. You haven’t decided if you want to meet his stare, there hasn’t been an opportunity to appraise if he’d be worth more than a passing thought.

Your attention is called back to the table by one of your girls, who points out a different man who’s paid for a round of shots. He’s adorable, cute even, younger than you’d usually entertain, sporting a flashy Cuban link chain and cable knit sweater with loose jeans—but his company leaves a lot to be desired. His friends barely look like men, dressed in wrinkled shirts and zippered jeans, flexing their singular bottle of Hennessy for the table on social media. You nod at him once in thanks for the shots and he tips his glass at you, understanding your meaning. He’s the second man who’s paid for your drinks tonight, and the second man you’ve had to politely turn down. The first guy was so unremarkable you can’t recall why you decided he wasn’t worth your time.

You down the lemon drop, humming at the burn as your girls cheer in the background. They decide to make their way to the dance floor and you opt to stay at the table, claiming that you’re going to order another drink before joining them.

They slink off at your excuse and minutes after they’ve disappeared, a daiquiri is brought to you by a bottle girl. Her sickly sweet voice doesn’t disguise the envious glare in her eyes as she informs you that it’s been paid for, tipping her head to point out the man who’s been quietly observing for the entire thirty minutes you’ve been seated at the table.

In this club, every woman loathes you, and every man is waiting for you to decide who gets to unclothe you.

You accept the drink, thanking her politely, stirring the daiquiri as you watch her swallow her scoff before walking away. If you were as immature as she is, you would have her fired in the blink of an eye.

You make him wait five minutes longer before turning to lock eyes with him from across the room, bringing the glass to your lips to sip the daiquiri, tilting your head to elongate the length of your neck, exaggerating the bob of your throat as you swallow. Peach Schnapps and passion fruit rum warm your chest. It’s delicious. You don’t stop sipping, maintaining eye contact with the unknown man until it runs dry. Exhaling quietly, you lower the empty glass, fluttering your eyelashes at him as you swipe your tongue across your bottom lip to collect the lingering drops of alcohol.

His mouth parts in incredulity, you assume, and you take advantage of the lapse of his composure to examine him. Your gaze is languid as it drifts from his brunette curls to his full eyebrows and warm brown eyes, to his strong nose, ample lips, and groomed beard, to his broad shoulders and the exposed tanned skin of his collarbone that teases a sliver of what’s certainly a muscled chest and abdomen underneath a black shirt with the first two buttons unfastened. Accessorized with a simple silver chain around his neck and an expensive watch on his wrist, you think you spot a few tattoos underneath the low lighting. Your eyes flicker downward to gauge if his pants show what he’s packing, but the distance between the two of you prevents you from being able to play your favorite (and necessary) guessing game. You huff disappointedly, knowing you're going to have to speak and potentially dance with him to get a closer view or feel, for if he meets your standards.

Ending your inspection, you drag your gaze upward to see a smirk splayed across his lips with an amused shine to his eyes. You shrug as if to say, “Can you blame me?” before smiling widely at him, the white diamond jewels on your canines flashing under the sparse light, creating the facade of sparkling fangs. His smirk fades as he matches your grin, displaying a near-perfect set of white teeth (veneers or a product of braces, you presume) and he raises an eyebrow in query.

Tipping your head toward the dance floor, he nods his agreement. You kindly turn down a few men who invite you to their table on your walk past, making false promises of joining them later in the night. Locating your girls in the mess of dancing bodies, you inform them about your potential bed warmer. A couple of them roll their eyes laughingly, a couple of them smack their teeth, and a couple of them call you a whore—and giggling, you feign vexation, correcting your title of “whore” to “slut.” You don’t do this for money, you do it for fun.

Their judgment doesn’t last any longer than it takes them to remember that their various levels of drunkenness are due to your ability to enchant various men into making sure that none of you spend a single dollar inside this club. They perform a quick check of your outfit and makeup to make sure you’re perfectly put together before allowing you to slip away to ensnare your catch.

You snake your way through the swaying crowd, taking a few minutes to locate those familiar broad shoulders. As you’re reaching out to place a hand on his back, you meet the eyes of a woman on his other side tugging his hand. Unfazed, you stare cooly, hiding your mirth within as you watch her face pale. She glances between you and the man once, before dropping her hand and stepping away, disappearing into the crowd.

He grins when your hand rests on his pec, his vision tunneling as you step around to press your chest to his, hips swaying to the music blasting from the speakers. You drape your arms over his shoulders and his hands raise to rest on your hips, his own stirring to match your rhythm with ease.

He leans down to speak in your ear, alcohol-stained breath dancing over your skin and sending a shiver down your spine, “Jealous much?”

Hm, you weren’t expecting an accent. Straightening up, you turn to speak close to his ear as well.

With a short, performative chuckle, you chirp, “Of her? Not a chance. Were you trying to make me jealous?”

“No way,” his laughter is contagious, and you giggle into his bearded cheek without restraint, “I reckon if f I played that game, you wouldn’t waste another second on me.”

“You would be right,” you concede, finding no shame in that, “—Is that an Australian accent, I hear?”

“You would be right,” he parrots your phraseology, “Never met one of my kind before?”

You glance downwards, ogling at the weight pressing at his zipper, and up close, a sizable print stares right back at you.

You grin predatorily, all sharp teeth and diamonds, teasingly grinding your hips forward, “Mm? No, I’ve met a couple. Can’t say any of them have been quite like you, though.”

“My name is Daniel,” he introduces himself, “I figure you at least need to know my name if we’re leaving together.”

Oh, how sweet of him. You won’t tell him that you never cared to get the names of the last four guys who kept you company. To please him, you give him your name, trailing your lips over the shell of his ear and down his well-muscled neck.

His left hand lowers to palm your ass, and you hum lowly, “My car is waiting out front if we’ve decided to stop pretending like we’re going to dance.”

Daniel’s hand pulls away to grab yours and he leads you to the club exit. Walking outside forty-five minutes after you entered, you point toward the running Mercedes Maybach waiting by the curb. Your driver moves to step out but you halt him with a wave of your hand, wordlessly telling him to stay put. This allows Daniel the chance to play gentlemen, opening the back door for you and making sure you don’t knock your head on the hinge as you sit before he follows you inside.

The door clicks shut and your lips crash together, teeth clacking with little finesse. Impatient, you bury a hand in his curls, tugging forcefully to direct his head in the perfect angle, chuckling breathlessly at the shocked groan that rumbles out of his chest. You deepen the kiss, nipping his bottom lip before sliding your tongue into the fray, licking out the lingering taste of the gin he’s ingested. He pulls you into his lap, hands fitfully roaming around the curves of your body like he can’t pick an area to settle. Offhandedly, you’re pleased to discover that his pretty teeth are not veneers, as you familiarize the shape of his mouth with yours, greedily swallowing his noises whole.

The sound of a throat clearing interrupts your pursuit, and your driver speaks, “Pardon the interruption—where am I heading, ma’am?”

His mouth leaves yours and you frown, sighing disapprovingly as you pull away. Your pout transforms into a tickled smile as the hot flush of the man underneath you deepens from pink to red, his pupils remaining flared with arousal even though his eyes are wide in embarrassment. Your red lipstick has left a faint tint; you want to see if you can turn that into a stain before you part ways.

Fuck. What’s his name? Nathaniel? Samuel? Gabriel? None of those sound right.

Tutting quietly, you start unbuttoning his shirt, “Do me a favor and tell my kind chauffeur where we’re headed.”

The flustered man stumbles through the address of the hotel he’s staying in, not petrified enough to forget his manners as he thanks your driver afterward.

“Eric,” you call out to your driver, finishing with the buttons of the brunette’s shirt, scratching stiletto nails down his abdomen with one hand while the other traces a fingertip along his nose, “Would you mind rolling up the partition and turning up the music for yourself, please?”

“Of course, ma’am.”

The car pulls away from the curb, starting on the route toward the hotel. You assumed that he was humiliated or ashamed of being overheard or seen, but the notion is dismissed as he pulls you off his lap to rest in the seat, lowering himself to his knees between your legs before the partition has finished rolling up.

He cranes upward to reconnect your lips, hand braced at the nape of your neck to prevent the force of his movement from bashing you into the headrest. You hum, endeared at the mindful handling, savoring the scrape of his beard and mustache against your smooth, dark shin. Over-excitedly, his lips drift to map the sensitive expanse of your neck, pulling a shocked whimper from you at the first tease of teeth and pressure. He’s too eager to linger and continues to explore further, laving his tongue along your clavicle and nipping at your cleavage exposed by the low cut of your blouse.

His hands fist into the sheer fabric, ripping off your top and sending the buttons flying across the backseat. Need flares hungrily at the sensation of his lips suctioning on a patch of skin next to your nipple. Your mobility jolts into action, nails digging into his scalp to jerk his head back, and you assert, “You don’t get to leave marks.”

He doesn’t comprehend, distracted by the biting pain of your hold, hissing through his teeth, “W-what?”

You relax your grip, raking your fingertips through his curls apologetically, “What’s your name again, love?”

A dubious snort leaves him, “Should I be offended that you forgot that quickly? It’s Daniel.”

“Don’t take it personally, Danny,” your smile is shark-like, diamonds twinkling, red lips making it look like you’re coated in blood, “—And, don’t leave marks.”

Too horny to care about the insult of your forgetfulness, he nods to confirm he’s heard your request, pushing the hem of your skirt to bunch around your waist, thumbs digging into your hip bones. He skirts his lips along your inner thighs, breathing heavily over the fabric of your thong, already dampened a shade darker by your arousal. Daniel laves his tongue over your clothed heat, his depraved groan at the faint taste of you is louder than the choked gasp that punched out of your lungs. He tugs the fabric to the side, tucking it in the crease where your thigh meets your pelvis, revealing your beautifully swollen vulva. He licks indulgently at the petals of flesh, nose knocking against your clit, sending a bolt of pleasure spindling up your spine.

His tongue pushes inside, lapping deeply to coax out more of your flavor, the plushness of his mouth brushing against your labia. Daniel’s slurps and heavy breaths against your cunt echo around the back seat; if it didn’t sound like you were dripping wet, anyone overhearing may have assumed this was just a heavy make-out. Instead, your activities are fairly obvious, and your stuttered, debauched whimpers would expose what’s occurring in the car without doubt.

Honks sound from various directions outside, but it’s due to frustration with the stop-and-go traffic on the street. Blacked-out tint and loud R&B have yet to fail you.

He sucks your clit between his lips harshly, circling his tongue around the swollen bud, and your frame jolts, hips bucking into his face, hand flying down to tangle in his hair, keeping him buried between your thighs, and crying out sharply at the almost overwhelming wave of pleasure.

“Fuck—just like that,” you whimper, head rolling back.

Daniel’s smug chuckle dances through your fluttering folds, but he keeps his focus narrowed on intensifying his motions, burying two fingers inside your pussy as he keeps his lips locked around your clit. His digits fuck you forcefully, curling upward and ravaging your spongy walls, slick noises multiplying at the speed he shoves them into you. The friction burn from his facial hair starts to sting and the compounded sensations have you throwing a leg over him, digging the heel of your foot into his shoulder blade to pull him closer.

The knot in your abdomen tightens, thighs straining to close around his head contradicting the movement of your hips rabbiting up into his mouth. His hand leaves your hip to grasp at your knee, keeping you pried open with ease. Your squeals go quiet, back arching, eyes screwed shut, muscles cording with tension, and the rope snaps—violent, white-hot satisfaction crashing over you like an unforgiving stormy sea and spilling over Daniel's tongue, lips, and chin.

His mouth and fingers continue their assault, riding the undulation of your hips with spectacular accuracy as the aftershocks shudder through. You go boneless, falling limp against the leather seat and batting Daniel’s head away, spent. You giggle breathily, bare chest heaving in exertion and you can only think about how you’re going to need to get the car detailed tomorrow. Your lids open hooded, peering down and sneering at the self-satisfied expression on Daniel’s face.

“You must spend a lot of time between a woman’s legs to be that good at it,” you say lightly, a bit of an underhanded compliment. With your lifestyle, who are you to judge?

He shifts stiffly, tattooed hands dropping to adjust his pants, and he snipes, “Or, maybe I just enjoy doing it. And, you’re easy.”

“Did you cum in your pants already?” Your voice sings demeaningly. “Or, do you want me to return the favor and show you which one of us is really easy?”

You swap positions, his legs alluringly spread wide as you situate yourself on the car floor. His smile is goading, buttoned shirt splayed open to reveal the tanned expanse of his toned physique riddled with claw marks from your nails, his tongue out, licking up the lingering trails of your essence and you smack your teeth at the needless display. You pull him out of his pants, keeping your delight at the heavy weight of him stored inward, a smirk quirking the corner of your lips as you notice the precum that’s moistened the head. Your hand wraps around the base to hold him steady and a fresh bead blots out from his slit, “I don’t see you lasting much longer, so tell me when you’re close.”

Not giving him a chance to respond, you lick from base to tip before swallowing down the first few inches, amused at the gasped “Fuck,” he exclaims. Daniel tastes like salt and the musk of man, the weight of him in your mouth quieting an innate need screaming at the base of your skull. You moan, guttural, sliding down until your lips meet your hand, tongue cradling the underside of his dick.

You draw up slightly, inhaling through your nose, hand moving to rest on his clothed thigh before you slowly suck him down to the hilt, ignoring the urge to choke as he breaches your throat. He curses above you loudly, skull slamming into the headrest as he clumsily brushes the hair out of your face, tugging it back with a tight fist. Your lipstick leaves a ring of red around him and you pull off to press kisses on the throbbing length, admiring how the color of your lipstick begins to blend with the desperate flush of his cock.

You suckle over him until he’s wet with spit, swallowing the pre that streaks out straight from the source. His abdomen contracts sporadically and you suck him down again, knowing if you continued teasing this would end sooner than prematurely. He bucks up and you mirror the movement, lips sealed tightly around his girth as you bob your head, ignoring your gag reflex.

“Fuck, how do you look so good doing this?” He moans, and you assume it’s rhetorical because your ability to explain how is compromised.

Your technique is determined, eyes stinging at the constant intrusion as you watch his expressions shudder underneath your unwavering attention. Tears fall from your lash line as you suckle harder, tongue swirling as you struggle to pull him completely inside your mouth. Daniel’s present enough to understand your wants, and assists, using the grip he has in your hair to angle you perfectly, the final few centimeters slipping inside.

You dig your nails into his thighs to hold him steady, swallowing around him repeatedly to tighten your throat further. Daniel yelps, choking on his own spit as he stutters, “S-shitshitshit—I’m gonna—”

Swiftly, you lean back until just the head remains between your lips, tongue lapping over the most sensitive areas while your hands rejoin to twist harshly around the rest.

“Fuck,” Daniel grunts roughly, cock kicking. You draw off completely, angling his dick downward and sliding your hands up to wrench his tip, thumb digging into the slit, and then he’s spilling.

His release streaks across your neck and chest, creamy and thick on your skin, hips thrusting into your tight grasp, whimpering through you wringing out every last drop, brown eyes pried wide open as he sees himself paint you white. You nurse out the last bead of spend from his tip with a suckle of your lips before guiding his cock to gently rest on his abdomen.

Daniel slumps back with a shaky breath and you grab the remains of your shredded blouse to wipe off his cum. You swallow reflexively, the ache of your throat has your core tingling and your mind whirring. You were too eager, tonight. You should’ve gotten him inside of you before you rendered him useless. If you had known he’d just be good for head, this could’ve been resolved back in the club bathroom, and you wouldn’t be stuck with having to drop him off at his hotel since there’s no point in going up to his room anymore.

A long honk blares from in front of the car and you sigh, choosing to give Daniel another chance as he’s been your best lay in the last six months, “Are you able to get it up again?”

His brow furrows in genuine offense this time, and you raise your hands in apology. You follow his eyeline as he looks down, dumbfounded to see that he’s only softened a bit.

“That one only took the edge off,” he says, tone confident.

You climb up, seating yourself on his lap. He grabs another piece of your shirt from the seat, cautiously attempting to wipe away the mascara tracks streaked down your cheeks and the smears of red lipstick around your mouth.

The partition rolls down at your first knock as if the operator was straining to listen, “Eric, we’ll be heading to my home instead, if it’s not too much trouble to change course.”

“It’s no trouble at all, ma’am. We’ll be arriving in twenty minutes.”

He rolls up the divider without you having to ask.

“Do you need to use the twenty minutes as a break before we arrive at my place?” You question, trying for sincere thoughtfulness this time around.

Daniel doesn’t respond, reaching forward to grasp your cheeks with a firm hand, yanking you into a kiss, unbothered by the flavor of himself in your mouth. If his ability to fuck is on par or better than his head game, and he manages to satiate you two or three more times tonight—it might be incentive enough for you to remember his name come morning.

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brairslair · 9 months ago

Note

(i debated whether or not to ask this anonymously)

so yknow how eddie has a W.A.S.P pin on his vest? can you plz write an eddieXreader scene inspired by their song

Animal (F*** Like A Beast) ?

😅😊

i absolutely love this reqqq, tysm for letting me run with this! hope you like how it turned out @nerdyhooker

Like an Animal - E.M.

18+ ONLY (minors please dni)

a/n: finally figured out an idea i liked for this, and i think it turned out pretty good! although i may have gotten a bit carried away lmao. not sure if this is as rough as you might have had in mind, but i tried to pull as much from the lyrics as possible! i hope you like what i ended up with <3

wc: 5.8k

cw: eventual smut, fem!reader, bartender!eddie + english teacher!reader, kinda fuckboy eddie vibes?, enemies to lovers vibes, light bondage (handcuffsss), p in v sex, unprotected sex (do not do this), oral (fem receiving), pet names (princess, sweetheart, honey, baby), technically drinking and driving, smoking (cigs + i don’t smoke so idfk what i’m talking about), brat reader but she gets super subby, kinda mean but soft dom eddie?, light dacryphilia, these idiots have been head over heels for each other since high school and neither of them knew it bc they’re stupid and stubborn, extremely vague mention of aftercare, not proof read, lmk if i missed anything!

don’t forget to like, reblog, follow, and comment to support my work! it always makes my day, mwah

“well if it isn’t the little princess”

Just like that, nine months down the drain. You massage your temples as you recall the past few days. The countless arguments between you and your, now ex, boyfriend form a persistent migraine between your eyes.

In hindsight, you really should have seen it coming. Your relationship had been rocky for months, but you were so busy with other obligations that you hadn’t had the time to confront any of it head on. Fortunately for you, he was more than willing to step up to the plate.

You wouldn’t let yourself admit it out loud, but you almost felt relieved with his absence in your small apartment. That was until you remembered the loss of his half of the rent.

Everything happened so fast, it was hard to process any of it. It all felt like it was swirling around and around too quickly for you to pick any one thing out. Your solution? Alchohol.

You grabbed your keys and hopped into your polished, clean, mint green beetle, setting off for the local dive bar. You could only recall one other time you had been to the small bar, having been dragged there by colleagues in the name of “bonding” after a particularly long day at work.

Drinking wasn’t something you did often, reserving a glass of wine for holidays and special events. Tonight, you decided you needed to make an exception.

As you parked and stepped out of your car, you felt nerves twist in your gut. The place was undoubtedly busy, which wasn’t shocking for a Friday night. People were smoking and talking out front, and you couldn’t help but notice how out of place you must’ve looked.

A knee length grey skirt fell loosely over your hips, paired with a rose colored, ruffled blouse, and a pearl necklace with matching earrings to top it off. Not a single tattoo in sight, and certainly no cigarette in hand. Your heels clicked against the pavement, smoothing down your skirt as you made your way inside.

The second you enter, you’re hit with a haze of smoke and the overwhelming smell of alchohol, nicotine, and sweat. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the dim lighting before you head for the bar.

You shuffle your way over to an empty stool at the front and take a seat, plopping your beaded purse on the counter. As you wait for the bartender to make their way to you, you take a better look at your surroundings. The place felt oddly cozy for being in such a frumpy looking building, and a band was playing some sort of aggressive rock song you had never heard before. Despite it being a little too loud, and a little too cluttered, you were already starting to relax a little.

“Hey there, what can I get for ya?”

You whip your head around at the voice, and your stomach instantly falls into your shoes. It would be impossible not to recognize the dark mop of curls that you got so used to seeing bouncing about the halls you shared all those years ago.

Although now it was pulled back into a sloppy bun at the back of his head, loose curls falling around his face. You’d hate to admit it, but he looked really nice.

“Well if it isn’t the little princess.” he laughs, and you feel your fists clench at the old nickname. “Didn’t think this was really your scene.”

“Well that would be a correct assumption, Munson.” you bite, bouncing back from the initial shock, “Unfortunately, it was the closest bar to my apartment, and I wasn’t in the mood to drive across town.”

Your grumbling makes you feel like a petulant child with a grudge, but you can’t help it. Eddie just always has getting on your nerves.

“I didn’t know you worked here, or I would have made the sacrifice.”

Eddie smiles his big, toothy, infuriatingly smug smile, and shakes his head, “You haven’t changed one bit, huh princess?”

“Don’t call me that.” you demand through gritted teeth, holding on to every ounce of restraint you have not to scream at him to just get you a drink.

He leans forward on the counter with a lopsided, goofy sort of expression, invading your space and ignoring your little outburst. “So what brings you in here tonight, princess? Boy troubles?” he mocks with a pouty tone.

You glare daggers into his skull, and he knows he’s hit the nail on the head. “Just a beer will do.”

He gives a small salute before leaving to get you your drink of choice.

The rest of the night is spent drinking, wallowing, and actively avoiding any and all interactions with the familiar bartender. The minimal interaction you did have involved him pushing every button in sight, and you fighting to maintain an ounce of self control.

Any time your eyes made their way over to him, of their own volition, his eyes were already on you. He had this look, like he knew something you didn’t, and it infuriated you. Oh how you hated him.

It had always been this way, ever since high school. He made it his mission to push you to your limit, and you always had to one up him somehow. It became almost like a game. You weren’t surprised to see he hadn’t changed after all this time. It was almost comforting in way, if you thought about it long enough.

As the night went on, the activity slowly started dying down, and the atmosphere got quieter. You were on your second beer of the night, trying to let the cold liquid take the edge off. Even still, you felt your fingers tap against the counter with anxiety.

How could he leave you to fend for yourself at the drop of a hat? After nine months? Did your relationship hold that little of value? How were you supposed to afford next quarter’s rent? There’s no way you could afford to live in your current apartment. You would have to move. How would you find somewhere decent to stay in such a short amount of time? You were screwed.

“Hey sweetheart, we’re gettin’ ready to close up.”

You were pulled out of your thoughts, looking up to see the one person you wanted to see the least right now. His expression was soft. Softer than you’ve ever seen it aimed in your direction. It made you want to dig your nails into his skin.

“You alright?”

The question takes you aback, your brows furrow at the uncharacteristic behavior. “Fine, thanks.” you mumble, taking another gulp of your drink.

He looks at you with what can only be described as sympathy, and you feel your chest tighten. “Wanna step out for a smoke?”

You mull over the words for a moment. The answer should be so simple. You don’t smoke. In fact, you’ve never smoked once in your life. Why would you ever agree to smoke with him of all people?

But then his hand is outstretched across the bar for you to take a cigarette, and his eyes look so… kind? You’ve never thought of that word to describe him before. Maybe it was the alchohol, or maybe he put some sort of curse on you, because suddenly you’re taking the cigarette and following him out front.

You can’t help but watch as his thumb flicks at the lighter, putting it up to your lips before bringing it to his own. You follow his lead inhaling the smoke, and then you’re instantly coughing and spluttering it back out of your lungs.

He laughs lightly as he cooly blows the smoke to the side to avoid getting it in your face. “I take it you’ve never smoked before? If you wanted to talk to me, all you had to do was ask.”

“Shut up, Munson.” you spit out, face heating up with embarrassment as you make another attempt, ignoring the burning in your throat.

It’s silent for a while, before anyone decides to break it.

“So,” he starts, “You a big time writer now?” he asks, staring at the pavement.

He remembered you wanted to be a writer? You didn’t even think he knew that about you. “English teacher, actually. Hawkins High.”

He looks at you then, dropping the butt of his cigarette to the ground and crushing it under his boot. “You stuck around that hell hole? No wonder you’ve still got that stick up your ass.”

You scoff bitterly, “Well I guess some of us are more academically inclined than others.” you glare, “I actually enjoy my job, shocking as that may be to you.”

“I'm sure you do, sweetheart.” Eddie replies smugly, causing you to grit your teeth as he leans against the brick wall of the building. "Gettin' to boss people around all day must be a dream come true for you." The parking lot is almost completely empty at this point.

Of course his civility was just a calm before the storm. You mentally pinch yourself for your momentary lapse of judgement. “God, you are such a-“

“Comedian? Kind soul? Sight for sore eyes?” he offers dramatically, eyes twinkling at your grimace.

“I was going for obnoxious, conceited, prick.” You hiss, stomping out your cigarette, “and I do not have a stick up my ass!” you shout, turning on your heel to leave.

Eddie rushes to catch up to you, laughing boyishly in a way that makes you speed up. “Aw come on, princess, don’t be like that. I was just teasing.”

“I said not to call me that-” You whip around to face him, and suddenly you’re practically chest to chest, craning your neck to meet his eyes. You’re so close you wonder if he can feel your heart racing behind your ribs.

Then he’s looking at you with that look. The one that makes your insides bubble over with fury. The one that makes you feel like he knows some sort of deep secret about you. It makes you want to slap him in his smug face. Yet, for some reason, you can’t seem to look away from his gaze.

Finally, you pull yourself away, and march over to your car. Just as you open your door, you hear a retreating shout of, “Next drink’s on me, princess!” and then you’re out of there faster than you can process your heaving chest and shaky hands.

After that, you somehow end up back in that same bar every Friday. Some sort of force, unbeknownst to you, seemed to draw you in like a magnet. As promised, the next drink was on him… and the next, and the next, no matter how many times you tried to refuse.

No matter how much you tried to talk yourself out of it, you always ended up sitting on the same stool, at the same time, with the same drink in your hand. Every week, without fail, you would leave the bar a fuming, heated mess with only one thing on your mind. Eddie fucking Munson.

This week in particular was different. You were absolutely swamped with assignments that needed to be graded, and you spent all of Thursday night and Friday working on getting them done.

It wasn’t until you woke up the next morning that you noticed the hiccup in your routine, and for some reason it made you sad. It wasn’t like you were obligated to go every weekend, but a part of you had grown to enjoy your Friday nights at the bar. Then some sick, twisted part of you wondered if he had noticed your absence, but you shoved the thought away as soon as it surfaced.

As the day went on, you convinced yourself it wouldn’t hurt to just go tonight instead. After all it was a Saturday night, and you had already cleared your workload for the week, so it’s not like there was any real harm in it.

Alternatively, it was a Saturday night. Eddie’s band performed Saturday nights. You didn’t want him to think you were there to see him, because you most certainly were not. You just didn’t want to miss out on your weekly drink, that’s all. Nothing more.

Still, it was a Saturday night. It would do you some good to look a little nicer, right?

You start to regret it the second you park your car. The shift in the air is blatantly obvious as you enter walk towards the crowded space. Men out front whistle at you as you walk to the door, and you can feel eyes practically digging into your skin as u head for your usual seat at the bar. Your leg bounces with nerves at the attention. You've never worn this dress before. Never had a reason to. You don't allow yourself to wonder why you chose to wear it tonight.

You ask the bartender for a long island iced tea, and catch yourself checking the small stage in the back of the room. You internally scold yourself and glue your eyes to your drink.

It isn’t long before cheers are heard around the bar, pulling your attention up to see Corroded Coffin walking out on stage.

“How’s everybody doing tonight?” Eddie’s voice booms out of the speakers, causing people to whoop and holler in reply. You feel your leg begin to bounce.

He continues talking to the small crowd while his band finishes setting up, and you can’t stop yourself from ogling at him. You desperately want to pull your eyes away, to look at anything else, but you can’t.

He’s wearing an old band t-shirt with the sleeves cut off, showing off his arms, chest, and a sliver of his waist. Your eyes trail across the exposed skin, noticing he has quite a few new tattoos littering it, and your stomach twists. He has leather and chain bracelets decorating his wrists, curls falling wildly around his face, and you notice light bouncing off of his signature rings still adorning his fingers. You definitely don’t remember him looking like this in high school.

As he moves around the stage it’s abundantly clear how confident he is up there. His stage presence is truly impressive, and his voice is really something. It's gotten deeper since the last time you heard it. You subconsciously wet your lips as you watch his fingers move around the neck of his guitar. He’s come a long way since the last time you saw him perform. You can’t help but smile as you watch him in his element.

Then the smile is wiped clean off of your face when he makes direct eye contact with you from across the bar. You freeze, feeling like you suddenly have shards of glass lodged in your throat. Has he known you’ve been sitting here the whole time? If he saw you smiling you might have to run into oncoming traffic.

Then you notice what he’s singing.

“I'm on the prowl and I watch you closely I lie waiting for you I'm the wolf with the sheepskins clothing I lick my chops and you're tastin' good”

Your stomach flips and you can feel your whole body heating up. Something tells you he notices too, which makes it a million times worse. What the hell is wrong with you?

“I do whatever I want to do ya I'll nail your ass to the sheets A pelvic thrust and the sweat starts to sting ya I fuck like a beast”

You shift in your seat, the eye contact becoming far too overwhelming. You opt to look down at your lap for the remainder of the song to prevent yourself from doing something embarrassing.

Soon enough the set is over, and the band starts breaking down their set up. You’re so deep in your own thoughts by the end of it that you fail to notice the man approaching you, until his arms are caging you against the bar.

“Well hello there, pretty lady.” You gasp at the familiar voice speaking directly into your ear, feeling his shirt graze your back. “Didn’t expect to see you here tonight.” He beams down at you, watching you huff and roll your eyes as you turn to face him. Your fingers wriggle with the efforts not to hit him.

“It was an impulsive decision.” You mutter quietly, eyes briefly darting to his toned arm beside you before snapping back to his face, “I didn’t come yesterday.” You concede, unsure of what else to say.

He smiles, seemingly amused. “I know. Your seat was empty all night.” he says lowly, face so close to yours that you can feel his breath against your lips. For a moment you think he’s going to kiss you, and then he’s pushing off of the counter to head back behind the bar and help clean up.

So he did notice. Did he miss you? Was he saving your seat, or is it just a coincidence?

You feel dizzy with a million questions. Why did you let him get so close? Why were you going to let him kiss you? Why does he look so good. Why do you care so much? You should have said something, anything.

You finish your drink in silence, watching Eddie as he flits around tidying up the place, and then the bar is closing. You feel your gut twist at the thought of going home, and you don’t quite understand why, but you blame the alchohol.

As if he could hear your thoughts, Eddie jogs up to you as you grab your purse, arm outstretched and offering a cigarette. His hair falls prettily around his shoulders, and you only now notice that he takes much better care of his curls now than he did in high school.

“Care for a smoke?”

His charm must be cranked up to 100 tonight, because, once again, you agree with less hesitation than you would have liked.

You stand out front, Eddie waving goodnight to Garret as he heads to his car, and you watch as the last car whirs out of the lot. Then you are alone. Just you and Eddie. Your heart hammers in your chest.

“How’d you like the show?” he asks, exhaling a puff of smoke in the process.

You handle the burn better this time, holding back a cough from erupting as you take a drag. “It was… good.” You say hesitantly.

He quirks an eyebrow at you, “Just good? Wow, then we really need to get our shit together if we're gonna-“

“You were amazing.” You blurt out, unsure of why you felt the need to boost his ego. You clear your throat before amending your statement, “It… The show was amazing.”

Eddie hums in satisfaction, smile tugging at the corners of his lips around his cig. “You know, you didn’t have to dress all fancy for lil ol’ me.”

You wore a tight, low-backed, black dress that hugged your curves perfectly, sheer black stockings, black boots, and some dainty silver jewelry. Nothing too crazy, but definitely much different from how you would normally dress. Admittedly, you felt a little self conscious.

“Well good thing I didn’t dress fancy for you.” You huff, starting to feel a little silly for trying so hard to fit in. God, did he always have to be so cocky?

“I mean, I’m not complaining.” He starts, pushing off the wall to step towards you. “You look fucking incredible. Of course, you always look incredible.”

Smug bastard.

“Thank you.” You feel yourself flushing at the words, immediately getting sick to your stomach at how much you care what Eddie Munson thinks about how you look. “Glad I got your seal of approval.” You quip sarcastically, desperately trying to pick a fight. Anything to stop you from feeling whatever it is that you’re feeling right now.

Why did he always find a way to get under your skin? No one else makes you feel as utterly frustrated as he does.

He’s absolutely unbearable.

You force down another inhale of smoke as you watch Eddie slowly make his way closer to you. The way he’s looking at you makes your mouth go dry. You can’t tell what he’s thinking and it’s driving you up the wall.

“You know, you don’t always have to be such a brat.” He exhales casually, pausing in front of you. Your heart stops. “It wouldn’t kill you to be nice to me every once in a while.”

“It might.” You rasp out curtly, just now realizing how out of breath you suddenly feel.

He laughs, and the sound makes your insides flip.

“You have such a big fat crush on me, don’t you sweetheart?” He smiles down at you wolfishly, and it almost makes you shrink under his stare. You suddenly are acutely aware of your surroundings.

You scoff and cross your arms defensively, “I most certainly do not have a crush on you, Munson.” You spit out venomously. How dare he even suggest such a thing? It couldn’t be farther from the truth. You loathe him.

“Oh yeah?” he challenges, taking a stride closer to you, making you step backwards.

“Think I don’t notice how you stare at me? How you sit up a little straighter when you see me?”

Your back hits the wall.

“You aren’t subtle, princess.”

You feel like a fucking deer in headlights.

“Staring and glaring are two very different things.” You pant, desperately searching for oxygen. Anger burns in your throat at his absolute audacity, and your skin feels like it's buzzing.

“Is that so?”

You can feel his chest press into you as the brick digs into your shoulders. He takes a long inhale of smoke, and your head is screaming at you to push him off of you and curse him the whole way home, but you can’t bring yourself to move.

It feels like everything is moving in slow motion as he grabs your chin, and then, unexpectedly, he‘s pulling your jaw down to part your lips. All you can do is stare at him and his cocky fucking smile at your compliance. You feel like you’re in a trance.

Before you can even think, his lips are pressed against yours and pushing smoke past your lips. You gasp at the contact, effectively inhaling the smoke and sighing against his lips. Your brain short circuits and goes completely numb. His lips feel like the cure to a disease you've been plagued with for years.

For a moment, you almost forget who you’re with, until he pulls back to look at you.

“Well if you hate me so much, then why are you squeezing your thighs together?”

You immediately rip your legs apart, not even realizing what you were doing until it was too late. You can feel steam pouring out of your ears at this point.

“You’re insufferable.”

“You love it.”

He’s right. For some reason, you do love it. Something about him makes you crave more, and you’re starting to believe he may be an incubus. It’s making you go insane.

So you finally wave the white flag.

“Just shut up and kiss me, Munson.”

So he does. Again, and again, and again, until somehow you end up back at Eddie’s trailer with your wrists handcuffed to his bed frame and your clothes thrown around his room.

Hard rock music plays faintly in the distance, and the room smells vaguely of incense and weed. You feel like you've been transported to an alternate dimension.

His lips feel like they’re everywhere. Your mouth, your jaw, your neck, and then he’s leaving sweet little kisses on your tits, making you whine and arch your back towards him.

“Gotta teach you how to let loose, yeah?”

He gently tugs on one of your nipples and you gasp, and Eddie can’t help but laugh as he kisses his way further down your body.

“You’re fucking adorable when you’re not being a pain in the ass, you know that?”

You groan as he spreads your legs open, kissing and biting at your thighs. “Shut up, Eddie.”

“Oh I’m Eddie now?”

Your hips buck up in frustration, glaring down at him with a scowl. It feels like he’s been teasing you for forever. “Eddie” you whine out, “Stop teasing.”

He slowly starts kissing closer to where you need him most, but not quite close enough. “You don’t think you deserve it? Why do you think your wrists are locked up then, sweetheart?”

You wiggle and writhe beneath him, but don’t answer. Eddie moves his face closer to your cunt, and you finally think you’re going to get what you want, and then he blows on your clit. You whimper and clench around nothing, flinching away from him. It's absolutely pathetic, getting so worked up when he’s barely even done anything yet.

“I asked you a question.” Eddie tries again, rubbing soothing circles into the back of your thigh while he waits for a response.

“My wrist’s are locked up because…” You take a deep sigh and force yourself to just spit it out so that he’ll touch you already. “because I was being a brat." you grumble. He’s lucky your wrists are locked up right now, you think.

Eddie kisses your thigh in approval, “That’s right, and bratty girls don’t get to call the shots. Right?”

You huff and pull against your restraints once more, before ultimately complying. “Right.”

You figure it won’t do you any good to act out, especially given your current position.

“There you go, that wasn’t so hard was it?” Eddie grins up at you, before finally leaving a gentle kiss right on your clit.

You throw your head back into the pillows, immediately feeling relief at the small touch. He then runs his tongue up your slit, swirling it nice and slow around your little button, making you sigh and melt into the bed. His curls tickle your thighs where he works diligently.

It quickly becomes apparent that he knows exactly what he’s doing, and that makes you wonder how many other women have been in this exact same position. The thought makes you dig your nails into your palms, but the it’s is quickly forgotten when you feel him slide a finger into you.

"See?" He starts, words muffled by your folds, "Just needed someone to put you in your place, huh? To take the reigns?"

You flutter around him, and every fiber of your being wants to say something snippy in response, but all you get out is a blissed out sigh. He hums happily.

His fingers are much thicker than your own, calloused from his years of playing guitar. Looking down you notice he took all his rings off and set them next to you on the bed. He never takes his rings off, ever, you remember that. For some reason the simple act makes your heart leap out of your chest.

He pulls his face back from your slick for a moment just to watch the way you suck in his finger, and he moans at the sight of you. The sound makes your brain feel like static. “Fuck, baby, you needed it bad, huh? You’re fucking dripping all over my sheets and I've barley started.”

All you can do is nod your head and hum in response, and your jaw drops open with a soft moan as he slides in a second finger with ease.

“How long have you been wanting me like this, sweetheart? Be honest.” He asks, never faltering in his pace.

You whine at the question, embarrassment flooding your features as you turn your face to hide it in his pillow. He quickly kisses up your body, gently turning your head back to look at him. “You can tell me. No need to be embarrassed.”

You take one good look at his face, and you know that he already knows. He’s giving you that look. He just wants to hear you say it.

“Mm… Since-” you hesitate to finish your sentence, and then a particularly hard thrust of his fingers does it for you. “Since fucking high school! Christ, Eddie-”

A groan erupts from the back of his throat as he kisses you hard, licking and biting at your bottom lip, and then suddenly his mouth is back on your clit and you feel like you’re floating. He picks up the pace, eating you out like a man starved, flicking his tongue in time with the thrusts of his fingers.

You feel your hips start to move against him, and he groans into your pussy making you cry out. “Yeah, that’s it.” He mumbles against your core, “Ride my face, honey.”

You can’t control the plethora of sounds that escape you, and your body seems to have a mind of its own. You writhe on the bed as Eddie devours you, holding your thighs over his shoulders. He searches for your sweet spot with every thrust of his fingers, and he knows he’s found it when your eyebrows pinch up, a high pitched whine reverberating throughout his bedroom.

You can feel him smile against your cunt, continuing his assault against that spot that makes you see stars. He never stops looking up at you to watch your face contort with pleasure. His already dark eyes are now fully eclipsed with lust and need.

“Oh my god-” you gasp out, heaving for air as your legs begin to shake around his head.

He can tell you’re close from the way you’re squeezing his fingers and writhing under him. He doesn’t speed up or change his pace, he keeps doing exactly what he’s doing, moving the flat of his tongue back and forth against your clit and curling his fingers up into you just right.

“Eddie, mm… i’m so close-”

The second the words leave your lips, he pulls off of you. His mouth and fingers are completely gone in an instant, and you feel like you’re about to cry.

“What the fuck?!” You shout at him, voice weak with tears threatening to spill, “Why did you stop?”

Eddie grins from ear to ear, lips and chin glistening with your slick, “We talked about this, remember?” he says cockily, leaning down to lick a bead of sweat from your chest, “Brats don’t get to call the shots. You’ll take what I give you, won’t you sweetheart?”

You grumble and kick your legs out in frustration, but he kisses you to make it better. You slowly let him melt you back into putty in his hands, tasting yourself on his tongue. He presses his knee directly against your puffy cunt, groaning at your wetness against his skin as you sigh into his lips. You go to move your hips against him but he quickly stops you, moving his hand up instead to push down his boxers, his dick already hard and aching to feel you.

“Promise I’ll make you feel so good, just gotta be good for me first alright?”

You nod your head frantically, completely and utterly at his mercy. He looks like sex personified, and you just want to feel him. “Please, Eddie-”

He smiles sweetly at you, kissing your cheek as he slides the tip of his cock through your folds. “Awh, look at you and your manners.” he taunts, but this time you can't seem to care. In fact, you realize, you kind of like it.

You like hearing his voice.

You like it when he’s mean.

He pushes just the tip against your dripping hole, and you’re practically sobbing. “How can I say no when you asked so politely?” and then he’s sliding all the way into you, and you’re already a wreck.

“Holy shit- you feel so fucking good” he groans and huffs as he starts to slowly pump in and out of you, making sure you feel every drag of his cock inside you.

You’re already panting, stretching your hands against the cool metal to try and grasp for anything that can ground you, but you come up empty. He’s so much bigger than you expected him to be, and the stretch is practically making you drool.

“Eddie, fucking- god”

“That’s it, keep screaming my name just like that baby.” He encourages, kissing and biting at your collar bone, sure to leave marks, “You sound so goddamn pretty when you say my name.”

Eddie adjusts your position, pulling your leg over his hip and pushing it against your chest. The new angle has your back arching off the bed, a whimpering mess as you claw at the handcuffs.

Eddie leans his head to rest in the crook of your neck, panting and whining into your ear. “Shit, princess-”

Your cunt squeezes him at the nickname, and the moan that slips past your lips is guttural. “Oh, fuck-” He clamps his eye shut with a deep groan, gripping your thigh so hard it’s sure to leave little bruises.

That’s the first time he’s used that nickname since you started, and he knows it. He did it on purpose.

He lifts his head to look at your blissed out face, a goofy, lopsided, fucked out grin on his lips. “I knew it.” he gloats, thrusts getting harder, “Look at me.”

You muster up the energy to flutter your eyes open and look at him. The pretty smile on his face makes your legs shake.

“You like it when I call you that,” he beamed, “That’s why you hated when I used that name for you in public, huh. Cause’ it made you fuckin’ soak your panties?” he laughed meanly, watching tears fill your waterline. He leans down to brush his lips against yours, voice lowering into something sweeter. “Isn’t that right, princess?”

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you practically scream. He looked so pretty, and he felt so good, and you wanted him closer. It was all too much, you needed to hold something, anything. You needed to pull yourself back down to reality.

“Eds- Eddie, please can I touch you?” your fingers twitch where they’re held above your head, “Wanna feel you- please, i’ve been so good-”

Eddie whines at your sweet pleas, but maintains composure. He wanted to stick to the plan.

“Oh, honey, no” he pouts out at you mockingly, watching the way you strain for anything to grasp and his dick twitches inside you, “No, you gotta give me one first. Can you do that for me, baby?”

Too fucked out to formulate a simple response, you simply sob and nod your head. Your hips start to rock up into his thrusts, but Eddie grabs your hips with one hand and pushes them back down into the sheets. You feel like a live wire.

Then he brings his thumb down to your clit, gently rubbing circles on it, and your eyes clamp shut. He kisses your open mouth and you try your best to kiss him back, but he’s moaning into your mouth, and he’s touching you, and fucking you, and Eddie Munson is fucking you, and it’s all so good that you just can’t.

“Eddie, i’m gonna-” you babble, almost incoherent, feeling the knot getting tighter and tighter, “Please please please don’t stop!”

He puts more pressure on your clit and leaves sweet little kisses on your neck, “I’m not got stop, it’s okay.”

You’re so close you feel like you’re about to explode.

“You can cum for me, princess”

That’s all you needed to see stars, black clouding your vision as he rides out your high, not once stopping or slowing down his pace. You can vaguely hear him talking you down, but nothing registers past your ears ringing.

Then your wrists are released and he’s flipping you over so that you’re on top, straddling him, and your hands and lips are all over him in an instant. In this position he hits your g-spot perfectly, and you can’t help but sob against his chest at the overstimulation.

“Just one more for me, I promise.” he soothes, gently rubbing your hip as his guides your hips back and forth on his cock, making you both cry out. You start to set your own pace riding him, leaning back against his legs to give you the perfect angle.

“You’re so perfect.” He mutters, breathlessly, “My pretty girl- fuck.”

Eddie was now moaning and whining louder and more freely than before, you can tell he’s getting close now too, and you’re already reaching your second climax of the night.

“Wanted you for so long,” Eddie admits, gripping your hip tighter, “can’t believe this is real.”

You whine at the confession, leaning forward to press your lips to the shell of his ear. You make sure to let your pretty noises and praises flow freely, just for him. Your fingers gently brush hairs from his forehead before scratching your way down his chest.

“You fuck me so well, Eds”

“Oh my god- you feel so good”

“Please, Eddie, I wanna feel you cum”

He’s an absolute mess, wrapping both hands around your hips and bending his knees up so that he can fuck you down onto him. “Wanna cum with you sweetheart. Want you to give me another one.” He rambles against your chest, and your nails dig into his shoulders, leaving little red marks behind.

“I’m so close, honey, c’mon. You can give it to me."

You bite and claw at his skin, so close to tipping over the edge.

"Soak me.”

You collapse forward as tears of overstimulation fall onto his inked skin, and he sinks his teeth into your shoulder to ground himself while he paints your walls white. You ride out your highs, clutching each other like a lifeline. When you’re both back on planet earth, he cleans you up nice an gentle, and whispers pretty little praises into your skin as you fall asleep with your limbs intertwined.

“Knew you had a crush on me, princess.”

Let’s just say you no longer have to go apartment hunting!

asks are open!

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joyoushyuck · 1 year ago

Text

06:23

Donghyuck is still sleeping when you wake up.

He looks peaceful, you think. Not a common sight, you'd even call his sleeping form the eighth wonder because a conscious Donghyuck is never calm. His cheeks are puffy, lips set in a cute pout, hair a royal mess. You thread your fingers through his unruly strands in an attempt to tame them.

Donghyuck's hand is loosely thrown around your waist but you know you couldn't wiggle out of it even if you tried. Not that you want to; it's cozier this way with his legs thrown over yours and body moulded perfectly to fit against your curves.

A few stray rays of light escape through your curtains, forming a magical halo around Donghyuck's face, giving it the softest of glows. Your finger traces his many moles. He looks ethereal like this. You feel an overwhelming amount of love for this man.

You want to protect him, even though the love bites painting his bare torso, the medusa tattoo just above his waist band and his toned biceps don't call for any protection. If anything, your frangible heart is the only thing that requires a lee from the whirlwind that is your boyfriend.

"You're staring babe," and you jump, heart thudding loud and so-not-proud against your chest. The room seems hotter than it was a moment ago, the peaceful ambience destroyed by his usual playfulness. He cracks an eye open and shoots a complacent smirk in your general direction.

"You don't have to scare me like that, you creep!" You huff, embarassed to face him. You try to get out of his hold; an impossible feat because he works out and you don't. So you take refuge among the fulffiness of the many pillows thrown over your bed.

"Says the one who was staring at me," is his smug reply, which earns a slap on his toned chest. Again, he's hardly affected by it. Atleast he has the decency to pretend it hurts.

Your breathing is still audibly heavy from the shock. He runs a placating hand on your back as a quiet apology. "Good morning," he mumbles, nuzzling his nose into your hair.

"Too late for that, don't you think," you spit in lieu of a reply, no real bite in your words. He chuckles, the sound arising from what you can only imagine to be the deepest parts of him, so low, so attractive, so domestic.

He kisses your hair with an obnoxiously loud smack and then giggles like a teenage girl because he's silly like that. Silly and annoying and so, so cute, his existence stimulates your most primal urges; you love him so much your chest hurts.

And you aren't scared to let him know what he does to you. "I love you." It's out of blue, and most definitely not a regular happening. You feel him stiffen, breath catching in his throat and heart beating infinitely faster. The playfulness drains out of him, leaving a sincere man who loves you with his entire being.

His hand on your waist pulls you closer. He kisses you properly this time, lips moving against yours slowly, like he wants to savour this moment as much as you do. When you break the kiss, he rests his forehead on yours, a hand holding your cheek carefully like you are delicate china. Precious. His.

"Me too," he says breathily. Donghyuck is looking at you - your eyes, nose, lips - searching your face. And when he finds what he's looking for, "I love you too, my pretty baby. So, so, so much."

Note

inspired by this post (@hugs2doie has some great works, make sure to check out the blog!)

My inbox is open. You can send in your thoughts/requests!

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harryforvogue · 7 months ago

Text

inspired by this request (thank you @ftdtkatie and welcome back queen). harry and mia post wedding reception. smut but it's not really detailed innit. 2.7k words. more harry and mia here

***

When Harry finally untangles himself from her, Mia steps into the hotel room, twirling the key around her finger. “Wow,” she murmurs, reaching for the light switch. “This is … wow.”

Harry’s back to nuzzling against her neck, arms around her again. “Only the best for you.”

Mia suppresses her shudder, tossing the keys onto the entrance table. She lets Harry turn her around and press her against the door, his mouth on hers before she can squint up at him.

“Wife,” he says again, softly, against her mouth. “My wife.”

Her fingers grip his shirt. The blazer is long gone, sleeves rolled up to his elbows to show his strong arms, tattoos, and watch. The soft overhead light above accentuates the shine of the ring on her finger. She wiggles her fingers and Harry laughs softly, covering her left hand with his own.

“Are you happy, Mia?” he whispers, using his other hand to pull her chin up. “Was everything perfect today?”

Mia leans her head back on the door and stares up at him. The glow of the candles to the right of him illuminates half of his handsome face. He’s smiling down at her, dimples on either side of his cheek, breathing softly. His lips are slightly swollen from all the kisses they’ve exchanged today.

“I have never been happier,” Mia says so quietly that it’s nearly inaudible. “And you?”

Harry ducks his head down and kisses her fully, holding her head against the door. “You’ve no idea, Mia,” he whispers. “I don’t think you’ll ever know.”

She breaks her hand out of his and loops her arms around his shoulder. Harry’s eyes shine when he pulls back from the kiss, cheeks a gentle pink. He leans down and picks her up from under her knees, cradling her against his torso. Mia laughs and holds onto him tighter. Harry walks them further into the room, giving her a tour of the place with careless motions. “That’s the dining. The bathrooms. The bar. The fridge.”

Then he stops at the bed, carefully toeing off his shoes and climbing into it on his knees. He swings her carefully and then lays her in the middle of the bed.

Mia stretches cat-like, back sinking into the mattress. “Oh, that’s so nice.”

Harry smiles, sitting down, leaning on his outstretched palm. His eyes twinkle with amusement, watching her stretch her arms out above her head. “Isn’t it? My back’s been hurting something fierce too.”

She shakes her ankles out, catching Harry’s attention. “Try walking around in these.”

“You’re right.” He catches one of her ankles and starts to undo the buckle. “Torture devices.”

“Now you’re understanding.”

Harry drops the shoe and works on the other one. He massages her heel gently, forcing a groan of relief out of Mia who stares up at the ceiling. When Harry’s hand starts trailing upwards and under her dress, she grins and raises her head, pushing up onto her ankles. “What are you doing?”

Harry bends down to kiss her calves and knees, warm hands holding her as if she’ll break. “Sit up, baby. Let’s get your hair down.”

Mia does so, with help from Harry tugging on her hands, and then he sits behind her with his own tie undone and shirt halfway unbuttoned. For the reception, she kept her hair braided and up, so it’s unsurprising that by the time Harry’s done unleashing her hair, there are at least 25 pins sitting in her lap. His nimble fingers run through her hair to get rid of any hairspray, the soft hidden strands from within her bun falling in loose waves around her face. Harry holds her chin as he kisses her again. “So pretty,” he murmurs, lips sliding down to her neck. “Wanna get out of the dress?”

“Mhmm.”

He undoes the zipper and pats her thigh to get her to stand. The dress falls to her feet. Harry leans back on his palms again, biting the inside of his cheek to hide his smile. “You are so pretty, Mia.”

It’s stupid how Mia suddenly feels nervous. She’s not supposed to feel this way – she’s had sex with Harry likely a thousand times now. But there’s something about the way she stands before him in the – very meticulously picked out, thank you very much – bra and underwear set, his eyes drinking her in, though his smile really only widens when he sees the emotion in her eyes.

With his hand outstretched, he beckons her forward. As if a puppet on a string, she shuffles back to him, sitting in his lap.

He kisses her again and again, sighing and licking into her mouth with a surprising amount of gentleness that makes Mia’s throat close.

“Are you tired? Sleepy? Hungry?”

Mia kisses him back, gripping the back of his neck. “I’ve got other things on my mind.”

He hums, drawing back to look at her face. “I’ll order food now so it’s ready by the time we’re done.”

Her fingers walk down his collarbones, lips pursed. “Done with what?” she says innocently, because even though she’s nervous, that won’t stop her from being annoying. “What do you think we’re about to do, mister?””

Harry kisses her once more. “You know damn well what we’re going to do.” Then he leans over and grabs the phone, balancing her into his lap as he does. “What do you think you’ll be in the mood for?”

Mia rests her head on his shoulder, pressing her hips against his. He takes a shuddering breath that makes her smile. “A burger.”

“Fries?”

“Nah.”

“Anything else? Dessert?”

“No cake, please. I’ve had too much today.”

“Alright, baby.”

She listens to him dial and wait for the desk to answer. His voice rumbles under her ear. He finishes his list of late night dining food with “...and if you could, a bowl of strawberries for dessert. Thanks.”

Mia lifts her head to grin at him when he puts the phone down. “So romantic.”

“Should have made them chocolate covered,” Harry says with a frown.

She kisses him, throwing all her might into it, which effectively catches Harry off guard. Instead of catching her, he falls onto his back, his hair in his face as she swings a leg over his waist and straddles him. The undone tie comes off first, flying behind her, and Harry’s laughing as she works on the rest of his buttons.

“What do we have – T-minus twenty minutes?”

“Thirty, likely.”

“Enough time, I’d say.”

Harry reaches up and squishes her cheeks together. “Oh yeah?” he mimics. “What do you think we’re about to do, huh?”

Mia tries to bat his hands away but he only squishes harder. She crosses her arms over her barely dressed torso and says, “You’re being horny. I’m being practical. Don’t you know that a lack of consummation is grounds for annulment?”

Harry throws his head back and snorts. “There’s absolutely no way you just said consummation.”

“It’s a real thing.”

“I’m pretty sure we’ve consummated our relationship to keep us afloat for a good decade.”

“Oh, so you’re saying you want an annulment?”

Harry bites on his inner cheek. “It’s a bit early for divorce jokes, no?”

“Annulment, not divorce.”

“Whatever.” He raises his head and smiles up at her. “Mia.”

“Yeah?”

“Why are you shaking?” His hands come up around her, yanking her down with him so she lays flat on his chest. He rubs her arms, but the shivering doesn’t stop. “Baby.”

“Is it stupid that I’m actually, you know, nervous-excited?”

“Excited, I understand. Being nervous, though, is interesting.”

“You’re not nervous?”

“To..to have sex?” Harry asks, slightly bewildered. “Not really.”

Mia rolls her eyes. “I don’t think it’s the sex that's making me nervous. I don’t know what it is. Just all the excitement and all of today, maybe. I think I’m having a sugar crash. Yeah, that’s what this feels like. But I also don’t want the day to end because I’m having so much fun. It’s surreal, but I’m also in the moment. It’s weird. I don’t know.”

She knows she’s rambling a bit, but it’s hard to stop once she’s started and Harry’s looking at her with just a fond smile, she’s not sure if he’s actually listening or just admiring her face.

“I know it’s a lot to process,” Harry says once he’s done staring at her. “Honestly, my love, if you just wanna crash for the night, we can do that. Like I said, we’ve consummated enough times–”

“I’m really starting to dislike the way you say that word–”

“--so we can just get our clothes off and go to sleep.”

Mia frowns deeply. “No way I’m sleeping without banging you within an inch of your life, Harry.”

“Romantic.” He sits up and brings her along. “Mia.” He waits for her to look at him. “You’re in charge tonight. Whatever you want goes.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

A look of determination slots onto her face. “Alright.”

The kiss is gentle, but there’s an underlying urgency in it. The way she presses her hips to his again suggests she’s done with the chatter, and when his large hands grab her waist and pull on her, she softly sighs into his mouth.

Harry – to be plain – has been hard since the moment Mia looked at him at the reception half an hour ago and said it’s time to leave. He’d been waiting for her signal, and now they’re here, Mia sprawled on top of him, thighs around his waist, and her mouth hot on his. Her hands push off his shirt, tossing it aside just as Harry’s fingers twist off the clasp of her bra.

She shivers as the straps fall from her shoulders, and Harry leans in to pepper kisses to her chest. She holds him close, cradling his head, and throwing her own head back with a satisfied hum. His lips find the column of her throat next, the back of her ear, her temple, her nose. He twists them over so that he lays on top of her, and she gives in to his heady kisses.

His hands slide down her sides, fingers catching onto the band of her underwear, and he pulls away to look at her. It’s always been what he does, Mia thinks, as his eyes search for visible agreement. She nods at him, raising her hips to help him. His dimples return and the last of her garment is tossed away.

“Not fair,” Mia murmurs, dragging her nails down his abs. He tightens the muscles to prevent being tickless. “Take yours off too.”

Harry works on his belt while Mia watches with heavy eyes. Once his trousers are gone, he fits himself between her legs and sighs at the contact of their skin.

She loves the weight of him on top of her, just shy of crushing her lungs. His soft skin against hers, simply absorbing heat.

“Nothing else,” Mia says, getting comfortable under him. “We can do the other stuff later. Just want you inside of me right now.”

Harry smiles. “You know me too well.”

“I can tell by that evil look that you’re about to use your mouth, but I mean it,” Mia giggles, and he kisses her neck as his hands slowly part her legs. His fingers slide through, gently pressing one finger at her entrance. He pushes in and listens to her whimper before adding another. And when she whimpers again, he kisses her so he can swallow the noises and savor them.

“Harry, ah please just – yeah. Just… yes. Yes.”

He lines himself up and carefully begins to enter her. It’s always this way, no matter if they’ve previously decided to be rough. He watches her face contort with pleasure, her mangled whine blending in with his deep groan. The feel of her walls invites him, warm and comforting.

“I love you,” Harry murmurs against her mouth, arms braced beside her head. Her eyes flicker up at him, a beginning of a flush blossoming on her face. “You are everything. Do you understand? Everything.”

His thrusts are shallow at first, but once he hears her throaty moan, he pulls her closer to him and presses deeper. She makes the prettiest sounds as he quickens his pace, eyes never leaving hers.

“Wife,” he marvels, causing Mia to whine and throw her arms around him. Her sharp nails dig into his shoulders. “I love you. I love you.”

All of Mia’s nervousness, or whatever you would call it, melts away. Instead, she looks up at her husband in awe. Only the two of them know how far they’ve come. Nobody else but Mia sees the way Harry’s eyes take her in, how his heart beats to the syllables of her name, how his hands cup her face as if she’s the most precious thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

And in his most vulnerable moment too. Nobody sees Harry the way he is now, spread out and bare in front of her, broken down to the point where she can see every molecule of him. His fears, his fierce way of loving, his stubbornness, his protectiveness.

It’s all hers.

She holds him closer, emotion in her throat causing her to moan lowly, nails still pressing into his skin.

It doesn’t take long for either of them to announce their impending orgasm, but Harry goes first, and then, with the help of his thumb against her clit, she follows, hot pleasure running down her spine like electricity. He’s holding her in his arms when she’s coming down from that high, mumbles soft words against her hair.

“I love you,” Mia whispers, and that doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Harry’s lips twist into a smile and he runs his palms over her eyes. “I love you.”

“I’m crying?”

“A little, my love.”

His own eyes are looking misty again.

“Sorry. Don’t know why I’d be crying right now.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t apologize.” He starts sliding down her body, and she only realizes what he’s doing when his head is between her legs and his tongue is darting out to give her a gentle lick.

Mia hisses, yanking on his hair. “Give me a bloody minute, would you?”

He rests his head on her thigh and waits exactly one minute before he returns to his spot and licks into her.

Despite the lack of rest, Mia’s riding out another orgasm on his tongue within minutes, the tears in her eyes now from oversensitivity. She’s pushing him away frantically, trembling when he emerges while wiping the corners of his mouth, grinning. His hair is a mess, curtains around his brows, and his eyes filled with delight.

He’s so fucking handsome.

“You just can’t help yourself,” Mia says, barely able to manage a whisper.

“You taste so good, I really can’t.”

Before he returns to lay next to her, he finds his white shirt and helps her into it. She’s shivering again, still from excitement it seems, and when he finds his place beside her, she immediately snuggles into him. Mia takes exaggerated inhales to breathe in his scent, and Harry simply cards his clean fingers through her hair.

It’s nearing two in the morning now, but unlike before, Mia’s wide awake. Harry’s eyes are closed, she sees when she glances at him, but he doesn't seem to be asleep. She presses even closer to him, throwing the blanket over his lower half to keep him from getting cold.

When the food arrives, it’s Mia that wraps her robe around herself and takes it in while Harry yawns and struggles to sit up. They go for the strawberries first, both of them sitting in white robes on the edge of the bed, shoulders brushing against one another. He pours her some champagne and blinks at her when she tells him she’s barely had a sip of water today.

And when Harry wipes the strawberry residue from Mia’s mouth and drags her in for a deep kiss, Mia’s heart just about explodes with happiness. Harry smiles into the kiss and holds her tighter.

She leans into his strong frame, breathing him in again.

Everything is good.

#harry and mia #harry styles fic #harry styles smut #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x oc #harry styles fluff

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middle-ans · 4 days ago

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Neighbours AU: The Laundry Room

George was just doing routine laundry on his sudden day off in the middle of the week. He wasn't about to blatantly give the hot, gorgeous, enigmatic neighbor a surprise glimpse of what later found a floral affiliation with the shade of soft, blushing pink on his doorstep.

1.5k words

What, I'm silly. And I love that scene from Desperate Housewives with the nanny in the laundry room at Scavo's house, btw Lynnette should've killed Tom on the spot when she found out.

The laundry room was empty, just as George had hoped. It was midweek, mid-morning - the kind of time when most people in the building were at work or otherwise occupied. He had an unexpected day off, a last-minute schedule change at the boutique, and he figured he might as well take advantage of it to catch up on chores.

The space was lit by long strips of flickering fluorescent lights, but the real glow came from the high, frosted windows under the ceiling, where sunlight slanted in at an angle, casting everything in warm, golden hues. George felt it on his skin, a soft caress of warmth as he set his laundry basket down and started sorting through his clothes.

It wasn’t much - a few shirts, some socks, a hoodie he’d worn twice but wasn’t ready to call dirty. As he stuffed them into the washing machine, his gaze fell to his own clothes, the loose pajama pants and the slightly oversized sleep shirt. The pants weren’t exactly dirty, but he’d been wearing them all morning, and the thought struck him that he might as well throw them in, too.

And if he was doing that, well…

There was something else, a pair of lacy panties from the lingerie store he worked at, a test mock-up of what was the inspiration for the new collection, and Alessandra, the owner & designer, had handed them to him after catching his eye lingering on the panties for a second longer. 'Perfect for your hips' she said, and George didn't mind. He preferred lace, especially low cut ones and those that barely covered what they were meant for. So standing next to the open door of the washing machine he thought why not?

George bit his lip, he hooked his thumbs into the elastic, shimmying the pajamas down his hips. The air bit at his bare thighs, raising goosebumps. The panties clung stubbornly, lace against skin still sleep-warm, until he wiggled them free with a huff.

“In you go,” he whispered to them, dropping the panties into the machine with a flourish.

Fumbling with the buttons on the mode panel, George hummed a soft tune to himself, arching his back in a sweet stretch to relieve any residual stiffness in his muscles from sleep. One leg bent at the knee, hips raised high as he reached for the appropriate wash mode. All in peace. Until a throat cleared behind him.

George froze.

Oh, no.

Oh, fuck.

He turned his head just enough to catch a glimpse over his shoulder, and there he was - his hot neighbor. The one he only ever exchanged nods and polite hey, man greetings with in the lobby. The one with warm, dark eyes and tattooed arms and plump, unfairly pretty lips. The one whose name George didn’t even know, because they’d never properly introduced themselves. And those lips. Those lips were slightly parted, his lower one caught just between his teeth before his tongue flicked out, slow and deliberate, wetting it.

And yet here he was, standing in the doorway, staring.

George realized, with a sudden and violent awareness, that he was bent over in front of this man, pants pooled around his ankles, pussy fully on display in the golden morning light. It backlit him like some kind of deranged Renaissance painting - ‘Boy With Panties and Regret’.

Oh, fuck.

Lewis coughed, and the corner of his mouth twitched.

“Hope I’m not interrupting… laundry yoga?”

George yanked his sleep shirt down with a speed that could have broken records, straightening up so fast he almost lost his balance. He fumbled for his pants, heart pounding in his chest, face heating up so much he was sure he’d combust on the spot.

“I, uh, hi-” his voice cracked. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

Lewis leaned casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, gaze steady and unreadable except for the slight amusement in his eyes.

“Hi yourself. Didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” he said, voice smooth, rich, a little teasing. “Didn’t mean to, uh… see anything, either. Not something I'd expect with my morning coffee.”

“Oh my God,” George wanted to melt into the floor.

“But,” Lewis tilted his head. “If I did see something, just know it was a beautiful start to my day.”

George made a sound. A strangled, embarrassed, horrified little sound.

Lewis smiled, slow and warm.

“Nice lace, by the way.”

George squirmed, covering half his face with a hand. He sighed, straightening the waistband of his pajama pants and tilted his head, examining the pattern on them. A huge cluster of sneezing cats. Bloody Alex.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, lips going to be bitten into a hideous state by the end of this day. “It's from the store where I work.”

Lewis hums, viewing him like a curious fruitcake.

“So you work in a lingerie store?” his lashes fall a breath lower, a tiny movement that frames the heavy dark gaze with an even greater veil of mystery. “Might as well hire you as a model. With a curve like that.”

George sucked in a sharp breath, grabbing the now empty laundry basket.

“You, I- this never happened.”

Lewis tilted his head, considering him.

“Sure it didn’t.”

“It didn’t!”

Lewis’s lips curled, that same thoughtful, very entertained expression lingering on his face.

“Then why are you blushing, sweetheart?”

George made a strangled sound, high and distressed.

“You cannot just, just walk in here and see that and say things like that!”

“See what?” Lewis asked, all fake innocence. “I was just coming in to do my laundry.”

George glared at him.

“You licked your lips.”

Lewis exhaled a small, amused laugh.

“What can I say? You looked good enough to eat.”

George's soul left his body.

“I’m leaving.”

Lewis stepped aside to let him pass, but as George stormed past him, he heard it - low and teasing, just under his breath-

“Guess I’ll be dreaming about that all day, huh?”

George didn’t stop. Didn’t look back.

But his heart?

His heart was racing.

The rest of the day stretched on, slow and heavy with tension. George couldn't shake the feeling that he was walking around in a haze, his mind a swirling mess of thoughts. Every time he tried to distract himself - whether by reading, watching TV, or scrolling through his phone - his thoughts inevitably returned to that moment in the laundry room.

Lewis’s smirk, his low voice, the way his gaze had lingered on George’s exposed skin, it was all too much to ignore. Each time he thought about it, a wave of embarrassment would roll over him, followed by a rush of something else, something hotter. He hadn’t expected to be so... intrigued.

He shifted from room to room, trying to distract himself, but his mind kept returning to Lewis. To that moment. To the way his body had reacted to the teasing words, to the knowing look in Lewis's eyes.

George felt wound up, nervous but intrigued, and more than a little unsure of what he was supposed to be feeling. Was he embarrassed? Yes, of course. But was he also... curious? Absolutely.

When the sun began to set, casting golden hues across the apartment, George found himself walking aimlessly to the window, pulling back the curtain slightly to peer out. The evening sky was cloudless, and he could see the moon just starting to rise. He leaned against the window frame, lost in thought, his mind flickering between confusion and a growing curiosity.

He was still replaying the events of the morning in his mind, the feel of Lewis’s eyes on him, the teasing words he’d heard just as he’d stormed past him.

But then - there was a knock on his door.

George’s heart skipped in his chest, suddenly alert, as if the sound had shaken him from his thoughts. He froze, staring at the door for a few moments as though trying to figure out if he had imagined it.

No. It came again, more insistent this time.

He quickly glanced around the apartment, feeling the flush rise on his cheeks as though he’d just been caught in the middle of something he wasn’t supposed to be doing.

For a brief second, he wondered if it was just his nerves. But when he heard the knock again, George knew.

He opened the door cautiously, unsure of what to expect.

Nothing.

Well, not nothing - there, on the floor in front of him, was a bouquet of soft pink peonies, their petals open wide, and a folded piece of paper resting carefully beneath them.

His heart pounded in his chest, confusion and excitement swirling together. Slowly, he bent down and picked up the flowers, the faint scent of them hitting his senses and calming him, if only slightly.

He unfolded the note, his hands trembling ever so slightly.

The note was simple. Short. But every word hit George like a punch to the gut. The giggle though was so resonant bouncing off the walls that it was heard even by the man standing a few floors above, leaning against the wall and grinning like crazy, trying to catch his breath.

“For a beautiful boy who gave me the best part of my morning.

I couldn’t help but notice the color of these peonies matches something else I saw today.

Sweet, soft, and impossible to forget. Still thinking about it. Still thinking about you.”

And on the other side was hopeful “I’ll be around if you want to pick up where we left off.”.

#gewis fic #gewis #george russell #lewis hamilton #f1 #neighbours gewis au #fic #short whim #trans character #laundry room

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karlachismylife · 4 months ago

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Me: scrambling to finish homework before my linear algebra class

My brain: can you imagine fem!ghoap tho?

I can't, I'm my biggest fucking enemy. BUT CAN YOU IMAGINE FEM!GHOAP THO?

Fem!Soap has absolutely Harley Quinn vibes, batshit crazy with a sprinkle of pyromania and several decades of unmedicated ADHD. If Soap got his haircut inspiration from some local punk band in his hometown, fem!Soap was the leader of said band, adding to Mam's grey hair every time she returned with new tattoos. Was playing football, when a new kid tried outcasting her cuz she's a girl, went on to beat the shit out of him.

That story about a higher ranking officer Soap punched? Sleazy motherfucker was harassing other women on the base and was unfortunate enough to choose fem!Soap as a target.

Walks around in tank tops and sport bras, all muscle no boobs, probably has a couple fake teeth, always is the one fellow female soldiers turn to when they need to get rid of assholes in the pubs they go for drinks to. Absolutely relishes in being called a "fucking butch" and whatever else those pathetic men try to throw at her, quickly fizzling out when they realize her biceps is the size of their thighs. She worked hard to be better than them, no matter how much some of her family wanted her to be a bit more... traditional. Not her Maw, though, Maw always said if her little Jenny wanted to be a soldier, she could be a damn good one.

Regularly participates in armrestling matches (banned in several pubs where she got carried away and broke someone's wrist) and pays for the round whenever she wins.

All those girls (and some guys) hanging off her elbows, and everyone assumes she's going home with one (or several) of them every time.

And fem!Ghost? She might have a horrible reputation, people spreading disgusting rumors about her past and what's under that mask (doesn't bother her, truth is so much more gruesome). Keeps to herself, grim sense of humour doing nothing to make her seem more approachable. A looming shadow, the personification of horrors they tell about what war and captivity do to women - and that's for those who actually know she's a woman. Most people just assume she's a big fucking guy, loose hoodies helping pass, deep, hoarse voice - never came back as it was from the time with Roba, broken by her screams with an ugly scar on her throat on top - only adding to confusion.

Too much baggage to unpack, all those things done to her easier to cut off with the dirty blond hair she buzzes to avoid the fuss. Every chance of having a family robbed of her in horrific ways, loneliness feels safer. Easier. Everyone's better off without needing to bear all those tons of crap she hoards on her broad shoulders.

Sits apart from the main company on those outings, nursing her bourbon and freaking people out - if she gets hit on, she sends everyone off with a few words. Even Soap, the blasting (sometimes too bloody brightly) sunshine, seems to fail with illuminating that shadow, all her attempts to get closer shut down. Maybe not as harsh as the others, but Ghost thinks - everything she touches is destroyed in torturous ways.

Soap shouldn't suffer because of her.

Until one day the chair in front of her lone table gets dragged back with a disgusting screeching sound, a heavy thump signaling of a huge (drunk) body plopping down across. Ghost doesn't need to look up - she can detect Soap by the stupid mutt's loud breathing, for fuck's sake. How many did she have?

Too many, thinks Ghost when a tanned arm lands on the table, resting on the elbow in a ready to wrestle stand. Must've been some kind of bet, no one else brave enough to challange big Scottish butch - so bored Soap, naturally, comes to one person she probably deems a worthy opponent.

"Not gonna let me back out, are ya?" Ghost shakes her head with a chuckle and finishes her bourbon, putting the glass down lazily and forgetting to pull the mask back down.

Soap's arm hits the table so hard it nearly cracks the wood - mere seconds.

Disarmed by a crooked, scarred smirk her big blue eyes are so obviously glued to.

"What now? Buy me a drink?" Ghost tilts her head. There's a shocked crowd around them, someone collecting a hefty win.

"Buy ye two and ye owe me a rematch."

Stupid mutt with blue eyes. Ghost wonders if she'll whine like a puppy riding her burly thigh.

i have somewhat a part two here

#ghoap #ghost x soap #fem!ghoap #fem!ghost #fem!soap #ghost cod #soap cod #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #call of duty #cod #am i projecting my taste in women?#yes #i am also pulling up my favourite angst trope of forced infertility #i know it's kinda bad taste #but i think it adds to fem!ghost #anyway they're just two butches in love and i'd like to be squished between them #what happened to my hiatus

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andi-kook · 9 months ago

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DEAD KIDS ✦ Chapter 2

SUMMARY: A group of university students kidnaps their rich batchmate for ransom. However, things take a darker turn when the new recruit grows a dangerous obsession with the captive and all hell breaks loose.

PAIRING: Jungkook x Fem!Reader

GENRE: Slow burn Yandere, Crime AU

WARNINGS: Not suitable for audiences below 18. Please do not engage with the story if you are underage. WATCH OUT FOR: dark and morally corrupt characters, foul language, mention of Catholicism, slut shaming and objectification of women, mention of inappropriate relationship between professor/student, mentions and depiction of “rape” and “rape fantasy” throughout the story, masturbation, threats, MC has an NSFW blog with hard kinks and fantasies, non consensual touching. Overall, this is a disturbing chapter – based on my standards – so if you are not comfortable with these topics, do not proceed. Inspired by the film, Dead Kids (2019).

TAGLIST: @hopeworldsupremacy @aliajomarie011 @ackercute @tatumrileyslover @ane102 @jjk174 @dontcallmeelle @merrygo1427 @taekritimin123 @r1r111 @gguksfilter @coralmusicblaze

If I didn’t tag you – either your blog doesn’t exist according to Tumblr or because you did not show your age in your blog. Thank you!

ANDI: I send my love to the beautiful souls who sent me asks about Dead Kids as well as these equally beautiful souls – @.taekritimin123 @.hellbornsworld @.tinytangerineangel @.namjesusdaughter – for commenting on Chapter 1. I cannot express just how much I appreciate your words. I would have tagged you directly, but I wasn’t sure if you would want that. But I wanted to show my appreciation.

WORD COUNT: 3K

“Why did you really want to take her?” Jungkook asks Namjoon as they sit and eat the ramen he cooked around the living area. Beside him, Yoongi and Hoseok are fast asleep, the latter clutching onto the former’s arm like it’s his plushie while the former has his head thrown against the headrest.

Namjoon, who is seated on the other makeshift sofa, gulps down the soup from his ramen before letting out a satisfied sigh and wipes his mouth with the back of his mouth. “How many times do we have to say that we kidnapped Y/N for ransom?”

“I’m not stupid, Namjoon,” Jungkook says. “We’re already tied to this shit until the ransom drop. The least you can do is be upfront on why you did this in the first place. I’m not taking a bullet for you or anyone.”

The buzz-cut haired man leans his back against the sofa, which unlike his premium one, is built from scratch by Jungkook using old wood and cases of beers around the warehouse. He gazes at Jungkook for a while, studying him while swimming in his own thoughts. The tattooed man wonders if Namjoon is contemplating telling him the truth. He wonders if the two sleeping men beside him also knew the truth.

They claim to have been friends since the fourth grade, but does time really make you know a person inside out?

“My father didn’t used to be the way he is now – corrupt. Growing up, I looked up to him because of how honest and upstanding he was as a cop. I knew he did some off-the-books shit, but he still had a moral compass, still had lines he didn’t cross. But then he met Y/N’s father, Kim Seokjin, when I was ten. Suddenly, everything changed,” Namjoon narrates, letting out a scoff as he shakes his head and rubs his palms on his baggy jeans. “He went from being a great husband and father to my mother and I to a complete asshole. We didn’t have religion but after meeting Kim Seokjin, we were suddenly Catholics, attending church with his family every Sunday. I was baptized and Kim Seokjin became my godfather. But the worst part was seeing him erase all the lines he drew and swore never to cross when he began to use his position as a detective and then eventually sergeant to now the chief of the entire police force in Seoul to protect Kim Seokjin and his criminal empire.”

Jungkook inhales deeply. “So, kidnapping Y/N is you taking on revenge against Kim Seokjin for corrupting your father? It is personal. It’s never about the money?”

“Of course, the money is important and integral to the plan. But yes, you are correct – I want to avenge my father from Kim Seokjin by hitting him where I know it will hurt the most: his only daughter, Y/N.”

“You promised that we are not going to hurt her,” Jungkook counters immediately.

Namjoon doesn’t say anything.

“Namjoon,” Jungkook clicks his tongue. “If you do that – what makes you different than Kim Seokjin?”

“Why are you so protective of her?” Namjoon asks pointedly. “What? Just because she gave you a boner, you’re suddenly fucking in love with her? Don’t think I didn’t notice. We all did. Yoongi is right – drop the morally upright act, Jeon. You’re just as demented as we are. The moment you agreed to this plan, you’re just as fucked up.”

The sudden call out makes Jungkook turn crimson and Namjoon smirks, placing his leg over the other. “Don’t worry – unlike you, I don’t judge people. To each our own. If shit like that turns you on, then that’s on you. Why don’t you take the opportunity to act on it?”

His eyes widen, shocked and disgusted. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Jungkook knows exactly what Namjoon is talking about, but he is completely aghast at the insinuation.

The de facto leader only widens his smirk, pulling out his packet of cigarettes and lighter from the front pocket of his large, oversized coat. “You know what I’m talking about, Jeon. A pretty naked girl tied to a chair in your warehouse – it’s perfectly normal to feel aroused by such sight. We won’t judge you if you just get it over and done with.”

“You’re more than fucked up,” Jungkook hisses, face flushed and veins popping out on his neck. “I’m not going to fucking touch her.”

Namjoon lights the cigarette in between his lips. Then, he inhales, and smoke leaves his lips as he replies, “Why not? Y/N is a dirty slut who fucks her married professor with kids her age after church and dinner every Sunday night and more – I bet you all my cut that she’s not going to resist you because she’s probably into fucking someone having their own way with her. No, in fact, I can tell you she’s going to enjoy it.”

Jungkook feels hot. Images of your naked trembling body and whimpering pleas filling his mind and ears.

“She has a blog, you know? A secret blog where she writes these fantasies and kinks she has. Posts her nudes on there too. Do you wanna know what is one fantasy she keeps on writing about?”

“No, I really don’t,” Jungkook says through gritted teeth.

“It’s a rape fantasy, Jungkook. What a fucking dirty slut she is, right? I bet she’s fucking wet right now at the thought, at the anticipation that one of us or all of us are going to have our ways with her. I bet she’s aching to be touched. I bet she wants you to rape her, Jungkook. So, why not just do it?”

He stands up in a jolt, hitting his knee on the makeshift table he made from old tires and steel roof and stammering some excuse that he needs to go the bathroom or air – he can’t remember. Jungkook finds himself in his room, back pressed against the door. His shirt sticks to his skin because of the sweat, and he takes it off, leaving it discarded on the floor. Namjoon’s words mixed with the flashing images of your perky nipples, smooth skin, sound of your whimpers, pleas, your smell – it makes him hard. Harder than he’s ever been.

Before he knows it, Jungkook is unbuttoning his jeans, pulling it down along with his boxers, his erection springing free. He spits on his palm before he begins stroking his length, shuddering at the touch, making his mouth dry. He presses the back of his head against the door, eyes closed as he imagines you on your knees – like you were with the professor – those lips around his shaft, head bobbing as you suck him dry. He imagines hearing your moans, imagines his dick hitting the back of your throat as you go deeper and beg him to fuck your mouth like a whore. Jungkook’s stroking himself faster. He imagines hearing you gag as he fucks your mouth, not stopping even when you’re clearly suffocating. Then, he cums, toes curling and a guttural groan escaping his lips.

As he comes back from his high, Jungkook stares at the white sticky substance covering his hand and cock. He just jerked off to you, a girl they kidnapped, and he knows it won’t be the last time.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Yoongi hisses at him the moment he comes back from his room, showered and changed into more comfortable clothes.

Jungkook deliberately ignores the stare of Namjoon and flops on the seat beside Hoseok who is eating the remaining ramen. “Why the fuck do you care?”

“I’m going to punch this kid, I swear to God,” Yoongi grumbles, rolling his eyes. “We’re making the ransom call, you dumb fuck. Or rather, you are.”

Jungkook furrows his brows. “What? Why me?”

“Every one of us here has already encountered Y/N’s father at least once. The man remembers everyone he encounters. You’re the only exception,” Namjoon explains as he hands you a black phone. “It’s a burner phone, untraceable. I took it from my dad. And this is what you’re going to say – make sure you sound intimidating at least. Put it on speaker too.”

Namjoon places his phone on the makeshift table and Jungkook clicks his tongue. “The deal was you only use my warehouse. So far, you got me doing far more than that.”

“Do you want 25 million or not?” Yoongi asks, crossing his arms over his chest. “Cos if you do, you better start calling Kim Seokjin.”

I’m going to punch you soon, Jungkook tells himself before he unlocks the phone and goes to the contact list where Kim Seokjin’s name is the only one listed. He takes a deep breath, going over the script on Namjoon’s phone before clicking on the contact and putting the call on speaker. The ringing sound echoes throughout the warehouse. The tension is palpable again, like it was back in the car earlier that night.

After a few more rings, Kim Seokjin’s voice fills the warehouse. It’s light but a hint of roughness and irritation is noticeable right away.

“Who is this?”

Jungkook licks his lips as he read the script in front of him. “We have your daughter. If you want to see her alive, prepare 100 million won and bring it to 2020 this Friday night. Otherwise, the next time you’ll see her is on the news, dead.”

Hoseok covers his mouth to keep himself from laughing while Yoongi stares hard at the phone. Namjoon, on the other hand, is relaxed on his seat, smoking.

“You sound young, boy,” Seokjin remarks. “You are not the first person to call me in the middle of the night asking for ransom. Do you really have any idea what you’re doing?”

Namjoon motions for him to repeat what he just said.

“If you want to see her alive, prepare 100 mill—,”

“Don’t you think I would be able to find my daughter faster than you could ever imagine? Do you know who you’re talking to?”

That triggers Jungkook. He’s been hearing that question – that discrimination his entire life and he’s sick of it. He’s fucking sick of it.

“I don’t give a fuck who you are. Either you give us 100 million in exchange for your whore of a daughter or I will personally make you watch as we do everything we want with her, make you watch as she begs you to make it stop, make you listen as she takes her last breath before I fucking slit her throat so deep her head nearly decapitates. You have until Friday night – and you better make sure the police don’t get involved. Don’t fucking ask me who the fuck you are again.”

He ends the call, gripping the phone tightly.

“What the fuck was that? Why the hell didn’t you stick to the script?! Are you trying to get us all a one way ticket to prison?!” Yoongi exclaims.

“Did you not hear what he’s saying? He caught on that we are fucking amateurs. I saved our asses – you should be fucking grateful,” Jungkook snaps, clenching his jaw. “If you didn’t want me to do the call, maybe the three of you should have done it yourselves. Fucking useless bastards.”

“Hey! What did you say?” Hoseok stands, pushing Jungkook by placing his hands on his chest. “Who are you calling useless, huh?”

“Who do you think?” He scoffs.

“Let’s fucking kill this son of a bitch, Hobi.”

“Gladly.”

“Enough,” Namjoon says sternly. “No one is going to kill anyone. Not amongst ourselves. What Jungkook did is right, Yoongi. Jungkook saved our asses. And you,” He turns to the long-haired man, glaring at him. “Mind your fucking tone and language with us. We’re not fucking useless. Remember that we recruited you. Not the other way around. If anyone should be grateful to someone, it’s you. We’re the reason you’ll get out of this shit hole.”

Nobody says a word.

“It’s getting late. Let’s gather here tomorrow after our classes. Just go about your usual days until the drop. Don’t be suspicious,” The de facto leader reminds. “Jungkook, keep an eye out, okay? Don’t forget to check in on our little friend from time to time. Make sure she’s still breathing.” He smirks as he pats his shoulder on his way out.

Yoongi and Hoseok follow suit. Once Jungkook hears Namjoon driving off his – rather his aunt’s – property, he resigns to the sofa behind him. He buries his face into his hands. Five days. You’ll be stuck with him at the warehouse for five fucking days. Granted, he has classes to attend to, so he won’t be at home all day, but he’s sure you won’t leave his mind wherever he goes.

The phone in his hand buzzes and he stares at the new notification on the screen – a text message from an unknown number. Jungkook unlocks the phone, goes to the messaging app, and clicks on the new text.

avirgins1ut on tumblr if you wanna read some things tonight

“Fuck you, Namjoon,” Jungkook mutters under his breath. However, when he goes to his room, grabs his shitty phone and opens his data – he installs the app despite knowing it will consume almost all the remaining gigabytes he has left.

Jungkook lies down on his bed and creates his profile. He doesn’t bother customizing it, going straight to your blog which is all black and hot pink. Instantly, he’s drawn to your profile picture – a simple mirror shot of you hiding your bare chest with your arms, head tilt slightly to the side and a black panty covering your cunt. He swallows the lump in his throat as he scrolls down, reading your pinned post:

“Hey. You can call me Angel. I’m 23 years old. This blog is filled with all my fantasies and kinks, sometimes my nudes. Feel free to send me yours too.

My kinks: cnc, free use, somnophilia, spit, slapping, marking, choking, daddy, and more.

My favorite fantasies: rape play, kidnapped, kept as sex slave, knife/gun play, forced gangbang, and more – why don’t you help me unlock those? DMs and asks open for all your threats and nudes.

Update: already got myself a master/daddy. Asks and messages are off.”

As he scrolls further down your blog, Jungkook doesn’t even realize he already has his hand wrapped around his dick as he masturbates to your the latest fantasy you wrote albeit months ago.

I can’t stop masturbating to this dark fantasy of mine – being raped by someone so brutally after they kidnap me. How they would keep me chained to the bed, always naked so they can easily rape me whenever and however they want. They would mock me whenever I would tell them to stop (“You shouldn’t have worn those skirts if you didn’t want to be raped. But you did. So, this isn’t rape. You were clearly asking for this like some depraved filthy bitch in heat. You’re fucking loving this, don’t you? Isn’t this what you want?”) and choke me as they pound into my wet and clenching pussy relentlessly. They would slap and spit on my face, abusing my cunt for hours until I’m full of theirs and their friends’ cum whom they called to let them have a taste of their new toy.

They would rape me day in and out until my body gets so used to it that I start asking for it – crying and begging to be fucked. “Shh, angel, daddy’s going to fuck you, okay? Don’t cry.” Slowly, I would forget all my autonomy and identity, wholly submitting myself to them because I was never my own in the first place – I was always theirs.

“Fuck, Y/N!” His entire body shakes as he cums again. Jungkook can’t stop – he wants to read more, see more as you posted a picture of your cum covered cunt at the end of the post and he imagines it’s his. But he gets a notification that he is out of data and Jungkook slams his phone on his bed, frustrated beyond bounds. He is still hard. He still wants to see more of you, read more of your fantasies.

Namjoon’s words echo in his mind. I bet she’s fucking wet right now at the thought, at the anticipation that one of us or all of us are going to have our ways with her. I bet she’s aching to be touched. I bet she wants you to rape her, Jungkook. So, why not just do it?”

And before he knows it – he is standing across from your limp body. You’re still unconscious – sack over your head, tied and bound on the metal chair. Jungkook walks towards you, gently touching your shoulders to see if you would react but you don’t. He bites his lower lip as his eyes fall on your naked chest. He reaches down to trace its curves before ultimately cupping one breast in hand, fondling, squeezing, twisting the nipple and pinching it. No response.

He begins to stroke himself as he continues to fondle your breasts. This is wrong, but why does it feel so good?

“F-Fucking slut, you’re asking for this,” Jungkook hisses through his teeth. He’s not going to last any longer – not when those perky nipples are so inviting and moments later, he cums all over tits. He’s panting, an exhilarating feeling he hasn’t felt before rising within him as he stares at your cum covered chest. He swallows, breathing heavily. Should he stop now or keep going? He doesn’t have data anymore, but he does have the real thing right in front of him. But you twitch and he jumps in surprise. Suddenly, the realization of his actions washes upon him. He feels a coil in his stomach. What has he done? He scrambles out of the room and dash straight to the bathroom where he extensively washes his hand and splashes cold water on his face. Then, he throws himself on his thin mattress, staring at the ceiling as he pants. Namjoon is right – he’s just as fucked up as they are.

CHAPTER 3 is coming soon.

TAGLIST: Wanna be part of Dead Kids’ taglist? Fill out this form and don’t forget to read the short note in order for me to tag you.

ANDI: I do not condone the behaviors exhibited in this story. The characters of Jungkook, Namjoon, Yoongi and Hoseok do not reflect who they are in real life. Fanfiction is just fanfiction. I have no schedule in writing – I write whenever I can. Please try to refrain from sending asks about updates (or at least be kind and polite about it) and let me know your feedbacks instead as they help a lot in motivation and inspiration! 🦉

#yandere jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook fic #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #jungkook au #yandere jeon jungkook #yandere bts #bts x reader #bts fic #bts smut #bts fanfic #bts au #dark jungkook #dark bts #andi.writes 💭

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horsebark · 4 months ago

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ways to express your nonhumanity without gear

good quality gear can be pricey (for good reason!) but that doesn’t mean you can’t express yourself in other ways. here’s what i have personally found to be helpful! add yours in the notes!

-clothing & accessories:

being a horse makes this somewhat easy as western wear and horse shirts are aplenty. beyond just “shirt with your theriotype on it” think about what makes you feel like your type. for me this is loose clothing, especially a boxy “potato sack” kind of dress. or in colder months, jackets with a fur/sherpa lining make me feel like im wearing an insulated saddle. again, easier cause im a horse but if im going somewhere fancy i get inspired by dressage horses and show ponies. accessories that make me feel horse like are: chunky jewelry, bangles, stuff that makes noise when i walk! also i had to get new headphones, so i got them in a grey and brown option that reminded me of horse tack.

i thrift pretty much everything and this has helped me find really unique pieces as well as cheaper stuff that i don’t feel bad modifying to be more horse like.

-hair:

my partner does both of our hair. we’re both nonhuman and try desperately to make our external forms match the internal form. for me this looks like cropping the sides of my hair, and sometimes putting it in a row of buns down the back. bangs have also been helpful. for him as a crocodile and canid, this looks like matching his hair to his coat color and a choppy/angular haircut.

-piercings/tattoos:

ive talked a little about this before on my blog, but truly piercings and tattoos have eased my species dysphoria so much. i haven’t got any with direct relation to my species yet, but they all help me recognize my skin is mine. in the future i’d like to get a large gauge labret and stretch it, as the oral feeling would remind me of a horse bit. i’d also like to get a coinslot in one of my ears to hang an identification tag in. specific kinds of stretched ear jewelry make me feel horselike too, like (obviously) ear saddles. i also plan on getting a horse tattoo or two, and some horse shoe tattoos on my feet. body mods are expensive but last forever.

-body language & movements:

research into equine behavior has helped me notice what i already do that’s horse like and figure out what i can add. i struggle with speech sometimes so this has been helpful in boosting my range of nonverbal communication. i also watch gait videos and practice them. practicing how your type navigates its environment does not have to be through quads! i don’t do quads because it feels less like how a horse would move. biking helps! something about the way my knees pedal a bike feels equine.

-visit a hearthome:

go camping, see the desert, star gaze. what makes you feel at home? for me these places are: stock shows, rodeos, horse races, antique malls, rocky terrain, and feed stores. sometimes farms give tours to the public. ones not related to being a horse include: dawn/dusk, ice/ocean (this one has only been affirmed by going to an exhibit about orcas), and for some reason the electronics section at a thrift store. if you wouldn’t be able to visit a hearthome for whatever reason, message me and let’s figure something creative out!

#sorry a lot of this is personal examples #nonhuman #alterhuman #nonhuman community #alterhuman community #therian #therian community

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fr3sh-tragedies · 5 months ago

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Artistic S/O Headcanons

[Inside Out 2] Valentina [Val] Ortiz x Female Reader

Summary: General and romantic headcanons for Val with an artistic female S/O.

Word Count: 1.19k Content + Warnings: None Category: Fluff || Headcanons

[A/N]: This was fun to write! I included general artist stuff like sketching and painting, but I also included Reader being a musical artist and if Reader likes to write.

Enjoy!

Personally, I like to think that Val has an artistic side herself

Whenever she’s not practicing or training for hockey, she’s curled up somewhere sketching or painting whatever comes to mind

I like to think she’s a pretty decent artist too

So when she learns that her S/O is also into art, she’s thrilled

She’ll come to you most of the time for advice or ideas on a piece, especially if you’re at a higher skill level than she is

Sometimes there’ll be days where you’re hanging out alone together and just sitting close to each other while you both draw

If she isn’t in the mood to sketch or paint, or if she just doesn’t have any ideas, she’ll either lean against your shoulder to watch you work, or she’ll settle behind you and pull your back into her chest so she can hold you

When in the latter position, her arms will rest comfortably around your waist without getting in the way and her head will plant itself gently against your shoulder so she can peer over and watch you work

She’ll throw in plenty of compliments here and there about whatever it is you’re working on

If you’re looking for inspiration or encouragement, she’ll provide it for you somehow

If you like to sketch people and she sees that you’ve drawn her, she’ll get uncharacteristically sheepish, telling you that you made her look so good in your style and that she feels honored you chose her as your model

Definitely likes to do that challenge where you trade off drawings every five minutes and add something random to it until it’s a finished piece

I can either see her as having a really loose, relaxed style, or a unique abstract style where she focuses more on the angular sides of things

Regardless of her own style, she 100% likes to doodle you from time to time, especially if you’re nearby and she can use you for reference instead of going based off of memory

If she doesn’t draw or anything, then she’ll happily ask you to give her quick lessons here and there

Though, most of the time she just stares lovingly at you, adoring how passionate you are about your craft and how easily you can explain things to her (even if she’s not necessarily listening)

If you don’t have your sketchbook or anything solid to draw on, she’ll offer you one of her arms and a few pens or markers so you can doodle something random on her skin

She likes the feeling of you holding her arm so still and tracing random patterns or shapes against her skin, and she often gets lost in a daze just watching you draw on her

When you finish, she’ll keep her sleeves rolled up. Partially to let the ink dry, but mainly to show off what you’ve drawn on her

Not sure if she’d be the type to get tattoos, but if she ever did get one, she would go to you immediately to help her design one

If you ever enter your pieces into competitions or shows for school or otherwise, she’s going to be your #1 supporter the entire time. Even if you don’t get first place, she’s cheering you on and offering you every ounce of encouragement she has in her body

You’re always there to cheer her on during her hockey matches, so she likes to return the favor, even if it’s just a small competition

If you ever open commissions, she’s the first one to buy one from you, and she’ll continue to buy one from you at least once or twice a month

She’ll bring it up to her team and gladly show off your work, telling them you’re open for commissions

They all also buy a piece from you each time, wanting to support you almost as much as Val does herself

Her teammates adore you with all of their hearts, and they love how happy you make Val, so they want to return the favor and let you know that they admire and appreciate you

Val absolutely spam-likes your posts if you have an art account. That, and she’ll post each and every one on her story with compliments (as well as lowkey bragging that she has such a creative and talented girlfriend)

Will 100% pose or model for you if you want her to, though she’ll crack plenty of flirty jokes throughout your process, wanting to see you smile as you work

If you’re just wanting to have a chill session where you’re just drawing (separately or together), she’ll put on music in the background, occasionally singing along with it if she knows it

Speaking of music:

If you’re more of a musical artist, she’s absolutely wanting to listen to whatever you make, even if it’s just something as simple as a beat

If you play any instruments or sing, she’s sitting right by your side or holding you from behind as she listens to you play or sing

I can see her having a pretty voice, so if she were to ever sing with you, she’d likely make harmonies or duets sounds great

Definitely listens to any music you make and will support you all the way if you choose to try and make it into a career

There’ll definitely be mini concerts in the kitchen or while listening to music together while cleaning the place, and she always makes sure you know just how beautiful your voice is

She’ll help you come up with lyrics or melodies if you need it

To make sure you know she’s being genuine with her support, she’ll throw in specific things she likes about your art, musical or not, so it doesn’t sound like a vague, generic compliment

She’d compliment how bold your strokes are when painting or sketching, how specific features of a face or item you doodle look stunning, how captivating the color palette you chose is, etc.

She’d also compliment how smooth your voice is if you’re singing, how catchy the melody you came up with is, how the chords you chose match the tone of the song perfectly, and so on and so forth

If you like to write stories, she’s reading each one the moment you tell her she can

Writing a book? She’s there whenever you need help coming up with a scene or a plot point

Typing up a random short story to get the creative juices flowing? She’s listing out potential names for characters and describing things that could catch the reader’s attention

She’ll help you develop your own writing style over time and will celebrate every little victory with you, even if it’s something as simple as finishing a chapter or scene you were struggling with

Overall, she’s an incredibly supportive girlfriend to her artistic S/O, and she absolutely wants everyone to know just how incredibly talented you are. She joins in regardless of how good she is at drawing, painting, sculpting, singing, making music, writing, etc. because she loves making sure you know that she’s just as passionate about your interests as you are

#fluff #x reader #female reader #inside out 2 #valentina ortiz #val ortiz #val ortiz x reader #val ortiz x female reader #valentina ortiz x reader #valentina ortiz x female reader #inside out val

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bouquetface · 8 months ago

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SAGITTARIUS RISING:

Planets in first house. Placement & aspects towards chart ruler will all change the accuracy of this description. Lmk if your experience with or as a sag risings.

Appearance

Some believe due to Pluto’s influence from 1995 to 2008, sag rising individuals born during this time are likely to appear scorpio-like. In my experience, these individuals still clearly separate from scorpio risings.

A sag rising is a mutable fire sign. They are likely to often change their style. Make impulsive and/or “wild” choices in life and appearance. For example:

🔥 Sag risings tend to gravitate towards tattoos. Due to their fiery nature, they may get impulsive tattoos. Not as likely to be into the style of one BIG piece of artwork tattoo. More smaller, doodle-like tattoos.

🔥 You know how some people plan out their tatts for months & think about a deeper meaning for the art? Sag rising may have a few of those but they’ll also just get what they want just because they fucking want it. A friend pulls out a tattoo gun at a party, yeah they’re probably down. They don’t need months to think about should i or should i not.

🔥 My sag rising friend once said before getting their tatt, “I don’t need to wait until someone dies, I’m just going to get this because I love Fight Club”. The tatt was loosely inspired by the film.

🔥 Sag risings may gravitate towards hair dye. Unlike other signs, sag rising are more likely to go for unnatural hair colours (blue, green, purple, pink, etc). Due to their mutable nature, they may like changing up their hair colour &/or style more often than most.

This is my experience with GEN Z sag risings. Sag risings born before 1995, are almost nothing like this. They do like to change up their look but not in such bold and permanent ways.

For ex: If they dye their hair, it’s a natural colour (brown, black, blonde, red). More likely to get highlights than full on bleach their hair.

When they get a tattoo, they often get it in a common area of the body. Keep it easy to hide. Less likely to undergo a big, bold, permanent &/or transformative physical change. If they do, they generally keep it hidden.

For ex: I know a sag rising born before ‘95, they have a cosmetic surgery done. However, they keep this a secret. They desire both the big, bold look & the natural look.

An old school sag is more likely to express that abundant nature of their ruler Jupiter through hair. Men and women may have very long hair. Yet, they may wake up one day and randomly decide to buzz it.

Personality

Keep in mind this will be influenced by the ENTIRE chart.

Generally, these individuals are prone to feel FOMO. They love experiences. Better to regret having done it than regret not having done anything is more their motto. They can be the most entertaining people.

They can develop fun, humorous and charming personality. It’s likely for a sag rising to have friends in various places across the world. They make friends every where they go.

Sometimes, they can be identified through their communication style. Their jokes and language can be vulgar at times. They may swear a lot without realizing it. This is strongly affected by their mercury placement though.

This extroverted nature could be affected by other placements. In my experience, when these individuals aren’t extroverted & popular, they deeply desire to be welcomed.

The sag rising purpose is to wander and gather as much as information possible. Explore various places, ideals, people and philosophies.

They are likely to philosophize their lives. Questioning what is the meaning of this event? Why did that happen?

Generally, they are open minded & optimistic. However, if a sag rising feels they’ve come to a good conclusion from their experiences, they can come off as arrogant & close minded.

They can preach their philosophy - this can be perceived as talking too much & being argumentative. An extreme version of this is a cult leader. A more common version is someone who is passionate and wishes to share their knowledge.

#astrology observations #pluto sagittarius #sagittarius ascendant #sagittarius first house #sagittarius rising #gemini descendant

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savemefromanepicoftimewasted · 1 year ago

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The Gang's All Here

Biker!John Price X Wife!Reader

It was adorable, you were the mom of the group when it came to everything, especially when they were on leave. You’d invite everyone over and feed them until they were all too full.

a/n:this fic was inspired by this GORGEOUS artwork by @yakowo and I could not get the idea out of my head, also for anyone who voted in favor for the tattoos? you're welcome (P.S. I'm so sorry for making you guys wait MONTHS for this!)

(These are the tattoos I picture John having!)

John wasn’t the type of person that you’d expect to come onto base riding a motorcycle, a Harley Davidson no less. So, when Soap and Gaz were outside cracking jokes together their jaws dropped as John parked the roaring beast. When the hell had he managed to find the time to ride? It felt like they’d been gone for the last year nonstop. Gaz had heard all about how much you missed John. It was adorable, you were the mom of the group when it came to everything, especially when they were on leave. You’d invite everyone over and feed them until they were all too full.

“Laswell approved the time off, we’re gonna get to spend Halloween with the missus this year.” Gaz was probably more excited than anyone.

It may have been due to the fact you were all planning on matching, Gaz had picked Simon’s name from the hat, while you and Johnny were going to be matching. John downright refused, saying he couldn’t trust the boys to pick his costume. He’d made you swear to secrecy, no one was allowed to know his costume until Halloween. You weren’t complaining though, not after he’d promised to let you help ‘grease him up’.

“Better not get too rowdy this year, lord knows Johnny nearly got arrested last time.” Of course that had been because someone had tried to roughly grab you when John was off getting you drinks.

The boys had always been quite protective of you, doing whatever they could to make sure you were safe and keep all the creeps away. You’d been married to their captain the entire time they’d all known one another, so you were the co-captain in their eyes. Johnny was definitely the most protective, he saw you as a little sister(even though you were older than him). Simon would simply glare at anyone who looked at you wrong, scaring them off before they could utter a single word. Gaz would throw down with anyone who dared utter a single bad thing about you, how dare you disrespect his co-captain!

“He said he’d be on his best behavior, something about not wanting to anger the missus this time.” You’d turned into a scolding mother when Johnny began to act out, it was hilarious to watch.

John had thrown you over his shoulder even while you were kicking and screaming to be put down so you could continue your scolding. Johnny learned that night not to piss you off lest he deal with your wrath for the rest of the night. It was a comical thing, knowing you could insight fear into a man who sees death for a living.

“Better not, she told me they’re doing matching costumes and I can’t risk her needin’ to get a costume last minute.” That wasn’t to say you wouldn’t be able to find something from your closet, but you’d planned this months prior.

“Simon and I are too, you’re gonna be the odd man out captain.” Gaz smirked over at the other man, noticing the way his brow raised slightly.

“You and Ghost are wearing matching costumes? How’d you convince him?” Simon wasn’t afraid to let loose and enjoy himself, but wearing a costume to match with Kyle? That was shocking.

“Said he wanted to wear something to help get some attention, can’t say much else.” Gaz was going to keep his lips sealed until halloween had arrived, it was going to be the surprise of the century.

John knew better than to try and pry, this was out of his hands and as long as you were happy, he was happy. His mind began to wander for a few seconds, what would the holidays be like when you had your own little tots running around. You’d probably dress them up into cute halloween costumes and take them trick or treating. It didn’t sound like such a horrible thing at the moment, seeing you take the little ones up to the doors to get candy you’d sneak for yourself. No, no thinking about things like that when you’re at work and have important things to do, like a mountain of paperwork.

“Keep an eye on things and make sure the new recruits aren’t acting like idiots, please.” John waited for Gaz to acknowledge his words before heading down to his office.

The picture from your wedding day was the only one he’d been willing to take to base with him, not wanting to risk the wrong person knowing about you. His wedding ring sat alongside his dog tags, resting against his chest every day. It was a reminder that no matter how stressful things could be, he would always go home to you at the end of the day. They weren’t due for another assignment until the end of November, mainly because Laswell needed more intel first. Maybe that was the only reason they were allowed the few weeks of leave that was granted. Oh well.

It was nearing seven at night by the time John realized he hadn’t so much as left his desk to get a drink or even a bite to eat. Shit, you were going to absolutely ream his ass when he got home and you found out. This wasn’t the first time, and absolutely wasn’t going to be the last that he’d completely forgotten about himself. Simon had given him hell from time to time, telling him he needed to eat before you showed up at the base yourself. It had only happened once, though that was more due to the fact he needed the paperwork he’d forgotten and not because he hadn’t left his desk for..ten hours.

Standing up and stretching his tired limbs he groaned at the exertion and cracking from his idle bones. Shit, he had definitely been sitting for too long if standing for a few seconds sent shivers down his spine almost instantly. Time to get something to eat and head home for the next few weeks. He’d barely made it out of his office before Johnny was running over with what could only be described as childlike glee.

“Captain! Was hopin’ I could catch you.” The plus side of working alongside Johnny was that he could get shit done when necessary, the downside is when he was excited the man could talk forever.

“Just grabbing a quick bite and heading out, have you got your leave papers yet?” John didn’t have much time to talk, not if he wanted to make it home before you were in bed already.

“Just this mornin’, I wanted to ask about the bike.” Johnny was nervous, given that the last time he’d seen one was nothing more than a quick glance on their last mission.

“What about it?” John turned into the cafeteria, grabbing a plastic wrapped sandwich that was most likely made that morning.

Johnny wrung his hands together nervously, if questioned he would vehemently deny that his palms had become sweaty when asking his higher-up about something as simple as a motorcycle. Maybe he could just ask you about it instead, surely John had told you some things here and there and you’d managed to pick up any information.

“I uhh, I was wondering where you got it, she’s a beaut.” There, he’d ripped off the bandaid and didn’t need to make this any harder than it needed to be.

“Found her through a seller, she was in pretty rough shape so I’ve been fixin’ her up on leaves.” The bike was John’s pride and joy, second of course to you, but he loved his harley in a different way.

“Oh! Okay, that’s cool.” Johnny nodded, keeping a slight distance between himself and his captain.

“Any reason you’re asking?” John grabbed a bottle of water before turning to sit down at one of the open tables.

Johnny felt his nerves skyrocket, how does one admit they’d always wanted to ride but were too afraid of nearly getting themselves killed? His mother had given him hell for it, saying he’d lose his life by being reckless. It had deterred the idea for years, but seeing so many bikes made him want to do it anyway.

“No reason, see you later cap.” Johnny nodded once before heading out of the room.

John wouldn’t lie and say he wasn’t confused, it wasn’t often that people even saw him on the rumbling biped vehicle, but given the opportunity he always took it. Nothing more invigorating than feeling the wind whip around you, the sound of the bike echoing behind. You would beg John to take you for a ride constantly, especially on date night.

The recruits were quiet as they sat amongst themselves, discussing what their next drills would possibly be. It suddenly hit John how old he was, he’d been so used to making sure that everyone else was taken care of that he hadn’t taken the time to really look at life. You’d both discussed having children when the both of you were truly ready. If it came down that neither of you would truly be ready for a child, then neither of you would become parents. He’d just be the fun uncle that could send the kiddos home hyped up on sugar.

After he’d finished his sandwich and water it was time to head out. Any paperwork was sent off for review, and if it wasn’t up to Laswell’s standards she could wait until he was back. Getting home and relaxing for the rest of the night was high on his priority list at the moment. Maybe the two of you could order take out instead of cooking, maybe even a glass of wine to go along with it. You’d be dealing with everyone in a few days anyway, god where had the year gone that it was already Halloween again.

The sun was nearly gone by the time John had made it out of his office, grabbing the keys to his bike and heading towards the garage. Ghost’ voice was booming, words sharp as a whip towards whomever he was angry with. John sighed deeply before turning towards the shooting range, if it was a new recruit this could get ugly fast. And much to his annoyance it was not one, but four new recruits, each of them looked terrified as Simon nearly towered over them.

“Do you think this is a joke? Something to laugh about?!” Ghost was enraged, hands clenched into fists by his side.

“No sir.” They spoke in unison, each with their heads down, gazes locked on the floor.

“The next time you come in here thinkin’ you’re gonna play with the weapons, I will have you removed, permanently.” Ghost took gun safety quite seriously, one wrong move could end the lives of multiple people.

“Yes sir.” They all nodded, waiting for further instructions.

“Get out of my sight.” Ghost crossed his arms over his chest, waiting until they all scrambled away before turning to face John.

There were no words shared between the two men, neither of them needed to say anything to get their points across anyway. However, John wanted to make sure that Simon would be alright before leaving for the night.

“Still coming over for Halloween?” John was still curious on what Gaz had picked for the costumes, couldn’t be too bad.

“I promised your missus I would anyway.” No one on the task force could tell you no, it was adorable.

“I’ll see you then, make sure the recruits stay out of trouble.” John nodded at him, heading down to the garage so he could get home to you.

The night air was cold, bike rumbling beneath him as he wound his way along the roads that lead to your shared home. He’d sent a quick text to you before he left, telling you to order dinner so the two of you could relax together. Good food, a glass of wine, and the most amazing wife that he could ever ask for sounded like a perfect night to him. Now if he could ignore the clawing thoughts that came with work that would be even better. Laswell knew better than to call him unless it was an absolute emergency that he needed to attend to.

The light was on outside as he pulled into the driveway, parking the bike and waiting until it was settled to step off. The sound of music echoed through the partially opened window, the sound of your voice following along with the lyrics. John snickered to himself, it was definitely a song from your younger years, it was definitely a 90’s boyband. If you were letting loose, what would he walk into? Shaking off his shoulders he headed into the house, locking the door behind him before slipping off his boots.

“Baby!” You ran over, throwing your arms around his neck in a tight embrace.

“Hello to you too, having a party without me?” John’s arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush to his body.

“Never, can’t have a party without the man of the hour.” You pressed a light kiss to his lips, giggling as he tried to pull you back for more.

The two of you laughed happily, dancing together until the doorbell rang loudly, letting you know your dinner had arrived. You had mentioned a movie you’d wanted to see earlier that week, talking about how scary it was from your friends. John could handle some little movie no problem at all, everything about it was fake anyway.

“Alright, got our food, drinks, time to turn on the movie.” You wiggled into your seat, pressing play on the remote before digging in to your food.

The movie, for lack of a better word, was absolutely terrible. It was sort of a tradition in your home that during October you would watch corny horror movies whenever John was home. It was something you’d been adamant on, refusing to let the tradition die out. Of course you’d watch the classic horror movies to help break up the monotony of the bad ones. John had insisted you watch The Thing recently, until you remembered the kennel scene. Watching poor animals, even fake ones, get hurt always makes you upset.

“What do we watch next? We’ve got a few days before the party, and you don’t need to go back until after.” You popped a few pieces of popcorn into your mouth, chewing slowly so you didn’t get any kernels stuck between your teeth.

John pondered for a brief moment, he’d loved watching the classics, but maybe something new could be better? No, something from the 90’s maybe.

“What about Candyman?” It was one of your favorites, having grown up as a horror fan you clung onto the infamous movie.

“A man after my own heart.” You giggled and grabbed your remote to turn the movie on.

The only light in your living room, besides the TV of course, were the string lights you’d hung up in the middle of September. You’d claimed it would help give ambience to the movie watching experience, and John definitely had to admit that it had. It gave off an eerie vibe that he couldn’t quite place, but given that it was Halloween he wasn’t going to complain.

You could practically recite the movie, the way Tony Todd portrayed the character of Candyman so well never ceased to amaze you. You’d wanted to have a career in film making, but given that the industry was one of the hardest to get into, your dreams were crushed.

You wouldn’t have met John had you followed your dreams.

You hummed softly, it was true, had you followed your heart you would have never met your husband. Sure you probably would’ve met someone in Hollywood, but it wouldn’t have been the same.

“Wait, what are you wearing for Halloween?” You glanced over at your husband.

“I’ve got a pair of overalls I’m gonna grease up. Go dressed as a mechanic.” John was nothing short of efficient. He’d found them one day after going through his clothes and tossing out anything that was either too old, or had holes to be thrown away.

“Hmm, that works.” You turned and put your attention back onto the movie on your screen.

You and Johnny would be matching, while Simon and Kyle would technically be matching. It had started as a joke but after discussing it, you had all agreed and the plans were set in stone. The costumes arrived a few weeks after you’d ordered them, the boys all paying you back right away. John of course had no idea what you were wearing, and you weren’t going to tell him until the very night of. It was going to be quite the surprise, you couldn’t wait for him to see.

Halloween

You were pulling on your undergarments, not wanting to spoil any surprises your husband might find later before quickly pulling on your dress. You’d been tempted to order a wig to truly match but you didn’t want to risk it. Instead you fixed up your hair, placing the headband before pulling on a pair of pantyhose. After a quick glance in the mirror you were happy with your look, pulling on the shoes and heading down to the living room. The boys had all crammed into your home, each of them taking their respective costumes to go and change. John had run to the store to get one final bag of candy, promising he’d be back in time to head to the party.

Kyle walked out in his amazing glory, the fluffy coat showing off his amazing physique.

“I have to admit, you make an amazing Ken.” You snickered and twirled your finger, telling him to give you a full view.

The costume was perfect, down to the headband and sunglasses he’d managed to find last minute. It was the only thing missing out of his entire get up.

“What can I say? I was born to be a total stud.” He smirked before bursting into laughter, both of you righting yourselves as Johnny walked out.

“I forgot how much I hated wearing boots sometimes.” Johnny muttered to himself.

The two of you had dressed as Velma and Daphne, Johnny had offered to be Velma since he was already a natural brunette. You weren’t going to argue with the man, the dress gave your husband even easier access.

“If you can tuck the bottom of the sweater under itself, it’ll look better.” You walked over and helped him adjust the dark orange sweater, brushing down the fabric of his skirt.

“Bettah?” Johnny glanced at you, hoping you could head out soon.

“Much.” You smiled and stepped back from him.

Before any of you could say anything else Simon walked out of the guest bathroom, the hot pink outfit causing all of your jaws to drop open. How Kyle had convinced him to dress up as cowboy Barbie you weren’t entirely sure, but god did he look fantastic.

“I have to admit, you look fucking hot right now.” Your eyes were wide, hands reaching up to mess with the green scarf wrapped around your neck.

“Thanks, this is all Kyle’s idea.” Simon tossed his bag down beside the couch.

“I’m not complaining, those pants are doing so much for your ass right now.” Your cheeks heated up before you caught the way Johnny was also eyeing him. At least you weren’t alone.

The sound of the front door opening suddenly caught your attention, your husband made it home with a few minutes to spare. Such a procrastinator that one was, now you’d be rushing out the door to get to the party.

“Sorry! Nearly got into a fight with someone who almost hit me on the way home. I just need to get dressed.” John dropped the candy into the large bowl, turning to face the rest of you.

His eyes landed on Simon first, a slight brow raised before he saw Kyle, followed by Johnny, and then lastly you.

“Don’t tell me. Kyle and Simon are Barbie and Ken, and you two are Daphne and Velma?” John snickered as he slipped off his shoes quickly.

“Good job, now go get dressed so we can leave!” You all but pushed your husband towards your bedroom.

You could discuss the costumes later when you were actually where you needed to be for the night, right now was not the time. The plus side is that you were within walking distance of the party, the downside was that you were definitely going to be late.

“Jeez, your arms look even bigger.” Kyle blurted out as Simon flexed his arms. Johnny was practically drooling at the sight.

“Alright, you guys head outside and I’ll see what’s taking John so long.” You waited until they’d all left, mainly to make sure poor Johnny didn’t pass out.

Shaking your head you made your way down to your bedroom, pushing the door open slowly so you didn’t startle him.

“Hey hun, are you…” You trailed off as you saw your husband, the white tank top he’d dirtied and greased up showed off the sleeves of tattoos as well as his back piece beautifully.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, let’s go hun.” John spritzed a couple sprays of cologne before heading over to you.

You watched the way his muscles ripped beneath the fabric, eyes glancing down to his legs beneath the coveralls. The arms over his coveralls were wrapped around his waist, giving him the look of being an actual mechanic. Jesus you weren’t going to be able to keep your hands off of him at this rate.

“I’ll have to remember to have someone take a photo of us when we get there.” You grabbed your wristlet and headed out of the house with John.

The other three, that were locked in a heated discussion, all fell silent as they saw their captain in a tank top.

“Holy shit, you’re covered in tattoos?!” Kyle was floored, he’d recently found out his captain rode motorcycles, but seeing this? This was all new.

“Oh, yeah, I’ve had these for years.” John merely shrugged, wrapping an arm around your waist as you all made the short walk to Kate’s house.

The music was loud enough that you could hear it outside, but it was clear that everyone was still able to have conversations. Kyle, Simon, and Johnny all took off the moment you got inside with John, causing you to roll your eyes. You just wanted one photo to at least remember the night, the costumes looked so good too!

“I’ll make sure they take a photo before we head home tonight, promise.” John pressed a kiss to your hair, leading you further into the party.

“Thank you.” You smiled as you leaned against him, avoiding any of the grease that could ruin your dress.

The party was lively, everyone complimenting your costume as well as John’s even asking a few questions about his tattoos. John was proud of the work he’d had done, especially the back piece he’d sat through over five sessions for. You loved when John got the recognition he deserved. The man was downright gorgeous, and you were reveling in the fact that he’d chosen you out of everyone.

The hours flew by, the drinks flowing through your system before John cut you off. He wasn’t going to risk getting you drunk like last time. You’d taken photos with all of your friends, giggling at the couples costume that Farah and Alex had done. He’d dressed up as a dinosaur while she was dressed like a handler. Everyone took photos with John, claiming they wanted to show off the tattoos he had and see if they could get something half as good. You knew better, it was only because of how gorgeous your husband was. You weren’t blind, even in regular clothes John was the most attractive man you’d ever met.

“Hey, why don’t I take you home? It’s getting late anyway.” John could see the way your eyes were drooping closed, exhaustion seeping into your bones.

“We gotta round up the boys too.” You’d offered up the spare bedrooms so they didn’t have to worry about driving home so late at night.

“Already did, sweetheart, so let’s go.” John scooped you up into his arms, saying goodbyes to everyone before making your way out of the house.

Your eyes slowly slipped closed as you rested against his chest, your feet sore from standing in the kitten heels for the last five hours. John didn’t so much as complain as he carried you to your shared home, opening the door to let everyone inside. Johnny didn’t hesitate to rip off his boots, tossing them aside before ripping off the sweater. John raised a brow at the younger man, watching as he hurriedly picked up his discarded items.

“Sorry, sir.” Johnny wasn’t going to let them lie around, would never do so in someone else’s home, but getting to strip down was his only thought.

“Just clean up, that's all I ask.” John turned and headed up to your bedroom, laying you on the plush mattress before turning to change into his own pajamas.

Your soft snores filled the air, chest rising and falling slowly as you slept peacefully on your bed. John chuckled and finished getting changed, turning to help you out of your own clothes. His eyes widened as he realized you had gotten new lingerie, jaw dropping open. He’d talk to you about it tomorrow, right now you were exhausted and needed some sleep.

After grabbing one of his more oversized shirts he helped ease you into the fabric, pulling off your headband and setting everything onto the dresser. You hadn’t so much as flinched the entire time, assuring John that you were completely asleep. He headed down to the living room, making sure the other three were settled before turning off the lights. It was fun getting to see everyone dressed up, simply enjoying themselves with good company.

“Thank you, for being the best thing I could ever ask for.” John crawled into bed beside you, pulling you flush to his chest.

You murmured softly in your sleep, wrapping your arms around his waist. There were definitely some things that the two of you needed to talk about.

Those could wait, for now he would simply hold you and enjoy himself.

tagging: @gaylemonshark @thesinsoflust @dante-mightdie @mh073099

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a-revised-history-of-erdas · 4 months ago

Text

Character Designs

At long last, here is the masterpost for the main characters' designs. This is how they appear in my head, and how they will appear in A Revised History of Erdas. So much thought (and research) has gone into this. I've taken a lot of creative liberty here, but I hope you enjoy how I envision these characters!

Conor

For Conor, I drew inspiration from Celtic and more specifically Irish culture.

He has strawberry-blond hair, as shown on the covers of Hunted and The Dragon's Eye. The colour is usually described as reddish-blond or reddish-gold because the term "strawberry-blond" does not exist in Erdas, but for clarity's sake I have named it as such here. It is slightly wavy and long enough to rest on his shoulders. Occasionally, he will incorporate braids into his hairstyle in light of his elevated status after the war. Otherwise, it is left loose. His pale skin is sprinkled all over with freckles; he has gotten a lot of them more since he left Eura, due to sun exposure. His eyes are green as described in Against the Tide.

He is chubby and muscular in equal measures. His weight is known to fluctuate due to the harrowing events he goes through on the daily, but he normally has a generous amount of extra fat all over. He started off on the shorter side, but had an impressive growth spurt during the war and the year after. His final height is 5'6.5", or 5'7" (170 cm) by rounding up, which he reaches by age sixteen. This is a little above average for Euran men.

When his facial hair starts to come in, he lets it grow, resulting in a patchy beard by the time he is sixteen. Shaving is not in a Euran shepherd’s nature.

He is physically disabled in two ways. The first is that he is missing the first joint on his left index finger from being bitten by an unidentified animal in Fire and Ice. The second is the permanent limp in his right leg from a broken ankle in The Dragon's Eye that healed badly. He uses his bond token, Pathfinder, to support himself when he walks.

Many scars crisscross his face, arms, legs and back, but they aren't easily visible against his pale skin. The ones that stand out the most are the burn scars from the fire Kovo unleashed in Sadre, particularly one running along his jaw. The spiral-shaped mark of the Wyrm on his forehead eventually shrinks and fades away to nothing, much to his relief.

His tattoo of Briggan is on his right bicep, frozen mid-run.

While not a physical trait, he has a heavy Euran accent that is comparable to Irish in the real world. At times it can be hard for non-Eurans to understand, but luckily his friends know him well enough to decipher his speech even when it is thickest.

He wears the simplest clothing of the bunch: Just a beige tunic, grass-stained trousers and a pair of warm sheepskin boots from home. His thick travelling cloak is worn over his shoulders, fastened to one side by a wolf-shaped brooch. He rarely swaps out his travelling cloak for a regular one, preferring its weight.

The head of his hand axe is inlaid with silver designs. He covers the blade with a piece of leather and keeps it in his belt by way of a special loop, with his cloak gathered over the arm that draws it.

Abeke

For Abeke, I took inspiration from the Yoruba and Igbo ethnic groups of Nigeria.

Her coily dark hair ends just below her shoulders. It is worn in braids that begin at her hairline and trail down her scalp in straight lines, ending in up to twenty individual braids. She often stacks wooden or green beads on the ends. This style of braids is unique to her tribe. It also denotes her marital status; Yufandi girls and women wear their hair in braids if they are unmarried, and loose or covered if they are married. She only ties her braids back when she is hunting, travelling, fighting or doing some other kind of physical activity, letting them down at times when the group is resting. She has warm-toned dark brown skin with some freckles scattered here and there, mostly on her arms and face. Her eyes are dark brown.

She is broad-shouldered but lean, with toned arms and legs. Her final height is 5'8" (172 cm), which she reaches by age fifteen. This is considered fairly tall by Niloan standards. She has been the tallest member of the Four since the very beginning.

Like many Niloans, she has tribal marks on her face. Three long, thick, vertical grooves on each cheek indicate that she is of the Yufandi tribe, and three smaller ones in the middle of her forehead indicate that she is both Marked and a Rain Dancer. Chinwe cut the latter three onto her skin immediately after she summoned Uraza, as part of the ritual. This is an age-old cultural practice, one Abeke harbours no ill feelings about.

She has a number of other scars, both from the war and from her life as a hunter in Nilo. These are quite noticeable due to her dark skin tone. The most prominent is a mass of scar tissue on her left shoulder from when Tai Li stabbed her in Fire and Ice. The wound left her with permanent nerve damage, and she still experiences mild discomfort and tingling in that area. She also experiences numbness and increased sensitivity to cold in her toes from the deep frostbite she sustained whilst in Arctica.

As a tattoo, Uraza crouches on her right forearm, claws extended.

She speaks with an elegant western Niloan accent, similar to a Nigerian one on Earth.

She prefers light, comfortable clothing that allows for ease of movement. In Nilo, she wore a simple wrap made of handwoven cloth. When she joined the Conquerors and later the Greencloaks, she switched to more practical clothing for the colder environment: A long-sleeved white shirt under a length of goatskin and a pair of light pants. The triangular, tasselled thing at her waist on the book covers is a small bag, attached to her woven grass belt and used to store her personal belongings. She has leather shoes, more like slippers, that allow her to move silently. If the environment demands it, she will switch to hardier, but still graceful, boots. She prefers to wear her regular cloak over one shoulder, but wears her travelling cloak over both so it doesn't trip her up.

She uses a self bow, well-made, crafted from Niloan wood and embellished with subtle yet beautiful carvings. Lenori gifted it to her after the war, with the help of the Keeper. When not in use, it will either be unstrung (for long-distance travel) or left as is (if she needs it at the ready). In both cases, it is carried on her back, secured to her quiver.

During their stay in the Gulf of Amaya with the Conquerors, Abeke and Shane got matching beaded bracelets to represent their friendship. These bracelets are recurring items for the both of them that provide comfort and, later, anguish. Abeke stopped wearing hers after Shane's betrayal, but could never bring herself to get rid of it. Inexplicably, she thought to take it in her bag when she and Rollan set out from Greenhaven in Fall of the Beasts. When she made up with Shane, they discovered, to their shared surprise, that they had kept their bracelets the whole time. Abeke's is gold, white and black with striking geometric patterns, evoking the Huichol beading style of Mexico. It is one of her most meaningful possessions.

Meilin

The Han dynasty of Imperial China is where the inspiration for Meilin's character came from. Central Zhong overall is meant to be reminiscent of this period.

She has tan skin and long, straight, silky black hair which is usually styled in a topknot behind her head, with or without short plaits running down the sides (the hairstyle she is shown with on the cover of Blood Ties). Her eyes are a brown so dark they appear almost black.

Her build is stocky and well-muscled; she could not be called slender. Her final height is 5'3" (160 cm), which she reaches by age fifteen. This is the average for women in central Zhong, and makes her the smallest member of the Four.

It is perhaps a testament to her skill in battle that she has by far the least physical scars of the Four. The most noticeable are the light burn scars on her back that wrap around to her right shoulder from the fire in Sadre, and even then, those are covered up in public.

For her pierced ears, she usually opts for small teardrop earrings made of jade or silver.

Her tattoo of Jhi rests on the back of her dominant hand. She made the bold decision to get more tattoos in Jano Rion after the Second Great War: A sword, modelled after her own legendary Sword of Teng, along her inner right forearm, with a Yin Yang symbol at the tip near her wrist. These tattoos hold great personal meaning.

Though she speaks the common tongue with ease, she has a discernible central Zhongese accent, which could be likened to a Chinese one in the real world.

Her usual attire is a paofu robe (more specifically jiaolingpao) over a sleeveless white shirt and beige trousers, with a belt or sash at her waist and black leather boots. The robes she favours are knee-length, allowing for freer movement, padded for warmth and with fitted leather sleeve-cuffs to restrain the wide sleeves and protect her wrists and forearms. Her favourite robe is made of red silk and embroidered with dragons. She wears her travelling cloak over her shoulders, but is also known to don a green robe instead, especially for regular wear. In general, she gravitates to stronger colours like reds and oranges. She dresses the most vibrantly (and expensively) of the Four.

Generally, Meilin presents herself in a masculine way. Her favoured clothing, accessories and even hairstyle are more typical of men in Imperial Zhong. On top of gravitating to these styles because they are simply the most practical for a warrior, Meilin feels more comfortable and like herself in men's clothing, and enjoys dressing this way because of how confined she felt when conforming to the standard imposed on Zhongese women.

Her sword, the legendary Sword of Teng, is a jian that has been passed down through her family for many generations. In times when she needs it strapped to her, she will wear a belt instead of a sash to hold it in its scabbard.

Her trademark accessory is a small Yin Yang amulet attached to a silk thread, meant to be worn as a necklace, but often just carried by her side. It was her last birthday gift from her father, given to her on the day she summoned Jhi. This amulet later becomes her bond token, Peacefinder.

Rollan

Although the original books made it a little ambiguous, from details sprinkled throughout and especially the description of Aidana, we can conclude that Rollan is the Erdas equivalent of Native American. In ARHoE, this is an integral part of Rollan's character. For his tribe, I referenced the Algonquian (and more specifically Wabanaki) peoples of eastern Canada.

He has weathered, light brown skin and long, thick, straight black hair. In the first arc, he wore his hair loose or tied back in a ponytail. After the war, when he and his mother had the opportunity to reconnect with their tribe in Amaya after being isolated from them for so long, Rollan adopted many of their customs. He came back with his hair in two braids, a style that had been practised by the Wascow and many other Amayan tribes for centuries. His eyes are dark brown.

Years of malnourishment on the streets made Rollan leaner and lighter-built than the others, and even while living the good life at Greenhaven he remains somewhat scrawny. For the same reason, his final height of 5'4" (162 cm), which he reaches by age sixteen, is below average for northern Amayan men.

He isn't able to grow nearly as much facial hair as Conor -- just a few dark hairs above his upper lip. He scrapes off his thin moustache when circumstances allow it, in accordance with his tribe's customs.

When he was a child, he was caught stealing and had his nose slit as punishment. The scar left behind is one of his most recognisable features. He has too many other scars to mention.

Both of his ears are pierced, a procedure he had done while staying with his tribe. He owns and wears a variety of earrings, but his favourites are a pair of feathers that fell from Essix.

Essix's tattoo is emblazoned on his upper chest, her outstretched wingtips skimming his collarbones. He has a multitude of other tattoos, all of which were done during his time with the Wascow. His whole body is marked with symbols representing his tribe, spirit animal and achievements, including one for every battle he has won. The process was gruelling, but Rollan's ego has soared since getting them.

The subject of his accent is an interesting one, because unlike the other three, Rollan didn't grow up speaking the language of his people. Common is the only language he is fluent in, and, of course, he didn't grow up with a fixed person to influence how he spoke it. The result is his accent being an odd blend of speech habits from the constantly changing cast of people around him -- his mother, the people at the orphanage, the Widow Renata, his street gang and even foreign traders who spent time in Concorba. There is influence not only from different Amayan tribes in his pronunciation patterns, but parts of Eura and Zhong. Conor, Abeke and Meilin have never heard anything like it.

He typically wears a long-sleeved grey shirt, trousers and a pair of deerskin moccasins. Even though his choice of attire is rather simple, it is worth more than anything he ever owned as an orphan in Concorba. Beadwork features prominently on his clothing and accessories, including on his earrings, in patches sewn on his trousers and moccasins, and his treasured sash (which is best visible on the cover of Fire and Ice). His worn green cloak hangs around his shoulders. He doesn't own a regular one, only Tarik's travelling cloak.

The dagger he favours is a straight, mean-looking blade with an ornate hilt. He keeps it sheathed at his belt when not in use.

I thought it would be fitting to give them all a matching item. Something they carry around that reminds them of each other. Of their team. So, while in the capital of Zhong on their victory march after the war, the friends came across a collection of attraction charms and decided to each buy one. They were made of semi-precious stones, small and teardrop-shaped, attached to a little ring with a cap of silver or gold. They each chose a stone with meaning that resonated with them. Conor's is labradorite, which symbolises inner peace. Abeke's is sunstone, which stands for strength. Meilin's is amethyst, which symbolises balance. Rollan's is garnet, for clarity. The kids paired them with charms of their spirit animals and wear them in various ways -- on bracelets, in pockets, on necklaces close to their hearts. Every time they look at them, even if they are a thousand miles away from the people who keep the other pieces of the set, they think of their family.

There you have it, the altered character designs for the Four Heroes! These will be incorporated into the ARHoE masterdoc when it is completed. More pivotal characters to follow!

Part two

#crawls in here covered in blood #it's finally here.#text post #character designs #a revised history of erdas #spirit animals #spirit animals books #spirit animals series #conor #abeke #meilin #rollan

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