#escape room eric

[bonobochick]

One of the best things to happen in S2 of Ginny and Georgia...

Is more Bracia plus Ginny’s friendship with Bracia. 

It was fun & I like how they support each other. 😊

[losyanya]

This reply was ghost written by Mary Keay, sending Gerard off with dad to the Institute on a Bring Your Kid To Work day

google i'm not sure that's true

[amomentsescape]

Hey I love yanderes and slashers and used to have a sleep walking problem where I would try to crawl through windows, can you do a yandere slasher x reader where the reader has developed Stockholm syndrome and been loving to the slasher so they trust them and let them have more freedom. Then they see them try to crawl out a window in their sleep? How would they react? Would they believe the reader? What would make them believe them if they didn't? If they didn't believe them the how would they react to finding out the reader told the truth?

Thank you so much! And merry Christmas! 🎄 🎄🎄🎄🎄🎅🎅🎅🎅🎅

Slashers with Reader Who Sleepwalks & Tries to Leave

Yandere! Slashers x Reader (Separate)

Warnings: Yandere behavior, of course. Mentions of abusive behavior

A/N: Merry (late) Christmas! I hope you all had a great holiday! For this request, I decided to leave Eric out. He's just the complete opposite to a Yandere in my opinion, and it was nearly impossible for me to write him as such. I hope that's okay!

Freddy Krueger

He knows you would never purposefully leave him

Like, he actually knows

His (undead) life revolves around sleep

He knows when you're awake and where you're actually sleeping, even if he keeps you stuck in his dream world

So when he finds you trying to escape out of the little window he built for you, he just laughs

He had already known you sleep walked

He'd been haunting your dreams for weeks prior to actually taking you

Freddy just keeps watching you, not really doing anything about it

You're stuck in his world either way

Might as well see how far you'll go

He'll almost use this as a test of sorts

He'll let you wander to wherever you want to go in your sleep, and he may even change the environment to something you don't recognize

When you wake up, his name better be the first thing that falls from your lips

If it's not...

Well, he'll just have to try harder at getting you to need him

Michael Myers

It took a very long time for Michael to get to this point

The fact that he lets you sleep without chains is a huge decision on his part

He doesn't trust easily

And any feelings of trust he did have come crumbling down the moment he wakes up without you beside him

It didn't take long to find you

There you were, pushing and prodding at the boarded up window

He's truly pissed

And a little hurt

He really thought you were growing to actually like your situation

But when he spins you around and sees your eyes staring blankly through him, he tilts his head

You don't seem... right?

He'll shake you harshly until he sees the life come back to your eyes

When you finally look up at him with a similarly confused look on your face, he starts to realize

He understands you well enough to know when you're not acting like yourself

When he finally explains what you were doing after you repeatedly asked him, you sigh

You explain that sometimes at night, you wander around without realizing it

A sleepwalker, huh?

Sadly, the chains will need to come out again

Jason Voorhees

You wouldn't actually leave him, right?

You seemed so caring

He actually believed you when you said you needed him

But here you were, trying to leave your shared home in the middle of the night

He almost breaks down as he picks you up and takes you back to your room

He finds it a bit odd that you don't fight back at all, but he assumes you just don't care to

He locks you up and makes sure that you can't go anywhere

How could you do this to him?

When you wake up the next morning in chains and not in your shared bed, you begin to cry for Jason

He tries to ignore you, but he can't bring himself to hear your sad voice calling out to him

You try your best to tell him that you don't remember what happened, and that you would never leave him

And maybe he's too trusting, but he believes you

You just seem so sad and so genuine that it's impossible for him to think it's anything other than honesty

You couldn't be that stupid anyways

You'd get lost in those woods alone at night, he knows that

So he just has to believe you

He loves you, and love means trust, right?

Thomas Hewitt

But you were being so sweet to him just hours before

How could you lie to his face like that?

He wakes up without you in his arms, and he just about loses it

Frantically searches for you around the house and finally finds you at one of the nailed in windows

He pulls you away quickly, staring at you sadly

He's waiting for an explanation, but you don't say anything

You just stare

You weren't acting like yourself

He pushes you back towards the bedroom and you walk the rest of the way yourself, climbing back into bed with ease

He's confused, but decides to see if it will happen again

You can't leave anyways

The whole house is locked up, and you don't even know where the keys are

You act just like your normal self the next day

And that night, you're back to walking around with a blank stare

He figures this just might be a thing you do

Doesn't really try to stop you, but he does follow you most nights to make sure you don't accidentally hurt yourself

On nights he wants you in bed, he ties some old fabric around your ankle and holds you tight while you sleep

You might not ever know about your late night adventures unless he decides to tell you

Bubba Sawyer

He's quite literally blubbering to you

He's crying, he's frantic, he even shakes you a bit, and you just stand there not responding

He keeps waiting, and when you start to just wander around again, he loses it

What's wrong with you? Why are you acting like this?

He ties you back into bed and stays up the rest of the night, watching you

The next morning, he confronts you stressfully

You keep telling him over and over that you don't know what he's talking about

But he refuses to believe you

(He wants to believe you, he's just scared)

He only finally realizes you were being honest when in the middle of the day during your nap, he finds you wandering back to the window with his whole family watching you

You weren't stupid

Why would you try to leave when literally everyone could see you in broad daylight?

His family begins laughing and saying things like "looks like you got yourself a sleepwalker"

So you weren't purposefully trying to leave him?

He cries tears of joy and spends the next couple of days pampering you and giving you just about everything you want

He does his best to show you that he's sorry

Brahms Heelshire

It's quite literally known that Brahms has abandonment issues at this point

So when he catches you climbing up onto the window sill

He loses it

Will grab you and roughly pull you off, your body falling to the ground

This immediately wakes you up, your eyes searching around frantically

When you see Brahms standing above you, you try to reach for him, but he only shoves you away

You look so sad and confused at this, but Brahms is too stubborn to give in

He starts tying you up again each night, still very hurt that you would try to leave like that

It takes weeks for you to gain his trust again

And the one night he lets you sleep freely, he catches you by the window again

But instead of grabbing you immediately, he decides to just watch

He wants to see how far you'll go so he knows just how severe your punishment will need to be

But instead, you just give up on unlocking the window (it was jammed), and you just turn around and walk straight back to bed, not even registering Brahms being right there

This is odd

You need to explain the concept of sleepwalking to him the next day

He still remains skeptical for a while, but he'll come around

You just need to be extra attentive for a while...

Norman Bates

Norman already knows a lot about sleepwalking

(It's what he thought was going on for a while when he couldn't remember large chunks of time throughout the week)

When he finds you opening a window in the middle of the night, he bolts at you, ready to lock you back up in one of the motel rooms again

However, when you don't respond or reveal any emotion on your face, he immediately knows what's going on

He's surprised

He didn't know you'd be a sleepwalker

He decides to just lead you back to bed, knowing that waking you isn't the best idea

Sits you down the next morning and talks with you about it

When you seem very apologetic, he uses it to his advantage

Has you cuddle up with him even more than normal and stay by his side at all hours of the day

He still gives you some freedom

But he's always watching

He does take some precautions and ties your wrist up in the middle of the night

He has to, for your safety of course

Billy Loomis

To be honest, you don't make it very far

Billy has an iron grip on you at all times, and he's a light sleeper

The moment you get up, he's awake, observing you carefully

Sometimes you have to pee in the middle of the night, but he still makes sure you aren't lying to him

His ability to trust is practically in the ground

The moment you turn the wrong way, he's up and chasing after you

Were you that dumb? You knew he watched you every time you got up from bed

He grabs your wrist quickly and points a knife at your throat as a threat

He can't bring himself to actually hurt you though, not that you knew that

Or did you?

Because you just stand there not even moving away from the blade

Billy becomes very confused

He takes his hand and begins to wake it in front of your face, looking for some sort of reaction

You don't give him one

Are you still... asleep?

He shakes you a bit until you finally look at him, confusion written all over your face

You're a sleepwalker, aren't you?

He just rolls his eyes annoyed and drags you back to bed, not explaining anything

Just another thing he needs to look out for now

You sometimes wake up to bruises on your hips and waist from how hard Billy holds you in the night, but he's just trying to protect you, right?

He doesn't mean to hurt you, he just refuses to lose another person in his life

Stu Macher

Stu literally sleeps on you, so it's nearly impossible for you to leave the bed most nights

But if you somehow wiggle your way out, you wouldn't make it outside the house

The windows have been nailed so that they only open a small amount

When he finds you the next morning, curled up under a partially opened window, he just smiles

Call it naive, but he just assumes you were getting too warm in the bed

When you wake up in a confused state however, he becomes concerned

What do you mean you don't remember opening that window?

He honestly just becomes more worried that there's something wrong with your memory rather than you trying to leave him

He'll likely talk to Billy about it

He just hears laughter from the other end of the phone

"Sounds like they sleep walk," he'd say

Stu does a bunch of research on it later

He doesn't really mind though

All of the unsafe objects are already hidden away, and every possible exit is locked down

You aren't going anywhere

If anything, he finds it fun to wake up some mornings and look around for you

It's like a game, and Stu loves games

[bloodibambiidoll]

I Think I Could Love You (Eric Draven x Reader)

After narrowly escaping rehab you and Eric finally get some real time alone together… Technically part 2 to this fic but can be read as a stand alone. 1.8k WK, Unprotected sex, choking, hair pulling, pussy eating, just a lil bit of spanking 18+MNDI

“What is this place?” Eric asks as his emerald eyes roam around the living area of the large penthouse. You turn toward him with a twinkle of mischief in your eyes and a devious little smirk painted on your pretty lips.

“I used to work for the owners. Cleaned the place once a week. Suckers didn’t change the combination lock. It’s a vacation house and they only come here in the summer so we’ll be good.” You look up at this beautiful broken boy that you hardly know but already can’t imagine your life without. You had just run for miles, narrowly escaping the rehab facility and you both smelled like sweat, your hair was a mess, your pink sweatsuits and faces are both smudged with dirt but you’ve never wanted him more.

You and Eric fucked in probably every secret place possible of that building, always quickies in quiet, dark places. But knowing no one will bother you here and that you can truly enjoy him for the first time has your pussy clenching around nothing. You run your hands down his clothed chest while you stare into his eyes with your bottom lip secured between your teeth. He looks down at you through hooded eyes, holding you in that hypnotic soul reading gaze. It’s almost like he can read your mind.

“You want something, angel?” He cups your face in his large tattooed hand and his thumb traces the apple of your cheek, the side of your nose around your mouth before finally pulling your bottom lip from between your teeth with a pop. Eric runs his thumb across it, smearing your spit around. You dart your tongue out and run it along his digit before taking it into your mouth with a hum and it pulls a low groan from him. “Use your words. You know I’ll give you whatever you want.

You swirl your tongue around his thumb before sucking on it hard and pulling back so it falls from your mouth. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Yeah? You want me to fuck that tight little pussy?” Eric’s other hand comes up to wrap around your throat lightly as his eyes bore down into your own.

“Yeah, fucking ruin me.” Eric exhales deeply through his nose as he tightens his grip around your neck and pulls you forward to lock your lips in a heated kiss. His tongue darts into your mouth, intertwining with your own and he wraps one of his long arms around your waist, pulling you close. He stands there kissing you like it’s the last thing he will ever do for what could’ve been minutes or hours but you were so wrapped up in him you could hardly tell.

Eric pulls back enough to place sloppy kisses along your jaw and down your throat. His fingers grip onto the hem of your sweatshirt before pulling it over your head and tossing it behind him somewhere in the room. His lips brush against your skin again as he kisses and licks across your collar bones and down your chest. He sucks hard on the top of your boob, not stopping until he’s sure it’s left a mark before taking a nipple into his mouth. He swirls his tongue around it then switches to the other side, giving it the same treatment. He loops his arm around your waist tightly and uses his large foot to sweep your feet off the ground before lowering onto the plush carpet. Eric makes quick work of the rest of your clothes, taking off your shoes and sweats, leaving you in nothing but a thin pair of lace panties.

“Fucking look at you.” His eyes burn with the perfect mixture of desire and adoration. It makes your insides melt and has your panties getting impossibly wetter.

“You’re so beautiful.” Eric runs his hands down your body, stopping to grab your tits before continuing down. He caresses your stomach and leaves feather light touches along the band of your underwear then his large inked hands grip onto your thighs. He pulls them up and apart revealing the large wet spot in the white lace. “And so fucking wet for me.”

He runs his fingers along your clothed slit and presses slow circles into your clit. Eric grips onto your panties and you hardly have to miss his touch because the minute they’re off he’s gathering your wetness with his digits before thrusting two knuckle deep inside of you. A long drawn out moan slips from your lips as he curls his fingers up toward your sweet spot and brings the pad of his thumb to your clit.

“Oh, f- fuck.” Your eyes roll back and your back arches off the ground as you fall apart embarrassingly fast for him.

“Yeah, that’s it, baby. Come for me.” The pace of his fingers doesn’t let up until your pussy stops pulsing around them, he pulls them from inside you and brings them to your lips. You take them into your mouth and glide your tongue along every inch of them, sucking them clean. “Good girl, taste yourself.”

“I wanna see you.” You whine as you paw at his sweatshirt and Eric smirks down at you before reaching behind him to pull it over his head. He does the same with his shirt before standing up to kick off his shoes. He pushes his sweats and boxers down, letting his cock spring free as he towers above you like a god. This is the first time you’re seeing him fully naked and god he’s perfect. Tattoos on every inch of his skin, perfectly toned, you want to lick along the V-line leading down to his thick cock before taking it into your mouth and deep throating him until you’re choking on it.

“I know what you’re thinking, there will be plenty of time for you to be on your knees for me. But right now I need to be inside you.” Eric bends down and grabs onto your hips before manhandling you onto your feet and throwing you over his shoulder. You giggle as he marches toward the bedroom with you dangling over his back, his very perfect ass bouncing against your cheek with every step.

He throws you on your stomach onto the bed before landing a harsh smack on your ass that has you yelping and jolting forward. Eric gives the other cheek the same treatment before grabbing onto the fat of your ass and spreading your cheeks for him. You’re so wet you can hear your pussy lips come apart as he pulls you open and closed for him. He leans down and shoves his face into your pussy, running his tongue along your dripping folds.

“Oh my god, yes, fuck.” You whine and push your hips back into him when he slides his tongue into your pussy and starts to fuck you with it. His perfect nose brushes up against your asshole as he eats you like a man starved. Eric’s fingers find your clit and begin to run circles around it in time with the flicks of his tongue.

“You taste so sweet, fuck.” His words vibrate against your core and it has euphoria washing over you. You cum on his tongue hard as your fists desperately claw into the sheets and your toes curl. “That’s it, baby, give me your cum.” Eric runs his tongue from your clit to your ass, swirling your tight hole a few times. He gets back on his feet and grips onto your ankles to pull you to the edge of the bed. He takes his cock in his hand and runs the tip through your wetness before tapping your clit a few times and lining up with your entrance. He thrusts into you to the hilt with little resistance due to how wet you are for him. But no matter how many times inside he’s you, you think you’ll always feel that slight burn due to how thick and long his dick was. Eric grips onto your hips and starts to fuck into you with reckless abandon, the sound of skin smacking together and your wails practically bouncing off the walls.

“Fuck, Eric, it’s so good - it’s so fucking good.” Drool drips from your chin onto the bed beneath you as you lay there and let him fuck you for all your worth. His fingers lace through your hair and use his grip to pull your head back so far your front half is raised off the bed with your back against his sweaty chest. The air smells like sweat, musk, and sex and it only turns you on more. Little moans and whimpers leave your lips, having been accustomed to your sneaky rendezvous but that wasn’t going to cut it for him. His free hand grips onto your jaw and squishes your cheeks together.

“I wanna hear you scream for me.” Eric practically growls into your ear as he fucks you without mercy and it has a loud moan ripping through you. You scream his name over and over again like a prayer as white hot pleasure washes over your entire body. Your pussy clenches around him while you fall apart on his cock and it has him feeling closer to the edge himself. He bites down on your shoulder so hard you’re sure it’ll leave a mark before using his grip on your hair to shove your face into the mattress.

“So perfect, so tight, I’m going to film you up so good, fuck.” Eric’s cock twitches inside of you and his hands rest on either side of the mattress as he covers you with his body while he empties inside of you. He pants as he comes down from his high and nuzzles his face into your neck, practically crushing you with his body weight. You both lay there for a moment, a mess of sweat and cum. But you don’t even care. He feels so good. Being with him feels so perfect. Like all the wrongs in your life have lead you to this moment. After a bit Eric rolls off of you with a groan, his now soft cock slipping from inside you causing his huge load to drip down your thighs. He rolls onto his back and you turn on your side toward him, resting your hand on his chest so you can gaze up at him.

“I’ve never loved anyone before. But, I think I could love you.” You say it so quietly he can hardly hear you, but he does and it makes heat wash all over his body. No one has ever loved him. Not even his own mother.

“Yeah? I think I could love you too, Angel.” He gives you that smile that you so desperately wanted to see the first time you saw him glaring at one of the doctors back in the facility and it makes you melt.

“Yeah? Well we fucking stink. We need a bath.” You both start busting up laughing before he takes your face in his hand and kisses you gently, hoping you can feel all the promises he isn’t ready to say out loud through his lips.

Divider is by @saradika-graphics

[bucklway]

was adam meant to free roam the bathroom?

isn’t it so unfair that adam’s key fell down the drain? it’s like he didn’t even have a chance to escape..

but isn’t that the point?

in saw 3, john tells amanda “you didn’t test anyones will to live, instead, you took away their only chance. your games were unwinnable.” and we are shown a montage of these unwinnable games. we see her fighting eric, troy in the classroom trap, kerry in the angel trap..

and her throwing adam’s key in the bathtub..

so how is amanda giving adam his key making his game unwinnable? and why does john consider that moment unfair?

is this meant to imply that amanda wasn’t supposed to do this?

maybe adam was meant to discover this key at some point, like the box in the wall, and free himself before 6. this would make it much harder for lawrence to kill him, adam could hide, he could potentially even escape. or maybe when the game was over, john would decide wether or not adam was worthy of living, getting the key for him. those options feel much more fair then his only mode of freedom falling down the drain the second he wakes up.

let’s talk about what john says in adam’s tape and if it confirms or denies this theory,

he begins with “up until now, you’ve simply sat in the shadows, watching others live out their lives.” then he actually gives adam an objective, a way to win the game, “are you going to watch yourself die today, or do something about it?”

john seems to think that it’s possible for adam to win the game, he’s meant to take control of his life, and escape.

adam managed to stay alive until 6, but he was still left to die.. so what gives? adam learns to appreciate his life and everything, he learns that he wants to be alive “i want to live!” however, what john had told him was “are you going to watch yourself die, or do something about it?”

when you really think about it, adam didn’t do anything to earn his survival. he killed zepp, sure, but that was only after the time limit was up, and he only did it to save lawrence, the man who attempted to kill him like 5 minutes ago. john certainly didn’t view that as enough, because he left him to rot.

“do something about it” could’ve meant that he was supposed to kill lawrence, which i don’t know how he could’ve done that if he’s chained to the other side of the room..

lmk what u guys think!

[pickingupmymercedes]

My Venus - Lewis Hamilton (NSFW)

A MET Gala Special

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Famous!Reader

warnings: fashion world, sexual activities, (p in v), oral sex

Wrap it before you tap it!!!

wordcount: +3K

a/n: I know it's impossible for anyone to wear the original Venus Dior dress, it's a museum piece and it has been for decades, but it's a fic (and my favorite dress, ever) so let's go with it. Y/n is obviously someone really known in the fashion industry, but I didn't specify how, so it's totally up to you to create a back story.

a/n 2: Kind of a request. I was planning something already but anon gave me amazing ideas, thank horny anon!! Also, smut with a plot, what a shocker for me!!

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

EXPLICIT CONTENT UNDER, -18 DO NOT INTERACT.

______________________________________________________________

Y/n toyed with a stray piece of croissant, her gaze flitting from the cityscape outside to Lewis, who was deep in conversation with his stylist.

Sunlight streamed through the expansive windows on the opulent The Mark Hotel’s suite, a golden glow on the remnants of their breakfast. Crumbs danced on the crisp white tablecloth, a playful counterpoint to the elegant silver service glinting in the corner.

Eric, a man perpetually poised on the precipice of tranquility, leaned forward trying the nonchalantly posture as his eyes danced with curiosity. "Come on, Y/n, spill the beans! We’re all vibrating with suppressed curiosity."

Lewis, in is crisp white tee and black joggers, shot Eric a playful glare. "Thanks for that, mate. Subtlety is your strong suit, clearly." He turned to Y/n, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Seriously, love. The MET is in a few hours, you can tell us."

Y/n, who had mastered her poker face over the last five months of keeping that secret, took a delicate sip of her orange juice. "Let's just say," she drawled, her voice smooth as silk, "it has a very famous sister."

Eric groaned dramatically, throwing his hands up in mock defeat. "Oh, delightful. Lewis, bro, you're on your own with this one."

Lewis chuckled, shaking his head fondly. "You're a menace, Y/n." He winked, a shiver running down her spine despite the playful nature of the exchange. But the silence that followed held a different energy, charged with unspoken anticipation.

Lewis leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "It’s something that is going to steal everyone breath away, so maybe it needs a security detail of its own?"

Y/n couldn't help but let a sly smile curve her lips. "Maybe." she teased, leaning in even closer. The scent of his signature cologne, a heady mix of wood and spice, filled her senses. "Maybe it'll have everyone whispering about who dared to wear such a legend."

A low rumble escaped Lewis' chest, a sound that sent a jolt of excitement through her. " An archive, huh?! " He said, his voice husky

Just then, Eric cleared his throat pointedly. "Right, right, all very hush-hush. But remember, Lewis, you have your Burberry fitting this afternoon. We can't have you looking too shabby next to your mystery woman in archives."

Y/n laughed, a light, tinkling sound that filled the room. "Oh, I'm sure Lewis will manage to steal the spotlight anyway."

Lewis winked again, his gaze lingering on her lips. "A competition, isn't it, love?"

Their playful sparring continued through the rest of the lunch, a delicious undercurrent of unspoken attraction running through their every word and glance. As they finished their coffee, the tension in the air thickened, a silent question hanging between them. It was time to leave, to face the world – and the MET Gala – separately.

But Lewis wouldn't let her go without a final flourish. He stood, his gaze holding hers, and offered a hand with a courtly bow. "Until tonight, my fashionista. May the best dresser win."

_______________________________________________________________

The air crackled with anticipation as Y/n stepped out of the limousine, a vision as the cameras flashed like a sudden storm, capturing the first glimpse of her enigmatic beauty. A collective gasp rippled through the crowd, a palpable wave of awe and recognition as Y/n slowly revealed the legendary Venus dress.

Time seemed to slow. Each step on the red carpet was a carefully choreographed performance, the weight of fashion history settling on her body like a luxurious cloak.

The gown, a masterpiece of delicate embroidery, whispered tales of a bygone era, its every fold a testament to the genius of Christian Dior himself. It clung to her like it had been designed for her. A silent promise of a woman both powerful and breathtakingly beautiful.

Y/n held her head high, a serene and honest smile playing on her lips. Yet, beneath the calm exterior, a thrill coursed through her veins. This wasn't just another red carpet.

Lewis, waiting further down the carpet, watched his breath hitch as she came into view. Initially stunned speechless, his jaw dropped in a way that sent the internet into a frenzy.

Here was the woman he knew, the one who matched his every playful jab with witty retorts, transformed into a goddess. He felt a surge of pride, a possessiveness that went beyond what he had felt before with people looking at her.

This was Y/n, his Y/n, stealing the spotlight of the most known fashion event with an audacity as breathtaking as the gown itself.

It was a declaration, a playful rebellion against expectations, most of them that she had created for herself, as she had stablished her style as the non conformative. Still, in The Garden of Time that was the MET, she was bringing one the most known and iconic flowers back to life.

Microphones were being thrusted in her face, a flurry of questions buzzed around her like excited bees, photographers going maniac at the sight of a dress that had been at an exposition for decades months prior being worn.

"Y/n, this is absolutely iconic! How did you manage to borrow this historical piece?" a seasoned entertainment reporter gushed.

Y/n, ever the diplomat, offered a practiced smile. "Let's just say it took a lot of convincing," she replied, the truth a delightful secret she'd keep to herself. "But I believe it was worth the effort."

"Do you feel any pressure wearing such a significant piece of fashion history?" another reporter chimed in.

An understanding glint sparked in Y/n's eyes. "It's a tremendous honour. But pressure is a luxury I don't have time for tonight. It's all about celebrating art, fashion and Christian Dior himself.” Her wit drew laughter and appreciative nods from the crowd, creating a true vision of a woman stunning and intelligent, truly worthy of the Venus.

As Lewis answered his own fielding questions about his Burberry ensemble, he couldn't help but steal glances at her. Her confidence radiated outwards, a magnetic force that drew everyone's attention. He felt a flicker of pride, ever so slightly tinged with a possessiveness that made him want to shout to the world, 'This is my woman.'

"Lewis," a young reporter, eyes wide with admiration, interjected, "What are your thoughts on Y/n's stunning outfit?"

Lewis, ever the charmer, took a playful dig. "Well, let's just say" he drawled, mirroring her earlier cryptic response, "It was worthy of the months of secrecy. She awed everyone as much as she awes me."

As Y/n went up the stairs she found Lewis at the entrance waiting for her, his eyes boring wholes onto her skin. Lewis leaned close, a hand reaching for hers as his voice a huskily murmured "You're incredible, Y/n," his eyes lingering on her "Absolutely breathtaking, love."

Y/n, feeling the warmth of his gaze on her exposed skin, a secret smile played on her lips. There was a thrill in knowing she had surprised him, in seeing the awe and possessiveness flicker in his eyes.

"You know …” she teased, resting her hands on his shoulders as he reached for her waist, a sequence of flashes going off as they showed affection "This was all about making a statement”.

The throng of bodies inside the museum buzzed with an electric energy. As they navigated the crowded halls, Y/n couldn't help but notice the way heads turned their way. Whispers and glances followed them like a second skin.

Lewis, sensing her amusement, leaned in with a smirk. "Enjoying the attention, love?" he teased, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Oh, absolutely," Y/n deadpanned, batting her eyelashes playfully. "It's not every day I get to feel like a museum exhibit myself."

Lewis chuckled, a low rumble that sent shivers down her spine. "Well, you are a work of art yourself. But you’re also wearing one."

Suddenly, a whirlwind of hair materialized beside them. Zendaya, ever the fashion icon, flashed a dazzling smile. "Y/n, girl! That dress. How?!”

Before Y/n could reply, Zendaya dragged her towards the main exhibition, where Venus’ sister dress – Junon – was center piece, photographers already positioned for the Dior reunion.

Lewis, hovered nearby, a playful smile on his face. Even with the constant interruptions, his gaze never strayed far from Y/n.

As she managed to escape the scene, Y/n couldn't help but notice Lewis's gaze burning into her. "You know," she said, meeting his stare with a smirk, "I can actually feel your eyes searing holes in my dress, Lewis."

He chuckled, leaning closer. "Can't blame a guy for appreciating a masterpiece, can you?" he countered, his voice a husky murmur.

Just as Y/n leaned in to retort, a gaggle of socialites descended upon them. Throughout the pleasantries, Y/n couldn't ignore the heated glances Lewis kept throwing her way. His gaze lingered on the exposed skin of her shoulders, and a playful glint in his eyes hinted at something more than mere admiration.

Finally, as the speeches began and everyone went to their seats, Lewis leaned in close, pulling her towards his side, his voice a husky whisper in her ear. "They can all look, love." his eyes holding hers. "But you're mine."

The speeches droned on, a monotonous hum that Y/n barely registered. Her focus was solely on Lewis, his hand possessively resting on her hand on her lap. The warmth of his touch sent a jolt of electricity through her, a stark contrast to the cool of the dress against her skin.

As the formalities dragged on, the air crackled with unspoken desire. Every brush of their bodies, every stolen glance, fueled a fire that threatened to consume them.

"This is torture," he breathed, his breath tickling a sensitive spot on her neck. "All I want is..." he trailed off, his eyes dropping suggestively to the exposed skin of her chest.

Y/n raised an eyebrown, a delicious mix of excitement and apprehension in her body language. "Finish that sentence, Lewis" she purred, her voice barely a whisper.

“You, alone." he finished, his voice rough with desire. "Somewhere I don’t need to share."

His hand moved up to her shoulders. His fingers finally grazing the edge of the dress, a silent question hanging in the air. Y/n, emboldened by the setting and the audacity of the dress itself, met his gaze with a playful smile.

"There might be a deserted exhibit around the corner," she said, her voice barely above a breath. "One filled with creatures long extinct."

A wicked grin spread across Lewis's face. "Hm…" he murmured, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous glint. Every glance from him felt like a branding iron, searing the memory of him onto her skin.

When the event finally came to its end, they navigated the crowd, Lewis's possessiveness evident in the way he kept guiding her by the small of her back, a silent declaration. Every so often, his eyes would flick to the exposed skin of her shoulders.

They managed to get by the crowds unusually quickly, ushered greetings and nods a clear sign everyone wanted out. But, as they approached the exit, a familiar face beamed at them. Stella McCartney, a vision of elegance in her silver dress, rushed forward to greet Y/n.

"Y/n, you look absolutely phenomenal!" Stella exclaimed, throwing her arms around Y/n in a warm embrace. "That dress! It's absolutely breathtaking."

Y/n put out a smile. "Thank you, Stella. It was an honor to wear such a piece of history." While Stella gushed about the intricacies of the dress, Lewis tried to exchange a knowing look with Y/n.

The unspoken desire simmering between them was palpable, an energy that crackled in the space between them. Just then, a low chuckle caught Y/n's ear. Gayle King, stood nearby, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Lewis" she started, her voice smooth as silk, "I haven't seen you this speechless in years. Y/n, you've absolutely stolen the show."

Lewis, ever the charmer, offered her a playful smile. " You know Y/n, she has a knack for making an entrance."

Gayle, unfazed by his attempt at deflection, turned to Y/n, her gaze sharp and knowing. "You two," she said, linking her arm in Y/n's, "must tell me all about this later. That dress…and the look on Lewis's face… well, that was priceless”

Y/n, her cheeks burning, couldn't help but steal a glance at Lewis. His gaze met hers, a silent conversation passing between them. They both knew Gayle was right, and that everyone had probably also seen his gaze.

As they reached the exit, Gayle pulled Y/n to the side, their voices dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Keep doing whatever you're doing, Y/n" Gayle said, a mischievous glint in her eyes, leaning in even closer "That boy is absolutely smitten.”

Y/n couldn't help but let out a soft laugh "Thanks, Gayle" she whispered back. With a final hug, Gayle retreated to her own car, leaving Y/n and Lewis to get into theirs. The tension between them thick, a charged silence that spoke volumes as Lewis held open the car door for her.

He slid into the car beside her, wasting no time in letting his hand roam up under the dress, reaching her thighs in no time. A devilish grin spreading across his face, leaned in close. "She's right, love" he murmured, his voice husky. "You've got me completely wrapped around your fingers."

The heat of his touch sent a jolt of electricity through her. He caressed the soft skin, his fingers brushing tantalizingly close to her hips. Y/n, unable to contain a shiver, bit her lip. "Lew" she breathed, her voice laced with a playful warning. "Careful now. We're not exactly alone."

He chuckled but continued his exploration, his fingertips brushing against the bare skin just above the hem of her dress. The driver, through the rearview mirror, couldn't help but steal a glance. Y/n, catching a glimpse of his reflection, couldn't help but feel a thrill of exhibitionism mixed with a playful desire to tease Lewis further.

As Lewis's hand continued its ascent, his fingers brushed against a smooth, unexpected surface. He paused, his brow furrowing in confusion. A beat of silence hung in the air before it dawned on him. No underwear.

"Couldn't risk an underwear line ruining this moment" her voice laced with a playful challenge. The audacity of her statement, coupled with the realization, made his breath hitch in his throat, raw desire clouding his eyes.

He pulled his hand back abruptly, a silent promise hanging in the air. The confined space crackling with unspoken desire.

As Y/n stole a glance at him, her heart pounded in her chest. He was trying to control himself, a clear struggle evident in the way he held his breath and clenched his jaw. The bulge in his trousers, who had been previously concealed by his trench coat, was now a very visible sign to his arousal.

"Not long until we get back, Love" Lewis finally managed, his voice husky with frustration. He leaned back in his seat, running a hand through his braids in a frustrated gesture. Y/n, a satisfied smile playing on her lips, let out a low chuckle.

Relief washed over both of them as they pulled into the hotel. A small army materialized around them. Her team, ever-efficient, whisked them towards her suite, their focus solely on getting her out of the Venus dress.

Throughout the undressing, Lewis hovered on the periphery, his eyes laser-focused on Y/n. He watched with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine. Every so often, he would discreetly lick his lips, a gesture that spoke volumes of his pent-up desire.

The process was a delicate ballet – a team of stylists unhooking intricate clasps, another carefully lowering the billowing skirt. Finally, wrapped in a plush towel, Y/n stood alone with Lewis, her team discreetly melting away, a knowing smile playing on their lips.

Lewis crossed the room in two long strides, the heat of anticipation crackling in the air between them. His hand reached out, almost hesitantly, to brush a strand of her now loosened hair. The touch, seemingly casual, sent a jolt of electricity through her, igniting a fire that had been smoldering all evening.

"There you are," he murmured, his voice husky with desire. "Beautiful, captivating, and all mine. Only mine."

His words hung in the air like a promise, the most possessive claim she had ever heard from him. They resonated deep within her, stirring something primal. As her heart pounded in her chest, she couldn’t help but lean into his touch, seeking solace and desire in his embrace.

"All yours," she whispered, her voice thick with longing. Their lips met in a searing kiss, a collision of pent-up desire and raw emotion. In that moment, the playful banter of the night melted away, replaced by a raw hunger that neither could – or wanted – to deny.

Each second ticked by like a whisper of urgency. They had only about twenty minutes before they were due to leave for the after-party. With practiced efficiency born of desire, she threw the towel onto the bed, leaving herself bare before him, a silent invitation hanging in the air.

Lewis's eyes roamed over her, a smirk playing on his lips as she reached down to undress him from his pants. "Don't have time for that, love," he murmured, his hands stopping hers with a swift motion.

With a sudden shift of momentum, he flipped her, his hands tracing over her tummy as he left a trail of kisses along her shoulder. Each kiss sent a shiver of anticipation coursing through her, her breath hitching with every touch of his lips against her skin.

His hands ventured lower with each kiss, until they reached her folds, his touch igniting a primal hunger within her. A low growl escaped his lips as his fingers delved into her depths, drawing out her arousal with a skillful touch that left her trembling with desire.

Feeling the urgency of their fleeting moments, she flipped around, dropping to her knees to palm him through his boxers. The outline of his thick arousal was already prominent, and she freed it eagerly, the velvet hardness filling her hands. With practiced skill, she teased him, eliciting a delicious hiss of pleasure as she took him into her mouth, savoring the taste of him.

But time was slipping away and they both knew it. Five minutes had already slipped by, according to the bedside clock. His hands gripped her chin, pulling her up "I promise later we can take our time, but I need your pussy right now," he breathed, urgency lacing his words with a desperate plea.

With a hungry nod, she positioned herself, elbows resting on the armchair, presenting herself to him with a silent invitation. The tip of his arousal teased her entrance, collecting her slickness before he plunged into her with a single, deep thrust. A sharp cry escaped her lips as he bottomed out, his hands soothing the skin of her hips as he waited for her signal to move.

"Lew" she moaned, her voice a desperate plea for release. His fingers circled her clit, igniting a fire within her as he began to move, each thrust driving her closer to the edge of oblivion.

It didn't take long before she was panting, her body trembling with the force of her climax. Lewis held her close, whispering words of encouragement as she rode the wave of ecstasy, her senses overwhelmed by the intensity of their shared passion.

As she steadied herself, he resumed his frenzied thrusts, his movements becoming more urgent as he neared his own release. With a final, deep thrust, he spilled himself inside her, holding her tightly as their bodies trembled with shared pleasure, the world fading away into a haze of ecstasy.

When he pulled out, she turned into his embrace, cupping his face in her hands as she gazed into his eyes, her heart overflowing with emotion. "They can look all they want, but you're the one here," she declared, pulling him into a passionate kiss, sealing their bond with a promise of devotion and desire.

His hands left her only briefly to clean her up before dressing himself, his movements slow and deliberate as he savored the lingering moments of what had just happened.

As he emerged in his Dior attire, abs on full display, Y/n's eyes sparkled, a playful challenge in her voice. "Guess, you're the one drawing all the attention now," she teased as she admired him.

Lewis chuckled, his gaze lingering on her in the black Dior mini. "You don't look too bad yourself, love," he countered, his voice a low rumble.

He pulled her close, his hand trailing down her back. "But trust me," he murmured, his lips brushing her ear, "tonight, the only eyes I care about are yours."

______________________________________________________________

TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk @happy-golden-hour @vicurious28

@0710khj @thecubanator2 @neilakk @bigratbitchsworld @adriswrld

@fearfam69691 @cmleitora

[gardenwalrus]

Pattie Boyd on herself, George, John and Cynthia being spiked with LSD-laced coffee by their dentist, John Riley

Our dentist, John Riley, had turned us on to acid. He and his girlfriend invited John, Cynthia, George, and me to dinner at his house in Hyde Park Square one evening sometime in 1965. [...] We had a lovely meal, plenty to drink, and at the end George said, “Let’s go.” We were planning to see some friends playing at the Pickwick Club. John Riley’s girlfriend jumped to her feet. “You can’t,” she said. “You haven’t had any coffee yet. It’s ready, I’ve made it - and it’s delicious.” We sat down again and drank the coffee she was insistent we should have. But then we were really keen to get away and John Lennon said, “We must go now. These friends of ours are going to be on soon. It’s their first night, we’ve got to go and see them.” And John Riley said, “You can’t leave.” “What are you talking about?” said John Lennon. “You’ve just had LSD.” “No, we haven’t.” “Yes, you have,” said our host. ��It was in the coffee.” John Lennon was absolutely furious. “How dare you fucking do this to us?” he said.

George and I said, “Do what?” We didn’t know what LSD was. John Lennon was the only one of us who knew because he had read about it in Playboy. He said, “It’s a drug,” and as it began to take effect we felt even more strongly that we didn’t want to be there. I wondered if the dentist, who hadn’t had any coffee, had given it to us hoping the evening might end in an orgy. We were desperate to escape. John Riley said he would drive us and we should leave our car with him. “No,” we said. We piled into my Mini, which seemed to be shrinking, and drove to the club where our friends were playing. All the way the car felt smaller and smaller, and by the time we arrived we were completely out of it. People kept recognising George and coming up to him. They were moving in and out of focus, then looked like animals. We clung to each other, feeling surreal. Soon we moved on to the Ad Lib Club - we knew it and thought we might feel better if we were in familiar surroundings. It wasn’t far from the Pickwick so we walked and on the way I remember trying to break a shop window. The Ad Lib was on the top floor, above the Prince Charles Theatre in Leicester Place, and we thought the lift was on fire because there was a little red light inside. As the doors opened, we crawled out and bumped into Mick Jagger, Marianne Faithfull, and Ringo. John told them we’d been spiked. The effect of the drug was getting stronger and stronger, and we were all in hysterics and crazy. When we sat down, the table elongated. Hours later we decided to go home. We climbed into the car again and this time George drove - at no more than ten miles an hour, concentrating hard, all the way to Esher. But it felt as though he was doing a thousand miles an hour [...] it was daylight by the time we got home. We went into Kinfauns and locked the gate so that the cleaner wouldn’t come in and find us, put the cat into a room on her own, and sat down. The drug took about eight hours to wear off, but it was very frightening and we never spoke to the dentist again.

- From Pattie Boyd's autobiography Wonderful Tonight: George Harrison, Eric Clapton, and Me (2007)

[ilguna]

Hey! I love your work so much. Can you do 4 with four (tobias) from divergent ?

☼ succeed (tobias eaton) ☼

warnings; swearing, fighting, blood mention.

wc; 2.4k

prompt; 4. "Why do you sacrifice so much for me?"

notes; tweaked canon, obviously. not really noticeable unless you’re a huge fan.

--

Dauntless initiation is—unsurprisingly—far from what you thought it would be. To be fair, you’re not entirely sure what exactly you were expecting in the first place. All you know was that you were going to be in for a ride when they made you jump on and off of a moving train directly after transferring. 

This gave you a clue of what was to come, of course, but you took it in a different direction. If they wanted to see how daring you could be by risking your lives, then maybe that meant you’d be doing dangerous tasks throughout the rest of the month. 

On the first day, you assumed that you’d be learning how to throw away your inhibitions and solely rely on your instincts. An idea that isn’t incredibly outlandish when it comes to Dauntless. After all, they’re the ones in charge of security and wall perimeter—the jobs that can end up being deadly.

This is why you didn’t have a significant reaction when you were informed by Four that they’d be introducing you to self-defense. They proceeded to hang you a gun, gave you a target, and told you to shoot until your bullets were gone. And after lunch, they brought you to a large room where you were taught how to properly fight an opponent.

This is when reality had begun to set in. They were not teaching you this in case the situation ever arose, but because they wanted you to use it in the coming week. You’re going to be forced to defend yourself, whether you like it or not. They were just being courteous enough to teach you how to, first.

You didn’t figure this out until yesterday when you saw the chalkboard. While it had previously been devoid of writing, it suddenly held a list of names side by side, pairing initiates up together. For the first few minutes, you were under the impression that it was for sparring.

When they sent Al and Will into the center circle together, instructed to fight one another, you looked at Four. You found his eyes already on you, arms crossed over his chest, face hard. In that moment, you remembered all of his warnings for you to pay close attention to the way he’d been throwing his kicks and punches.

It’s not like you were ignoring him, but you did continuously brush him off because he was being overbearing. He must’ve taken this as you just being a know-it-all Erudite, leaving you to figure it out on your own. You’d have to learn one way or another that your logic wouldn’t help.

When really, you hadn’t heard him when he said that you’d be fighting your fellow initiates. 

You were a deer in headlights when the rules were explained. In these fights, you are to keep going until one of you is unable to continue. And while you could concede, it won’t be done without going unpunished. In the old rules, a brave man can acknowledge the strength of others. In the new rules, made by the newest Dauntless leader, a brave man never surrenders.

You think Four may have recognized that a mistake was made. He was quick to come up with an escape, albeit at the cost of your pride. He called you out in the middle of Eric’s explanation, telling you not to be sick on the floor unless you wanted to clean it. All you had to say was that breakfast wasn’t settling well, and you were excused to go sit down with a trash can.

With there being ten initiates in your group, there should’ve been five fights. You sat out, making it four, but none of you made it past the second one. Will and Al fought just fine, Al even won. The next fight to happen was Christina and Molly, which was following the same pattern as the first fight, until Christina decided that she wanted to concede.

That’s when you were informed that a punishment would go along with it. Eric was pissed, dragging Christina all the way to the chasm in the Pit that hangs above the river, barking at the rest of you to follow. He then made her climb to the other side of the railing and forced her to hold on to the bridge by her hands until he was satisfied.

When she didn’t fall to her death, you were dismissed for the rest of the day. This destroyed your plan of analyzing the fighting techniques of the others to figure out what you’re supposed to do. To make up for it, you thought you could come practice in the middle of the night, but the doors were locked.

So, to put it lightly, you’re screwed. The only way to learn now is from the fights that will be taking place, and even then you’ll still be at a disadvantage no matter how you approach it.

As soon as you step foot into the training room, your eyes find the chalkboard, curious to who you’ve been paired up with today. Yesterday, it was supposed to be Tris, the Abnegation transfer. She would’ve been a good first fight to figure out how you want to be in the ring, but that opportunity has passed.

Today, you are given more of a challenging opponent—Peter.

“Oh no,” A voice says, you glance over your shoulder to see that Christina is limping her way over to Tris. Her face is fairly bruised from the beating she received from Molly yesterday. “At least you aren’t paired with Peter.”

Both of them look in your direction, and you accidentally lock eyes with Christina for a moment. You press your lips together in disgust and turn away, no longer interested in their conversation. You are not a member of Erudite anymore, but that doesn’t mean they’ll stop seeing you that way. Not until you prove to them that you’re not snot-nosed. 

You turn your attention to Peter, who’s got a good few inches on you. Which wouldn’t be an issue, much less have you worried, if he didn’t have the muscle he does. This fight could easily go two ways, but you have a feeling it’s leaning in his favor more than yours. 

“Maybe she can just take a few hits and pretend to go unconscious.” Al suggests loud enough for you to hear. “No one would blame her.”

You grit your teeth at the idea of taking the cowards way out, something that you won’t be doing, no matter how tempting it is. Even if it does work out in your favor, there’s no telling what Eric will do to you when he figures out that you’d faked it. While he made Christina hang from the chasm by her hands, he’d tell you to do something much worse. Or kick you out of initiation altogether for not having the Dauntless heart.

Which isn’t true. You belong here.

Fortunately, you and Peter are not the first fight of the day, it’s Edward and Molly. You might as well be, though. The pair of you are listed directly underneath them. You think that you’d even prefer being the first to go. If you could get it out of the way, you would.

As you mindlessly watch Edward and Molly, you try to pick out some of their moves to remember with Peter. Four had taught the group of you the basics to get started, he never said that you couldn’t mix in what you know as well. Which is nothing, because you’ve never got into a fight before. There was never a need to.

The personalization works out in Edward’s favor. The technique that Molly had used yesterday on Christina is fairly predictable. On top of that, she’s not fast enough to keep up with Edward’s pace. It’s only a matter of minutes before she’s beaten near-unconscious. That’s when Drew and Peter work together to peel her off of the wooden floor and to the nearest wall to recover.

In the short time you have, you take a couple of deep breaths, shaking your hands to rid the anxious energy that’s fueling your body. You make eye contact with Four briefly, and in this time, he gives you a solid nod. He’s confident in your abilities, more so than you are. It’s a shame that you’re probably going to let him down.

Still, you walk your way to the white circle, standing at one end of it while you wait for Peter. When he finally turns his attention to you,. There’s a smile spread across his face, 

“You okay there, Blowhard?” Peter teases, you can almost feel your eyes bulge out of your head at the nickname. “You look like you’re about to cry. I might go easy on you if you cry.”

“Did you just call me a Blowhard?” You sputter out a laugh. “What does that make you, a Crybaby?”

You look past Peter, at Four, who’s standing side-by-side with Eric. His face is twisted, focused hard on the two of you in the ring. Eric, on the other hand, is tapping his foot quickly, impatience shining through.

Peter raises his hands by his face, elbows and knees bent as he begins to prepare for the fight. “Come on, (Y/n). Just one little tear. Maybe some begging.”

Without warning, you swing your leg at his side, intending to land a kick. He’s prepared for this, grabbing your ankle and yanking you forward, pulling you off balance. You land on your back, but quickly twist to get back to your feet, fists returning, readying yourself.

“Stop playing with her.” Eric suddenly snaps. “I don’t have all day.”

This is enough for Peter, as the amused look on his face disappears. His movement is one giant blur, but the pain in your jaw is sharp, as it continues to spread across your face. For a moment, bright white stars and a black void flow across your vision, taking your balance with it. 

You blink rapidly, backing away from Peter as you try to get the room to stop swaying. This lasts for a few seconds at most, because Peter is moving just as quickly as Edward had been. He appears in front of you, foot slamming into your stomach, stealing the air from your lungs. 

You clutch your ribs as you fight through the pain in your abdomen. Peter takes this as an invitation to come closer, but you’re expecting this. You catch his fist as you slide your foot between his legs, tripping him. Instead of falling forward, you throw him back, twisting his arm in the process.

You land on your knees hard. The dull pain is at the front of your thoughts for a second before you’ve got your first slamming into Peter’s nose. You get two hits in, then he takes a fistful of hair at the back of your head, yanking. He repays the favor by punching you in the nose.

It doesn’t matter how hard you kick or slap, because he’s got a tight grip. The next hit he lands is to your ribs, in the same place that you’d been holding onto moments prior. You open your mouth, letting out a strangled cry, and a metallic taste spreads over your tongue. One word comes to mind; blood.

He lets go of your hair, shoving you away. You land on your palms, gasping through your lips, eyes blurry with tears as you search the ground for the white paint. You begin to crawl away, wanting to put some distance between the two of you while you take a breath, but he grabs your ankle, dragging you back toward him.

He draws his foot back, and despite knowing what’s coming, you don’t move in time, letting the toe of his shoe sink into your skin. You cough, the next few seconds are agonizing as you forget how to breathe, like a fish out of water.

“That’s enough.” Four’s voice breaks through the silence. “Get her out.”

“She’s still moving.” Eric tells him. “She gets out when she can no longer go on.”

Your eyes roll to the back of your head when you move to roll over. You won’t play pretend, you refuse to take the easy way out. You are not an Erudite anymore, you won’t run. You’re going to fight.

Somehow you manage to get to your feet, fists raised, eyes barely focusing on Peter long enough to keep track of him. You gather the blood in your mouth, spitting it at his feet.

“Come at me, you little bitch.” You murmur.

Peter flies across the circle, fist coming at your face. You manage to catch it with one hand, and with the other, you slap him with an open palm. The sound of skin-on-skin fills the air, there’s a few audible gasps in the room.

It’s over, you think. Just before Peter knocks your lights out.

When you come back to Earth, you’re suspended in the air, swaying from side to side. You’ve never been motion sick before, but the dizziness is so hard to handle that this is enough to send you over the edge.

“‘M gonna be sick.” You mutter.

The world stops moving for a second, and then you’re placed on your feet. Your hands reach for something to hold on to as support. They come into contact with another hand, which you wrap your fingers around tightly as your breakfast comes back up as a liquid.

When you’re done, you turn to face the person who had just been holding you in their arms. You’re met with Four, who has his eyebrows raised, waiting for you to say something.

“Thank you.” You whisper.

“Why are you thanking me?”

“For putting me down.” You breathe, leaning over with your hands on your knees. “And for trying to get me out of there. And for delaying my fight yesterday.”

When you look at him again, there’s a softer look on his face, different from the scowl that you’re used to seeing. He reaches over, rubbing a hand over your back. “It’s okay, (Y/n).”

“You could’ve gotten in trouble with Eric.” You say, shaking your head as you move to stand straighter. “Why do you sacrifice so much for me?”

Four opens his mouth, and then closes it. It’s silent between the two of you for a minute as he decides how he wants to respond. Or maybe he’s thinking that you’ll change the subject. With your persistence, he sighs.

“Because you’re different.” 

--

this was part of my 3k celeberation!!

[momhwa-agenda]

Drive me crazy | Octoberfest Day 3

Pairing - boyfriend!Eric x fem!reader

Drink - Martini with a side of whiskey (aka Established relationship & Bondage)

Summary - Eric has always been the kind of boyfriend who loves to spoil you, indulging your desires without hesitation. Tonight, he proves once again that he knew exactly how to keep things exciting.

Word Count - 2.7K

Warnings - SMUT (Minors 18+ DNI!!!), use of restraints, orgasm denial, oral (m and f receiving), spanking, fingering, unprotected sex, backshots, daddy kink, creampie, cockwarming, petnames (baby and darling)

Author’s note - Proofread this once help. My first entry for OctoberFest with friends! I had the pic of the bracelets on standby for 2 years and I finally get to use them for a fic hahasdks.

Taglist - @daisyvisions @midnightfantasiez @snowflakewhispers @kitschun @nyu-topia

⇀ OctoberFest Masterlist

Eric’s thoughts were anything but formal.

His gaze drifted more often than it should, not to the grand chandeliers or the sea of glamorous people—but to you. Specifically, the bracelets adorning your wrists. They seemed innocent enough to anyone else, but all that was missing was the chain linking them together.

He remembered the story behind them, the reason you’d been drawn to those delicate chains from Bijoux Indiscrets the first time you saw them. He could practically hear your teasing voice telling him: “They’re more than just accessories, babe.”

You moved closer to him, your arm brushing his. The sultry cut of your dress revealed just enough to send his mind racing, but it was those bracelets, softly jingling with your movements, that truly got under his skin tonight.

You felt his eyes on you, knowing full well you were the cause of his distraction. A coy smile tugged at your lips as you continued to mingle, pretending not to notice the way his fingers twitched, as if he were already imagining slipping them under the satin fabric of your gown.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he leaned down to whisper in your ear, his voice a low rumble. “We need to go.” The words were edged with desire, making your heart skip a beat.

You looked up at him, feigning innocence. “It’s too early to leave...” But the knowing glint in your eyes was pretty clear to Eric what game you were playing.

He didn’t answer. He simply took your hand and guided you toward the elevator. As the doors closed behind you both, the air between you became thick with tension. The moment you were alone, his restraint crumbled. Eric pressed you against the mirrored wall, his hands finding their way to your waist, your bracelets jingling as your arms circled his neck.

“Naughty girl, you did this on purpose,” he muttered against your lips, voice rough with want. “You know what those bracelets do to me.”

A soft laugh escaped you as you nipped playfully at his bottom lip. “I had no idea,” you teased, eyes sparkling with mischief. “They matched the dress.”

He growled softly, gripping your neck in a way that was rough yet with a hint of gentleness. His teeth grazed your skin before he peppered hungry kisses along your sensitive flesh.

When the elevator dinged at your floor, he reluctantly pulled away, his breath ragged. But then he flashed that charming, devilish smile you adored. “I've got something to show you.”

He laced his fingers with yours, leading you down the hallway, until he stopped in front of your hotel suite. With a flourish, he unlocks the door, revealing your hotel suite, except the sight of which left you speechless. The room was now bathed in soft candlelight, rose petals scattered across the plush bed, and a bottle of champagne chilling on ice.

You turned to him, stunned. “Eric…”

He grinned, pulling you into his arms. “Happy anniversary, baby.”

Your heart swelled as you looked around the room, then back at him. “This is…” you break off, overwhelmed with emotion.

“You didn’t think I would forget did you?” he said, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “How could I forget the best day of my life?”

Your eyes shimmered as you smiled up at him. He leaned in, pressing his lips softly to yours.

“Now I feel bad, my outfit is nothing compared to this” you murmured against his lips.

He laughed softly, you nervously fiddled with the collar of his silk shirt. “The outfit was amazing, sweetheart. But you’ll be needing something stronger than these,” he holds your wrists up touching the cool gold accessories.

Before you can say anything further, your boyfriend leads you towards the bed. A box sits waiting for you.

“Go on. Open it” Eric whispers in your ear.

As you unwrap the bow, you uncover a familiar choker that you came across online.

A soft gasp escapes your lips as you run your fingers over the cool metal. You take the choker out of the box, the chains that droop elegantly around the hoops send a ripple of arousal through you.

“You didn’t. This can’t be…” Your voice falters, filled with disbelief and excitement.

“There are bracelets to match” Eric just says behind you.

The words barely have time to settle before you turn, heart racing, and capture his lips in a kiss that is as desperate as it is tender. Your fingers cling to him, pulling him closer, the weight of the choker in your hand forgotten for a moment. His lips respond eagerly, meeting yours with the kind of hunger that says he's been waiting for this.

When you finally pull away, both of you are breathless. Your chest rises and falls, but it's his eyes that hold you in place, dark and intense, filled with something possessive and unrelenting.

Eric’s hand rises slowly, cradling your face with such tenderness that it sends a shiver down your spine. His thumb brushes over your cheek, and you lean into the warmth of his touch. The weight of the choker, the symbolic gesture of ownership, and the thought of him using it on you makes your knees feel weak.

“Tell me….how do you want to start?”

“I want…” You know he was going to give you anything you desired yet there you were, pleading with your eyes “I want to wear them tonight.”

You remove your dress and the bracelets, leaving you bare, save for the lacy thong. Tugging on his shirt collar, you pull him down gently until he’s lying on top of you. His weight is warm and grounding against your body. Your hands rest against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your fingers, matching your own racing pulse.

“Claim every part of me, Eric…Until I can’t think of anything else. I trust you.” You spread your arms on either side of the bed, inviting him to cuff your hands with the restraints attached to the bedpost.

His lips curved into a slow smile, but his eyes never left yours, searching, reading every emotion that flickered across your face. “Just tell me if it’s too much,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. “I’ll stop the moment you want me to.”

You nodded, heart thudding in your chest, as he took the cuffs from the box. His fingers brush your wrist as he takes your hand, lifting it gently, his touch reverent as if he’s handling something fragile.

The soft clink of metal fills the quiet room as he fastens the first cuff around your wrist, the leather smooth and snug against your skin. The sensation is strange, unfamiliar, but it doesn’t frighten you. Instead, it makes your pulse quicken with a heady mix of trust and desire. You watch him as he moves with deliberate slowness, ensuring that the leather isn’t too tight, that you’re still comfortable.

With the first cuff in place, he stretches your arm carefully toward the bedpost, securing it there. You feel the tension in your body, not from discomfort, but from the raw vulnerability of it. Your breath hitches as he moves to the other wrist, repeating the process, his fingers brushing your skin with a tenderness that contrasts with the tension in the room.

You then sit up a little as Eric gently lifts the choker, bringing it up to your throat. His hands are steady as he clasps it behind your neck, but you feel the tremor of his breath, betraying the desire simmering beneath his calm exterior.

The chains brush your skin, and you gasp softly, your body reacting to the subtle sensation. His fingers linger at your neck, tracing the line of the chain with a deliberate slowness that sends a wave of heat rolling through you, before he twirls the material around his finger.

“Does baby want to be choked?”

“Yes, please” you gasp. Eager to test the choker, Eric tugs on the chain, causing it to tighten around your neck. The sudden pressure catches you off guard, momentarily stealing your breath. Yet, a moan escapes your lips, surprising even you. Your reaction—both the sound and the look on your face—sends Eric's pulse racing. A wicked grin spreads across his face; he was going to relish having you at his mercy.

“Do you think you deserve my cock?” he gets off the bed momentarily to strip down the rest of his clothes, without taking his eyes off of you. Once he pulls his briefs down, the delicious monster cock you love so much slaps against his abs. You gulp at how turned on he was.

He hasn’t even touched you but it was also the way his eyes roamed over the sight of you lying ready for him. God you looked beautiful and perfect to him.

“I want…very much, daddy. I need your cock in my mouth, please” You beg.

Eric crawls over you, until he was straddling you enough that he slowly rubbed his member over your stomach. He kisses your lips, fueled by the hunger that’s been building between you all night, as his hands roam down to grope your breast.

He breaks the kiss, cradling your face once more. You roll out your tongue, licking his palm mischievously. That was it for him to push himself into your mouth. Satisfied groans leave your mouth and his. With Eric, it was the feeling of being inside your warm mouth, while for you it was the need to taste every inch of him like a quiet ache that would never go away. You pride yourself in making Eric feel desired, you love every aspect of his body. You loved his dick so much, and you would give him everything regardless of what position he had you in.

Eric then began to thrust in you, testing your limits by pushing a little further. You didn’t let him down as you lifted your head, trying to take all of him, alternating from sucking him slow, to hard and fast. Eric’s head started to feel heavy, he gripped the headboard rails as he continued to push himself in and out of your mouth. The effect you had on him was slowly pushing him to the edge, but he didn’t want this to end so soon. He pulls out from your mouth and you whine.

“Sorry darling but it’s my turn. I want to taste you now” he leaves a quick kiss on your chest before flipping you over, so you were in an all fours position, with your ass up.

You didn’t realize how wet you’ve gotten the whole time, because once Eric rips your lace panties off of you and presses a soft kiss on your folds, you cry upon hearing the sounds of your soaked core mixed with Eric’s groans. From finally feeling touched from where you needed him most.

“Fuck, sucking me off turned you on this much, huh?” Eric mutters, and all you can do is moan as he goes back to licking and ravishing your sweet pussy. As if it wasn’t enough, Eric slaps your ass, the sting makes you arch your back. You were dripping with so much need that your knees threatened to buckle, but it felt so good that you just pushed your butt into the air. 

“More, daddy please” you whimper, gripping a fistful of the bedsheet.

He slaps your ass once more, it’s harder this time, earning another cry from you. Eric returns to licking your clit while shoving two fingers in your cunt incessantly, the squelching noises turning him on so hard. He needed you like this, he could make you come apart multiple times, but there was something he enjoyed about playing with your pussy so much before entering you.

Once he felt you tighten around his two digits, he knew you were close. He pulls his fingers out of you completely, sucking them as you whine again from the loss of contact.

“You think you’re ready for my cock now?” He asks.

“Y-yes!” you attempt in the daze he put you in. “I’m daddy’s good girl. I’m ready for anything daddy wants!”

With that he smirks, aligning his cock teasingly on your folds and he groans with how wet you are, it’s so much to coat him. Just as he wanted. You whine from the teasing and Eric spanks you to behave.

“Be patient, darling,” he warns.

He enters you with ease, you were soaking so much, honestly both of you could come here and now. Instead Eric holds his breath, pushing in and out of you slowly. He holds you by the waist, pulling you closer to him that your back is against his chest. His breath warm against your neck sends shivers all over you. Your eyes lock, and you can’t help but smile at the expression in his gaze, as he loosens the chain of the choker; adjusting its position so the string of chains is resting on the back of your neck.

“This just like what you imagined, yeah?” he murmurs against your skin, his voice low and rough. His hands grip your hips, his fingers digging in just enough to remind you of the strength he holds.

You nod at him “Everything and more.”

Eric presses a soft kiss on your forehead, before he presses one hand on your back for you to bend down for him again. He smooths his hand over your back before spanking you once more, all while snapping his cock back in, you could swear his balls slapped against your pussy.

His thrusts start to grow rough and animalistic. You’re practically burying your face into the soft mattress, which muffles your cries. If only you could see how you both looked right now, your mind would go haywire.

“Don’t muffle your sounds now, baby,” he leans, reaching down, sweeping your hair over your shoulder, exposing the nape of your neck. “I want to hear how good I make you feel.”

He pulls on the chain, causing you to arch your back. You felt your heart race, the intensity of the moment leaving you lightheaded with desire. Eric swears he’s heard your cries of pleasure so many times, it’s music to his ears. But the moan you let out just now was something else. It’s beautiful and sexy. All this from the choker clasping tight on your neck, mixed with the feeling of his steady thrusts in your pussy.

All this for him. It drove him so mad with desire his eyes rolled back as he continued rolling his hips, while holding on to the chain.

“Is this too much for my girl?” he grunted.

“No! It's perfect! P-please…don’t stop! Not until I’ve cum hard on your cock” you manage through strained breaths, the choker was squeezing your throat but it was just the right amount that added to your arousal.

Eric fucks his cock relentlessly into you until you’re screaming when your climax shatters you hard. You drop yourself on the mattress, gripping the sheets as Eric continues fucking you through it; your soaked cunt helping him chase his own release. You were so dazed from your climax yet the way he roughly pounded himself into you, your eyes widened as you began to feel a second climax threatening to snap.

You come a second time, and your cries meld with his in an erotic symphony, filling the room.

“Fuck…” his breath ragged, as he leans down pulling you to his embrace. Eric held you close, peppering soft kisses from your neck to your shoulder. His cock still inside you. You could feel the mix of your juices with his spilling a little on the bed, but it didn’t matter. You were high on cloud nine to even care.

“Baby, are you still with me?” he whispers in your ear, while caressing your stomach.

“Fuck me like that again, okay,” you whimpered. Eric chuckles in response. Of course you wanted more, you always did. Even though you were clearly out of strength and needed a break, you’d always ask for more.

“As long as you want, baby, as long as you want” he reassures you.

[homiesexuallaj]

Request: Eric Draven (Bill Skarsgård version) introverted loner, meets Shelly who helps bring him out of his shell. Its love at first sight for Eric😍🖤

Pairing: Eric Draven x reader

Warnings/Genre: heavy au, fluff, rehab, troublemaker Shelly, Shelly makes you into a troublemaker, you and Shelly are like besties, shy Eric, reader flirts with Eric a tad, drug mention, mention of cigarettes

A/N: Okay yes I did read the ask wrong but in my defense I was blinded by the god of “x reader’s” and somehow my brain added that shelly introduced the reader to Eric, but hopefully you still enjoy it!

--- --- ---

You'd been in rehab awhile now. At least a couple months. You didn't have many friends, or any really. You had a few acquaintances that you got along with but no one that you had a true bond with.

Every day became the same for you. Shower, get dressed, breakfast, group therapy, afternoon outside time, lunch, one-on-one therapy, evening outside time, dinner, sleep, and repeat. It was tiring with no change. Until a certain duo started to cause some ruckus.

You didn't know who they were. The noticeable things were that they both were severely tatted up and that there seemed to be a whole foot of height difference between the two. The girl of the duo seemed to cause the trouble and disruption, dragging the poor, tall boy into her shenanigans. After getting in trouble for the umpteenth time, the boy disappeared and you came into view.

The girl, who's name was Shelly, popped herself right down at your table during lunch time. She had such a wide smile that her usual wide eyes turned to crescents. She twirled her hair as you two talked.

You two seemed to click almost instantly and Shelly quickly brought you out of your shell, dragging you into mischief. Mischief like sitting with boys Shelly thought were attractive, causing food fights, sneaking around after hours, escaping through the narrow windows in the laundry room, and giving each other stick-and-poke tattoos.

Shelly really did bring the troublemaker out of you.

Three weeks went by before Shelly's male companion was released from solitary confinement.

Shelly quickly flew back into his arms, dragging you by your hands. And here, you finally got a good close-up look at the man.

Compared to before solitary confinement, the man has black, crow-colored hair. Throughout the weeks here, his mullet had grown out, the tips of his hair curling up and peaking out from behind his neck. His eyes were a muddy green, brown flecks turning golden in the sunlight. His black tattoos were a stark contrast against his pale skin. And up close now, the man really was tall. So tall that you were face-to-face with his chest, his very broad chest.

Over the next few weeks of troublemaking, you learned that Shelly's male companion's name was Eric Draven and that Shelly often took the lead in troublemaking (with you being announced as second-in-command). Eric was rather shy and was often dragging in your's and Shelly's troublemaking. And he wasn't lookout, oh no, Eric was dragged down right into the middle. He often hoisted you girls up into places where your heights wouldn't allow you to reach.

At the moment, it was just you prancing through the halls. Shelly was off playing with one of her boy toys. You weren't looking for anyone in particular but when you came upon an open door on the second floor you couldn't help but peer in.

The room was messy. The mattress was overturned and the sheets torn off. There were papers everywhere, practically covering the tile floor, and a couple sheets of paper were thrown out into the hallway. In the middle of the room, picking up some of the papers, was Eric. He seemed irritated, probably because the care staff had ransacked his room. You shrugged, picking up the papers that led from the hallway and into his room.

"Well well well," You started, leaning against the doorframe. "What do we have here?"

"Oh um," Eric seemed to jump a bit at your presence. "Just some sketches."

You hummed, "You mind if I take a peak?"

"Not at all," Eric responded, swiping aside a couple papers so he could out his mattress right side up.

You flipped through your hand full of papers. Eric's drawings were good. Many were of the outside forest that surrounded the rehab building, others were of people around the common areas, and a few more caught your eye. There were some drawings of Shelly, mostly closeups like poses or while she was doing something nearby. The rest were of... you. Most from afar, drawn from across rooms or from different floors (as the angle suggested). The drawings were innocent enough, but one or two were you drawn in your undershirt and sweats with a hint of your nipples poking through the thin material. You blushed and cleared your throat.

"You like women with tight clothes, don't you?" You teased, watching as Eric put the sheets back on his bed.

Eric stood and looked down at your hand, seeing the slightly provocative drawings. He blushed heavy, spreading out across is cheeks and down his neck.

"Sometimes," He scratched the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact.

You only hummed in response and nodded, setting the papers down on a nearby table. You sauntered over to the taller man, causing him to drop his sheets that he was attempting to wrap around his mattress. You stood as tall as you could and wrapped your arms around Eric's shoulders, pulling him down to you a bit.

"What do you like to do for fun, Eric?" You practically purred, standing close but yet not close enough.

Eric looked between your eyes, nervous but there was obviously something else ticking in his mind. From the corner of your eyes, you could see his hands twitching. It was like he was itching to touch you but wasn't sure if he was allowed.

"I'll-I'll show you," Eric told you and made a motion to stand at his full height.

You pulled away from Eric and watched his movement.

Eric moved around you and peaked out the doorway of his room, looking for wandering staff. Once the coast was deemed clear, Eric grabbed your hand (almost on instinct) and lead you down and around the hallways.

The white walls twisted and turned. Wherever Eric was leading you, it got dimmer and dimmer. After another look around, Eric opened a door that he lead you two to. It squeaked loudly and you both cringed. Before you could have a look around, Eric pulled you into the dark room. The door shut behind you and you were befallen into pure darkness.

Eric let go of your hand and you could hear him shuffling around. He knocked into a couple things, cursing under his breath. A metallic creak and a groan were heard and the room was lit up from the ceiling. A ladder came down from the square opening. You stared at it, wondering what Eric had gotten you into.

"I'll go first," Eric muttered, already climbing up the ladder.

You followed a few steps behind.

Eric disappeared into the light. You followed and peaked your head up into the open air.

You were on top of the rehab building, rocks covered the entire roof. It was all flat, save for the three-foot-tall border around the roof to keep people from falling off. There were a few machines up here, like for air conditioning and stuff. It was all white up here, with the texture of gray from the rocks.

A tattooed hand interrupted your looking around. You followed the arm up to the face of the person. Eric was giving you an amused look. You rolled your eyes and grabbed Eric's hand, allowing him to help you the rest of the way up.

"So how did you learn to come up here?" You asked once your feet hit the rocks.

"The staff only come up here during certain times of the day," Eric answered, leading you to some metal duct-work that laid down on the roof. "If you watch it's not hard to learn their routines."

"Ah," You responded, now realizing how much Eric really watched his surroundings. "So this.. is what you do for fun?"

"Kinda boring, right?" Eric chuckled, sitting down on the duct-work and fishing a couple thin, white objects and an orange lighter from between the rocks.

"Why this?" You asked, avoiding Eric's question.

"It's just nice to get away from people sometimes," Eric lit the thin object, a cigarette, and took a hit. "It's loud down there. Out here is quiet."

Eric blew the smoke away from you and offered you the cigarette.

"No thanks," You held a hand up. "I don't smoke."

Eric nodded, keeping the cigarette to himself now.

It was quiet now. You couldn't help but side-eye Eric, admiring his smoking form. His long fingers kept the cigarette held in place, you noticed a slight tremor in them.

You could help but scoot a bit closer to the tall man, still eyeing him to see his reaction to you testing the waters. You saw him side-eyeing you back. You switched your eyes to the forest ahead, watching the swaying trees. Slowly, you leaned over towards Eric and laid your head atop his shoulder.

He tensed for a moment but relaxed, taking another hit from his cigarette.

"You're right," You muttered. "It is quiet up here."

--- --- ---

A/N: My askbox is open for Eric Draven! Feel free to drop one in!

[nerdy-novelist017]

Borrowed Bites (Eric Draven x Rebel!Reader pt 2)

Added another part since the last one was received so well! Thank you for the kind words and appreciation! I'd LOVE to hear your thoughts on this part! 💕

Eric Draven Masterlist

Word Count- 2.9k+

Summary- He just couldn't get away from you. You were corrupting his routine, his life, his thoughts.

Eric sought refuge in the library, a quiet sanctuary where the weight of the facility’s sterile air seemed to lift, just a little. The room was a cocoon of silence, the faint scent of old, yellowed books filtering through his senses. Here, amid the shelves of dusty volumes, he could be transported to somewhere else, somewhere where the walls were not closing in on him little by little every day. 

He was supposed to be assigned to cleaning the room for the next hour, but he was finished within the first 30 minutes, so now he sat in the aisle, leaning up against the shelf. He was lost in the pages of an old art book, the kind that made him ache for life outside of these walls. He was staring at a particular page of a charcoal drawing of a horse, the scene bringing back his own past in a swirl of paint strokes, charcoal lines, the delicate dance of light and dark. 

But that moment was shattered by the sound of the door opening and footsteps approaching him. His heart sank, a heavy stone sinking into the pit of his stomach. He didn’t need to look up to know who it was. The air around him seemed to buzz with a familiar energy, one he had been trying – and failing – to avoid. 

“You hiding out in here, artist boy?” your voice broke through the stillness of the room, a playful tone that underscored something sharper, something that pricked at his defenses. 

Eric’s eyes glanced up, catching just a brief look at your face above him before dropping back to the book in his lap. He knew by just the few times of your interactions since your arrival to the facility a week ago, that his disinterest would not be enough to make you go away. No, it seemed that you could not take a hint, no matter how obvious it was. 

“This place is a real snoozefest,” you said as you lowered yourself on the floor in front of him, sitting cross-legged. You leaned forward on your hands, trying to peer at his book. “I didn’t peg you for the library type.”

“It’s quiet here,” he muttered, his voice almost devoid of emotion. “That’s why I like it here.”

“And here I thought you came for the thrilling company,” you teased, your voice taking on a hint of something more – a curiosity perhaps, or an understanding that he didn’t want you to have. 

“Shouldn’t you be off trying to seduce the guards?” he bit back, referencing your words from his first unwanted interaction with you. 

You grinned mischievously as you brushed a strand of your unruly hair out of your face. “I’m still working on that, don’t you worry.”

“I’m not interested,” his fingers tightened around the edges of his book as he spoke with a certain level of finality, attempting to completely sever the connection you were trying to forge. 

“Not interested in what?” you pressed, tilting your head in a way that Eric came to understand as you attempting to figure him out, like you were trying to put together the puzzle pieces of his mind. 

He hesitated, the question catching him off guard. He didn’t know how to answer, how to articulate the mind-jumbling swirl of emotions inside him. He finally grumbled, “In whatever game you’re playing.”

A brief flash of hurt flickered across your face, so quick that he almost missed it. But then you recovered with that infuriating grin. “Who says I’m playing a game?”

Uncomfortable with that reaction, his gaze fell back down to his book, as if the words would allow him an escape of whatever trap you were setting. “Just leave me alone.”

But of course, that wasn’t enough to deter you. You weren’t the type to back down so easily. Instead, you leaned back against the opposite shelf from him, folding your arms as if preparing for a long conversation he had no interest in having. 

“You know,” you started, your voice a touch softer now, “you’re not as invisible as you might think.”

Eric’s jaw tightened, the words hitting him hard. He had spent so long trying to be just that – invisible, a ghost passing through unnoticed. But you saw him, and you wouldn’t look away. 

“I’m not hiding,” he retorted quietly, but the words sounded hollow even to himself. 

“Then why won’t you look at me?” Your question hung heavy in the air between you, a challenge he wasn't sure how to meet. 

He forced himself to look up at you, your direct gaze sending his heart to his stomach. He refused to admit it, refused, but something about you drew him in like a moth to a flame, something about your eyes that refused to look away. 

“What do you want from me?” he asked, his voice low. 

You didn’t answer immediately, your gaze evocative as you studied him silently, as if searching for something beneath the surface. “I want to know you,” you said finally, the simplicity of the words cutting through him. 

Eric stared at you, his mind racing to find a response to that strange statement, something that would push you away, make you see that there was nothing worth knowing in him. But all he could manage was, “Why?”

“Because,” you said as you leaned forward slightly, your voice barely above a whisper, “you’re different. I can tell.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, didn’t know how to respond to the sincerity in your voice. The way you seemed to genuinely care unsettled him, the way you saw him and refused to let him fade into the background like he wanted. 

“You don’t know me,” he said after a moment, his words heavy with frustration and something else that he didn’t want to examine too closely. It was the same words he had told you a week ago when you first spoke to him and flipped his world upside down, but he couldn’t find anything else to say to you. You didn’t know him, that was true. But you definitely wanted to fit yourself into his life, to know him as he knew himself. 

“I think you’re worth figuring out.” A small smile tugged at your lips.

He wanted to scoff, to brush off your words as naive and misguided, but there was something in your tone, in the way you were looking not just at him but through him, made it impossible to miss. You were being sincere, and that shook him to his core.

“I’m not,” he retorted, his voice weaker than he intended. “I’m just another screw-up, just like everyone else in here.”

You shook your head. “I don’t think so. I think you’re more than that.”

He didn’t know how to respond to that, didn’t know how to process the unfamiliar warmth swirling in his chest. All he knew was you were getting way too close, digging too deep into feelings he’d locked away a long time ago. He reached for the book, flipping it open to a random page in a futile attempt to avoid your intense gaze. But the words on the page blurred, the images that had once brought him comfort now seemed distant, unreachable. 

Before you could say anything else, the sound of the door opening again startled both of you, shattering the temporary bubble you were enclosed in, and Eric looked up just in time to see a guard round the corner of the aisle, his heavy footsteps thudding on the worn carpet. He instantly sat up straighter, his heart racing slightly when the guard’s eyes caught sight of the two of you. 

“What are you doing in here?” The guard’s voice was a harsh intrusion, his gaze narrowing between you like a hawk sizing up its prey. 

Eric shot you a nervous glance your way. To anyone else, your expression would have looked completely neutral as you regarded the man nearing you both, but Eric could see the tension in your jaw, the way it ticked ever so slightly, betraying the anger brewing just beneath the surface. 

“I’m not doing anything,” you replied casually, almost dismissive. But the guard’s wasn’t in the mood for games. He cut you off before you could say anything more.

“You know the rules,” he barked, his voice echoing in the stillness of the library. “No fraternizing.”

You put your hands up in mock surrender, a gesture that might have seemed playful if not for the sarcasm dripping in your voice as you replied, “Yeah, right. God forbid anyone make any friends in here.”

The guard’s gaze darkened, his eyes narrowing to slits. Without warning, he grabbed your arm and yanked you to your feet with a roughness that made Eric flinch  “You’re not here to make friends. You’re here to get sober and stop being a burden and a piece of shit to society.” 

The harsh words hung in the air like poison, their words seeping into the cracks the moment. Eric felt a surge of panic in his chest as he snapped the book shut, the sound like a gunshot in the tense silence. He stood quickly, instinctively knowing it was best not to argue, not to escalate the situation further. Just follow the rules, he told himself, a mantra he clung to since he got here. But he knew you well enough now that you wouldn’t – couldn't – do that.

“Wow, tell me how you really feel about it,” you shot back, your voice clouded with defiance. 

“You think this is funny?” The guard hissed, his voice dropping to a menacing low. “Keep running that mouth and you’ll find out just how serious we are.”

For a brief moment, Eric saw a flicker of something in your eyes – a flicker of doubt, maybe even fear – but it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the same defiance that both worried and awed him. 

Eric felt the weight of the moment bearing down on the room, the oppressive atmosphere of the facility closing in. He knew he should say something, do something to alleviate the tension, but the fear of the repercussions, of going back to solitary confinement, held him back, rendering him silent and still. 

“Come on,” the guard snapped, pulling you towards the door. “We’re done here.”

As you were dragged away, you cast one last look over your shoulder to Eric, and he could see the mix of emotions in your eyes – anger, frustration and something that resembled regret. And Eric’s chest tightened at the sight because you weren’t just leaving as you always did. You were being taken away, and he was powerless to stop it. 

The door slammed shut behind you, and the silence that followed was deafening. Eric stood frozen, staring at the spot you occupied just moments before, his mind racing. He gripped the book in his hand with a white knuckle power as he realized he had let the guard take you without so much as lifting a finger, without saying a word. The realization twisted like a knife in his gut, a painful reminder of his own helplessness. 

*****

Eric didn’t see you for the rest of the day. He tried not to think about how he even noticed your lack of presence and especially how it made him feel. The day passed with the same level of dreadful monotony that he had been subjected to since the very first day he’d arrived in this hellhole. 

It wasn’t until lunchtime the next day until he saw you again. The cafeteria thrummed with the repeated sounds of everyday life here – the clatter of trays connecting, the gentle murmur of quiet conversation, the sporadic eruptions of laughter or from souls lost in their own struggles. Eric sat by himself at a table near the corner of the room, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the edges of his tray as he picked at the array of bland, tasteless food before him. The harsh fluorescence above cast a stark, unforgiving light over everything, rendering the room devoid of any warmth. 

He was halfway through forcing another bite of the food when you suddenly materialized across the expanse of the bustling room. You slid into the seat across from him, a mirthful grin on your face. 

“Did you miss me, artist boy?” you asked with a tilt of your head, that signature smirk playing across your lips.

He wasn’t going to answer that, not even for himself. He averted his gaze to his tray instead, afraid that you would be able to read through his expressions as you so often did. That didn’t seem to bother you though because without hesitation (or permission) you reached over and swiped a roll from his tray, taking a bite as if it was casual. 

“Hey,” Eric protested softly, though his voice lacked any true anger, more like mild annoyance. In fact, he was actually relieved to see you, no matter how much he wanted to deny it. There was a brief moment last night as he lay awake in his bed going over the interaction of the library when he wondered if you had been locked in solitary for your actions. He didn’t think you had said or done anything to warrant such an offense, but you were unpredictable. He had no idea if you continued to fight, to mouth off after the guard dragged you away. Seeing you here in front of him was confirmation that, for once, you had refrained from doing anything to further your punishments here. 

“What?” you asked with a nonchalant shrug. “You weren’t eating it.”

Eric rolled his eyes, a silent gesture of exasperation. “You could’ve just asked.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” You quipped as you leaned back in your seat, your gaze sweeping across the room as if you were just examining the scene before you, waiting patiently for something – anything – to disrupt the routine. 

He watched you for a moment, captivated by the restless energy that perpetually seemed to follow you. It was as though you were perched on the edge of some unseen cliff, ready to plunge off the side at any given moment. The near constant state of heightened alertness was both exhausting and irresistibly captivating for him, an anomaly that left him simultaneously drained and drawed in. 

“Why do you do that?” he asked suddenly, the question catching himself off guard, and he instantly wanted to take it back. 

“Do what?” you replied smoothly, not missing a beat. 

“Act like . . . I don’t know. Like nothing matters.”

You blinked at him, momentarily taken aback. Then you smiled and with a half shrug, responded, “Because it doesn’t. 

But Eric could see the flicker of something more profound, a bit sad even in your eyes, and it casted doubt in the authenticity of your words. 

“Right,” he muttered, his voice laced with skepticism. Your gaze left his and he took that as a sign of your wanting to drop the subject so he returned to his food, though his appetite was severely diminished. 

For a while, silence enveloped the two of you. It was a surprisingly comfortable silence, albeit still surrounded with the rest of the cafeteria buzz. When he glanced back up at you, he could see the sudden change in your eyes as you glanced about the room once again. He had witnessed that look before – one that usually preceded your reckless actions, the calm before the storm. 

“Don’t,” he said quietly, his voice heavy with caution.

You turned your attention back to him with a look of feigned innocence. “Don’t what?”

“Whatever it is you’re thinking of doing,” Eric replied, his tone now carrying seriousness. 

A familiar spark of chaotic energy ignited in your eyes as you grinned. “What makes you think I’m planning something, Eric?”

“Because you always are.”

You giggled, clearly amused at his concern, and he tried to ignore the rush of butterflies that hit his chest at the sound of it. “Relax. I’m not about to blow up the place or anything.”

“That’s not comforting,” he muttered, though the faintest hint of a smile betrayed his true feelings. 

Before you could respond with yet another one of your signature quips, a guard ambled by, scanning the room with hawkish vigilance. You immediately straightened up, your playful grin fading as you donned a more neutral, guarded expression. 

As the guard continued his stroll, you leaned forward, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial low. “Meet me by the west wing storage closet after lunch.”

Your tone left no room for negotiation or refusal, but Eric hesitated, a storm of instincts battling within him, urging him to resist. But there was something in the way you looked at him – something that compelled him to nod reluctantly. 

You shot him a quick, satisfied smile before rising gracefully and sauntering away, leaving Eric alone once again with a whirlwind of emotions and a nagging feeling that he was about to be pulled into something he would regret. Yet, despite the better judgment that screamed caution, he knew he would go. Because as much as you exasperated him, left him bewildered, and sometimes even frightened him, there was a part of him that was irresistibly drawn to you. A part that yearned to unravel the mystery of why you were the way you were. 

"Fuck," he murmured under his breath.

-Tag List-

@redwitchbitch1 @marshm3770fluff @one-of-thewalkingdead @rubyfruitjungle @mrsvalbaker @m00npjm @maimai-0603 @at-midnight @fandom-fanatix @spoiled-bat13 @alinahdee @a-differentbrandof-jeans

[bellaxgiornata]

The Devil at Your Window |4: One of the Good Ones|

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader Word count: 4.9k

Warnings/Tags: 18+; fluff, flirting, sexual tension, light angst, pining, eventual smut, identity reveal, and lots of black suit Matty

Series Installment List & Summary

a/n: Just a smidge of angst in this one! And I've already got a rough draft written for the next part, too! This story has been stuck in my head... Feedback is always appreciated!

Tag list: @danzer8705 @darkened-writer @keepingitlokiii @kezibear @dorothleah @sarahskywalker-amidala @1988-fiend @haruari @sleepysleepymom @marveious @sunflower-tia @fizanotfeeza

Your arm burned from the effort with which you were currently scrubbing your kitchen counter, working hard trying to remove a stubborn stain with the sponge in your hand. On the counter just behind you, your phone was playing music as you stress-cleaned. Truthfully you were too caught up in your thoughts as you'd been frantically jumping from one task to the next to have been paying much attention to what song was currently playing, though.

You'd already vigorously deep cleaned your bathroom, scrubbing your shower hard enough to make your fingers ache. Once you'd finished in there, you'd ended up in your bedroom, finally folding the laundry basket of clothes that had been sitting in the corner of your room all week. After that, you'd changed your bedsheets before bringing the dirty ones down to the laundry facility in your building to be washed. Upon returning to your apartment, you'd begun meticulously organizing your kitchen pantry before cleaning out the kitchen sink of dirty dishes. And then you'd landed on scrubbing your counters with every intention of cleaning off your stove top next.

You'd been cleaning like crazy after you'd come home from work tonight and finished dinner because you'd had a shitty day–though really it had been a shitty week. Everything had gone absolutely wrong at the office and you'd somehow managed to make a massive mistake on a big project the other day. Thankfully today you'd corrected the error, but your anxiety over the issue hadn't remotely disappeared. And of course, Eric, the most obnoxious and irritating co-worker at your workplace, had been at the top of his game of being an absolute asshole to you about the issue all week, too. You'd admittedly had far too many daydreams of throwing your coffee on him just to shut him up these past few days.

But as if that hadn't been enough, you'd found yourself becoming increasingly upset over the realization of your growing feelings for the Devil, who you hadn't actually seen since he'd appeared injured at your place just over a week ago. You were torn between believing his absence was either because he'd been recovering from his injury–which would also explain his absence in the news lately–or that he had zero interest in continuing whatever friendship you thought you'd both been developing. And because you'd gotten your period earlier today, you'd been hormonal all week. Which meant your brain had been telling you it was because of the latter reason.

But you didn't want to think about that. It was ridiculous to have a stupid crush on him. You didn't even know the man's name or what he looked like beneath the mask. You had no clue what he did for a living, if anything at all. And you'd only seen him three times now, it's not like you'd known him for months. It was quite likely he didn't feel the same despite the flirting he'd been doing. 

So that was what your brain continued to tell you this week whenever you got upset about his lack of appearances on your fire escape. That those visits hadn’t meant anything to him. You were just another person in the city he protected. His first visit had been accidental after all. And the second time was just to return the scarf he'd borrowed. The last time he had appeared had been because you'd been a convenient safe place for him to briefly stop and recover at when he'd been hurt, nothing more. 

Though trying to repeatedly rationalize that didn't make the ache in your chest disappear. It didn't stop you coming home every night from work hoping to have another surprise visit from the mysterious vigilante before you went to bed. And it certainly didn't stop you from shedding a few pathetic tears when he continued to remain absent each night. 

You'd begun to miss him. It was impossible to deny that now. And you'd worried about how he was doing with his injury, wondering if he really was alright. Which only had you wondering more about what he was capable of if he could meditate like that because–

“It's a bit early for spring cleaning, isn't it?”

Your hand abruptly paused mid-aggressive scrub of the stain that had long since been cleaned at the sound of the familiar and unexpected voice cutting through your thoughts. Eyes growing wide, you spun on your bare feet to find the Devil standing on the other side of your kitchen counter with a grin on his lips beneath that black mask.

“It's only February,” he teased. “Spring is still another few weeks away. Maybe show your counter a little mercy before you wear a hole in it.”

Hand gripping the soapy sponge tighter, you felt your heart nearly fly up into your throat in excitement. Because he'd come back . 

“You're here,” you breathed out.

“Yeah,” he replied. He gestured a gloved hand back towards the window behind himself. “You left that unlocked, so I may have just invited myself inside since you didn't seem to respond to my knocking. I hope you don't mind.”

You shook your head quickly, still surprised to see he'd actually returned. It felt like someone had loosed a multitude of butterflies in your stomach at the sight of him standing there so casually in your apartment once again. It was something you'd missed all week.

“No, that's alright,” you told him, shaking your head. “I don't mind.”

“You should really keep it locked though,” he stated. “Literally anyone could just climb in here. That's not exactly safe.”

Still trying to shake off the surprise of his visit as you took a step forward, turning off your music, a nervous laugh slipped out of you. “I think you're the only one crazy enough to climb all the way up that rickety fire escape,” you replied.

You turned, heading over towards your kitchen sink in the hopes of busying yourself with washing your hands so he wouldn't see the embarrassing grin steadily growing on your face. 

“I think you might be surprised with what the criminals will do in this city,” he countered.

“Well that's…unsettling,” you muttered, turning off the faucet and drying your hands on the nearby kitchen towel. “With the way my week has been going though I suppose it would be my luck that someone probably would climb through my window. Someone other than you, I mean.”

You set the towel back on the hook near your sink, turning around only to find the Devil had stepped around the counter and into your kitchen. He was standing a few feet away, his head tilted curiously to the side. How the hell did he always manage to move so quietly?

“You're having a bad week?” he asked. “Is that why everything smells like lemon cleaner in here and why you were scrubbing your counter so hard you couldn’t hear me knocking on the window?”

Clasping your hands together in front of yourself, you fidgeted awkwardly with your fingers. Now that your hands weren't busy with an actual task you were feeling your anxious thoughts beginning to spiral again. Especially because it was only Thursday night and you still had to go into work tomorrow and deal with Eric and everyone else when all you desperately wanted to do was crawl into bed for the duration of the weekend and pretend this week never happened. 

“What's wrong, angel?” the Devil asked softly.

You glanced up at the sound of the name he’d called you just before he left your apartment last time, watching as he took another step towards you. You sniffled lightly, trying to ignore the confusing and conflicting feelings arising inside of you at the nickname. The smile disappeared from his lips, his mouth instead pulling a bit downwards at the corners. Swallowing hard, you waved a dismissive hand at him.

“Nothing, things are good,” you lied. “I'm fine.”

The frown visibly deepened on his face before he took another step closer. “Someone who's fine doesn't generally deep clean their place on a random Thursday evening,” he pointed out. “And it seems like you've been on the verge of tears for a bit now. What's going on?”

You swallowed hard, wondering how he could’ve possibly known that when he’d only just entered your apartment. Yet another one of his mysterious little powers, you figured.

“Nothing,” you answered. “Really, I’m good. I just got into a random cleaning frenzy. It happens.”

The Devil’s head canted further to the side, his lips thinning along his face. He shook his head slowly, taking another cautious step towards you.

“You’re not fine,” he replied. “And for the record, I know when someone is lying, angel.”

You sighed, wrapping your arms around your chest and trying to ignore the way your stomach twisted nervously at that name again. Surely it was meant to be more of a joke than a term of endearment considering you always called him Devil.

“Another useful skill of yours?” you asked curiously. “Like your ability to heal?”

Briefly a smirk slid over his mouth, one you caught just before it disappeared. Your eyes narrowed suspiciously back at him.

“Something like that,” he answered. “So believe me when I say that I’m not buying the line that you’re okay. What happened?”

Eyes darting down, your nails began to pick at your sweatshirt nervously. The memory of your boss chewing you out at work the other day resurfaced in your mind, quickly followed by one of Eric’s heartless comments to you afterwards. The continual disappointment of an empty fire escape night after night before you went to bed also reared its head, tears starting to sting at your eyes at the memory of those lonely nights. Blinking rapidly, you tried to stop the tears from coming.

You did not want to cry in front of the Devil.

“Nothing,” you muttered, shrugging your shoulders. “It’s all stupid in comparison to what you’re usually dealing with anyway, so don’t worry about it.”

“Hey,” he murmured, closing the remaining distance between you and gently grabbing your shoulders, lowering his masked face into your line of sight. “It’s not a competition.”

His light, reassuring touch only had the tears welling up faster in your eyes. It had been so long since someone had touched you like that. With comfort and care. A touch that made you feel both safe and seen. And here he was doing it with such ease, like you deserved that sort of attention–and from him no less. 

It suddenly became all too much. A single tear slipped out of the corner of your eye as you gazed up at his face half-obscured by that mask, unable to blink it back before it made its way down your cheek. The Devil’s hands carefully began pulling you in towards himself barely a second later. Surprised at his response, your arms remained wrapped around yourself as his arms slowly encircled your shoulders.

He was hugging you. Comforting you.

Somehow that managed to open the floodgates to your emotions, the tears beginning to spill down your cheeks hot and wet in a continuous stream that you couldn't seem to control. Your hands gripped your sweatshirt tighter, unsure if you should hug him in return or not. Instead, you pressed your face into the thin fabric of his black shirt, attempting to hide how fast the tears were flowing from his sight.

You weren’t exactly sure why you were even crying at this point, either. Was it because of the shitty week you’d had? Because of the gentle touch and compassion coming from the masked vigilante, a touch that you hadn’t felt since you'd last been in a relationship? Was it because of the fact that him holding you like this only stirred up those confusing feelings further inside of you, making you wonder what this weird relationship with the Devil actually was? Or was it just because you were hormonal and on your period?

“I'm sorry,” you choked out.

“Don't apologize,” he replied instantly.

The smokey voice he always used had your fingers twisting tighter around your sweatshirt, your heart beating a little harder at the sound of it so soft beside your ear. You shifted, burying your face further against his chest. Though guilt quickly filled you as you cried. Because he shouldn't be comforting you, not for something so foolish. Not when there were people out there who actually needed him and all you'd had was a bad week, some out of control hormones, and a stupid crush.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked. “Is there something I can do to help?”

You shook your head, begging the tears to stop falling. This was embarrassing. You didn't want him to see you like this, let alone be comforting you.

“No,” you whispered. 

You have better things to be doing with your time , you thought bitterly. I don't deserve the comfort.

Clenching your jaw, you took an abrupt step back from him. You raised an arm up, using the sleeve of your sweatshirt to aggressively wipe the dampness from your cheeks. Before you, the Devil stood with his arms still hovering in the air as if he was still holding you, seemingly confused about you withdrawing from his embrace so suddenly. There was a large wet spot from your tears soaking the front of his black shirt already.

“I'm sorry, that was embarrassing,” you muttered, still wiping at your eyes as the tears gradually slowed. “I know you don't want to be dealing with an emotional mess tonight. That's not what the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen does.”

“Who says it's not what I do?” he countered, his arms lowering back to his sides. “I'm here to help people who need it–and for the record,” he added, “crying does not make you an emotional mess. Trust me on that.”

“Well,” you began, sniffling a little, “my problems aren’t the type you can punch. And you can't exactly punch away my feelings. Or my hormones. So I think this is a little out of your usual wheelhouse.”

“Maybe so,” he agreed, “but you've helped me plenty of times now. Is it wrong for me to want to return the favor?”

So that's why he was comforting you. A sort of quid pro quo. Tit for tat. An exchange of favors, not because he'd genuinely cared about what had happened to you this week and would have offered to help anyway, but because he felt like he owed you something in return. That's what he was saying, wasn’t it? 

“I don't help you because I want anything in return,” you muttered, turning around and wiping the sleeve of your sweatshirt across your eyes once again. Afterwards, you reached up into a nearby cabinet and grabbed a clean glass from out of it. “I help you because I worry about you out there. And because I think you're one of the good ones.”

You closed the cabinet door before focusing on the faucet in front of you, filling the glass with cool water. Sniffling softly, you felt the tears beginning to slow to a stop as you tried to collect yourself. You’d cry about your misplaced feelings later when he wasn’t here. Right now you just wanted to enjoy his company and not scare him off with your tears. And maybe make sure he was doing alright himself tonight.

Once the glass was full, you turned off the faucet and inhaled a trembling breath, attempting to steel your resolve. You were not going to cry anymore tonight. 

“For what it's worth,” the Devil said from behind you, “I think you're one of the good ones.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes and shaking your head at his comment, your back still facing him. Now that sounded like a line.

“I’m serious,” he continued. “How many people would help a vigilante instead of turning him over to the police? And how many would just ignore him entirely? And here you are inviting me into your home multiple times now without question. Always offering whatever form of assistance you can when you certainly don't need to.”

Eyes dropping down to the full glass in your hands, you felt your heart flutter in your chest at his kind words. Clearing your throat, you tried to swallow the lump that had begun to form. “I think you vastly underestimate what you mean to the people in this city, Devil,” you whispered.

Gradually you turned back around, the glass of water clutched between both of your hands. His lips were once again pulled in a straight line across his face, his head faintly tilted to the side. 

“You're a symbol of hope to many in Hell’s Kitchen,” you said softly, extending the glass out towards him. “A sign that there’s still good in the world. That there are still people who care about helping those in need.”

You could see the muscles working in his cheeks, the corner of his lips twitching faintly. You wondered what expression he was making beneath the mask right now. Was he not aware of what he meant to this city?

“Here,” you said, holding the glass out further towards him. “Drink it. I’m sure you’re dehydrated.”

The Devil’s right hand flexed open and shut at his side for a moment, your eyes drawn to the movement. After a minute's hesitation you saw it raise, reaching out to carefully accept the glass of water from your own hand. He murmured a soft ‘thanks’ as he drew it up towards his lips. In silence you watched the bob of his throat as he drank almost half the glass immediately, a satisfied smile eventually landing on your face. 

“You hungry?” you asked, stepping around him and heading over to your fridge. “I have spaghetti leftover from dinner tonight. Unfortunately no garlic bread,” you grumbled, opening the door of your fridge. “Because my week was apparently so bad that I even forgot to grab garlic bread at the store.”

“Don’t worry about me, I’m fine,” he assured you.

Half bent in front of your fridge, you glanced over your shoulder, shooting him a flat look. “Are you planning to go home and eat something before you go to sleep tonight?” you asked him. “From the fridge you have apparently only stocked with beer, eggs, and sometimes orange juice?”

He hung his head in defeat, his gaze behind the mask appearing to drop to the floor. It looked like he was fighting back a grin on his face.

“Well…no,” he admitted sheepishly.

“Right,” you said, focus returning to the contents of your fridge. “So do you eat spaghetti? Because I have plenty.”

“If you’re that determined to feed me, yes,” he answered. “I do.”

Reaching into your fridge, you pulled out the container of leftovers that you’d put away earlier this evening before you’d begun meticulously stress cleaning. You closed the door, bringing the container over to your counter and setting it down before searching for a clean bowl and a fork.

“So how’s your rib doing?” you asked as you worked. “Did your doctor friend tell you it was broken? Have you somehow meditated it back to normal already with that useful ‘skill’ of yours?”

The Devil chuckled good-naturedly behind you as you began scooping some pasta into a bowl for him. Internally you thought it strange that he found that somehow funny, though that warmth of pleasure filled you at once again still being able to make him laugh.

“She's a nurse, not a doctor, and that's hard to say,” he answered. “I’d need an x-ray to know if I had actually broken it, and I can’t exactly go to a hospital because they’d surely call the authorities on me. But either way, it’s feeling better than that night I was last here. Not completely healed with my ‘skill,’ but the pain is…tolerable.”

You stopped mid-scoop of some pasta, your head turning over your shoulder towards him. Quirking a brow at him, you shot him a quizzical look. 

“The pain is ‘tolerable’?” you asked him. “So you mean to tell me you’re still going around tonight scaling buildings and jumping off fire escapes with an injury that’s not even fully healed?”

The Devil shrugged a shoulder nonchalantly, shooting you a charming smile. “Yeah,” he answered. “Something is almost always injured or hurting. But it's not like crime ever takes a night off. So usually neither do I.”

Sighing, you focused back on scooping pasta into the bowl for him. “I'm starting to worry about your sanity,” you half-joked. “You know, I've always wondered why you do what you do. I don't suppose you'd answer that truthfully, would you?”

Picking up the bowl, you stepped over towards your microwave and set it inside. Setting the timer to heat it up, you turned around and leant your back against the counter, crossing your arms over your chest as you eyed him expectantly. 

The Devil shook his head, a faint smile on his mouth. “No, not right now,” he answered. “But maybe someday I could answer that for you.”

Hugging your arms tighter around yourself, you tried to hide the thrill that shot through you at his answer. The prospect of him continuing to visit you was clearly layered in his response and you couldn't even begin to explain how that made you suddenly feel.

“Always so mysterious,” you muttered nervously, glancing down at your feet.

“Don't suppose you'd ever give me your name, would you?” he countered.

You grinned, glancing up at him from beneath your lashes as the microwave hummed behind you. “I'll tell you mine when you tell me yours, Devil,” you replied. 

“So mysterious ,” he teased back, grinning. 

You tried to bite back the smile growing on your face, laughing softly. The grin only grew wider on his face and your cheeks began to heat at the sight. You could feel your heart beating a little faster as you watched him from across the kitchen, taking in the handsome shape of his mouth and feeling the nervous churning of your stomach beginning to increase at the comfortable silence that fell over you both.

Thankfully your microwave beeped a moment later, pulling you from the moment that surely would have only resulted in you further ogling him, wondering what he looked like beneath the mask. Turning around, you opened the microwave and removed the bowl of spaghetti. You set it back onto the counter, mixing it around with a fork to make sure the entire bowl had been thoroughly heated. Satisfied that it was warm, you picked up the bowl and carried it over to the Devil. 

“You can have a seat at the table if you want,” you offered, holding the bowl out to him.

You gestured your other hand to the small circular table just outside of your kitchen. The Devil accepted the bowl of pasta from you, looking somewhat over his shoulder where you'd gestured. 

“Thank you,” he replied. 

You watched as he twirled a handful of noodles onto his fork immediately, bringing it up to his mouth before he'd even began to make his way towards your table. It was obvious he was hungry with the way he'd shoveled the bite into his mouth–just like when he'd devoured that burrito–and that satisfied smile returned to your face. Even if you'd messed up a lot of things this week, at least you'd managed to do something helpful for him. And that felt good.

You'd been about to turn around and put away the container of leftovers still sitting out on your counter when you saw him suddenly freeze, his entire body tensing. Your own body froze as you watched him chew the bite of food so slowly, your stomach sinking to the floor.

“What?” you asked cautiously, feeling self-conscious and on the verge of tears again. Had you actually somehow messed this up, too? “Is it…not good? I mean I know I'm not the best cook or anything, but I thought I was decent at making spaghetti sauce. It's not that complicated.”

The Devil swallowed the bite of spaghetti, his body still stiff as he stood there. His hand had tightened around the fork in the bowl as he remained silent, which only had your nerves growing. The feeling of being a failure once again this week was suddenly bearing down heavily on you. Was there nothing you could do right this week?

“Look, if it doesn't taste any good you don't need to eat it,” you told him, taking a step closer and reaching for the bowl. “Apparently I just can't manage anything this week. Just one of those weeks I gu–”

“This tastes exactly like the spaghetti my dad used to make,” the Devil whispered in disbelief.

Your hand hovered in the air reaching out for the bowl, your mouth hanging open at what he'd told you. That certainly hadn't been the reaction you'd expected. 

“Wh–what?” you stammered out.

The Devil pointed at the bowl of pasta with the fork in his hand, something like amazement creeping into his voice as he focused on you. When he spoke again, you'd noticed that raspy, deep voice he always used had disappeared.

“The sauce,” he told you, his words gradually picking up speed as he spoke. “It tastes exactly like the spaghetti sauce my dad used to make when I was a kid. I–I haven't tasted anything quite so similar since he passed when I was young. The likeness is incredible.”

You could feel the heavy pounding of your heart in your chest at yet another little piece of the real man beneath the mask being revealed to you. Mouth opening and closing a few times, you quickly realized you didn't know how to respond. Was he going to run away on you now that he'd let another little personal detail slip? Especially considering it looked like he was also realizing what he'd just told you and was beginning to regret it.

“I'm–I'm sorry to hear about your father,” you managed out.

The Devil continued to stare at you over the bowl of spaghetti in his hands, his lips pressing together as his mouth began to twitch. It was as if he didn't quite know what to say himself, but the longer he remained quiet, his jaw grinding back and forth, the more fearful you became that he was going to bolt back out of your window for accidentally revealing more personal information about himself to you. 

Slowly you held up your hands in front of yourself like one might do to a scared animal, hoping not to scare him further. The Devil didn't move, but his jaw visibly tensed at the gesture. 

“Look, I'm not about to tell anyone that you come here sometimes,” you told him. “And I don't go digging around on the internet trying to find out who you really are with the vague information I have, mostly because I don't have that level of motivation, if I'm being honest.” You saw the corner of his lips twitch upwards at your comment and you cautiously lowered your hands back to your sides. “I just want to help. That's all,” you continued. “And personally I worry that if I scare you off, you'll end up out there starving and with kidney damage from constantly not drinking enough water while you're out parkouring around the city.”

“You're worried about my kidneys now?” he asked, amusement in his tone. 

You shrugged lamely, shooting him a small smile. “If I say yes will you sit down and eat that spaghetti and drink some more water?” you questioned back. “Instead of jumping out of my window like a terrified cat?”

Something like an amused snort came from him as he turned, making his way towards your little kitchen table. You relaxed when you realized he wasn't going to disappear on you.

“For the record,” the Devil told you, voice muffled around a large bite of spaghetti that he'd shoveled into his mouth, “I am not a stray cat.”

“Of course not,” you agreed, picking up the glass of water he'd already finished and set onto the counter. You brought it over to your sink and began to refill it for him. “Because a cat would know better than to keep running around and making a broken rib worse. And I'm not sure how partial they are to spaghetti,” you joked. 

At the bright sound of his laughter over the sound of the running faucet, you found yourself smiling. You'd certainly missed having him here, even if you knew you were going to miss him the moment he finished that bowl of spaghetti and jumped back over your fire escape. All you could really do was enjoy the next few minutes you had with him and hope that he returned another time. 

Though deep down you sort of found yourself hoping he was more like a stray cat than he let on, because at the very least, maybe the prospect of food and water would tempt him to appear again at your window sooner rather than later. 

And that thought was steadily giving you an idea.

[mimimarvelingmarvel]

time bound part eight

pairing: worst wolverine!logan howlett x f!mutant!reader

Part Eight - Masterlist

summary: Y/n’s life takes a dramatic turn when the Time Variance Authority intervenes, pulling her from a critical moment in her timeline. The TVA sends her to the void where she eventually meets with Deadpool and a very familiar face. With Deadpool's universe in the balance, alongside his reluctant would-be pal, Wolverine, and the enigmatic time-bending mutant known as the Veil, the trio must complete the mission and save Deadpool’s world from an existential threat.

overall warnings: 18+, Fem!Reader, AFAB Reader, Use of Y/N, Her X-Men name is Veil, She/her pronouns, Swearing, Angst, Heavy Violence, Character Death, Deadpool (he’s his own warning), Hurt, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, TVA

word count: 2k

I don’t know how long I’m out for, but when I wake up, the first thing I notice is the warmth of a bed beneath me, soft and comforting. It takes a moment for the fog in my mind to clear, but then I feel it—a heavy limb draped across my back, pinning me down. My heart skips a beat, panic rising before I realize who it is. I shuffle slightly, turning my head just enough to see Wade sprawled out beside me, his leg thrown over the middle of my back like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His torso is nearly falling off the edge of the bed, his mask slightly askew, revealing a rare moment of peace on his scarred face.

I grumble, annoyed but not entirely surprised, and carefully shimmy out from under him. He doesn’t stir, still lost in whatever dream world he’s managed to escape to. I glance around, taking in the environment, and relief floods through me. It’s familiar, comforting. I breathe a sigh of relief. They found us.

I sit up properly, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. My muscles protest, sore from whatever happened before I blacked out. As I survey the room, I catch sight of Logan standing in the corner, a glass in hand, drinking from what I immediately recognize as Remy’s liquor collection. I shake my head slightly. Remy’s not going to be happy about that.

Logan turns to me, his eyes locking with mine. We don’t say anything for what feels like an eternity, just staring at each other, unspoken words hanging in the air. There’s a tension between us, a thousand things we should probably talk about but never will.

The silence is abruptly shattered when Wade shoots up, nearly falling off the bed in the process. He looks around, his usual manic energy snapping back into place.

“Where are we?” he asks, his voice groggy but laced with that familiar sarcasm.

I gesture to him and then to the room around us. “We’re in my bed. And this is the Borderlands.”

Just as the words leave my mouth, I hear footsteps approaching. My senses go on high alert, and I instinctively tense, but it’s just Elektra. She steps into view, her eyes sweeping the room, assessing the situation. I give her a small wave, and she responds with a short nod, her gaze lingering on Wade and Logan with clear suspicion. Then Eric walks in, followed by Remy and Johnny. The sight of them makes my heart swell with relief, and I quickly cross the room to hug Johnny. His arms wrap around me, and I can feel the tension in his muscles start to ease.

“I don’t know how the fuck you did that, but you saved my life,” Johnny mumbles into my hair. His voice is soft, almost vulnerable, and I can’t help but smile.

Wade immediately jumps in. “Okay, look at you all. You must be the others. Terrific. So just to refresh, you are Wonder...”

“Elektra,” she corrects him, her voice sharp and clipped.

“Elektra, yes. Who could forget?” Wade continues, undeterred. He shifts his attention to Eric, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “And you, I was not expecting to see you here, but you were, you know, retired.”

“Retarded?” Eric responds dryly.

“Retired. I’m already in The Void. I’m not trying to get canceled again.”

“I don’t like you,” Eric says bluntly.

“You never did.” Wade shrugs, then turns his attention to Remy. “And who’s this succulent reminder of my own inadequacies? Look at you. You look like the superhero version of Hawkeye.”

Remy smirks, his Cajun accent thick as he introduces himself. “The name’s Remy LeBeau. De Diable Blanc. But you can call me The Gambit.”

Wade, ever the smartass, retorts, “It’s been a while since I’ve seen Sling Blade, hit me again.”

“They call me The Gambit,” Remy repeats, his tone laced with a challenge.

“Do they? Are you sure you didn’t just really, really want them to, but it never quite worked out?”

“You know, we never had a Wolverine up in here. But I can tell you now, it’s just a common courtesy to ask before you drink up all of my liquor.” Remy says to Logan who gruffly responds, “It's a good thing I don’t give a fuck.” Remy’s eyes flash purple as he whispers something under his breath. With a flick of his wrist, a playing card flies across the room, charged with kinetic energy. It shatters the glass in Logan’s hand, sending shards flying.

Logan glares at Remy, then his eyes flicker to Johnny, “How the fuck are you here?” he asks.

“Ask Y/n, she did it,” Johnny replies, glancing at me with a hint of pride.

Logan’s expression shifts, a flicker of something almost like hurt crossing his face, but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared. Wade claps his hands together, drawing everyone’s attention back to him.

“Well, now that’s settled, look, we came a long way to find you four,” Wade says, his tone suddenly serious.

“There’s five of us,” Elektra corrects him again, her patience clearly wearing thin.

“There’s five? Wait, is it Magneto? Dear sweet God in heaven, let it be Magneto...”

“Dead,” Johnny interrupts, his voice flat.

“Fuck! Now the author gets lazy? It’s like Pinocchio jammed his face in my ass and started lying like crazy.”

Remy mutters something in French, and I try my best to understand, catching a bit about Wade being a nasty devil. Wade just grins, clearly enjoying the chaos he’s stirring up.

“Not a single word,” Wade quips, “What do you do exactly?”

“I charge the playing cards. Make them go boom,” Remy replies coolly.

“Your powers are close to magic. That’s good. We’re not totally fucked at all. So who brought us here?”

As if on cue, Laura walks in, her expression as fierce as ever. “That would be me. Don’t make me regret it,” she says, her voice icy.

Wade’s eyes widen in recognition. “Holy shit, Logan, that’s her, that’s X-23. She’s the one I told you about.” He says to Logan who looks at Laura, then looks away. “How did you all get stuck in The Void?”

“There was a knock at the door. TVA sent me here,” Eric replies, his voice grim.

“Me too,” Elektra adds.

Remy shrugs. “Maybe I was born here, so it’s hard to know for sure.”

“The TVA decided our universe was dying, and I never even got a chance to fight for it,” Eric says, bitterness seeping into his words.

“People like us don’t go quietly. TVA knows that, so they took us out,” Elektra adds, her tone fierce.

“The answer is yes, I’m in,” Wade declares, his voice filled with determination.

“In what?” Eric asks, confused.

“A team. Me, you, you and me, all of us together. Let’s get the fuck out of this place.”

“Don’t listen to him, he’s a fucking liar,” Logan snaps, his voice filled with anger.

“It was an educated wish! Look, we’ve been inside Cassandra’s lair. The only way out of The Void is through her. She can get us home. She told us. Look, there’s strength in numbers, all right? Us, plus you guys, we can put Cassandra over our knee and force her to let us out of The Void. I know what it means to feel self-doubt.”

“I don’t feel that at all,” Elektra retorts.

“I’m good,” Eric agrees.

“Gnawing at your gut like a coke duct tape worm.”

“It’s like you’re in the middle of my soul,” Wade says, his voice almost reverent.

I look at him, confused as to how these two seem to be matching each other’s energy so to speak. 

“You guys may not have been able to save your universes, but you can avenge them. Maybe you couldn’t save your worlds, but Jesus Christ, you could save mine.”

“I don’t give a shit about your world, but if these four made it out alive, maybe together, we could get back in and take her down,” Elektra says, her voice laced with resolve.

“Where I come from, we call that suicide, cher,” Remy mutters, his voice somber.

“If we can block her psychic powers, we can get a leg up. I know it. Now, I know Magneto’s dead, but I venture to guess that his helmet is lying around here somewhere.”

“Cassandra melted the helmet,” Eric says, his voice devoid of emotion.

“Fuck!” Wade curses, his frustration palpable.

“Then she killed him,” Eric adds.

“She don’t play,” Elektra says, her voice cold.

“She knows that helmet was the only way to protect anyone from her powers. The only other helmet that strong is Juggernaut’s, but he works for Cassandra.”

“Juggernaut’s helmet, that’s it,” Wade says, his voice filled with hope.

“And we don’t be knowing that it ain’t coming out his head,” Remy warns, his tone cautious.

The tension in the room was palpable, the air thick with the weight of decisions that could change everything. 

Wade, pacing back and forth with his usual frenetic energy, stops and looks at Remy, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I’m so sorry, beautiful, how could this be gentle?” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Who is your dialect coach? The minions? I feel like we’re missing critical exposition here.”

Elektra, her patience wearing thin, snaps, “I’m sick of this shit. I’m sick of hiding. Let’s face it, our world’s forgot about us.”

“Or never learned about us,” Remy adds, his voice tinged with bitterness.

“The heroes we were,” Elektra continues, her tone growing more impassioned.

“The lives we saved,” Blade chimes in, his deep voice resonating with an almost mournful tone.

“Or wanted to save,” Remy finishes, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the ground, lost in thought.

Elektra’s gaze hardens as she looks around at the group, her voice resolute. “Maybe these three are our chance, to be remembered the way we deserve.”

“Yes,” Wade agrees, his voice jumping an octave.

“An ending,” Elektra says, her voice filled with a mix of finality and hope.

“A legacy,” Blade adds.

Wade, unable to resist injecting some levity into the heavy moment, clapped his hands together. “Yes, yes, let this man cook. This is what I’m talking about. Big slow motion, fight sad music, everybody working together. Who knows if you live or die, that sort of thing. Who’s ready?”

Blade straightens, his expression fierce. “I was born ready.”

Wade turns to Remy, a playful smirk on his lips. “Yes, Gambit?”

Remy shrugs, a wry grin spreading across his face. “I ain’t know my daddy, but I’m sure I shot-out-of-his-dick ready.”

Wade pauses, blinking in disbelief before shaking his head. “Jesus Christ, that is graphic. Pumpkin?” His gaze then drifts over to me, and I can feel his eyes on me, almost as if he is trying to read my thoughts.

I take a deep breath, my heart pounding in my chest. “I’ll do it,” I say, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside. I glance at Logan, searching his face for any sign of what he might be thinking. “I might regret it,” I admit, the weight of my words hanging in the air. “But I have nothing to lose.”

Wade’s expression softens, a rare moment of sincerity in his chaotic persona. “Oh, sweet cheeks, you won’t regret it. The author has some crazy plans for you.” He then tunrs his attention to Laura, his voice taking on a challenging tone. “X-23, what’s it gonna be?”

“The name’s Laura,” she says, her voice cold and determined. “Let’s fucking go.”

Wade grins, his excitement bubbling over. “Let’s fucking go.”

Elektra’s eyes blaze with a fire that has been long extinguished. “We’re doing this,” she declares, her voice unwavering.

Logan, ever the cynic, mutters darkly, “You’re all fucking dead.”

Wade, not missing a beat, shoots back, “My god, read the room.”

Logan huffs and storms out the room, I watch him leave, hesitating before following. I hear Wade whispering from behind me to no one in particular. “It’s happening, they’re finally going to communicate. Thank you, sweet author. I’m sure the readers were tired of the dialogue recaps.” His voice fades away as I follow after Logan.

Next Part

A/N: Guys, this chapter is a lotttt of just going through the meetings of the other characters, the good shit is coming soon. Sometimes when I’m writing for scenes that are in movies I find myself getting really repetitive with it, so next chapter I’m taking more creative liberty.

taglist: @oscarissac2099 @somiaw @100percentlazybonez @obsessedwthdilfs @sun7lowxr @corvid007

[nessa007]

reasons to love live action ariel/eric

they both love to collect things. ariel collects things from the above world and keeps them in her grotto. eric collects things from his travels on his ship/from the ocean and keeps them in his library. the scene between them in the library is truly everything 🥹🥰

ariel showing him there’s even more to the things he had collected, smashing the rock to reveal what’s inside it, blowing into the shell and eric is completely in awe of her knowing these things

eric is so drawn to the sea because he was washed up onto land from a shipwreck as a baby and taken in by the royal family. so the sea is basically where he came from, just like ariel. ariel rescuing him just makes him even more drawn to the sea/ariel.

they both feel somewhat trapped. eric in his castle feeling misplaced and like he has to be a perfect prince and ariel feels trapped in the ocean. they both just want to escape and believe there is so much more to life than where they currently are.

ariel finding the mermaid figurine in eric’s library and eric saying “my little mermaid” (i SCREAMED internally) 😭 which he then gave it to ariel to keep ❤️

ariel pointing at the aries constellation to show eric what her name is and eventually leading him to correctly say “ariel” to which he replies “that’s a beautiful name” this was the cutest thing and so clever and this moment just has me so giddy i can’t 🥹

ursula making ariel forget that she has to get eric to kiss/fall in love with her in order for her to remain human. so eric/ariel’s relationship is so much more genuine. like we saw eric was about to kiss ariel when they were lying on the boat during “kiss the girl” but ariel got nervous and sat up. ariel just wanted to see eric again when she became human and wanted to get to know him and find out more about him and his world and they ended up falling for each other because of who they are as people and how similar they are to each other

their HEIGHT DIFFERENCE 🙌🥰

when eric slightly touches ariel’s hand as she sings to him after she rescued him

eric getting his own amazing song, “wild uncharted waters” where he sings about not being able to forget about ariel and can’t get her and her voice out of his head (i’m obsessed the way they even feature ariel’s voice on the song… literal chills)

ariel saving eric’s life for the second time when she steers the ship into ursula. she remembers how to steer the ship from when she saw eric on his ship when she saw him for the first time the night she saved him from drowning

when they go off exploring on their day out and they have so much fun with the townspeople, dancing and just being free

then they come back to the castle after falling into the lake and they’re soaked and giggling while hiding from eric’s mother and grimsby

ariel wearing eric’s hat and then she so adorably puts it back on eric’s head as she walks off to her room and eric is so clearly smitten with her

the way eric’s feelings for ariel are so strong that even ursula couldn’t make them disappear despite him being under her spell. he still cared so much for ariel during this and asked where she was

“ariel. it was you all along. i should’ve known.” 😭

eric pleading for them to send out ships to go find ariel after ursula is killed

eric finding ariel’s blue dress in the ocean but then putting it back in the water because he feels she’s gone forever and there’s no way they can be together 💔

eric sitting alone on the steps of his castle thinking about ariel / ariel lying on the rock (when she’s back to being a mermaid) looking at eric’s castle

eric looking up and seeing ariel in her blue dress petting max and he hugs her like he can’t believe she’s real and ariel hugs him so tight and they finally KISSSSS 😭🥰

the two of them getting to go off exploring the world together at the end and are just free to be who they are and go where they want TOGETHER

i could write even more but this is all off the top of my head.

I LOVE THEM YOUR HONOR!!!!

[oncasette]

FANGTASIA. send in a character from my guide + one of the prompts below for a drabble!

how about... "you shouldn't have touched them. every single mark on their body is going to be returned to yours." wiiith our mans eric northman!

please, thank you, love youuu!!! 🩵🩵

𝗛𝗘𝗟𝗟 𝗖𝗢𝗨𝗟𝗗𝗡'𝗧 𝗛𝗢𝗟𝗗 𝗠𝗘 𝗕𝗔𝗖𝗞

eric northman x fem!reader

summary: 1.3k

You’d had vampire blood. Pam and Chow had been gracious enough to offer you their wrists months after you’d started working at Fangtasia, a safety precaution as they’d claimed. You'd had Eric's blood. He could feel your fear, he knew where you were, why wasn't he coming?

or the one where eric saves you from an anti-vampire rights enthusiast.

warnings: canon-typical violence, blood, death, kidnapping, stabbing

a/n: i know i said drabbles but i couldn't contain myself. i am violently ill with my love for this man.

masterlist | taglist

You think you're dying. surely. There's no way the human body would be able to endure this much pain without ultimately giving up the ghost, right? 

You never should have gotten involved with vampires. They were nothing but a bucket of trouble, as your mother would have put it. And has she had put it, a multitude of times, before she'd ever even known you'd applied to work at Shreveport's resident vampire bar. 

What she didn't know, though, was how incredible they could be. How, even without all their supernatural abilities, intensely good they could be when they decided they wanted. How loyal and caring and kind when they chose to do so. Just how beautiful they could be, fangs and all. 

‘Course, there still was that whole bucket of trouble thing. 

"You sure are pretty for a fangbanger," your captor drawled from where he was watching you from across the room. He'd tied you to a chair at the center of it, thick scratchy ropes binding your wrists to the unlaquered wood beneath you. You spit, knowing that it won't reach the man from this distance, but hoping, almost willing it to hit him squarely between the eyes. 

“Fuck you,” you say.

“Ooh,” he whistles. “You’ve sure got a mouth on you, sweet cheeks. Why waste it on one of those dead fuckers when you could have someone with an actual, bleeding fucking heart?”

“You’re a waste of skin, you piece of shit,” you huff. Not that it was any of his goddamn business, anyway, but you had only ever slept with one man, and it sure as shit hadn’t been one of your bosses.

“Aw, c’mon. I bet you get so cold after one of them vampers is inside you, don’t you. All icy and chilly like. Let me give you a little tip, sweetheart. Humans. Need. Warmth.”

“You say that as if you aren’t a fucking sad sack,” you say. “What a sorry excuse for a human, huh?”

“What’d they do to you, huh, girl? Did they glamor you into only wanting a dead man’s dick?” he asks, slowly shifting and standing from his stool so that he could approach you. Despite their constant–and half-hearted–threats, you’d never been glamored by your vampire coworkers. Your breathing shakes as he approaches in swift steps. It’s then that you see the knife in his hand. 

For the first time in a long time, you realize, genuine fear strikes through you. 

“I’m gonna teach those vampers a lesson,” he says. “And you’re going to help me do that.”

You’d had vampire blood. Pam and Chow had been gracious enough to offer you their wrists months after you’d started working at Fangtasia, a safety precaution as they’d claimed. You'd had Eric's blood. He could feel your fear, he knew where you were, why wasn't he coming?

The knife trails along your collarbone. You're glad it was as dull as it was, knowing if it'd been sharper it would be slicing the skin open in its path down. Then he presses down harder. You can’t muffle the whine as it escapes you, no matter how much you want to. No matter how desperately you wish to not show the man that he holds any power over you. You can feel the blood seeping out of the wound. It dribbles down your chest in a thick stream as it pools and stains the gray cotton of your t-shirt.

“Stop!” you plead. He chuckles before driving the blade deeper into you. With feeble force, you try to get him off with a stunted kick to his knee; It was all you could manage with the way your knees had been duct-taped together. 

“Bitch!” he heaves before rearing back to slap you with the bladeless hand. It slashes your cheek, shallowly, thankfully, but you can feel the ache of where his hand had connected with your cheekbone. “You’re gonna regret that.”

He takes the knife and stabs it into your side, just narrowly missing your ribcage. 

Before you can manage out even a wince, the door to the small shack you’d been held in for the last few hours splinters and it unceremoniously removed from its hinges. 

Eric says nothing as he rushes in. You barely register that it’s him save for the split second image you’d captured from where he’d lingered in the doorway. Your captor is off of you instantly, though you’re still bound to the chair. Eric stills. Wind warps around him as he does so, wrapping him in a flurry of movement as he stands with the man locked in his grasp. 

“You never should have fucking touched her,” Eric growls with his fangs fully extended, grip tightening around the burly man’s neck and raising him inches off the ground. There’s not even a hint of the usual smirk you were so accustomed to seeing. “Every single mark on her body will be returned unto you tenfold.”

“She fucking deserved it,” he gargles as the vampire latches onto the expanse of neck not currently held within his hand. The man screams out in anguish and you pull your eyes tight to avoid watching any more. Of course, that doesn’t stop you from hearing. The screams and the rips and the crunches. You hear something hard and solid hit the floor and somewhere deep in the pit of your stomach you know it’s bone. 

You hear the man gasp out a dead fuck only for Eric’s grasp to tighten fully, effectively severing the man’s skull from his spinal chord without detaching it from his body. The man drops to the floor with a loud thump and Eric shoves the corpse away with the toe of his shoe before he moves toward you. 

“What took you so long?” you exhaled as he moved behind you to unbind your wrists. 

“I was away on business,” he gruffs, spitting slightly to get the last of the man’s blood out of his mouth. He’d already drunk his fair share, you thought, what good what that do?

Swallowing, you ask, “And you still came?”

He walks back around to begin undoing the restraints on your legs. He’s being so gentle, you realize. If he’d wanted, he could have had this done within seconds and yet, here he was, tenderly undoing the tape and rope and rubbing a soothing hand over the abraded skin. 

“I’ll always come for you,” he says. “Until I meet the true death, I will always come for you.”

He extends his wrist up to his mouth and you wince as he punctures the flesh. 

“Eric,” you sigh. 

“Drink,” he says. 

Nodding, you allow him to bring his wrist to your mouth and latch down on the leaking wound. It’s tangy and metallic and overall pretty gross, but you’re more than grateful for it at that moment. You lick your lips when he pulls his arm back down, the small bite marks already well on their way to closing completely. 

“Will you take me home?” you ask, suddenly overwhelmed with the wave of fatigue hitting you. 

He rises back to his full height and extends a hand out towards you. The second you grab it, he’s pulling you up from your chair to hold you flush against his form. Then, in another rush of wind, you’re standing on your front porch. 

Slowly, you pull away from the vampire to take a step towards your door. Your body aches, but it’s already mostly healed as you run a hand over the small incision at your waist. 

“Thank you,” you say. “Eric.”

He’s silent, looking you over in a way that you can’t help but think is more than just an assessment of your injuries. He settles on your eyes when he says, “Anytime.”

[gladiatorcunt]

- DIRT IN CHAINS | X.

i can’t wait for the nights with you, i imagine the things we’ll do

cw: kinktober prompt (feet), semi crack treated seriously (he just comes back and says footjob. now.), pseudo incest (step brother & step sister), no shelly or chris 💀, set in the 90’s with brandon lee’s eric, small-ish age gap (reader’s in her early 20’s), fem ballerina!reader, random kurt cobain crush mention, implied inappropriate behavior when reader was 18 and after (nothing explicit but it could be seen as done with certain intent), attempted non con mention (not involving eric or reader)

please do not repost, translate, or feed this work to ai

kinktober 2024

Body of my body, flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone.

If you serve a chunk of still bleeding meat to a gruesome stray dog, then that is love. If you toss a coin to a crow with a glint in its beady eyes, that too is love. Even when you scoff and grumble at the perceived inconvenience and continue your jaunt down the muddy alleyway. You are assuring an animal that you believe it deserves to have its hunger sated and tended to like a toothache. don’t be surprised when gangrene sets in around your ankles and wrists, bracelets made of red jade. They bite for the same reason that you sharpen their teeth and beaks with roadkill and gemstones. It is life’s greatest gift to ever be well fed, such neglect can open a void from which there is no escape. If only your heart could plug up the hole.

The most painful sentences in existence are hypotheticals that start with if. That's why this will be nothing of the sort, hunting season will be successful.

Your step brother Eric was shot about a month ago the night before halloween, and you’re coping by robotically moving through life as if it couldn’t happen to you too. It’s all too easy to succumb to the panic and the grief but you’ve never been wired that way, it’s safer for you to retreat into a cocoon of numbness.

You don’t want to think about where the woman he saved from being raped is, as happy as you are that she’s okay. Knowing any of that would only remind you of the knife Eric got thrown into his back before he was thrown from her apartment window. He lived in the same building and like the good guy your step brother was at heart, burst in the room with the best intentions.

His good deed got him killed, and all you’ve done is play his music on repeat as you rot in your bed. He’d want you to continue your ballet career, hell, he showed up to your recitals and performances more than your own mother. You always ignored how his presence made you feel simultaneously relaxed and confident but also so stressed you’d be worried about pissing yourself on the stage.

Wide smiles and long dark hair that glistened in the theater’s warm lightning, he would always be the one to stand up and whistle first.

Eric’s favorite ballet was your ballet company’s Swan Lake. He kept a picture of you as Odette in one of the pockets of his leather jacket.

Your parents had only been married 4 years, but you’ve changed a lot from the starry eyed 18 year old that mooned over your older step brother and tripped over your pointe shoes.

Your dad started teaching you how to play guitar before he left, when you were 5 and your chubby hands plucked at the wrong strings. Eric wouldn’t leave you alone when you told him the story, and spent an entire weekend getting you caught up on your missed lessons until you both had a swarm of blisters on your fingers.

Now you’ll never see him again, never get caught in the rain when you’ve begged him to drive you home and wish you could tuck a strand of his wet hair behind ear, never hump your pillow and muffle your sounds into your balled up fists because he’s staying in the next room and you have to be quiet.

You’ll never see him with his band again, caught in that weird space between a groupie and a supportive family member. He liked to embarrass you, make big shows out of looking directly at you and coming to the edge of the stage to poke your cheek. He’d ruffle your hair and your cheeks would be so hot, one wrong burst of electricity from the wires attached to their instruments and you’d go up in flames.

You never told your mom but you always wanted a brother, you should’ve known you weren’t gonna have him for very long.

Hangman’s Joke. God, you wish.

“Hey, peach, ya miss me?”

Hand on your heart you think you’re dreaming at first, but you’ve never really had any dreams where Eric was front and center. He haunts all your other ones, regular strange ones where you’re running around department stores and fucking Kurt Cobain but someintes he turns into your step brother, sometimes you fuck them both.

You shoot up in bed, the straps of your lavender silk nightie slip down your shoulders so you pull them back. It’s the middle of the night, and your vision is blurry, but when your eyes focus properly you see him standing in front of your bed.

It’s Eric, your brother, you don’t even care if there was a gas leak overnight that’s got you fucked up or if this reslly is a dream. You can’t pretend to be fine anymore if he’s right here in front of you, suddenly there’s an umbrella over your head in the pouring rain again.

“Eric, oh my god, what the fuck! How are you even- I mean- How the fuck are you alive?”

He sighs, tonguing his cheek and shaking his head. “I’ll tell you all about it later, I promise, ‘m tired, peach. Missed my girl, didn’t she miss me?”

It’s a little cruel because of course you have, but the dulcet tones lull you into nodding. You don’t want to cry, and you’re scared to reach out to touch him because of the chance that he might disappear. Eric’s haunted eyes soften, and he intertwines his bizarrely muddy fingers with yours. There’s warmth, and maybe it’s just your hummingbird heart but you feel a soft rhythmic thumping under his skin.

It’s different, slow as molasses, more like the chiming of a grandfather clock. But Jesus fucking Christ he’s real.

Your sham of a facade shatters as you bring your joined hands down to your breasts, forcing his knuckles to press into your sternum.

Eric pushes you back down on the bed, his knees dig into the mattress on either side of your hips. His stare is intense, dark and enticing as he reaches down to curl his hand around your calves.

“I used to be obsessed with uh, vampires, ain’t that a bitch?” He chuckles, massaging your ankles and staring off into space. “All that mysticism and unimaginable power and all I could focus on was the way they talked about their cravings. How they get hunger pangs like a normal fuckin’ and it’s bearable until it’s not, it consumes them like they’re boilin’ from the inside out.”

You suck in a breath, Eric’s eyes flick over to you immediately.

“Then I look at you and i’m right back in rehab, toes curlin’ at the thought of getting high again. I think I know how those bloodsuckers feel.”

“Eric- Don’t say that.” Your heart seizes up, but you keep yourself from falling off the ledge.

He kisses your ankle, his black lipstick leaving a stain as he leaves a trail of carnage up to your toes. His lips split wide on a fox’s smile, slipping his tongue in the crease between your toes and sucking each one clean, almost like he’s trying to eat your flesh off the bone. He nuzzles his nose into the sole and inhales deeply, taking in the dirt you didn’t wash off in the shower, the plastic hospital smell from your bath mat, your cherry almond scented body wash.

“Yes, all i fuckin’ need, right here.” He whispers, staring at you dead in your eyes.

He flicks his tongue out to taste the high arch of your foot as his hand caresses your still bruised toes. But they’re faded, you quit ballet a long time ago.

“You have pretty feet, y’know that? Always liked helping you lace up your slippers.” Eric laughs “You’d get so fussy about me doin’ them properly but you’d kiss my cheek after, all sweet on me.”

He lavishes every inch of both your feet with his tongue in broad strokes, making out with your toes because he can’t resist sucking them into his mouth one more time.

You moan, fisting your hands in your nightie, your step brother’s back from the afterlife apparently and the first thing he wants to do is get a footjob from his step sister.

Eric tucks his hair behind his ears so he doesn’t have to bother with it for right now, you can tell that this is like one of those moments on stage, he wants your full attention.

He’ll always have it.

You’re the one that pulls your feet out of his grip to slide them down to his crotch. You keep eye contact as you massage his clothed bulge with your toes, rubbing your heel into his balls and applying light pressure here and there.

You blink up at him, too innocent and too worn down by life already all at the same time, “Like that, big brother? Does that feel good?”

Eric grunts, wrapping his hands back around your ankles and pushing your feet further onto his cock.

“Yeah, peach, feels so fuckin’ good, holy shit. Just like that, keep doin’ me like that, baby.”

You bite your lip, nearly tearing through the skin in your efforts to make your newly risen step brother jizz in his ripped jeans. You wish you had psychic powers and had the foresight to know he was coming over, you would’ve put on those socks with the frilly edges and a red rose stitched on the white fabric.

But he’s so worked up from this already, he’s breathing heavily and rocking his hips forward to hump your feet. He’s grinding his teeth together, already so close to unraveling from how much of a little tease you’re being.

You hum and turn your right foot to ghost the edge of your toenail around the tip of his cock. He groans as he twitches and a bead of pre seeps through his clothes, you can trace the outline of his length so clearly you know he’s not wearing any underwear.

The look in his crazed eyes reminds you of all the times he’d take you to the attic of his loft, making up scary stories and playing guitar with you. When you turned 21 he surprised you with a cheesy golden heart shaped locket, with a picture of you two at your parent’s wedding, joking about how awkward you look with each other there. Eric’s penguin style suit and your agitated face that’s partially covered by gaudy turquoise puffy cap sleeves.

He chuckled and said that every time you look at it, you’ll feel nothing but happiness for what those two losers are about to experience.

Part of that experience is you curling your feet around his clothed cock while giving him just enough of a view of your hairy pussy, you forgot to put a pad on so there’s some blood trickling out of you that Eric is just so utterly enraptured by.

His groans are death rattles now, long and pain stricken, at some point he stops humping your feet and lets you worship him like this. Eric kneeling above you, drooling deep in the back of his throat at the sight of his baby sister caressing his painfully hard dick with her cute dancer’s feet.

Your mind is filled with all the pretty shoes you can put on and do this again, you just got a new camera as an early birthday present too.

“You can come if you promise not to leave again, Eric, I'll hunt you down and kill you myself this time.” You promise, digging the ball of your feet into his perineum.

“I crawled out of the earth back to you, didn’t I? Couldn’t let my sweet peach perform alone, she gets stage fright.”

He comes in his pants and you continue to gingerly move your feet along his length, soaking up the cum that wets your toes like a sunflower does sunlight at golden hour.