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sunlightmurdock · 2 months ago

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Ashes, Ashes | Two | Bradley Bradshaw

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Synopsis: In which Maverick didn’t make it home after the Uranium mission. He’s missing, presumed dead. There are things that have to be done — someone has to take care of the house, the bills.

So, Maverick’s daughter is back in Fightertown for the first time since she was in elementary school. There’s a gaping hole in both of their lives now, and somehow, the world’s supposed to just keep on turning without him.

warnings: bradley bradshaw x minimally descriptive oc avery mitchell. age gap (23/33), smut, angst, hurt / comfort, mentions of character death, mourning, military inaccuracies. This entire fic and my blog is an 18+ space, minors do not interact. Do not repost.

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Bradley rents a bungalow about twenty minutes from base, towards the south of the San Diego bay. He explains, on the drive there, while she is hugging an overnight bag of her things, that he’s been renting it from this sweet old lady for the past four years — but he’s only been living in it for about three quarters of that time, with deployments.

He talks a lot. Shooting halfway amused looks across at him every now and again as he talks over his music, explaining his entire rental history, Avery just lets him go on and on.

Maybe he’s worried that the silence will give her room to start tearing up again, but she knows that won’t happen — it was already a rare occurrence, just the once.

She lets him talk. He doesn’t seem to mind how much attention she’s paying either. Anything other than silence is fine, even if he’s the only one filling it.

The respite comes when he parks in the driveway, hops out, and proudly displays the home to her. It’s white all over and covered in plants, all up the driveway and over the porch. There’s a surfboard sitting on the porch, waxed up and looking ready to go.

Inside is masculine and simple, and spotless. It looks more lived in than Maverick’s place, but in an exceptionally organised way.

Just past the front door, he has an organised entryway with a closet and one of those shoe racks that looks like an end table.

Beyond that, his living area is all open plan. His kitchen is to the left right as you walk in, and the living room is the clear focus. He’s got a big grey sectional pointed at a big tv with a stack of video games beside it.

He doesn’t ask her to take her shoes off by the door, but she copies politely when he kicks his off.

That leaves her, blue and white tube socks, toeing against the chewed up corner of the area rug while he busies himself with fixing the few things he deems to be out of place.

Itching to keep moving, she prods at the fabric, examining the teeth marks, wondering where the dog must be.

“Oh— that was my ex-girlfriend’s dog. I’ve been meaning to buy a new rug.” He explains, furrowing his brows at the spot as he tosses a throw pillow down onto his soft looking grey couch. “Um — so, I do have a guest room, but it’s kind of a gym right now. You can just make yourself at home, and I’ll go get everything out of your way.”

“I can take the couch.”

“No, no, you deserve some privacy at least. I’ll just be a sec — I have sodas and beers in the fridge, glasses are in the cabinet to the right. Help yourself.” He’s a good host, and a better one than she had been yesterday, considering that Maverick’s place is now technically her own.

As he heads for the long, stretching hallway, she shoots a look back down at the mauled rug. With how spotless the rest of this place is, he must have really liked that girl to let her bring her dog here, and to let it chew up his stuff.

She wonders, aimlessly, if he was mad about it. If they argued. If they broke up long ago.

Avery hasn’t had too many relationships of her own. Some mediocre sex and a couple of couch-based movie dates here and there, nothing to write home about.

She sits cautiously, sinking into the pillowy cushion of the couch, taking the time finally to really look around her. The space is bright, with big windows all around and a view of the bay. There’s a sun catcher dancing from the curtain rod, casting rainbows across his wooden floors.

Maybe his ex had bought that, too.

The bungalow is small, but it fits all of his belongings with an abundance of space left. Avery thinks back to her father’s place, always cluttered and spilling over with junk, treasure from his years of travels.

Maybe Bradley is a little bit less sentimental about keeping things.

He rattles around in the room at the end of the hall for a while, huffing occasionally. While waiting on the couch, she considers getting up and offering to help a few times, but ultimately convinces herself against it.

“Alright! Fresh sheets and some space to move, there’s still a bunch of stuff in there but I tried to get it out of your way.” He comes strolling back down the hallway and drops down onto the couch at her side, letting out a heavy sigh.

She screws her mouth up a little, looking across at him while he rests his eyes, long, dark eyelashes brushing his warm cheeks. His long legs, covered by worn denim, stretch out far enough that he has to bend them around his coffee table.

When one hand comes up to card through his mussed curls, she catches sight of the tattoo inked across the expanse of his bicep. LXXXVI. ‘86. She starts to think on it, letting him enjoy his moment of peace, when he shifts and startles her enough to drag her eyes away from his flexing arm.

“Thanks, for everything,” Avery manages to still sound a little cautious in her tone, even when she’s rushing to speak. “Staying last night, driving me around today, letting me stay with you. I really appreciate it.”

He smiles without opening his eyes, reaching out and letting his hand pat skim across the seam of her jeans, patting at her knee platonically.

“Any time.” He breezes, cool.

The first night is uneventful. Avery sleeps restlessly on the futon in Bradley’s spare bedroom, turned home gym.

She pretends that she doesn’t see the numbers on the sides of the weights, and pretends also that she doesn’t give a little bit of her imagination to the way that tattoo must move when he lifts them.

When she wakes up, Bradley is gone and there is a note on the kitchen counter explaining that he went for a run. He was gone for two hours, trying to run far enough that the sick, hot, thudding feeling in his chest would stop.

Back at the house, Natasha stops by and spends the afternoon. She lets herself into the place with her key, which sits on her own keychain like she’s had it for a while. Watching a sitcom from the armchair while they sit beside each other on the couch, Avery notices that the two of them are very close.

She wonders if Natasha happens to have a dog.

Sleep doesn’t come any easier for either one of them the second night. When he finally catches sight of the red, flashing declaration on his alarm clock that it is now 2:01am, Bradley gives up.

He tries to be quiet as he’s getting up, careful not to wake Avery. They’re in much closer quarters in his place than they had been back at Maverick’s house, her door is right opposite his across the narrow hallway.

He pads down the hallway, rubbing at his eyes, tossing up whether he’s going to try to drink something warm and go back to bed, or if he’s just going to stay up. He can’t keep not sleeping.

He almost heads straight for the kitchen, freezing in his tracks as he finally takes note of the blue light coming from his living room, and the sound of women’s voices. It takes him a second, even though he’d been being so considerate on her behalf, to remember that he has a guest over.

“Ave?” He mumbles.

The TV immediately falls silent. She winces from her spot on the couch, craning her neck to try to see him at the edge of the hallway.

“Just me. I’m sorry! Did I wake you?” She sounds worried. He’s still half asleep.

He shakes his head as he steps out from the shadows and heads for his kitchen. “No, I just wasn’t expecting you to be up. I couldn’t sleep.”

He passes by pretty quickly, concealed behind the kitchen island in just a few steps. Still, she saw him. Illuminated only by the light of the television, wearing a tight pair of black boxer briefs and dog tags around a silver chain. Long, muscled legs and tapered hips.

Sure, he was good looking before, and clearly fit — but she wasn’t expecting what had been under those slightly loose t-shirts.

Her mouth is dry as she mumbles out a soft, “Me either.”

“D’you want a tea?” He stands with her back to her now, reaching around in the darkness of his kitchen. She stares, unblinking, at his back.

“You drink tea?”

“Sometimes,” He cranes his neck to look at her over his shoulder. “That’s not weird.”

Her lips almost quirk, and she gives him a confirming shake of her head. “I didn’t say it was. Do you have green tea?”

He scoffs without looking. “Of course I have green tea.”

This whole lack of sleep thing isn’t new to him. It comes with the grief, but it’s there even when he feels like he isn’t grieving anymore. Since he was a kid, Bradley has had thoughts that keep him up at night, thoughts bad enough to stir him from peaceful, pleasant dreams.

He’s tried every tea in the catalog.

He carries the two mugs across the living room without once noticing the way he’s been stared at. He sets hers down on a cute little wicker coaster on his coffee table, walking past and dropping down onto the corner of the sectional.

His legs stretch out and he shifts and twists until he finds himself comfortable. “What’s this?”

She sets her gaze steadily on the television, her hands in her lap, wondering if he’s this brash with all of his house guests. With a swallow, she shrugs her shoulders. “Oh, it’s just this TV show about a columnist in New York in the nine—“

“Are you explaining Sex and the City to me?” Bradley sounds bewildered, his face stark as he stares at her across the couch. Avery’s lips tug at a smile, and she almost forget the nerves she’d been feeling.

Until, the light from the television catches on the silver of his dogtags. Her gaze drops, like a flicker, to his bare, toned chest — and she swiftly looks back to the television.

“You’ve seen it?” She asks softly.

He’s beyond good looking. He’d always been okay looking, he’d had a nice smile in all of those pictures she had seen. But now, the roundness of his cheeks is gone and he has grown into his nose, his lips are a shade of pink that would be a bestseller in cosmetics.

Avery curses herself; she had been pretty successfully pretending not to notice that he had gotten good looking. Then, he comes strolling down that hallway and making her tea from his apparently extensive collection, having the nerve to sprawl across his own couch looking like that.

Across from a girl who hasn’t seen any action in the better part of a year too.

She almost scowls.

“Every episode,” He answers gleefully. At first, she thinks of Natasha or that mysterious girlfriend with the badly behaved dog. Then, he adds, “This was my mom’s favourite TV show, ever.”

And suddenly, she feels a little guilty for acting like those muscles make him some kind of ladies’ man. Just because the rest of them have been, she guesses.

Bradley seems like a nice guy. He slept in a bed clearly meant for a child all night last night, and he let her take the first shower this morning, he chased her across the parking lot and offered to fix all of her problems in one fell swoop.

Maybe that’s because of some kind of debt he thinks he owes to Pete, and maybe it’s just because that’s the kind of man he is.

She glances across, watching him chuckle at a classic Samantha one-liner and take a sip of a raspberry herbal tea. Wrinkling her nose, she settles back down into the spot she had been relaxing in, and lets herself zone out again.

They watch a couple of episodes. Unlike earlier, Bradley doesn’t feel the need to talk. He likes the quiet, mixed with their frequent chuckles. It’s an okay thing, to not have to fill that silent void.

Avery is the first to excuse herself to go back to bed, and she hasn’t once mentioned his little Calvin Kleins or the way they make his thighs look.

As she walks away, Bradley catches himself. He hadn’t much thought about what she might wear to bed, or what she’d been wearing when he first sat down with her. Her hips wiggle in her stride, her fitted pyjama shorts hugging her ass as she heads for the guest room.

The material of her loose t-shirt is tucked in at the back. Those cotton shorts hug her hips and show off just the tiniest glimpse of her round ass, from where they have ridden up a little.

He looks away before she’s even out of view, but it doesn’t change what he had been thinking. She’s Pete’s kid, for gods’ sakes. Not much of a kid anymore, but still, it wouldn’t be right.

Man, Maverick would hate it, too.

Bradley wishes, silently, that he was here to scold him. Pete would square his shoulders and get that rare and serious look on his face, warning Bradley to keep his hands to himself. And Bradley would smile and taunt him, saying, “Don’t worry, Mav, I’ll be the perfect gentleman.”

With her dad gone, it just makes it worse.

These next few weeks are going to be hard, and the least he could do is think with his head to keep things simple between the two of them. He heads back to bed late enough for it to almost not be worth it.

He wakes to the sound of chaos over the comms, that same last conversation, those snowy peaks behind his eyelids.

Mouth dry, heart thudding, his eyes are still shut when he stumbles out into the hall and twists the bathroom door handle. It jams, and he remembers. The sounds of water coming from behind the door stops abruptly.

Peeking her head around the shower curtain, already wincing, Avery calls back out to him. “Sorry! I’ll just be a second!”

“No — sorry, take as long as you want.” He calls back, shaking his head and heading for the kitchen. Restless and anxious, he splashes cold water across his face and thinks about Pete.

He saw Mav do this insurmountable times. He remembers all of the mornings that Mav would wake up gasping, shaking, and he would head straight for the bathroom, bolting the door. He’d come back out okay again. He wonders if Mav still did it, even all these years later.

If he still heard Goose’s voice through the comms, calling him out of his dreams.

The thought makes him shudder. The bathroom door unlocking makes him flinch, looking up sharply.

Avery steps out of the bathroom, her hair still dry and tied back, droplets of water still beading along the skin and flowing under the plush blue towel she had taken from the linen closet. He had told her to help herself, but he’s staring at her now and she’s second guessing herself.

He stands at his kitchen sink, his hands braced against the countertop, his knuckles white. She barely even notices his little Calvin Kleins. Her brows knit together as she takes a step toward him, barely visible around the corner.

“Hey… are you okay?” Her face creases with concern, lingering in the hallway so that he can see her just enough.

He remembers to let go of the countertop.

“Yeah,” He breathes out, unconvincingly, reaching up and shaking a hand through his tangled curls. He takes a second, trying to gather his thoughts enough to keep the conversation moving. “Were you still thinking you’re gonna need a job while you’re here?”

She blinks, her scrunched up face relaxing as she takes another step closer, cocking her head at him.

“Um, yeah. I think so.”

He nods. “Get dressed. We’ll go see my friend in a bit, can see if it’s something you might be interested in. Maybe, then we’ll take your car to a mechanic this afternoon.”

Out of the house, he feels like he can breathe again. It’s just sleeping, that’s all. When he’s really awake, he can control it all a little better, it doesn’t get to him as much.

He drives the same way he had yesterday. Three fingers around the bottom of the wheel, seventies music playing. Today, the windows are down. Avery makes a pretty good passenger — she doesn’t ask him to change his music and she doesn’t put her head in the way when he’s trying to check his mirrors.

Mainly because she isn’t once watching the road, but that’s okay.

She looks around the city like she’s seeing it for the first time. Mav lived her for longer than she’s been alive — and the entire place seems foreign to her.

Bradley knows both of his parents’ hometowns like the back of his hand, and he still hasn’t ever lived in either one of them.

“Did your dad ever tell you about Penny?” He asks so calmly, drumming his fingers along the wheel, Ray-Ban caravans sitting across the bridge of his nose.

The look that Avery shoots him gives him more than enough of an answer. She sets her phone down in her lap and studies him, frowning slightly.

“Who’s Penny?”

Shit. Bradley shakes his head and his voice pitches up a fraction. “Oh, she and Mav were just good friends for a long time.”

A product of one of Maverick’s ‘good friendships’ herself, Avery doesn’t need Bradley to explain to her what that means. It makes her a little less excited to get to wherever he’s taking her.

With one quick glance across, he catches the little frown settling across her lips.

“She owns that bar on Breakers Beach. We drove past it yesterday when we saw Admiral Simpson?” Bradley prompts her, glancing across at the passenger seat. She nods along. “I texted her yesterday and she really wanted to meet you, said you can have some shifts there if you want them.”

Avery wrinkles her nose, trying not to frown across at him when he’s doing his best to just be helpful.

“What? — What’s that look?” He prompts, looking across at her with an amused smile toying at his lips.

“She’s like a long time ago ex, right? She wasn’t dating Pete recently?”

Bradley thinks on his answer for a moment. He isn’t surprised that she figured out there was something between Mav and Penny, he would have figured it out too.

But, he had heard of Mav’s experience with Penny Benjamin a long time before he had actually gotten to meet Penny Benjamin. Really, he’s surprised to find that Avery has never heard of her, she and Mav were really on and off for quite a while.

He guesses that Mav kept that kind of thing from her.

Which means that he would want Bradley to keep the fact that he had seen Mav and Penny leave the bar together three times in the weeks leading the mission to himself too.

“Yeah. Like a long time ago.” He confirms.

“Alright, okay — yeah, this’ll be good,” Avery sounds more like she’s giving herself a pep talk than like she’s replying to him. He shoots her a smile and a nod anyway. “Thanks, again, by the way. You’re cool for setting this all up.”

Cool. Not the kind of compliment he’s usually searching for from a pretty girl, but he’ll take it.

Reaching across the centre console, he gives her knee a quick squeeze. “Not so bad yourself, Mitchell.”

Briefly, his palm lingers there. It’s just because he’s focusing on turning into the parking lot, but it’s still his large palm hugging the curve of her knee for a minute longer than it should have.

Completely over the thick protection of her jeans, but she stares at the touch anyways. Then, she dares to look back up at him. Totally relaxed as he pulls into a spot up front like it’s his own personal one.

One more squeeze, and he takes his hand back and swings open the door. The parking lot is surprisingly busy for the middle of the week at noon.

Avery follows him out of the vehicle, gingerly matching his pace as he heads inside. It’s once he’s spotted that she falters.

“Rooster!” Someone even taller than he is comes marching up right away and throws his arms around Bradley. Bradley hugs him loosely, greeting him with an aloof but firm pat of the back.

“Payback.” He greets quietly.

“Wasn’t expecting to see you. How are you holding up?” His warm eyes bore into Bradley, his head bowed slightly and his voice sincere. He hasn’t spotted her yet.

“I’m alright,” Bradley sounds convincing enough, but this Payback guy hadn’t seen how rattled Bradley had looked this morning. “This is Avery.”

Finally, Payback’s gaze flickers to the girl standing behind Rooster. Halfway tucked behind his shoulder, staring at him through her lashes, looking totally lost and sheepish.

“Mav’s kid?”

In the short time Bradley has known her, he knows that’s not the kind of response she would have wanted to get.

Swinging his arm out and throwing the heavy limb around her shoulders, Payback watches Rooster drag the stunned girl out from behind him and present her at his side. “It’d pay you to learn your new bartender’s name, Fitch.”

He’s looking Avery right in the eye, and he already can see that Bradley’s going to have to be reminded that not everyone likes the heavy handed approach to affection he can have.

Still, he smiles at her like he means it and nods his head respectfully.

“Already got it, it’ll be good to have you around, Avery.”

A small smile works its way across her lips, grateful if not anything else.

“Nice to meet you.” She answers him quietly, stiff against Bradley’s side. He pats her back and urges her forwards.

“Here, this is Penny. Penny, meet your new bartender.”

Penny Benjamin is tall and striking, standing behind the bar with her eyes already on the new bartender. There’s a recognition and affection in the blue of her gaze that tells Avery she was lied to just a moment ago.

That’s a woman who cared deeply for Pete Mitchell.

It puts a bad taste in her mouth, a pit in her stomach, a sudden coldness about the possibility of this job. Even if just for a short time, for however long she’s here, she’s just going to be an extension of the man she had always felt so far from.

Penny cocks her head to the side, just a bit. Sure, she can see semblances of Pete in the girl across from her, but it’s the rigid, flighty look in her eyes that catches Penny’s attention.

Across from her is someone with something to prove, and a character they’ve been playing for a long time now. That’s what feels most familiar.

“It’s nice to meet you.” Avery says stiffly, trying to sound like she means it.

Penny nods, smiling. She glances towards Bradley, then back to the girl still tucked under his arm.

“You too. Let’s talk.”

As Jimmy takes over the bar duties, Bradley’s left with the prospect of facing his friends when Penny and Avery disappear toward the back deck.

He scratches at the back of his neck, shooting one last look at the two of them over his shoulder, and wondering what he’s supposed to say to all of those guys.

One by one, he could manage… but all in a group like that? — He hasn’t seen most of them since it happened.

It’s Natasha that he can trust to catch his eye first, giving him that kind of look cautious parents give their kids when coaching them on a bike. She worries a lot for someone who swears that she doesn’t care about the meatheads she hangs out with.

He heads for her as coolly as he can manage, hoping that the other guys know not to give him a hard time today. They don’t, they never would.

His therapist says it’s a defensive thing, the way he waits for people to say the wrong thing. When he’s hurt, he expects it, almost. He’s trying to get out of it.

They can all give him credit for that.

Even so, it doesn’t take long for conversation to fade from small talk to the newest, most exciting subject.

“So, she’s staying at your place?” Natasha’s the first one to bring up the missing party, picking up on a comment about the two of them arriving together.

Bradley shakes his head and fiddles with his root beer bottle. “No, she’ll be over at Mav’s place once we get her car fixed up. It’s a real piece of shit, I don’t even know what they’d do to make it run any better.”

“Mav loves cars — and he lets her drive a shitbox like that?” It’s Javy who scoffs that out, the only one still talking about the Captain who had taken a shine to him in present tense.

Bradley just shrugs. This isn’t the place to unpack whatever went down between Mav and Avery. He doesn’t know enough, even if he wanted to talk about it.

“She came all the way down here by herself?” Callie asks. She doesn’t say it, but she’s referring to the fact that her mother came all the way out to Lemoore to try to move her into the barracks like it was college when she was that age.

Bradley shrugs again. He hasn’t heard much about Avery’s mom in the past twenty years, he isn’t even sure that he ever met her — certainly wouldn’t be able to pick her out of a crowd. All he knows is the gossip he’d gotten from his mom when it was all going down.

“How’s she doing?” Bob asks, his blue eyes deep and sincere as he searches Bradley’s face, knowing better than to ask the same question.

“Okay, I think.” Bradley muses, thinking of how quickly Avery had questioned the recovery efforts yesterday. “I dunno how close they were, but it’s always gotta be hard. Just… trying to make it a little easier on her, I guess.”

They all nod, slowly.

And then Avery comes marching back inside, her chin high and her hair a little wind-swept, making a beeline right for the closest thing she’s got to a friend in this town.

“Hey.” Bradley offers her a smile, and reaches out for her. His hand grazes the back of her bicep, and she smiles more genuinely than she has in the past two days.

“Hi.”

He catches sight of himself being watched, and takes a look back over Avery’s shoulder to find Penny looking. Her blue eyes flicker down to his hand on Avery’s arm.

Pursing her lips, she rolls her eyes and shakes her head, and Bradley’s mouth almost falls open. There’s no way she thinks that he’s hitting on Avery. He’s just being friendly.

Penny knows Bradley well enough to know that. He’s always been a very affectionate guy. Still, the look that she gives him is one that certainly, and silently, tells him to keep his hands to himself.

He blinks, and finds his friends looking back at him expectantly.

“So, you’re taking the job?” He checks, shaking off Penny’s watchful eyes and settling back into what he knows. Avery nods her head at him.

“Starting tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. That’s way soon. He’s going to have to make sure he doesn’t keep her up until four in the morning watching the misadventures of Carrie Bradshaw tonight.

“Well, guys, say hi to your new bartender.”

He brings the bottle of rootbeer back up to his lips and shoots a quick glance back over Avery’s shoulder. Penny stares back, unfazed, as he narrows his eyes back at her.

What does she know about anything, anyways?

…

#ashes ashes #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #miles teller #Avery Mitchell #bradley bradshaw smut #rooster bradshaw imagine #rooster x you #bradley bradshaw x oc #bradley bradshaw fic #ashes bradley #bradley x avery

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antlered-prince · 4 months ago

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The ValRayne Faeu Masterpost

Decided to finally make a masterpost for @owl-bones and I's fae au! This will be updated when I remember and contains all the relevant info and designs you might want (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

You can find more under the #valrayne-faeu tag on both of our blogs. Feel free to also use this tag or tag either of us in anything you make!

Last updated: 2/7/2024

Designs

Finished Dream (full body soon) Blue (will get a slight revamp) Ink Nightmare Killer (will also get a small revamp) WIPs Horror Dust (wings) Cross Error (wings)

How tall is everyone?

World Building

Designing OCs/Self-Inserts - ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR Can a human become fae? And visa versa? What kind of insect wings are associated with each court? What determines which Court you end up in? Rejecting becoming fae What if a fae tears off their own wings? Trying to return to the mortal realm early after being trapped Primary rules of interacting with the fae How big are the fae? What does the fae realm look like? How do you get to the fae realm? What might the fae find intriguing enough to take someone to their realm? Is there something unpleasant about the fae realm? Why wouldn't people enter the fae realm willingly? What would happen if you trick and fae instead? If a fae steals a concept can you trade it back? Iron, rowan and four leaf clovers What if a mortal manages to escape? Can fae and humans have children? Changelings Can fae be killed in some way? Do the Courts overlap our world? How knowledgeable is the average mortal? How do fae feel about Integrity souls? What is the aspect of Integrity souls that fae share? Why do fae trick people? Do fae normally have so many names? Enemies/Predators of the fae? How is a fae born? How were Dream and Nightmare born? Who is the most dangerous? Where do Dream and Nightmare stand in regards to each other?

Character Specific Asks

Dream If you can't lie, why avoid eye-contact? (Art) How can we trust you if you could be lying? Some insight on Fae Dream If Dream finds humans so interesting, why does he change them? Bird MC Drabble (ft Dream & Nightmare) Bird MC Drabble - Does Dream feel remorse? Bird MC Drabble - Can we make him understand the culture difference? Bird MC Drabble - Is there anything we can say to change his mind? What would Dream do in exchange for affection? (Art) Why is affection a big deal? Anonymous Dream Drabble He's totally non-threatening guys (Art)

Blue Blue and his conflicting values and nature (Art) I'd let him trick me (Art) I want to hug him! (Art) Who did this to you? (Scar)

Ink I'd use him as a model for painting (Art) What can I get with..... (Art)

Nightmare What is Nightmare's goal? Does Nightmare have a favourite trick? What would happen if he met his match? What's the best deal Nightmare has made? (Art) I would die to get my hands on that book What flowers are in the book? Nightmare's favourite flower? What would he want in exchange for a kiss? (Art) If we stay, would he be willing to give us information instead? If I stay for the (eternal) evening, where would I stay? What happens if we fall asleep in his library? (notes on Dream's garden & library) Nightmare would move us? (Library) If I asked for a hug, would he give one? Can I pet his wings? What is Nightmare's favourite noise/sound? Nightmare's wings (Art)

Killer What's Killer's favourite trick?

Dust What is Dust like?

Multiple Characters Who stole the ability to lie? Who is the liar theory (Art) Who would appreciate mortals being hard to trick? Names that Dream and Nightmare have collected Any Papyrus-type fae? (OG AUs design ideas) Can I hug Dream and Nightmare? Dream and Nightmare - Someone who didn't want to leave (Abusive family) Which fae are most likely to accidentally in-debt themselves? Someone staring while they talk because their voice is pretty (Reactions)

Other helpful refs

Beetle wing origami

#valrayne-faeu #masterpost

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koqabear · 1 year ago

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Hiii congrats on 2k sol obsessed with everything you write!!!!💓 Could I request revisiting emo boy? Like what their relationship is like after and dates and how sex is like? Maybe beomgyu’s band really blows up and he’s quite busy, how does oc respond to this? And with smut? Tysm!!💝

playlist // beomgyu's encore outfit hehe // cont. of hey emo boy!

“The day of your one-year anniversary with Beomgyu was expected to be spent away from each other— but not if either of you can help it, far too in love to let anything get in the way of you two.”

bassist!beomgyu x fem!reader // wc: 6.6K (everyone stfu rn) // genre: band au, opposites attract trope, established relationship, smut, tooth rotting fluff tbh, MDNI.

warnings: they are in love and it’s fucking GROSS!! barely edited, the two have hella piercings hehe (bg: snake bites, tongue, eyebrow // mc: smiley & nipple piercings) pet names (sweet thing, pretty, etc.) use of the L word bc they are literally obsessed w/ each other.

smut warnings: hard dom! gyu, sub!mc, needy sex sorry 😖, marking, manhandling, dry humping, biting, breast play, possessiveness, unprotected sex, bg picks the mc up, scratching, dacryphilia, dumbification, a lot of kissing lol, degrading, slight praise, fingering, creampie, cum eating…? lmk if i should add anything !

Notes: happy (late) birthday to the fic that’s probably my peak… this story single handedly changed the course of my blog me thinks. thank you to everyone who was just as affected by emo gyu as i was.

Being in a committed relationship with Choi Beomgyu, bassist of Tomorrow x Together and an absolute unattainable heartthrob, was not very easy.

It was at first; with their blossoming career, it was more about the music than their looks. Fans were loyal simply because they liked their sound, their message, the way their concerts were filled with such energy and passion it left their hearts beating with adrenaline after— but of course, it’s hard to not notice the absolute eye candy on stage; low-lidded gazes, dark stage lights that barely highlighted their stunning features, and clothing that was just as alluring and flattering as the rest of them; inevitably, their popularity sky-rocketed, for better and for worse.

Beomgyu was left with more money than he knew what to do with. Most of the time, it was used to spoil you, his pretty girlfriend he brought with him everywhere because he was just too obsessed with you— it made his band members wonder if he simply had attachment issues by how much his world revolved around you. But no, you were just as bad as him; present during rehearsals, always in the studio to cheer them on or give them a second opinion on a new song; it wasn’t long before you ended up befriending the rest of them as well, a tight bond forming simply because of all the things you went through together.

As unfortunate as it was, they weren’t the only ones forced to bear with negative and hateful encounters from the public; while they had their experiences of being mistreated early in their career, you had to deal with immature or creepy fans that had taken a liking to harass you— inboxes on all social media platforms flooded constantly, your number even leaked once as you were forced to buy a new phone all together from how badly you were being spammed— Beomgyu had been quick to lash out and tell them to leave you alone if they didn’t want a lawsuit on their hands.

Overtime, they adjusted to their popularity. Schedules slowly became filled to the brim, their dream now a reality as they spent months on tour— and while you were more than happy and proud of them and their flourishing career, it’d be a lie to say it was all one happy and perfect life.

You hadn’t seen Beomgyu in ages— decades, centuries, eons— in other words, two weeks.

The band had more interviews and performances than you could keep up with; if they weren’t on some random talk show, they were at a photoshoot, getting interviewed for the next issue of a magazine you’d undoubtedly have on your coffee table the day it came out. Promotions, nights at the studio, it all added up— and before you knew it, your one year anniversary began to creep up, and all hopes to celebrate it properly dwindled down in your heart— but, having him here with you today was enough.

You didn’t blame Beomgyu; you weren’t angry or upset, because it was simply something neither of you could control. And though it did suck knowing you wouldn’t be able to spend such a meaningful day together, it felt a little better to know that you weren’t the only one hung up on it.

On the contrary— you think Beomgyu might be handling this worse than you.

“Baby, baby please,” he cries, refusing to let go of you and cuddling closer to you instead, a mess of tangled limbs and blankets as he cups your face fondly, “pleaaase I know you said I shouldn’t feel bad but please come on tour with us this week, I think I’ll seriously die if you’re not here this time.”

“Gyu, baby, I really shouldn’t—” you say quietly, only to get cut off by his excessive whining and teary eyes. His bottom lip is jutted out in a ridiculous pout, squeezing your cheeks and holding back a smile at the way your lips puff out as a result; you attempt to push him off you, only for him to retaliate by rolling entirely on top of you, a loud squeal escaping you at the feeling of his weight pressing you into the mattress, his stupid face hovering over yours as he continues to plead you quietly.

“Pleaaseee?” he whines, pressing his flat palms against your cheeks and getting your lips to puff out again; he ignores your half-hearted protests for him to get the fuck off, choosing to punctuate his every word with a kiss instead, his piercings a sharp contrast to his plump lips that crash against you with every word.

“Please?” kiss. “Won’t you,” kiss. “come with us?” another kiss.

“Please. Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease—”

He’s practically suffocating you at this point, refusing to pull away and mumbling the words against your lips, laughs breaking between the two of you as you yell at him to get off, that you can barely breathe with him on top of you; you’re pushing at his shoulders weakly as he continues to tease you, your unabashed laugh contagious as he quickly finds himself smiling as well— he only pulls away once he hears you yell a loud fuck, okay! Hovering over you with bright eyes and a wide grin.

His arms snake around your waist before he’s rolling over, successfully switching so that you’re the one on top of him— he ignores the loud and exaggerated sigh of relief you let out.

“It won’t make much of a difference though,” you say quietly, hiding in the crook of his neck as you confess your doubts, “You’ll be too busy and exhausted the whole day, I really don’t want me to be added to your list of concerns.”

You went on tour with him, once— but you learned it was better off to not be anywhere backstage with him during those times, the boy too concerned and constantly doting on you to remain focused; any mistakes he made hitting much harder, a subconscious pressure to be perfect and give his all only trifolded by your presence.

“What? No,” he says immediately, sitting back on his elbows and causing you to look up at him in response; his brows are furrowed and he seems a bit baffled by your comment, shaking his head adamantly to emphasize his point, “I like having you there. I know you like being there, I want you there— I wouldn’t be asking you to come with me if I thought you were a burden.”

He managed to pull out the exact words you were trying to skirt around— your face heats up at his reassurance, much too intimidated by the intensity of his gaze as you bury your face into his chest instead; his chest bounces from the laugh he lets out, flopping onto his back once more and hugging you close, bodies pressed flush against each other and one of his legs thrown around your waist in a childish attempt to pull you even closer.

“Plus, don’t you wanna visit Europe with me?” he asks, a teasing lilt to his voice as he feels you nod shyly; he knows just how much you enjoy the travel aspect to his career, constantly asking for pictures or to facetime while he’s gone, “I wanna show you all my favorite spots this time, and not through some glitchy facetime— I wanna spend time with you, sweet thing.”

“Ugh, shut up,” you groan, hitting his chest weakly as he simply laughs at you softly, “you’re so corny.”

“You love it,” he coos, rubbing a soothing hand up and down your back, biting back a smile at the way he can feel your breath even out— you remain silent. Partly because you’re falling asleep from his touch, and partly because he’s right.

⤬⤬⤬

Europe is breathtaking— you’ve never been so grateful for Beomgyu’s stubborn, persistent mind.

The tour has gone as perfect as always, spending a few days at their shows before you simply resigned to stay at the hotel instead; after seeing that Beomgyu was so distracted trying to look for you during a show that he missed his cue (and played the notes wrong to another song) you found it better to wait for him and see him after instead— ready to help him wind down and relax after another energetic, adrenaline-inducing show.

Most nights consisted of you practically carrying him to the bathtub; cooing soft reassurance as he whined about how tired and sore he felt, shampooing his hair, massaging his scalp and tense shoulders— most of the time, he’d fall asleep then and there, and it’d be another hassle to wake him up and get him out. You’d lure him out of the tub and wait for him to change into your matching pajamas— hello kitty ones, his idea, not yours— and greet him in the bed with a warm embrace and lips that peppered kisses all over his face.

It was during these moments you found humor in the contrast of his stage persona to his true self; from his usual attire, chokers and ripped clothes, wardrobe consisting of black and multiple piercings that decorated his ears and face, your thumb brushing over his newest eyebrow piercing fondly— versus the man that slept soundly in your arms now, long hair tied back and cute pink barrettes clipping back his bangs, donned in hot pink fuzzy pajamas— and you’re sure that if his band members saw him like this, they’d never stop teasing him.

You didn’t have to wait long to confirm that thought; Beomgyu didn’t bother changing as he met up with the others in Yeonjun’s room for breakfast the next morning, tugging you along and remaining unfazed at the way his band members burst out laughing the moment he entered the room— you felt a bit bad at the way you found yourself laughing as well, even more so because you’re the only reason he’s found himself dressed like this. (But again, he was the one who bought these clothes in the first place.)

“Happy anniversary, you two,” Yeonjun muses, smiling at the way you’re the only one who seems to process that, chirping out a cheery thank you! as you proceed to drag Beomgyu to the couch, “I feel bad that we have a concert today, ___. As vomit-inducing as it is seeing you two, you do deserve to spend the day together.”

“It’s okay,” you immediately say, brushing his teasing comment off and holding back a smile at the way Beomgyu is still struggling to gain consciousness, more tired than you thought as he simply stares at his waffles for a moment before finally digging in, “at least he’s spending the day doing something he loves.”

“Gross,” Hueningkai says, scrunching his nose playfully before laughing at the glare you send him, “you two are so mushy, it’s painful.”

The rest of the day leading up to the concert is spent peacefully; once Beomgyu has gained enough coherence to fight back against the member’s jabs, he’s pulling you away to show you new sights and stores he discovered from his previous visits, spoiling you beyond belief and buying anything you look at for a second too long; you end up with more bags than you know what to do with, and Beomgyu refuses to let you carry a single one as he proceeds to take you one of his go-to restaurants, as he told you; saying he’s been wanting to bring you here since the moment he found it, smiling brightly when he sees you enjoying the food as much as he did.

To say he’s reluctant to leave you to go to the concert venue is an understatement; you think he might start crying at any given moment as he stares at you with shining eyes, unable to let go of your hand as he stands by the door of the hotel room— not quite ready to leave yet, but knowing that he must eventually as he chooses to bring you in for another slow, loving kiss instead.

“Are you sure you’re not coming tonight?” he asks you, trying to hide the sadness in his voice and failing miserably.

“And make you fuck up your setlist? I don’t think so,” you try to joke, only to panic slightly at the way his eyes gloss over; your hand immediately jumps up to cup his face, laughing softly at his expression as he simply pouts at you ridiculously.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” you grin, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips before you lean over to his ear, voice dropping to nothing but a whisper as you let your lips brush against his ear, “I’ll have a nice surprise for you tonight, so you better give your best show out there, okay?”

The low lilt of your voice is enough to have him perking up immediately; mouth parted slightly as he stares at you, unsure of what else to do but nod pathetically, knowing he won’t be able to control himself if he thinks about what you might have in store for too long.

With one last chaste kiss, he’s leaving— and only because Soobin was pounding at the door, telling him they’d be late if he didn’t go out this instant— you think he might start crying as he gives you one last pouty glance, waving to you sadly before he slips out the door.

You’re left alone, the room suddenly much lonelier and quieter than it was a few seconds ago— and you laugh, checking the time and running to your suitcase to get your makeup and outfit for tonight.

A revealing shirt, a mini-skirt that’s a bit alarmingly short— you’re pulling out a sparkling, pink outfit like it’s nothing, throwing it all on and doing your makeup as you check the time absentmindedly; your phone lights up while you’re in the middle of doing so, and a notification reads that the staff are waiting for you outside to take you to the venue once you’re ready.

Beomgyu loves performing knowing you’re in the audience more than anything; it’s something he’s made blatant to you, knowing that despite his mistakes, despite his small distractions, his energy always goes out the roof the moment he spots you there. So you knew how distraught Beomgyu would be to hear that you’re not going to the show tonight despite being able to, but the thought of surprising him is much more enticing than you’d like to admit.

With one last check of your appearance in the mirror, you grab a jacket before you go; Beomgyu’s favorite oversized zip-up, the clothing item a stark contrast to the rest of your feminine and bright attire— and you smile, adjusting the purse on your shoulder before you’re off to the hotel lobby, where the staff are waiting and ready to escort you safely.

The venue is almost full by the time you get there; you’re escorted straight to your barricade seats front and center, smiling shyly and waving at fans that seem to recognize you; your face feels hot and you walk faster at the way they get excited at the sight of you, not used to the fame that comes with being Beomgyu’s girlfriend— hell, you really don’t know how Beomgyu does it.

You’re more than relieved once the concert begins, any attention that still lingered on you immediately getting stolen by the boys that appeared on stage; you winced slightly at the loud screams all around you, unable to help the way you eventually joined in— morphing into another fan in the crowd, the venue much too dark for any of the boys to recognize you just yet.

They looked stunning in their concert outfits; the professional, matching and dark outfits tailored perfectly to each member, intricate with chains and rosaries and pretty layers. Your eyes widen as you watch Beomgyu walk to his position, taking note of his hair that has now been dyed back to black— you hadn’t realized how long it’d gotten until now, the layers framing his face and falling into his eyes as he goes to push back his bangs with a delicate hand.

There are no introductions tonight— the music begins immediately, loud and abrasive and making the crowd jump along excitedly, screaming the lyrics and reaching out to try and get one of the members to pay attention to them— on the contrary, you try to remain hidden, looking away and bowing your head every time Beomgyu’s gaze sweeps around your area.

God, you wish Beomgyu didn’t turn into such a ditz whenever he spotted you in the audience— because then you’d be able to enjoy more of their concerts, addicted to the borderline euphoric feeling you get from attending them, only for it to be multiplied as your eyes catch onto your boyfriend performing, your heart pounding against your chest at the sound of his voice ringing out into the venue— a surge of pride and love fills you as a grin spreads on your face, and it isn’t until you notice a member walking around that you’re able to look away from him.

Looking up, you make eye contact with Hueningkai.

His mischievous smile and raised brows are immediately returned with a violent shake of your head; telling him to not say anything to Beomgyu, rubbing your hands together pleadingly the moment he glances back at the said man— then he turns to you, sending you a playful wink before he’s off to another section, not without sending you one last teasing grin and a wave; you’re glancing at Beomgyu in a panic, unsure if he’s spotted you, only to be relieved at the sight of him too concentrated on playing to even look up at the crowd.

It isn’t until the encore that they’ve all begun to move around, (save for Taehyun and Soobin, bound to their instruments as they’re resigned to simply wave at the crowd when they can) changed into more comfortable outfits during a small intermission— Beomgyu is decked in baggy jeans and an equally baggy shirt, long hair messy and makeup smudged as he walks along the stage, smiling and waving at fans that reach out for him— he plays his bass so effortlessly as he does, truly mesmerizing as he stops a few times to interact with fans; the sight has your heart fluttering hopelessly.

But the closer he gets, the more you’re buzzing with nervous energy. Gripping onto the barricade tightly, having stood up long ago with the rest of the fans that are eager to get their attention. Beomgyu’s eyes scan through the crowd thoroughly, smiling cutely and returning hearts until he spots you.

He freezes entirely.

He’s no longer playing bass— he’s just standing there, in complete shock as he stares at you. You can only muster to give him a sheepish wave, an uncontrollable grin on your face as you laugh at his dumbfounded expression, trying to yell at him to go back to playing. But he doesn’t, and you’re jumping slightly at the way he takes off his bass and jumps off the stage, security frantically following behind as he rushes over to you.

His hands are on your face and he’s pulling you in for a kiss quicker than you can process; you hear the screams of the crowd around you, but Beomgyu’s got you in his hold so tightly that you’re unable to pull away, left to give in and melt against him as he kisses you for a little longer. Your face feels as though it’s on fire by the time he’s pulled away, his own alight entirely with joy as he grins at you, your head still in his hands as he leans against the barricade excitedly— you think he might just jump over it any moment now.

“You’re here?” he says exasperatedly, eyes scanning you frantically as though he were imagining you, “why didn’t you tell me, you should’ve— I would’ve—”

“Beomgyu,” you cut him off, placing your hands over his and laughing at the way he can only stutter stupidly, brushing his hair behind his ear fondly— watching the way his eyes crinkle cutely as he smiles, your own sweeping over the array of piercings that decorate him, hello kitty earrings glinting under the light— and pry his hands off your face, ignoring the pout he sends you as you scold him instead. “Get back on stage!”

Your words seem to snap him out of his reverie; his head is whipping back to look at the stage, at the way his friends can only laugh at him teasingly and yell at him to get back here— the way Yeonjun yells directly into the mic is slightly embarrassing, shrinking at the way all eyes are on you as the man’s words ring out the venue— Beomgyu, get the fuck back here!

He’s only able to leave with one last chaste kiss— the crowd is screaming at the sight, and you’re resisting the urge to cover your face in weak hopes that it could take all this attention off you— but you’ll bear it, especially with the way Beomgyu mouths a cute I love you! before he’s jumping back on stage.

The poor boy is unable to take his eyes off you for the rest of the night— but on the bright side, there are no missed cues or wrong notes played. He’s just entranced with you for the rest of the encore, his energy seemingly replenished with the way he jams out to the music; mouthing the lyrics even when it’s not his part, maintaining eye-contact with you during songs he knows you’re particularly fond of— and suddenly, the idea of spending his anniversary at a concert isn’t as depressing as it was earlier tonight— because now, he had you by his side.

⤬⤬⤬

“Beomgyu— Beomgyu please, not here…” you whine, unable to do much but bite your lip and swallow back whines that threaten to escape you, left to Beomgyu’s mercy as he immediately led you to his dressing room after the show— the said man is much too focused on kissing and marking your neck to listen, soft hair brushing against your face as he pulls you flush against him; back pressed against the wall, arched prettily from the way his hands snake around your waist and press your lower half against his— you’re holding back a groan at the way he’s already hopelessly hard against you.

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d be coming? Hmmm? Just wanted to be a tease? Was this your little surprise?” he asks, biting at your skin and huffing out a laugh at the whine that escapes you; your hands are gripping onto his shirt tightly, fisting it in your hands and wrinkling the material as he lets his teeth sink slightly near your collarbones, “god, you look so good tonight, you’d really expect me to be able to hold myself back?”

His hands are wandering down your waist; over the swell of your ass, fiddling with the hem of your mini-skirt before he’s venturing under it— feeling the way you shiver against him the moment his hands squeeze at the soft flesh, fingers decorated with rings cold against your skin as he comes back up to kiss you. It’s rough and desperate, lip rings scratching as he kisses you with such hunger it leaves you breathless; he grinds his cock desperately against you, eliciting a small gasp from you and allowing him to slip his tongue inside— the piercing that decorates it scrapes along your mouth, unable to help the way your knees weaken at the feeling of him— his touch is everywhere, leaving you dizzy and lightheaded as you can only melt against him, allowing him to press you flush against the wall with his own body; your miniskirt is riding up along your hips as he situates himself between your legs, panties already a mess as he begins to rut his cock into you.

“Are you sure you want to wait now, pretty?” he asks, looking down at you with low-lidded and fucked out eyes— he punctuates his words with a particularly harsh thrust, laughing at the way you yelp and tighten your hold on him, “I could stop everything right now, send you back to the hotel like this and make you wait, just like you said— is that what you want?”

Oh, he’s cruel— even more so because you’re left shaking your head no deliriously, your mind fogged with such need that your eyes are glossing over at the very thought of not having Beomgyu inside you right now; your voice is pathetic as you plead Beomgyu to finish what he started, throwing a hand over his shoulder and entangling your fingers into his hair as you pull him back into you— he’s more than eager to return the kiss, tilting his head and pressing himself more against you as a hand reaches down to your thigh; grabbing the back of your knee, guiding you to hook it around his waist as he begins to rut into you mindlessly.

“So cute, my pretty girl,” he mumbles against your lips, eyes trailing down your low-cut top to spot his favorite zip-up, a smile tugging at his lips as he merely sends you a cute smile, “did you miss me that much? Already so needy from a little bit of kissing— god, I love you so much…”

You think he’s mostly talking to himself at this point— spewing nothing but filth as his hands shove your shirt over your chest, grinning as he remains impatient enough to not take off a single item of clothing, choosing to push tug your bra down harshly before he’s swooping down to mark your breasts with a cruel smile.

“Looked so fucking hot out there, just made me wanna take you backstage and fuck you there,” he confesses, listening to the choked whine you let out, his pierced tongue playing with your hardened nipples, leaving them swollen and sensitive. He’s looking up at you with doe eyes that contrast greatly with the way he sticks his tongue out for you, letting you watch the way he circles and toys with the cute jewelry he bought for you earlier today, pulling away with a coy smile and leaving them soaked with his spit— he blows softly on them, watching with tentative eyes as you keen at the feeling.

“God, you know I’ve been wanting to do this every time I see you at one of our shows? To make sure that everyone that looks at you knows just who,” he rolls his hips into you, nice and slow and letting you feel the length of his cock press against you as you flutter your eyes shut from pleasure, “you’re here for?”

“Fuck, gyu,” you pant out, snaking your hands under his shirt and up his back, grabbing at his shoulders and pulling him into you— as if there’s still space between the two of you, as if you’d die if you weren’t touching him at all times, “‘m only yours, only want you…”

He’s sneaking a hand down to move your panties to the side, the two of you much too desperate to shed off any layers— and as you listen to the clinking sounds of his belt, undoing his jeans and pulling out his hardened cock, you busy yourself by sucking and biting at his neck, listening to his stuttered breaths as you suck and tease at the joint of his neck, his most sensitive spot as you bite at it playfully— you’re only pulling away at the feeling of Beomgyu grabbing at you hair and tugging you away, letting out a baffled laugh at the satisfied look you give him in return.

“Want everyone to know you’re mine,” you coo out softly, grinding your pussy slowly against Beomgyu’s tip that teases your entrance, your mouth falling open at the feeling of him mirroring the action, running along your folds and swiping at your clit, “all mine, my pretty boy…”

He laughs fondly against your lips at that— bringing you in for a slow kiss, feeling the way your mind goes blank the moment his tip slowing enters you; he’s swallowing a soft moan from you as he bottoms out slowly, keeping himself deep inside and grinding his hips slowly against yours— and he stays there, a tease like always as he watches your brows furrow and your lips pout, telling him softly to move, to do something.

“Mmmh, all yours,” he mumbles softly, pulling out slowly to let you feel the way every vein runs against your walls, clenching and fluttering against his length as he hisses at the feeling, “I’m yours, belong only to you, fuck…”

He’s not able to keep this agonizingly slow pace up for long— as much as he wants to tease you, to have you crying and pleading for him to fuck you stupid, he isn’t fairing that well himself— so it isn’t long before he’s beginning to snap his hips into you, cock curving and aiming for that spot that has your knees buckling, pretty nails digging into Beomgyu’s shoulders and biting at the skin in order to try to stabilize yourself.

“Such a perfect cunt— fuck, ah, just wanna fill you up, wanna see it dripping down those pretty thighs— stupid fucking skirt can’t hide anything, ugh—” his voice is deep and breathy as he continues to talk into your ear, his hands sliding down to the swell of your ass before he’s holding it there— lifting you up, forcing you to hook your legs around his waist as you’re left to his mercy; his chest is pressed flush against yours as he fucks you, and you can only bury your face into his neck to try and muffle your sounds, the rough way you bounce from his thrusts causing your nails to slip and scratch down his back— he hisses at the feeling, only to be spurred by the stinging sensation it leaves behind.

“So loud, shit,” he laughs meanly, grinning at the way you only bury your face into him more to try and muffle your sounds, “want everyone to hear you? All the staff, the members— I’m sure they’d like to see what a pretty doll you are for me.”

You shake your head at that— but your body gives you away as your cunt clenches around him pathetically, the wet sounds of skin against skin filling the room and undoubtedly filtering outside— but you remain persistent to keep your moans to yourself, choking back on sounds of pleasure as Beomgyu only begins to fuck you rougher; your silence is a challenge, one he’ll gladly take as he begins to roll his hips into you just the way you like it.

“Come on pretty, I wanna hear you,” he purrs into your ear, a hand snaking around to rub at your clit while the other remains firm on your ass, “don’t you feel good? I can make you feel even better— so, so so good, just let me hear your cute little sounds.”

You’re playing hard to get. And Beomgyu takes absolute pleasure in it, watching the way you shake and dig your nails into him helplessly, your body being wound up from how good he fucks you; your thighs are sticky and shining from your arousal, poorly concealed pleasure only fueling Beomgyu’s ego further as he reaches up to tug your head out from it’s hiding spot.

He thinks he might just cum on the spot; your makeup is ruined, tears of mascara running down your cheeks as you merely let out soft hiccups of moans, your lips parted and brain completely empty as you stare at him— he smiles at you in return, capturing your lips in another kiss as his hand begins to trail down; toying with your breasts, nimble fingers pinching and rolling your nipples as you jolt and whine into his mouth at the sensation.

“Gyu— gonna— need to, ah…!” the choked whimpers you let out aren’t enough for Beomgyu, and he only slows down at your request; fresh tears stream down your cheeks as you plead softly, breathy voice barely above a whisper as you whine quietly to keep going, don’t stop, please gyu, pleeaaase….

“Hmm? What’s that? I can’t hear you, baby,” he murmurs softly against your lips, slowing to nothing but a grind as he presses himself against you— pelvis grinding against your clit, the feeling making you tremble as you dig your nails into his shoulders once more. “Come on sweet thing, tell me what you need.”

You’re telling him— begging, pleading, breathy whimpers and soft cries escaping you as you roll your hips into him, biting your lip and sighing exasperatedly at the way he simply watches you with dark eyes, slowing down until he’s simply bottomed out inside you.

“What do you want?” he asks softly, breathy voice intertwined with a lilt so sweet you’d almost think he pities you— and by the way he’s looking at you, he just might, swollen lips caught between his teeth to try and suppress a smile. You’re still weak and quiet as you try to voice your wants, looking at him through wet lashes, a pout on your face as your hands run absentmindedly up and down his back.

“Wanna cum?” he coos, pretty hand reaching down to circle and pinch your clit teasingly, “Want me to fuck you? Fill you up? Hmmm?”

All you can do is nod along to his words stupidly— and obviously, it’s the very last thing your boyfriend wants, abandoning your clit and reaching up to grab your face roughly; fingers digging into your cheeks, forced to look at him as he merely glares at you and speaks through gritted teeth.

“Tell me,” he says, voice sharp and dangerous as he narrows his eyes, “use your words— or, don’t tell me I’ve fucked you dumb already.”

He’s unhooking one of your legs from his waist at that; you’re stumbling slightly, leg too weak to let you stand as you merely cry at him to wait, bringing him closer to you in fear that he might pull out and leave you like this— his fingers still dig into your cheeks as you speak, drool building up at the corners of your pouty lips as you stutter out exactly what you want— what he wants to hear.

“Want you to fuck me, use me— wanna cum, please,” you cry out, eyes squeezing shut as he shakes your head teasingly, as though to say and what else? “Want you to cum inside, baby please, just wanna feel good—”

You’re rambling at this point. But Beomgyu enjoys it nonetheless, telling you to keep going as he begins to move again; slowly at first, allowing you to feel the drag of his thick cock against your walls as your words become stuttered through weak moans, the sight making your boyfriend laugh as he slowly begins to pick up his pace.

“Like it when I fuck you like this, yeah?” you’re nodding in confirmation to his words; staring at him with pleading eyes, whimpering a soft harder, faster, that the man is immediately obliging as he coos at the way you yelp at the sensation. “Want it harder? Hmmm? Want me to fuck you ‘till you can’t even walk—? Have to carry you out of here, let everyone see the way your sweet cunt is filled up by me?”

All you can do is nod to his words at this point; whimpering a weak yes, yesyesyes, want you to fill me up, use me, more more please—

Everything crashes down on you unexpectedly; your eyes are shutting tight and you think you might just black out as your orgasm hit you suddenly, cunt squeezing and fluttering around Beomgyu’s cock as he groans at the sensation— he lets you ride it out, cooing soft praise into your ear before he’s pulling you in for another kiss; you’re barely able to kiss him back, moaning into his mouth and letting him do whatever he wants with you.

It isn’t long before he’s cumming inside you as well; you’re so tight he can barely move, your cute whimpers and warm cunt guiding him through it as he fucks into you slowly, making sure none of his release slips out as he continues to fuck you, even after he’s become horribly sensitive. Then he’s still, lips still on yours and arms wrapped tightly around you as though he’s afraid to let you go.

“You okay?” he asks quietly after a moment, still lingering close to you, taking in your appearance with tentative eyes. You nod softly, still attempting to catch your breath as you chest heaves against his; he huffs out a soft laugh, caressing your cheek fondly before he’s going to fix your clothes— your mini-skirt remains up on your hips, his cock still bottomed out inside you as he coos about how good you were for him, caressing any skin he can get his hands on (which is a lot, considering your wardrobe) with a smile.

“Pretty girl, so perfect,” he coos, finally pulling out and tucking himself in before he’s going to fix your clothing; not without slipping his fingers inside your cunt one last time, watching with hungry eyes as you curl into him and cry that you’re sensitive— he’s only satisfied after his cum is left snug in your pussy, smiling darkly at the way he brings his fingers up to your mouth for you to clean— you do it without any hesitation, and Beomgyu swears he might just be getting hard again.

“Love you so much, thank you for coming to see me today,” he says instead, bringing you in for a warm hug and a loving kiss; you merely hum tiredly in response, hands slipping out from his shirt only to be thrown over his shoulders leisurely.

Your face feels hot the moment he’s trying to get the two of you to leave back for the hotel— because your legs are absolutely not cooperating with you.

“Holy shit, I was joking about that whole fuck you till you can’t walk thing,” he laughs, only to get cut of by the way you hit him in response— he’s letting out an exaggerated whimper at that, rubbing his arm and telling you sorry, sorry baby, with a cute pout.

“Ugh, I don’t want anyone to see me like this, fuck,” you mourn, only for Beomgyu to pull you into his side firmly, sending you a smile that’s not as reassuring as you wish it was.

“I’m sure no one will notice,” he says simply, swinging the door open and immediately being met with Soobin passing by.

He slows down at the sight of you two, glancing at your appearances briefly before he keeps walking.

“Try to keep it down next time please,” he yells out, turning the corner and disappearing from your sight before you can retaliate. You feel slightly mortified by his words, but Beomgyu isn’t affected in the slightest as he leans over to murmur softly into your ear.

“Should we continue this at the hotel, pretty?”

You don’t answer his question. But he already knows the answer, sending you a giddy smile and intertwining his fingers with yours as he leads you to where the staff car is waiting for you two— and you hold back a smile of your own as you trail (limp, kinda) behind him. It’ll be a long night, but you couldn’t ask for a better way to spend your anniversary, no matter how unconventional it is.

#txt fanfic #txt fanfiction #txt imagines #txt oneshots #txt ff #txt x reader #txt smut #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #beomgyu smut #beomgyu ff #beomgyu imagines #beomgyu oneshot #beomgyu x reader #[2k event!]#[nsfw]#[revisiting stories]

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the-raven-lady · 3 months ago

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(Not) The Savior You Long For [Part 2]

[Masterlist] [My Ko-Fi]

Pairing: Night Lord (OC: Elias Rushorik) x serf!Reader [fem]

Song Inspiration: Jaws - Sleep Token [YouTube] [Spotify] “And I’m not here to be / the savior you long for / Only the one you don’t. / Are you watching me / with eyes of a predator / As you move towards the door?”

Warnings: Violence, cannibalism, explicit and detailed blood and gore, Night Lord things, ownership over reader, accidental voyuerism (sound only), trypanophobia (medical syringe)

Word Count: 3.7k

Author’s Note: 1.6k words of this are just an introduction that I wrote before I even got into the meat of it, completely by accident, because I do not know how to write without adding 30 layers of context and background (4D chess ass writing). Special thank you to @cannibalise for giving me delectable ideas and reading over some of the more graphic parts to help me set the tone!!!

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

Tag List: @egrets-not-regrets @sleepyfan-blog @kit-williams @bleedingichorhearts @bispecsual

@lemon-russ @moodymisty @dedios-of-the-word @pickpocketing-your-gender @historitor-bookshelf

Even weeks later, you struggle to shake the psychological mark the terminator’s gaze left on you. You make yourself busy sweeping one of the main halls, pushing your broom robotically up and down the grand passageway. The other legion serfs around you serve a similar purpose: readying the ship for the return of your Primarch and his elite troops. The Nightfall had been in orbit of this planet for naught but a week, dealing with a cultish tech-society and its oppressive government, yet the Night Lords managed to convince them to join the Imperium in record time.

Convince is a strong word. You’re intimately aware that the discussion was had in the language of acts of violence and burned cities. Having once been on the receiving end of the Eighth’s hedonistic wrath, the thought sends an unpleasant chill through you, memories of mutilation and dismemberment still so clear in your mind. It had taken months for you to stop having panic attacks at the metallic tang of fresh blood. The whirr of a heavy flamer still got to you.

On one of your passes, you sweep by the alley leading to the armory and stop, staring down the dark hall. The serf no longer hangs from the torch bracket, and the astartes that attacked you no longer sits limply against the wall. His armor had been picked at and ‘recycled’ back into the legion. You have no idea what became of either body.

Another memory involuntarily takes you back to the night you had been so narrowly saved by the terminator.

—No, you could not call him your savior. He had just wanted his armor shined, and there was something in his way so he removed it. Night Lords are selfish, self-interested and sadistic, and he was no different.

You rested the massive helmet in your lap as you worked, scraping at filth that had built up for who knows how long. It amazed you that the astartes it belonged to could even see through the lenses given how much dried blood was crusted on them. It came off in flakes before dissolving into the moisture of the wash rag. You could have called the stained fabric spotless when you started compared to how soiled with grime it was now; at a glance, no one would be able to tell that it was white before.

The terminator’s eyes watched you like final judgement. The weight of his gaze instilled an unease in your heart, stabbing at every opportunity it could: each time you looked up at him, each time you lost focus, each time you caught a glimpse of the mangled Night Lord on the floor. It all hammered at a primal spike of dread that threatened to overwhelm you, consume you entirely, reminding you that you were only alive because you were useful. The tension was just as strong as when you had been pinned to the wall or huddled on the floor.

Your washcloth eventually reached a point where it was only smearing the grime rather than removing it, and you looked up to your silent master. The power of his presence alone made you hesitant to speak, and you found your throat suddenly parched. When you eventually recovered your voice, it left you as a croak, “I-I need to grab my water pail from the other room.”

He simply continued to stare at you, unmoving. As still as the gargoyles adorning the hall. You thought for a second that maybe he hadn’t heard you, and you opened your mouth to try again.

”I need to—“

”Then do it.”

You flinched. A rolling storm, his simple response left no room for questioning. Carefully placing his helmet onto the bench, you scuttled off to retrieve the bucket from the other room. His gaze burnt holes into your back.

The water in your bucket was a rusty brown slop when you returned to it. All of the heavier contaminants had settled to the bottom in a coagulated mass while you were away, gelatinous flesh and tangled hair weaving throughout. You lifted the heavy pail, careful not to spill any of the vile concoction onto yourself. Passing by, you noted that the other serf’s water was substantially less dingy than your own, and you didn’t think twice to grab it instead. It’s not as if it was of any use to her now.

The squelch of meat being torn and defiled echoed suddenly through the otherwise silent armory, instinctually gluing you to your spot on the floor. Cracks and crunches of something solid breaking bounced around you. The abrasive sounds left your heart fluttering and nerves electric, and a panicked tension flowed through your limbs as fight or flight tried its damndest to take over.

‘It would be safer to hide, hide, retreat to safety,’ it erroneously cried, weighing you down like lead. A comforting lie.

One you refused to give in to.

‘There is no safety here,’ you retorted, ‘Only certain death.’ A wolf’s den, and you were the doting lamb. The fear of facing punishment for taking too long far outweighed the hesitation to continue, and you willed yourself to step forward through the icy shackles binding you.

The sight of the terminator tearing flesh from the body of his former brother froze you as you rounded the corner with your pail. His eyes were glazed in manic pleasure as he ripped off another juicy chunk, sharp teeth effortlessly dissecting muscle fibers from the cooling corpse. Bestial snarling and slurping accompanied every chomp, and growls at a pitch nearly too deep to hear rattled through your bones like a saw. With each gnash of his powerful jaws, blood and spit shot out of the torn hole in his mouth, drooling down his armor in crimson dribbles.

Time itself seemed to stop when his predatory gaze found you. His dilated pupils completely swallowed the outer corners of white— could you even consider them dilated when they took up so much of his eyes already?— and pinned you in place. The ravenous beast swallowed his kill in a silent threat.

You were about to make a run for it when he lowered the defiled corpse and snarled at you, foreign viscera spewing from his scar.

”Finish.”

You had done exactly as you were told while the terminator continued to make a mess of himself. Once you’d finished his helmet, he made you clean off the rest of his armor as a token of a job well done.

A strong dissonance contrasted the perfectly shined ceramite and rags of human hide adorning his war gear. You didn’t understand at first why the Night Lords would go through such lengths to clean their armor, only to decorate it with the disgusting tokens of their kills and bathe it in blood again, but over time you began to recognize the mentality. The layers of blood were a byproduct of their work— terrifying in their own right, yes, however ultimately just ‘part of the job’—, but each placement of flesh and bone was deliberate; they chose to wear them. It added terror to their already gruesome countenance.

You figure you must have done well polishing his armor, because the terminator had left you alive in the end. As expected, he gave you no feedback. No thanks or gratitude shown before he simply walked off. For the second time that day, you were left in the armory with a huge mess to clean entirely on your own.

Shaking your head, you return to the present and continue sweeping, pushing the pile of dust around to keep yourself busy.

Sharp clanks of heavy boots cut through the relative peace. You look down the hall to see other serfs parting ways and scurrying off to make way for a coming company of giants. Their armor dwarfed that of the regular Night Lords, tanks of metal and firepower that razed battlefields in their wake.

The Contekar Elite.

You knew of them from hushed whispers passed between serfs in the chow hall. Units of butchers that sowed despair in the hearts of their foes. Ruthless in how they constantly checked one another, the Contekar took advantage of any perceived weakness to prove their dominance over the rest of the legion. They were notorious for simply killing any commanders they disagreed with, and only the likes of First Captain Sevatarion or the Lord Night Haunter himself could tame them.

Each colossus carried weapons as long and large as your entire body as they approached: chainblades, flamers, and cavitators, all ready to be used at a moment's notice. You hurried to get out of their way, tucking yourself behind a hallway corner. The monoliths of steel shook the ground with each step, a deafening thunder echoing down the main hall that signaled their arrival. There was no chorus or fanfare amongst them to be found; each marine was as silent as death itself.

They ignored you as they passed by. The Contekar couldn’t care less for the meddlings of a common legion serf, too busy with themselves to notice you, and it brought you shallow comfort.

At least, it would have.

Preoccupied with watching the marines at your front passing by, you didn’t realize that one of them was headed straight towards you until his footfalls physically rattled the ground beneath you. You whip your head towards him and nearly jump out of your skin, clutching to the corner of the wall as he stares down at you.

His entire body is marred with blood. Even from where you cower, you can see that he must be at least three meters tall in his armor, if not more. The digits of his power claw have pieces of mangled flesh still caught between their hydraulic pistons, forming webs between them. A mummified head dangles at eye level from a meat hook, and it crosses your mind that it could have been yours.

You recognize his tusked helmet immediately.

The Contekar studies you. He is a perfect statue: unmoving and silent aside from the faint whirring emanating from the power pack on his back. Behind the scarlet lenses, his eyes scrutinize you down to your very last atom. A lion picking apart its prey.

“Come,” he orders, his gruff voice offering no further explanation. He takes a step away from you with the intent to continue further down the passage, and you suddenly find your limbs leaden and weak, unable to follow. Sensing your trepidation, his head turns back towards you, eyes locking on yours. The faded skull decal isn’t as cute when you’re at the receiving end of its ire.

Pain shoots up your left arm as you’re yanked off of the wall and lifted without another word. The cold metal of the Escaton power claw digs into your bones uncomfortably, sharpened claws at each fingertip poking into your flesh. The terminator grasps you by your forearm and drags you beside him until you can find your footing and walk on your own, stumbling into a jog to keep up. When you retrieve your arm, partially dried pieces of viscera stick to it from where you were grabbed. You brush them off hastily with a grimace; at least the power claw didn’t break skin.

You hug closely to the terminator’s leg as you walk with the group, not wanting to get trampled. The other serfs mostly keep their heads down as you pass them by, but a few give you a sympathetic look. The rest of the Contekar continue to ignore you.

The suites housing the Elite are grander than any part of the ship you have been in thus far. Compared to the regular Night Lord’s dorms, the metal halls leading to their private quarters are pristine. The usual decor of skulls and tanned skins is present, but there is no buildup of filth and grime along the floors and walls. The scent of fresh air is jarring. Most surprising to you is that each of the marines has their own private rooms, which you learn when you are unceremoniously shoved into one.

The tusked terminator’s room is shockingly comfortable, for a Night Lord. A thin light strip, the same brightness of a full moon on your former world, serves as the only illumination of the dark room. Along the walls are various trophies that you assume are from his time in the field, both of his kills and plunders. A large work table and chair take up the whole of the wall to your right. Instead of a regular astartes-sized cot, there is an actual bed with pillows and a wide plush mattress. In the back corner of the room is a closed door, which you assume leads to a washroom.

Whoever your new charge was, he lives well.

A click catches your attention, and you turn to your left to see him removing the heavy pauldrons of his armor. He places each of them on the sturdy table, then turns his attention to his power claw, his gauntlets, his vambraces— steadily pulling them off one plate at a time. After removing his helmet, shakes out his greasy black hair and turns to look at you with a furrow in his brow.

You remember your place and jump into action, aiding the marine in removing his sabatons. The plates of ceramite are much too heavy for you to lift on your own, but it’s easier for your smaller hands to get into the creases to release locks and latches. The two of you enter a wordless synergy, pulling off the heavy terminator armor piece by piece and placing each on a designated mantle. You’re extra careful not to get caught on the hooks of his armor. The desiccated head serves as a good reminder.

Even reduced to just his body glove, the astartes is colossal. His height easily dwarfs the majority of his brothers. You have to crane your neck upwards to look at his face, barely coming up to chest level on him. This close, you can see the sprinkling of grey hair within his sideburns and the lines of his face that indicate some arbitrary older age. You never did know how to tell the ages of astartes.

He uses his newfound freedom to stretch his limbs. Each is as broad as a tree trunk, and you figure they’re likely just as immovable. When he catches you staring and waiting, he simply returns the look, quietly raising an eyebrow.

“Would you like your armor shined, my lord?” you try, gesturing vaguely to the table and mantle. His eyes track the movement, looking over his war gear in silence before he gives you a curt nod. He points to a drawer beside his bed, then without further clarification turns his attention to removing his body glove.

Within the drawer you discover a stack of folded shop towels. Why they’re there is a mystery to you. Judging by the size of the terminator armor, you decide three is enough for now, grabbing them and sliding the drawer shut. You look up to ask if the Contekar has any armor oil around, only to see him half-naked walking through the door in the corner. It swings shut behind him, leaving you once again to solve your problems on your own.

You wonder what force in this universe blessed you with such a communicative master.

It took him three entire days to tell you, “you live here,” instead of simply denying you the ability to leave and making you sleep on the floor. You swore he was going to turn your rib cage into a new trophy when you eventually did get out, trying to navigate your way back to the serfs’ dormitory for much needed food. He had hunted down like a rabbit, snatched you up from behind, and thrown you back into his quarters with a growl to, “stay put.” What the terminator lacked in words, he greatly made up for with his intimidating presence.

He did get you food, though, and an abundance of it. You hadn't seen so much variety since you were still living on your home planet. Delicacies like meat were rare to you, and you eagerly scarfed everything down. In your hunger, you did not ask where the meat came from.

It’s not as if he would have told you anyway, given how scantily he spoke. You haven’t even gotten his name out of him yet.

The only times you were permitted to leave the suite were when you could accompany him. Trips to the armory gave you vital chances to hoard cleaning supplies, having gotten accustomed to the lesser atmosphere of decay around the Elites’ quarters. On top of the standard armor oils, you managed to snag an expensive looking jar of polish, which you hoped would gain you some favor. Your master doesn’t particularly show you signs of care, but he also hasn’t killed you yet, and that has to be worth something.

On your way back to his quarters, a discordant howling rings out from one of the rooms adjacent to his. You flinch at the sound, assuming the worst: that somebody nearby was in the midst of being tortured and flayed alive, and that you would have to hear their slow untimely demise throughout the night. It wouldn’t be the first time you had to fall asleep to the sounds of screams and cries. The Contekar, however, scoffs. His nose scrunches up in annoyance, teeth bared in a disgusted snarl.

“Don’t understand the appeal,” he grunts, shaking his head and continuing forward.

Glancing over in confusion, you start to pay more attention to the sound. The rhythmic pattern of each holler and whine. The sound of skin on skin. The quiet pleas of, “more, please, more!”

Your eyes widen when you put two and two together, ducking your head down to hide the blush steadily rising on your cheeks. That was not the type of torture you were expecting to hear. You pick up the pace and hope the terminator doesn’t recognize your sudden newfound urgency.

He allows you to store your armory stash in his bedside drawer alongside the rags. It nearly knocks you over when he throws an arm out to keep you from closing it, sending you staggering back with a huff. He removes one of the towels, then abruptly drops it over the top of your head. You don’t even get the chance to remove it before you’re being pushed in a direction, blindly stumbling along. A transition strip between some passageway causes you to trip and fall to the floor. Pulling the towel off of your head, your vision clears to the sight of the bathroom.

You shoot the terminator a bewildered look before he lifts you by the back of your shirt and throws you underneath a showerhead, giving you no warning before turning it on. The cold jet hits you like a hose spray, causing you to yipe at the sudden temperature shock. Freezing water saturates your clothes.

He breathily laughs at your agonized shiver.

Despite the rude beginning, you return from the washroom refreshed, feeling for the first time like your skin isn’t permanently encrusted with the gunk lining nearly every surface of the ship. It had been weeks since you could last bathe in any capacity. The water did warm up eventually– not warm, but not frigid– and allow you to scrub the filth off.

When you exited the shower, your master was nowhere to be seen, and there was a new uniform on the oversized counter. It wasn’t difficult to tell that it was intended for you, given the vast size difference between you and the Elite. The navy blue outfit bears an embroidery of the Eighth’s winged skull over each shoulder and lines of Nostraman text that you are unable to translate. You’re just happy the new garbs aren’t tattered and fraying like the last, which you gleefully toss. They land in the bucket with a wet squish.

As you approach the door to the main room of the quarters, you’re alerted to the sound of quiet conversation, not expecting there to be anyone but the terminator about. The tonal register is too low and quiet for you to make out any spoken words.

You enter the space in time to watch your master sit at the table and place his arm out flat upon it. An apothecary stands beside him unpackaging a syringe. He stabilizes the terminator’s arm in the crux of his shoulder, turning his palm upwards and pressing the bevel of the needle into a prominent vein running distally from the elbow. Crimson liquid slowly fills the barrel as he pulls the plunger back.

The apothecary’s cart bears instruments uncharacteristic of typical medicae. Replacing scalpels and suturing utensils are various packaged needles and pigment bottles. A large battery pack wires into a small rectangular box, the screen and dials illegible to you from your current distance, with a strange metal stylus connected to it. Sitting atop a stack of disposable napkins is a tall wash bottle containing a clear substance. The apothecary flicks the syringe until the bubbles have all risen to the top, slowly venting the air until only blood remains, and he carefully ejects a drop into each of the waiting ink cups.

Your gaze falls back on the Contekar in time to see him rising from his chair and walking towards you. You cower back on instinct, anxiety creeping up from your chest.

He wipes a stray drop of blood from his arm with a thumb, and when you move to question what’s going on, he jams the digit into your mouth. The coppery taste spreads over your tongue as you gag from the intrusion, unable to pull away due to the unyielding grip he has on your jaw. He jerks your head upwards, forcing you to look at him, and the abyss of his black eyes swallows you whole.

“Strip.”

Not everyone saw the art the first time around, so here's your Mans

[Part 3]

#i fucking hate medical needles so that one scene was hard to write for me #the things I do for night lord tattoos #night lord #night lords #night lord x reader #warhammer fanfic #warhammer 40k #warhammer 40000 #warhammer 30k #horus heresy #warhammer 40k x reader #wh 40k #oc: elias rushorik #raven lady writings

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circlesuponcircles · 2 months ago

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FAQ

What is the premise of this au?

The simplest way to describe it is that this is a Mirabelle looping au, with a little twist to it! For a more detailed explanation of what is going on here you can see this post.

I'm interested in knowing more about this au, where can I learn more?

You can start with reading through the circles upon circles tag on my main as that's where it all started! You can also check the #ooc tag on this blog for more answers to various questions that ive been asked.

Do we have an effect on the story?

A little, but not really! You can speed things up, but that's about it. Most of the things that happen were already meant to happen one way or another.

Who is (insert oc here)?

The new characters in this story include:

Sage (they/them): the Change God in human form.

Sol (any pronouns): not an actual prominent character. Is an avatar/human form of the Universe.

Ted Italics (they/he/it): a joke oc meant to be the narrator of this story who ended up evolving into something much bigger. Speaks in italics, thus the name (Explanation here). Used to be a Siffrin. He came up with the name on the spot

Can we make fanart/fanfics?

YES!!!! You absolutely can!!! And if you do, make sure to either tag this blog or my main (ivipl1) on the art!!!!

What about shipping?

u can do whatever u want forever. be free

My ask wasn't answered! :(

My inbox is full of asks at all times and theres a LOT of them to get through. If I didn't answer yours it's either because i didnt find it interesting enough, it has been asked before, or it is something that i simply Do Not Want To Do.

pst, hey! we have a discord server now! feel free to join it if you'd like!

#ooc #circles upon circles au #oc: sage #oc: sol #ted italics #<-all the tags btw

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lotusarchon · 17 days ago

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As I have the app around, I may as well just dive into this before disappearing again. To the people in my post a few days prior and in my dms, I promise I'm not ignoring any of you, but I genuinely can't muster the energy to speak to anyone else currently. I'm only here currently because someone found my unmentioned hetalia account, which I left unmentioned for a reason...you know who you are...you scared me...😭

Ah, okay well. If you're not aware of who I am, hi. I'm a dude that wrote fanfiction for this fandom I got pulled into. A year ago I had a few different accounts but I had to delete every single one just because I kept getting harassed, from one thing to another. I'm hoping I don't have to do it again this time around.

I haven't gone offline as anyone thought. I did attempt to take my life (twice, 2024 is something else) but in the end it didn't work out, so I've been hiding in my secret account to relax in hetalia for a bit. In between that I've also been stalking the account myself since it showed up just to see what it was up to, and...oh wow that's a lot.

This specific account has been on my ass like a tick since..two days ago. Two days of my 'supposed' death.

I've also recently found out that someone else who was pretending to be a friend of my friend's and a concerned citizen happened to be friends with them;

And hence why I chose not to reemerge my head back then yet. It turns out there's a few people who may have been following me who are acquainted with these people and...yeah, I didn't want to take the risk. I'm hoping no one is going to inform them I'm not actually dead―I blocked both accounts to avoid being noticed.

There's a lot of yapping I'm gonna be doing so expect a lot of that, BUT piece of advice to anyone that actually cares: do not engage with either blog. Don't send them hate mail, don't go gloating that I'm not actually dead, and don't fucking yap about anything. These blogs went as far as to harass my friends who have no part in this, and they also wrote nsfw of my adult oc and my friend who is a fucking minor. Do. Not. Engage. With. Them. Please!! Block, block, block. Just block them! They're actively going out of their way to harass and stalk MINORS.

Under the cut, I am rambling more on personal feelings rather than doing this professionally. I'm still pretty moody actually and well yeah...

Trigger Warning for some topics below!

Okay uh. I've never done this before so excuse me while I put this in question format lmfao..

"Why aren't you dead!?"

Joke answer; god doesn't want me.

Long answer: I'm not the type of person who says something like that ...like that. I really was intending to go through with it, but evidently I was too tired from crying and fell asleep. I figured that I couldn't handle people fucking around with me and hid in my secret blog. Hetalia fandom is so nice for a fandom about countries. Point blank sorry to burst many of your bubbles, but I'm not dead yet. Put the birthday canon away, slut. I'll die next season.

"What the fuck did you even do?"

Exist.

No okay, realistically it's a lot. I'm not going to play the victim here's and I'm not going to lie to people and say "oh hey my mental illness/trauma made me do that" because that's bullshit. I'm also not diving too deep into any explanations just because my hands hurt..but also I don't want to remember anything less I have another panic attack.

A year ago I met this girl who became my friend over a fandom. We chatted, but I fucked our friendship up when I lashed out at her and another friend wrongfully because of my own stress. While I did beg one of them to stay, the chick that runs kokomichanstuff, Mariin, I ended the friendship with her just because I knew what I did was bad. There really aren't any excuses for that. I don't think anyone should have to deal with anyone else's bad attitude regardless of mental health or not. I didn't bother to keep Mariin around because I did bad, and no amount of apologies would fix it. She already said she wouldn't forgive me, so I knew it made no sense to keep up a facade. I genuinely had no idea she would've been mad that I begged one person to stay but not her, even though she expressed not wanting to be my friend. I also don't remember truly if what I did was enough to earn THIS type of harassement, but I'll take it as divine punishment. But basically, over and over again Mariin has stalked me and found a way to harass me. According to the posts she made, she's made a new friend I (sadly) hurt who wants..revenge. Hooray.

Mariin's already namedropped them so um, yeah, I hope it's okay to mention them?? . Neveah was someone I also hurt really badly by bullying and lashing out at her out of jealousy over something ridiculously dumb in my old server and account. I confronted her later on apologizing but specifically also adding that she didn't need to forgive me because I messed up. Long story short, she claimed she had forgiven me.... but then went to her friends (Mariin mentioned) Geno, Toga etc to badmouth me, including sharing sensitive information I sent to her. Neveah's friend Geno made a post mocking me which I found and responded poorly too, and then more drama escalated from there because literally every single one of Neveah and Geno's friends came to bombard me, sent me hate mail and surprise, Mariin took the chance to come back. I don't know how the fuck those two (Mariin and Neveah) managed to speak, but sometime later a few accounts appeared that went after people who were once associated with me or used to be associated with me. A few days ago the account made supposedly by Neveah made a post accusing me of being a r*pist, groomer and pedophile and yeah. That went badly.

Uh. Wow this is a mouthful. But. Yeah, I'm...not really a good person, and these things are just embarrassing and..ick. I hate myself for the shit I pull. But, I will say, while I can accept Mariin harassing me like this, the other parties just...genuinely could've handled this better than what they did to me. It really wouldn't have been so hard to ask me instead of listening to one side, but maybe that's me. Regardless, I admit I was wrong. I just..I'm not happy other people are getting involved.

"Why didn't you just say something sooner instead of all that nonsense? Wasn't that too dramatic?"

Sadly it was, but I don't think any of you understand when I say that I CAN'T. I can't say anything because it's just me, me, me. It's just me, and people aren't going to believe me. They never do. When that shitshow happened with Neveah, everyone was blaming me. Even up till recently, someone in my current server told me I was the one who overreacted over getting bullied and harassed. I'm not mentioning them here but holy fuck, that shit hurt. The anons coming in my inboxes telling me "people are offering you advice and you don't want it", it fucking hurts. It genuinely hurts because every single time I try to speak up against anything, or stand up for myself, I'm the one who's in the wrong.

Geno, Neveah, Mariin, fucking Toga and Deja and the entire fucking crew. They're never the ones who get wronged, and they haven't lost anything. Even when Mariin's account gets deleted, she's fine. She has people that actually fucking listens to her, all of them do.

I don't. There's no one aside from the few friends I have who would actually listen to me and not just immediately jump at me, and I'd rather just not have them involved in anymore drama that revolves around me.

Yeah, holy shit, maybe attempting to kill myself from the stress was overbearing but you guys have no fucking idea what it's like. Every time, every time I make a report or say something, I'm the one who's told I'm at fault. It's either, "You're don't look like a child, it's not their fault they want to touch you," or, "You overreacted," or, "Maybe you shouldn't have said anything," or even, "You're so ungrateful, I'm trying to help you."

It. fucking. Sucks. It. SUCKS. Its terrifying that regardless if it's my real life or on the internet, no one listens, no one cares and the one who's left hurting is Ali because who fucking cares. Who gives a shit right?

"....did you try to kill yourself over Nezha?"

Everything started with Nezha, and I'm not even fucking kidding. I don't remember how I met Mariin but I knew for a fact it was something about him. And when we broke our friendship off, I got attacked a LOT about his age. I want to pretend that maybe it was all Mariin, but with how things are, I don't doubt for a second this fucking fandom were jumping me for a character who already has a confirmed age.

I could tell you that I was just stressed about Mariin, but that'd be a lie. Everywhere I go with this fandom, I'm always getting hassled about Nezha's age. From the beginning I was already stressed, because I continuously kept getting anon after anon calling me names and accusations for a fictional fucking character.

I don't deny that Mariin didn't have a part to play. She most definitely made things worst for me with using Nezha to slander me further. It's just my luck that the people in this fandom are idiots that'll listen to anything anyone says.

Think of it this way; the pot was near burning on the stove, it just needed some more fuel.

"Why didn't you just listen to the anons?"

Sighs

Mind you, this was supposedly when I was DEAD. Trust me, I've had far worst flooding my inboxes. Before it was about Nezha's age. Recently, it was to kill myself and the accusations.

I'm not saying the advice was ever bad. But the anons were strangers for all I care who had no idea what the fuck was happening. I've tried blocking anons before, I also went to far lengths to ignore them, but there's only so much I can take. Every day, day in day out on any blog I've made, ever since I started writing for Nezha, I've been receiving dozens and dozens of hate I've had to delete constantly. Not even counting the ones that just randomly told me to die!!

"just ignore them" I'm not a child. I. know. I know, I know, I've been trying, but when people don't respect my boundaries and don't even bother to listen when I say I've done it, how do you think I'm going to feel?

"oh but you should put that as your trigger then it's not their fault" oh yeah, "hey everyone 🥺 when people don't listen to me I cry". How do you think it'll sound? Plus, why should I need to add that when I wasn't expecting anyone to actually act like this on the internet to begin with?!

"Why don't you just move to a different platform then if the hate is that bad?"

Ignoring Mariin for a bit, even if I were to go into another platform to write fanfiction (and I highly doubt there's many I'll feel comfortable in), why should I, and what makes you think the hate will stop there?

AO3 is a place where THE worst people write porn. And you wouldn't believe that I've had to delete quite a number of assholes on there for Nezha's age. Don't mention Twitter where the nonsense started about his age, and don't bring in bluesky because there's a word limit and I'm not limiting myself to that. Even Wattpad has them yelling about Nezha's age. WATTPAD!! Genuinely what makes you think I'll be safe anywhere I go?

I hate Tumblr but this account is my safe space from reality at this point. It used to be the place that made me not want to die. Just because you guys are jerks, why should I need to go?

This also goes back to Mariin and the harassers. Even in my fake death I can't know peace. If I were to move out, wouldn't she get to live her life peacefully while I'm miserable trying to understand a place I don't want to be in?

"Then just leave the LMK fandom!"

Again, why should I? LMK is my comfort show. I genuinely enjoy writing for silly legos, and I also love learning about things I didn't know about before. Why should I have to leave just because the fandom is filled with jerks? Why don't you guys just leave instead if you're butthurt about anyone daring to speak an opinion?

"The accusations-!"

Are lies.

I was r*ped before. Why would I find any pleasure r*ping anyone else? How does one even do that through online?

I was groomed online and assaulted in real life. Why would I think of hurting another human being, most less a child, like that when I still can't even read anything that correlates to it? Why would I find any of those things pleasing?

I turned 18 in 2024. It's not an excuse and I've been doing my best to not interact with minors, or at the very least avoid speaking about topics that are inappropriate for them. Even though I still forget I'm an adult on occasion, I know better than to pull up on my younger friends and start talking about nsfw. I've only ever spoken weirdly to my adult friends.

I recently saw someone comment on the account that I'm Islamphobic/don't support Palestine, so that makes me problematic. I grew up in an Islamic family, I have trauma with that specific religion (inclu. Hinduism and Christianity, long story). I don't interact with anything regarding religion if I can and I also don't judge someone based on their religion. I judge you based on how you speak to me. If you have a weird icon, I don't like you, if you speak weirdly, I don't like you. Additionally, I'm the type of person who feels guilty for making someone upset. I can't support myself, most less for others. No, I don't agree with genocide but it's genuinely too much for me to keep up with.

And finally, how the fuck is liking a character who's an adult make me a proshipper? Jesus Christ again with Nezha. I hate this.

"You have no proof!"

Of course I don't. I don't keep bad memories around. I wouldn't have remembered my own childhood if I didn't get triggered about it. I block bad memories out. Many interactions I've had that are bad, I delete. I don't think about saving, I delete.

Even interactions with friends I usually delete because it's just weird not seeing a blank space. I don't hate them but leaving a spot full feels weird.

I don't have any proof I'm none of the accusations but neither does Mariin, to be frank. So if you chose to believe her because you just genuinely don't like me, good for you, but you look like sheep being led by a drunk shepherd. Either you'll end up in a slaughterhouse and starve, your pick.

I'm not going to say, "Oh ask my minor friends!" Because...they're kids. I feel horrible my friend got roped into this to begin with, the last thing I want is for anyone else be involved when they barely know shit.

Yeah, rambled a bit. I didn't want too but I got carried away, whoops.

This is the only post I want to make about this issue. Don't bring it up, don't uhh, don't mention me to the account, and please just allow me to rest in peace. I just want to write and feel free, not deal with this shit, okay?

Also. Please stop involving my friends into beef you have with me. It's really not their fault they have to deal with someone like me.

Goodbye. I'm deleting the app again until I return. Adios

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hana-no-seiiki · 1 year ago

Text

REJECTION

YANDERE! IDOL! OC! (EVE) x IDOL! READER BLURB (ft. new ocs!)

Before we start, I’m excited to announce that I’m finally starting an HNSVerse webtoon/comic series w/ our starting story ( being the one Eve/Jisoo is featured in ) Love ♡ Multiplied ! Invasion of Your Heart this fall. Hope to see you guys during its release ehe.

If you’re new to my blog, go ahead and check the tag hns.eve for more works of him, or check out my master list.

Without further ado, here’s Eve’s first ‘solo’ fic! Enjoy!

warnings: yandere themes (obsessive love, violence, unreliable narrator). mentions of alcohol abuse/alcoholism. incel/nice guy jisoo. profanity.

status: unedited

©️ both the art and story belong to me, please do not redistribute, repost, translate or share without credit/permission.

this particular fic is safe for minors (16+) so no mdni on this folks. feel free to enjoy.

[previous fic / prequel to this fic]

“I’m sorry, but I don’t like you that way.”

Jisoo never truly knew the power of words til he heard you after his confession.

He prepared months in advance, with a dedication that was unusual to him at the time.

He picked the perfect venue, the one convenience store you two always ate onigiri at. He picked the perfect time, sunset — to really set the mood — and a week after monthly examinations so that emotions were not running too high. He spent hours, days, maybe even weeks just agonizing over the words to choose when he finally poured his feelings out. He even prepared for times after the

Throughout his whole time as a trainee, nothing felt as bad as the dejection your words gave him.

“W-what do you mean?”

“You’re more of a dad to me . . .” He saw your eyes flick left and right, clearly uncomfortable with the arrangement despite the plan he meticulously concocted.

Still he could not control the poison from injecting itself within the crevices of his inflection, his delivery coming out as awfully sour — maybe even petty, “A dad? You’re older than me.”

“Yeah, a dad friend. You’re the more mature one between us and . . . I just — I just can’t see you romantically.” If the damage wasn’t enough, you ended your explanation with an emphasis. “Ever.”

You then grabbed your belongings and left. Though, being the polite and kind person you were, you made sure to at least give him a farewell.

Jisoo sighed, looking up towards the convenience store ceiling lights. The sting from the bright luminance distracted him only a little bit before his mind went back to you. Consumed by his thoughts, his heart suddenly began beating a million times a second. A sudden adrenaline rush overcame him.

If you didn’t like him because of his personality, he’ll just go ahead and change that up a bit.

The day right after, Jisoo found himself doing something he would have never even thought of. It was amazing how much you made him realize and change. It was actually why completely fell in the first place.

Though, the changes before were natural and a bit too slow. Jisoo needed to have you as his as soon as he possibly could. And so, change had to happen now and under his jurisdiction.

You weren’t present that day, so it wasn’t too out of the ordinary to follow a couple of trainees out when lessons concluded. Usually he was completely stuck to your side and your side alone. Conversation didn’t come naturally to him, as such friends don’t either.

It took him a few minutes to man up and a long, deep breath to finally attempt getting one of the trainee’s attention.

Daehyun was his name, Jisoo thinks. When getting the former’s attention he opted to tug the guy’s sleeve just to be safe.

“What’s up? Oh, it’s you. ” Daehyun turned around. His silver eyes sparkled underneath the late afternoon’s sunlight. He was one of if not the best dancer in Celestial Entertainment. In addition to that, he was known for charming personality and magnetic stage presence.

Frankly, Jisoo only saw him as annoyingly bright and cheery. They were exact opposites. They fought on a daily basis.

But that was exactly why Jisoo needed him in particular.

“You’re childish.” Jisoo began.

Daehyun’s jaw goes slack at this cool, raven haired giant’s audacity. Most of the time he’d come back with a retort but he was utterly drained from practice. “Ah. . .Okay then. . . Well I gotta go — “

Daehyun jerked his arm away, but that only prompted Jisoo to fully grab him by the bicep, “Teach me.”

“Sorry, I think I’m misunderstandiny you. You want me to teach you how to be childish?“

Jisoo nodded vigorously, “I want to be a better idol. And . . . a better fellow trainee. Listen. I’ve been a terrible person to everyone here. I just want to be better.”

Daehyun doesn’t answer for a long time. Maybe even minutes pass before he did. At least, enough time for the trainee walking alongside him to realize his partner wasn’t near him anymore.

His jaw was still wide open.

“Wow, points for self-awareness yo. Finally.”

“Bold words for someone in punching range.” Jisoo lets go of the shorter man’s arm and crosses his. An eyebrow raised.

“Fine, fine. Guess your short temper hasn’t gone anywhere. Time for Being Chill 101, yeah?” Daehyun then shouted to his companion, an even shorter guy that Jisoo dreaded asking help from. But he was desperate. Beggars can never be choosers. “Hayate! C’mere! Jisoo needs a lil help!”

“Eeehhhhh—?! Jisoo? Asking for help? The gods have answered our prayers!”

Jisoo soon realized that he asked help from a bunch of hooligans.

If he faces rejection again after all this trouble, he might just murder a man.

“Hey.” You walked towards Jisoo with your usual smile.

“Heyyy!” He greeted back. Earning a confused look from you as you sat beside him.

You chuckled at his strange demeanor. Well, maybe it wasn’t so strange. You knew Jisoo could be quite awkward at times. Considering you haven’t seen each-other for months by now, he must feel weird talking to you all of a sudden. Especially after what you did last time. “What has gotten into you?” You asked. It was either your earlier theory or the effect of him hanging out with other people. You heard he started spending some more time with other trainees. Even going on drinking sprees with large groups. You didn’t approve of such activities but were too busy to scold him on the topic lately.

But apparently both of your guesses were ‘wrong’ as he had answered, “Huh? Me? Pffft. Nothing. Justa — think I drank too much coffee.”

You could smell the stench of soju and beer in his breath now that you were closer. “Right. I just wanted to say that we can still hang out you know. Doesn’t mean that I rejected you that we can’t talk anymore.”

“Oh, sorry! Sorry. Did it feel like I was avoiding you? I was just busy with Idol Image training.”

“Idol Image training? I thought you hated those lessons.”

“Ya know me. Indecisive and impulsive as always.”

Jisoo grinned at you. But all you could do was cringe out of pity and guilt.

Apparently the guilt you felt wasn’t enough however as you decided that it was now or never to rub some salt into gaping hole of a wound.

“Almost forgot. I have to tell you something. I got a deal to be a solo artist.”

“Solo what now? I thought we were debuting together.”

“Looking at how you’re dealing with my rejection. I think it’s safe to say that us working and living together won’t go too well. I don’t want to lead you on. We’re friends. Nothing else. Sorry if I did so before.”

You didn’t even let him show you how much he’d improve. How much he worked on his way with words and conversation. Before he even had the chance to show his work you had not only rejected him once again but extinguished any hope from forming.

For once in these past few months when Jisoo had been the most talkative he had ever been in his life, he found himself speechless again.

“Soo?”

“I’m . . . proud of you. Really.”

The awkward air was too much for your to bare, so you left right after. Not a goodbye or even a wave.

Instead he watched as you swiftly made your exit. A frown laced your exquisite features.

He then spotted a man. He looked quite a bit older than you. Elegant and refined, he wore a classic black suit with a long coat draped on his back. Short leather gloves that no doubt hid hands as attractive as his own face. His hair was somehow darker than the one Jisoo was born with.

But what struck the young trainee the most was the man’s pine green eyes. It was like a forest one could easily get lost in. A cliche description he knew. But it was the best he could think of.

Jisoo doesn’t realize the trance he was in until the man suddenly turned straight at him —

— and smirked.

People often saw Jisoo leave early during drinking parties. They chalked it up to his shy nature and he didn’t really have a good tolerance.

In reality it was mostly because he found a perfect victim to vent out his frustrations on that night.

It was usually a person too drunk to even understand or realize what was going on.

“Useless.” He muttered, kicking the random man’s stomach before the latter curled up in the floor in pain.

“Stop! Please stop!”

Jisoo scoffed at his protest. His red eye held no light as he continued his ministrations. This time stomping on the stranger’s cheek. “Utter piece of shit.”

The man stops protesting. All that could be heard in the cold chill of the night, was sounds of harsh impacts and Jisoo’s complaints and self deprecating words.

“Too mature? Bah. Bet that was all a fucking lie. They just couldn’t fuck a pathetic piece of shit like me.” Jisoo gave one last stomp, aiming specifically towards the man’s hazel eyes that reminded him of the person that took you.

Wait.

Eyes. Green Eyes.

That man was the CEO of Celestial Entertainment. A man known to be cut-throat and ruthless. A man who’s infamous for his apathetic nature regarding business. He probably saw your potential and thought that putting you in a group would dim it down.

Ace.

That’s it! You didn’t want to actually go solo. Jisoo understood now. Why was he so stupid?

You were just forced by that smug-faced bastard.

He leaned down, happily whispering in a sing-songy voice to his victim. “Thanks man. You really helped.”

“Woah.” A familiar cheerful voice resonated from behind him.

Jisoo froze.

He was done for. He was going to jail. This was it.

No, he had to calm down. Think rationally. He studied for this goddamn it.

Jisoo slowly spun his head. The happy expression on his face was instantly replaced with a horrified one. A look of confusion, fear and sadness. “Daehyun - 형 . . . he . . he came unto me— “

“Shit bro. No worries I got you covered.”

With rejection came realization. With charm came blind support. And with the right words and proper delivery, any person could be swayed.

“Wanna go drink after this?”

“You paying?”

Jisoo wished, for the good of everyone else and himself, that this green-eyed monster would not freely give rejection as you did.

[ TRANSLATIONS ]

형 - hyeong - older brother (not literal). honorific used by men towards those who are older (also men).

#hns.eve #love multiplied 👾❤️#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagine #yandere oc #yandere fic #yandere oc x reader #yandere original character #yandere core #tw yandere #yandere blurb #yandere concept #yandere idol #yandere idol x reader

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kikis-writing-world · 6 months ago

Text

Espresso

Or: She needed to come back down to earth

Chrissy Cunningham has tickets to see her favorite pop star perform. It's a concert she'll never, ever forget.

Past Eddie/Chrissy, current female Pop Star!Reader/Rockstar!Eddie

*In the 3rd person, can also be read as an OC

Word Count: 3k

Rating/Warnings: Reader is female presenting and performed Espresso originally by Sabrina Carpenter, and I describe her as moving and posing, but possibly with the aid of dansers? - blank slate otherwise. No Upside Down. Could be read either canon!AU (mid 90s or so as they're adults now) or modern!AU. If I missed anything AU wise or blankslate!reader wise, please let me know kindly <3 I'm only human.

This work is rated PG but this blog is always 18+

A/N: The song got me, what can I say? Somewhere in my head Espresso mixed with Sk8er Boy by Avril Lavigne and here's what you get. A little fic to whet your appetite. Not edited, not betaed, written in about 1.5 hours while also at work- but I hope you enjoy it anyway <3

divider by @saradika-graphics

“Say you can't sleep, baby, I know That's that me, espresso-

Chrissy giggled as she sang along to the track floating from the state of the art boombox on her dresser. Her best friends, Cindy and Linda, danced around the bedroom with her, feeling like teens again as they got ready for the concert that evening.

“I can’t get enough of this song,” Linda gushed as she leaned close to the mirror above Chrissy’s vanity. She stopped singing along with the other girls long enough to apply her shiny lip gloss to perfection.

“She’s the best.” Chrissy agreed, turning the volume up even farther, hitting the threshold as the boombox reached max volume.

“Can I borrow this?” Cindy asked, picking up one of Chrissy’s eyeshadow palettes.

“Of course,” Chrissy agreed without thought, only to pause. “Wait- as long as you use that pink,” Chrissy amended, pointing to the neon hue. “Because it’s perfect with your outfit.”

The girls all laughed as they agreed on it being the perfect shade.

“How did you even get these tickets, it’s been sold out for months?” Linda asked, turning away from the mirror, bopping in place to the music.

“Daddy has a client whose son’s fiance got mono on her bachelorette vacation, so they canceled the wedding. They sold her tickets to afford the cancellation fees.” Chrissy explained as she compared two necklaces against her outfit. The girls cringed in sympathy, but the mood was quickly uplifted as they all tuned back into the music, forgetting the unknown couple’s problems. The tornado of excitement and glitter moved through the room until suddenly the girls all stopped what they were doing to sing along in tandem.

“I'm working late 'cause I'm a singer Oh, he looks so cute wrapped around my finger

The three faced each other as they sang, sharing the moment as they each performed their hearts out as if they were the one performing on stage tonight. The three danced, twirling their hips and waving their arms the way they did as teens, trying to get all the boys’ attention. Not the three grown adults they were, with homes, partners and responsibilities. It was freeing to feel so young again.

“My twisted humor, make him laugh so often My honey bee, come and get this pollen-

The three all shrieked with laughter as they reached the end of the verse, laughing at each other’s lewd dance moves in camaraderie.

“Oh shit, is that the time?!” Cindy gasped, cutting off the raucous laughter. The other two girls turned to the clock Cindy was staring at, noticing time did indeed fly when you were having this much fun. If they didn’t finish getting ready soon, they would be late and then have a hard time finding a good spot to watch the show from.

“Shit!” Chrissy cursed, barely audible over the blasting music. She jogged over to the boombox, turning it down a few notches to a more reasonable volume.

All three women snapped back to task, perfecting their make-up and concert looks. It wasn’t long before they were running out the door and into Chrissy’s powder blue Beamer. Chrissy hadn’t even backed out of the driveway before Linda had the car stereo blasting the album, right where they had left off in the house. The three women sped down the highway, singing along to the tracks they would soon be hearing live.

Chrissy was sure her perfectly coiffed hair was falling and frizzing up, her carefully applied make-up turned into colourful smudges across her cheeks, the boots styled to match her outfit splattered with dirt and mud - but she couldn’t care less. She was having the time of her life at the concert. The singing was amazing, even better than the album. The dancing, the choreography - the hunky dancers. She was having the best time, dancing and singing along with Cindy and Linda.

“This is AMAZING!” Linda shrieked as the song ended. Chrissy clapped and cheered while Cindy jumped up and down.

“Alright, alright,” the woman on stage spoke, waving off everyone still cheering after the last number she performed. Her chest heaved as she caught her breath from the singing and dancing, skin glistening with sweat under the stage lights. Her hair hadn’t fallen and her make-up hadn’t budged. Chrissy watched her in awe, quieting her own thrilled cheers to hear what her favorite artist had to say next.

“Oh my god, Indiana, you guys are crazy!” She laughed, waiting for the crowd to die down. Unfortunately, the comment made them cheer in agreement. Chrissy and her friends jumped up and down, cheering along.

The performer on stage dropped the microphone to her side as she laughed again at the crowd’s reaction. She looked off stage and made a little shrugging motion, a smile on her face all the while. Chrissy couldn’t see who she was looking at from her angle - someone on her team, her manager, someone running the equipment; she wasn’t sure. She kept looking between the crowd and the wing of the stage until they quieted enough for her to speak once more.

“See I have a friend,” the singer started, roaming the stage with ease. Her presence filled the large space as the crowd - Chrissy, Linda and Cindy included - took in each word with bated breath. A field full of fans waiting to see what she would say or do next. “A very good friend, you might say.” The singer admitted with a sly smirk.

The crowd exploded - some cheers, some boos of disappointed fans.

“Did you know she was seeing anybody?!” Linda gasped.

“I hadn’t seen anything in The Enquirer!” Cindy shook her head, flailing her hands as if trying to fan herself. “Oh my god, who do you think it is?”

“It could be anyone,” Linda started, only to be interrupted by Chrissy.

“Maybe Leo!” She laughed, joking while all the while loving the idea that her favorite pop star might be dating her favorite hunk of an actor. Linda and Cindy agreed by way of shrieking and jumping with excitement. Chrissy joined in immediately.

“See, my very special friend is from right here in Indiana!” the star continued over the mic, halting the girls’ theorizing. They quieted down, Linda blindly grabbing for Chrissy and Cindy’s hands as she never took her eyes off the stage. No one wanted to miss a hint on who the mystery “friend” was. “He told me that you guys… Well, he doesn’t seem to like his home state very much.” The star fake pouted as the rapt audience booed. She looked off stage, pointing her exaggerated pout that way.

“Oh my god, is he here? Who is it?” Cindy nearly fell over, trying to lean over far enough to see backstage.

“I can’t see from here!” Chrissy huffed, craning her neck to get a better look. It was no use, they were too far to the same side to see into the wings.

“I know! What a meanie!” The singer laughed joyfully into the microphone. “I tell him he’s a big meanie all the time, but he doesn’t believe me.” She rolled her eyes playfully.

A dull laugh rolled through the crowd and the performer gave it a moment to breathe before continuing with her story. “I think you were all a bit mean to him too once, but maybe one day you’ll forgive each other.” She tutted. The crowd cheered their agreement - anything to make their idol happy. The reaction made the singer beam brightly, glancing over her shoulder yet again.

“This next song… I wrote it for him, and-”

The crowd cheered and awed, interrupting her briefly. She shot a wink offstage before rolling through the crowd’s roar.

“I wrote this for him, and right here in front of everyone he says he hates, I’m dedicating it to him! Let’s show him some love!” She yelled over the mic, the crowd growing louder as it fed off her excitement.

There was a short beat of silence before the opening notes to Espresso started, making the crowd go wild once more as the smash hit song started.

Chrissy, Cindy and Linda all screamed along with the crowd, jumping with excitement despite their sore, aching feet after dancing all night. Chrissy pulled her camera out of her fanny pack, snapping pics as the song started. The singer smiled and danced to the opening notes, waiting for her cue to start singing. The dancers around her grooved along with her, waiting for the choreography to start.

"Now he's thinkin' 'bout me every night, oh Is it that sweet? I guess so Say you can't sleep, baby, I know That's that me, espresso-

The trio of women sang along at the top of their lungs, as loud as their already sore throats would allow. Chrissy couldn’t be bothered to care that she likely wouldn’t have a voice tomorrow, it was worth it to sing along.

"Too bad your ex don't do it for ya Walked in and dream came trued it for ya Soft skin and I perfumed it for ya I know I Mountain Dew it for ya That morning coffee, brewed it for ya One touch and I brand newed it for ya

The singer and her group of dancers made their way towards their side of the stage, the crowd around them cheering for her as she approached. The three girls got their cameras ready as they snapped pictures of their favorite singer performing their favorite song just a dozen feet away from them. The male dancers fawned over her as the female dancers backed her up, dancing with her.

"Now he's thinkin' 'bout me every night, oh Is it that sweet? I guess so Say you can't sleep, baby, I know That's that me, espresso Move it up, down, left, right, oh Switch it up like Nintendo Say you can't sleep, baby, I know That's that me, espresso

The singer moved back across the stage, doing her best to perform to all sides, giving each fan in the crowd a chance to see her and her dancers. She had been doing it the whole show, but the crowd predictably was even more lively for her big, hit single.

All too soon, the song ended with everyone on stage hitting a final pose. The singer was center stage, looking upwards towards the stage lights as the dancers posed around her. Cameras flashed through the people as everyone took their chance to get a decent shot as everyone stood still aside from their heaving chests as they caught their breath.

Chrissy, Linda and Cindy followed suit, cheering and taking pictures between their jumping and flailing. Chrissy was lifting her camera for her fourth or fifth photo of the pose - she lost count - when Linda grabbed her arm and her attention.

“Look!!!” Linda screamed as others in the crowd started reacting too. A tall, lanky figure had emerged from the wing, sauntering proudly towards the singer at center stage. He wore dark coloured jeans and a black t-shirt. His face wasn’t visible past the mop of inky curls when they first caught sight of him, but Chrissy felt a sinking feeling in her stomach at the silhouette. It was too familiar, a memory of her past, but surely it wasn’t-

More people from the crowd started screaming as the man crossed the stage. The singer finally dropped the pose, lowering her eyes to look at the crowd. She was smiling, face flushed from performing, but she soon noticed the crowd looking to the side.

Chrissy heard a man behind her, arguing with his girlfriend, the conversation fading in and out of the ruckus around her. “... -ed Coffin… telling you that’s him… think I know what “Shredder” Ed-…”

The pop star on stage looked surprised to see the man at first, but by the time he pushed through the cluster of back-up dancers around her, she was smiling up at him. The smile was brighter than any she’d given the audience on stage that night, a smile that shone in her eyes in a totally different way than performing on stage made them shine. The pop star started to speak, the microphone still held to her side not picking up any of the words. She didn’t say much before the man interrupted her, cupping the back of her head and dipping down to kiss her.

The crowd cheered through the passionate kiss. The back-up dancers around her reacted with joy and surprise at the public display of affection, some gasping while others applauded or laughed.

The man pulled the woman to him, holding her like he might be able to absorb her into himself in front of everyone. The singer didn’t fight, but she was obviously caught off guard at first. It barely took a moment for her to drop the microphone, a loud thunking noise booming from the speakers as it clattered to the stage. Her arms wrapped around the man, returning his embrace as she kissed him back. The sound of camera shutters nearly drowned out the voices of the crowd as everyone rushed to take pictures of the pop star and her apparent boyfriend - some to brag to their friends, some to try to sell as the first appearance of the world’s newest celebrity couple.

Chrissy stayed frozen, camera to her side as she watched who she was sure was her high school ex-boyfriend, Eddie Munson, having a heavy makeout session on stage with her favorite pop star.

“Wait, is that…” Cindy asked, starting to also recognize the man who had yet to turn his face their way. Cindy looked at Chrissy, her frozen reaction being all the answer she needed. Cindy prodded Linda, trying to get her to smarten up to what was happening to their friend.

The couple on stage finally parted, catching their breath as they only had eyes for each other. The pop star looked up at her man like he was the only person in the whole state, let alone in a crowd of hundreds. The man’s hand, covered with large silver rings, cupped her cheek gently. From where she stood, Chrissy could see his thumb caress her cheek. Despite the warm summer day, Chrissy shivered as she felt a ghost of a touch, a memory, across her own cheek.

The man leaned in, speaking directly into the singer’s ear for a few seconds. She let go a second later as he released her, bending down to pick up the microphone that was left abandoned on the stage. The man turned towards the crowd, finally showing his face to the entire audience. Some cheered as they recognized the lead singer and guitarist for the heavy metal band, while others who didn’t listen to heavy music waited for a clue to who the man was.

“Is that Eddie?!” Linda gaped, looking up at the man who was once the boy dating her friend.

He was older now than he was then, obviously. His mop of curls were still present, if possible better cared for. He had inky tattoos up and down his visible arms and some high on his neck, coming out of the collar of his Metallica shirt. He’d grown a short goatee, but the dimple in his cheek was still visible as he addressed the crowd. He looked… Great was probably not a strong enough word for how good Eddie Munson looked.

“Your Ex? Like, Eddie Mu-oof” Linda continued until Cindy elbowed her harshly in the side. Linda finally noticed the pale, frozen expression on Chrissy’s face. “Oh.” She mumbled lamely.

“Who's a freak now, Indiana?” Eddie growled into the microphone, his voice raspier than Chrissy remembered it- age, constant performing and steady smoking had settled into his vocal chords in an appealing way. It reminded Chrissy how he used to sound after a show at The Hideout, voice rough from a night of screaming into the mic.

Eddie tossed the microphone to a nearby dancer, not bothering to check if the unsuspecting man caught it (he did, barely) as he stuck his tongue out, devil horns atop his head. Just like that, Chrissy could see the boy underneath the age, tattoos and facial hair. The 18 year old who couldn’t promise her the world, but promised everything in his world, only for her to break his heart a year and some months later. Out of everyone there, Chrissy looked up and saw no one but Hawkins’ freak with a heart of gold Eddie Munson, but she realized Shredder Eddie Munson of Corroded Coffin didn’t even know she was there. She hadn’t even realized he’d gotten signed, or the band was famous- when had that happened?

Eddie turned, planting another passionate, borderline messy kiss on the pop star's laughing lips. The crowd erupted in another set of cheers, harshly pulling Chrissy back to real life.

Eddie ended the kiss, resting his forehead against the singer’s. The two’s lips were moving through their wide smiles. Chrissy could only imagine the sweet nothings being exchanged. Once upon a time, in a different life, in a quiet trailer park, those sweet nothings had been reserved just for her.

Eddie patted the star on the ass before releasing her from his arms. She laughed as he jogged back to his spot in the wings, hand over her mouth like she couldn’t believe the kiss they’d just shared. Eddie didn’t bother to acknowledge the crowd as he left, no wave goodbye or lude gestures. Before he disappeared from view, he turned to blow a kiss in her direction.

Red faced but smiling gleefully, the starlet pretended to catch it, placing it on her cheek. She stared after him even once he was out of view, only remembering herself when the dancer handed her the microphone.

“Oh, um…” She stumbled her words into the mic, giggling bashfully. She lowered the mic and took a deep breath, physically shaking her limbs. “I was expecting that even less than the rest of you.” She joked once she brought the mic back up to her smudged lips. “Let’s, uh… Let’s move on with the show?” She laughed, unsure how else to move forward with the setlist. The crowd cheered their agreement as she nodded to all her dancers and musicians to get ready to start back up.

“Should we leave?” Cindy asked quietly. Linda stared at Chrissy, waiting for her response.

It was definitely a concert she’d never, ever forget.

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