#i count self-inserts as oc's sorry

[buttercup-barf]

Hey, @peachypizzicato, congrats on finally seeing the movie! Here's the elaboration I promised.

[puffpawstries]

as I go insane over the timeline for lore have old art of Honno their concept drawing and then the finale version of them She was going to have no eyes shown type shit but I thought against it to be able to emote Honno a bit more Though I kinda want to give Honno the baggy pants and jacket maybe??

[miiconsole]

shadow milk cookie !!

[dog-bonezzzz]

sometimes i feel like some of the hlvrai fandom needs to remember these are not corporate soulless characters owned by rich white guys made solely for profit. the science team (and the others) are a group of stranger's half life gmod improv roleplay characters. the cast members have shown they do check on the fandom from time to time these characters do belong to normal everyday people. be mindful

[starmilkman]

LUPIN III LOST SPIN-OFF SERIES FOUND?????

After his encounter with Lupin III back in Part 1 of the series, up and coming reporter Monroe Monroe dedicated his life to capturing the PERFECT STORY! On the tail of Lupin III and Inspector Zenigata, Monroe bungles up capers and investigations as he teams up with the mysterious ex-detective, Val. Together they face reoccurring villains: Dr. Martin Shelley IV and Food the were-cat! In hopes of capitalizing on the popular Lupin characters, a spin off series was created titled: Looped In! The title shares a name with Monroe's news column and his tendency to wrap up others in his fictional tales!

[myladysapphire]

My Lady Strong (IX)

Aemond had always been protective of his neice, obssessed even, insiting on keeping her sheltered, and purley his, he never let her stray far and following the incident at Driftmark, Aemma was rarley without Aemond as her shadow. How will the kind, sheltered girl fair in the dance of dragons?

word count: 3,564

CW: MDI 18+, pregnancy, (difficult) grapic depictions of child birth, angst, manipulation, toxic relationship, dark/possessive Aemond, co dependency, self harm. not proofread!

Fem!oc x dark!Aemond Targeryen

Masterlist | series masterlist | previous part | next part

(birth seen between dividers by @zaldritzosrose)

authors note: sorry if this seems messy!

Two years had come and gone since the wedding.

Her mother had left, there reunion short lived, and all hope lost as her mother realised how easily she had lost her daughter to the greens.

Woven so far into their net, that it was impossible for her to escape.

Believing so blindly the words of Aemond and Alicent.

Finding no cause or reason to mistrust them, seeing any reason for Aemond to act cruel as her fault.

Aemond had inserted himself so thoroughly into her life now that it was impossible to tell the difference in their lives.

she would follow him around like a lost puppy, and he would tug her alone with him wherever he went.

She was always with him or in her chambers. Never anywhere alone.

And she liked it like that.

For when she was alone the dreams came.

Dreams of blood and dragons.

Dreams that only sought to bring her pain.

She could never stop them. Not truly, nor had she ever told Aemond of them, or of reason for the scratches lacing her body.

He had noticed them, of course he had, with his cock filling her day and night there was no way he hadn’t, and yet he had bit his tongue at the sight of them.

Perhaps because they were in the same place as her scares from the black cells. scares he had long grown used too, especially after he treated them. How he was her only comfort when that incident had happened, the only one she would let touch her.

He loved to remind her of how he was she only one truly they’re for her, both then and now

Married and bound by soul and law. She was his and he was hers, for two years now her life had revolved around him. She found little she for having her own thoughts and opinions, finding most of the time they were too silly or simple to be of any use.

At least that’s what Aemond would say.

But despite that she never felt small, only that he understood her. He knew her limits, her struggles and did not wish for her to suffer.

Though if you asked Aemond, and though he would never admit it, he liked her simple, complacent.

He had not only won her trust through guilt.

Guilt of her brothers’ actions, guilt of craving a bond between the brothers who caused him pain.

He had also won her love.

He remembers the day she had said it, near six moons into their marriage.

“Aemond” she had said, wrapped in his arms after a night of passion, “I…I think that I love you” she said, her voice so soft and worried.

As if despite his professions of love, his actions devotions where all fake, as if a disguise for the Aemond who had called her “my lady strong”, or the Aemond who had teased her and been so effortlessly cruel for years on end.

And though Aemond was cruel, still the man who craved to carve out her brother’s eye, who still bite his tounge every time he saw her, wishing to announce her bastardy to the court.

But he didn’t, the years of being cruel have shown him that being cruel to Aemma was not what he desired, not what she deserved.

She had been his only friend and only love, and though he did not regret the cruelty of him for years towards her, he regretted how rash he had been in it.

The game he had played with her for so long had come to ruin.

The game of making her the eldest pawn for him and the greens.

He loved her, that much was true, you could not argue he didn’t.

He just simply couldn’t show it, not when she reminded him for so long of the pain he had felt as her kid brother struck out his eye.

And know as she said “I love you” wrapped in his arms, her belles swelled with his babe, he knew he had won.

Not only had his plans to isolate her worked. Her family loosing hope with her and making her entirely his.

But now she loved him just as she once did.

He smiled, caressing her hair “I love you” he whispered, possessively.

She smiled, her usual timid smile, she went to say something more, but she bites her tongue, instead throng her head to kiss him softly.

The inner workings of Aemmas thoughts were so tricky to place.

A part of her knew she was being manipulated but she couldn’t understand it or understand why.

She understood the love Aemond felt for her and how the love she felt she had lost with her mother had been replaced with him.

But ever since her mother’s departure something had been nagging on her mind.

Her mother had insisted she had sent letter, and never received hers. It made no sense and yet the look Aemond would send her whenever she sat at his desk, reaching for a pen and paper. the pen hovering but never writing words as she tried and tried to think of what to write.

He sent her a look of worry; she wondered if it was for her or for what her letters might say.

She couldn’t understand the idea that Aemond would have prevented her mother and her reviving letters. It made no sense.

Her mind raced and raced with a million thoughts, and all her mindful return to be the dreams of blood. Blood on her hands, her sheets.

Even know a year after she had confessed her love her mind raced, her thoughts never stopped. She never had a moment of clarity, and she swore she was going mad.

The scratching had started again, and with a husband who never left her side she o idk not hide it.

He looked at her with such worry and concern.

Mother hemming her as he wrapped and bounds her arms, covering her scars and helping the to heal. Leavings off kisses as he went, begging for answers.

“Aemma, my love. What plagues you?” he asked his tone soft and sweet.

He was ever so soft at times, and yet other times he was could be brash and harsh.

“I am scared” she whispered, her head falling into her hands.

“What of?” he asked, no demanded. He had become such a fierce protector; it was after all his excuse for being so distant and cruel all those years.

“The tides, the sister” she spoke quickly, shaking her head, as images of head rolling flashed through her.

Her hand gripped her swollen stomach “my boy” she whispered.

“What do you mean?”

“The tides will come Aemond” she spoke in riddles. Riddles that Heleana knew all too well.

For years it had only been dreams and yet her mind was so full of dreams that sometimes they just spilled out in confusing riddles for others to pick apart.

“Tides?” he tilted his head, “the sea? Ahh the sea snake…he will recover I am sure” Aemond said softly, news had reached them of his injury, of the bids for succession of drift mark.

A part of him wanted to make his own bid, though technically Aemmas bid.

As a second son he would receive nothing, why not join the other second sons and bid for Driftmark also?

The doors to their chambers opened, Dayna, a maid, walking in with their son, a boy fast approaching his first name day, named Aerion.

“My sweet boy” Aemma said standing up with a start. She hated him being away from her, fearing he would be taken at any moment.

“Thank you, Dayna,” she whispered holding an Aerion close to her.

Aemond walked to her once more, smiling sorry as their son giggled in her arms. “you mother will be here soon” he said caressing Aerion’s cheek.

“Do you wish to greet them?” he didn’t wish to go himself, but small choices like these made Aemma feel free and not like the prisoner she truly was.

“i…I do not know” she did know, she wanted to see her mother, she had cried and cried for her, craving to see her and yet she had not once brought herself to write to her, instead she had forced herself to find the comfort of a mother in Alicent, and it was never the same.

He hummed, “I have training” he said, almost as if to grant her permission.

“I shall go then, better to introduce Aerion earlier than not” she said, nervously.

She didn’t know what she would say.

She was a stranger to all now, 2 years and passed since she had seen them, and even then, they were strangers, wishing to reignite a closeness that was long lost. Thanks to the efforts of others.

Dressed in a sea green gown, with Aerion on her hip. She stood in the courtyard awaiting her mother’s arrival. She stood alone, with few courtiers coming to great the heir, and those that had only seemed shocked when her mother stepped out of the carriage.

Sending her mother a nervous simile, Aemma walked down the steps to greet her.

“mother” she said in greeting, her voice the usual shy and timid it had always been, but never with her own mother.

Unlike her wedding, where only her mother, Jace and Luke had attended. This time, all her siblings, even the ones she had never meet and even Daemon had accompanied her.

“Aemma” her mother said breathlessly taking her in, a timid smile graced her lips.

not much more was sent between your or your family as you walked them through the halls of the keep.

Though they were greeted by few friendly faces, many turned their nose up at her mother, favouring greeting Aemma over her.

“Aemma” her mother spoke once more, sitting down in as they finally walked into her mothers’ old rooms. “How have you been?”

Huffing slightly, Aemma replied, “I have been well, muna, I- “she looked down to where Aerion sat on her hip, his curios eyes looking around the room.  “This is Aerion…your grandson” she muttered, coming to brush his hair away from his face.

He was the perfect combination of Aemma and Aemond, with silver hair and purple eyes, the shade being a perfect match of Aemmas. His face bore her nose and his shape.

“Aerion?” Rhaenrya breathed, smiling slightly as he turned to face her at the sound of his name. “I- had heard news…I am sorry that you did not writer to me of the news yourself.”

“I…it was a difficult pregnancy; I was bed bound for most of it…and with how you left things last time I- I wasn’t sure you wanted to hear from me”.

Daemond scoffed, shaking his head as if what Aemma said was a lie.

“of course…dōna riña, I would have come” Rhaenyra said, moving towards Aemma.

“You said you would visit before, and you never did”.

Rhaenrya’s heart broke, she had felt like she had truly lost her daughter. Her sweet girl had been taken from her and she had done nothing to top it, even years after realising all she had done was hide on Dragonstone wallowing in grief at loosing a daughter who still lived.

“I am sorry, tala, truly”.

Aemma softened, always one to easily take an apology and never one to hold a grudge. No matter how badly she wished too.

“Would you like to hold him?”

Her mother smiled, sighing a small sigh of relief before nodding her head and enthusiastically taking her grandson in her arms, “he looks just like you, dōna riña”.

“I think he is the perfect mix of me and Aemond” Rhaenyra flinched at the mention of him. Their conversation forms two hears prior still haunted her.

“Rhaenyra” she heard a voice say, the voice of her half-brother.

“Yes?” She answered, as Aemma was led to a corner with her ladies, trying on her wedding gown.

“Is there something on your mind?” he said teasingly.

She knew he had never liked her, especially after Driftmark. And though she had craved to be neutral with her half siblings the mere fact he had taken away her only daughter from her, made her hate him.

And now that she knew he had stolen her letters, hidden Aemmas own to her. She depside him.

Depside how Aemma trusted him and doubter her.

Rhaenyra scowled “you know exactly what’s on my mind, tell me the truth of it’.

He smirked, “hmmm, I do not know what you mean”.

“Yes, you do” she insisted, “my own daughter thinks I abandoned her, I know those are not her own thoughts”.

‘Oh, please, I only told her what she was already thinking” he smirked.

“That cannot be true” she seethed.

 “you’re not going to fix your relationship by arguing with me now are you?” he smiled, and Aemma called him over, “whether you like it or not she is to be my wife and to my Aemma, I will be here for her, and you…you will be swiftly heading back to Dragonstone, leaving her yet again” he quickly left before she could reply, not that she had much to think on as she knew everything Aemond had said was true.

The words circled her brain day and night. How had she not noticed that her daughter, her sweet loving daughter.

Her favourite child.

Had been so heavily manipulated by the greens, how her sweet girl who had promised to write every week had not sent a single letter.

And how she had let Dameon convince her to stay away. That she was better off with them her.

That she had been lost to them before she had even married Aemond.

“Yes…he is he. And the child in your belly… a boy or a girl do you think?

“I hope for a girl, though I think it to be another boy” Aemma said, smiling as her mother cooed down at Aerion.

“I believe I am to have another girl…your sister”.

“About time” Aemma joked, “I have long asked for a sister”.

“Kessa ñuha dōna riña, emā” Rhaenyra whispered, starting at her daughter as she took her son back into her arms.

yes, my sweet girl, you have.

Daemon coughed once more behind her, seeing Aemma a look she could not place.

“We should go see your grandsire now…perhaps we- I could join you for dinner?”

“I- have to ask Aemond”.

“of course…send me a note dōna riña.”

She nodded, taking her leave.

She didn’t join Aemma for dinner that night, receiving word for a smirking Aemond.

 The next day they had all gathered in the throne room, the court divided.

The blacks on one side, the greens on the other.

And Aemma, still unbeknownst to the guide, wore and emerald green dress, stood beside Aemond. Hand clutching her swollen belly.

Otto stood at the front of the throne room, speaking on behalf of her grandsire. “Though it is the great hope of this court that Lord Corlys Velaryon survive his wounds, we gather here with the grim task of dealing with the succession of Driftmark.” Otto spoke, “As Hand, I speak with the King’s voice on this and all other matters.” He moved his head to face Vaemond “The crown will now hear the petitions. Ser Vaemond of House Velaryon.”

“My Queen, My Lord Hand.” Vaemond started. “The history of our noble houses extends beyond the Seven Kingdoms to the days of Old Valyria. For as long as House Targaryen has ruled the skies, House Velaryon has ruled the seas. When the Doom fell on Valyria, our houses became the last of their kind.  Our forebearers came to this new land, knowing that were they to fail, it would mean the end to their bloodlines and their name. I have spent my entire life on Driftmark defending my brother’s seat. I am Lord Corlys’s closest kin, his own blood. The true, unimpeachable blood of House Velaryon runs through my veins.” He spoke, before being interrupted by her mother, who refused to face him.

“As it does in my sons and daughter, the offspring of Laenor Velaryon. If you cared so much about your house’s blood, Ser Vaemond, you would not be so bold as to supplant its rightful heir…No, you only speak for yourself and for your own ambition” Otto cut her off.

“You will have chance to make your own petition, Princess Rhaenyra. Do Ser Vaemond the courtesy of allowing his to be heard.” Otto said, allowing Vaemond to continue, a smirk on his face.

“What do you know of Velaryon blood, Princess? I could cut my veins and show it to you, and you still wouldn’t recognize it. This is about the future and survival of my house, not yours.”

Aemmas mind began to circle. The sound of blood filling her ears, the slice of a sword yet unsheathed.

Blood dripping.

A dagger slicing.

Whores dancing.

Her mind circled again and again, in a never-ending loop of green and black fading into one and ending only with death.

Her hands were covered in blood, and no matter how hard she spends them on her dress it would not go away, how could it? When the blood had yet to be spilled?

The sound of a dragon’s roar and the crashing of tides.

She screamed, covering her ears. and a head…the head of Vaemond Veleryon came rolling towards her.

Blood spilling over her gown, and more blood lacing her hands.

A sharp pain hit her then.

Her breathing grew heavy. Her hand gripping her stomach, as another sharp pain hit.

Aemond touched her then, bringing her out of her thoughts.

His face and the face of her mother and brothers filled with concern, as pain wracked through her body.

“Aemond” she breathed, her voice scared as pain, a contraction she now realised hit her once more.

Her grabbed her to him, picking her body up and running though the halls, calling for the midwives as they reached their chambers.

Her screams filled the halls of the keep.

Cries of pain and fear as the midwives told her to push and push.

Aemond, like the first birth refused to leave her side. Insistent on staying even as her grip threatened to break his hand.

“Aemma” he said in encouragement, “ñuha jorrāelagon, kostā gaomagon bisa... jelevre”.

my love, you can do this...breath.

“I can’t…Aemond please…mazverdagon ziry keligon” she begged.

Make it stop.

Rhaenyra burst in the room, tired of waiting “dōna riña” she sighed, looking over to the midwives in concern as they stood to the side talking with the maester. “I am here, my sweet…I am here”.

The maester approached them, pulling Aemond the side.

Aemma looked to her mother in fear…”no…no”

“Aemma,” Aemond said, moving back to her side “the babe…is breach” he said, and Rhaenyra saw she saw a tear leave her brother’s eye.

“Breach? no…no” she muttered.

An image of a dagger.

Of blood-soaked sheets.

A head of silver hair rolling across the floor.

She moved from her position on her bag, swiping away the hands of Aemond and her mother.

“I must stand” she muttered, holding her back as she moved away from everyone leaning against a chair as she felt the need top push once more.

“Please…tala” her mother begged, walking towards her “they can turn the babe- “

“No…no they are wrong! I can do this! I can do this” she begged to no one but herself.

“Aemma you will only hurt yourself…please” Aemond begged.

“Will you cut me?”

“Never!” he shook his head, “I would never do that, my love. Never!” he insisted as he and a midwife slowly approached her.

“We can turn the babe” the midwife insisted, and before she could utter another word, she was dragged towards the bed, eld down as the maester forced the babe to turn.

She cried out, crying in pain as the few minutes it took felt like hours.

And before she knew it, she was pushing once more and then she heard a cry.

A cry that was not her own, but her babes.

A girl.

She smiled reaching for the babe, before she was taken out of her sight, and Aemma found she was pushing once more.

Another babe.

“Twins!” The maester said in delight, as her second son was placed in her arms.

Aemond laughed in joy, before looking down and seeing the blood dripping from Aemmas thighs.

He felt like crying as he was pushed aside, his babes taken as he watched the maester work.

As he watched Aemmas eyes flutter closed.

“No…no” he muttered, going towards her only for Rhaenrya to grip him.

“don’t” she said, tears filling her own eyes “she will be fine” she said to reassure themselves “she will be fine”.

The night was long and hard, with the birth of twins.

A boy and a girl. Named Aelora and Aelor.

Ot took her three days to recover, her form weak and still as healed.

Her mother had stayed with her, day and night.

And for once in his life, he had felt a closeness with his half-sister.

A mutual understanding.

Though it would all be lost when a family dinner was called a week later.

Authors note: dont ask me why all their names are so similar it was a good idea at the time and i can't think of any other names.

taglist

@melllinaa @zillahvathek @ateliefloresdaprimavera @bellaisasleep @aleemendoza2425-blog @bunbunblogsblog @theanxietyqueen17 @leavesmealobe @ka1afbr @winchesterfamiliebusiness @gghoulzz @dark-night-sky-99 @violet-potter @iamthehybrid @duckworthbean @winter-soldier-101 @apollonshootafar @deeeeexx @zzz000eee @meowtastick @flrboyd @cynic-spirit @wondergal2001 @aelora-a @amanda08319 @may-machin @sarahkimtae @yentroucnagol @loserwithnofriends @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @urmomsbananabread @azaleapotterblack @delaynew @adira033 @babyzzlove @tesha-i-guess @aemondwhoresworld @zimzala01 @aegonswife @littlebirdgot @justbelljust @eddieslut69 @beebeechaos @rosedurin @berightback1409 @barnes70stark @perla434 @nessjo @helo1281917 @ateliefloresdaprimavera @Youknownothingjohnwatson @marsmallow433

to be added to taglist

[chvoswxtch]

part one: the call

[series masterlist] | [part two]

pairing: billy russo x fem!reader

summary: a ghost from the past has returned.

warnings: swearing, angst, mentions of murder, creepy sleazy boss & brief mentions of sexual harassment, billy being the cocky lil shit he is

word count: 3.8k

a/n: ahhhhhhh! i've been working on this for the past few months & i'm so excited to finally put it out. I really really really hope y'all enjoy it. this is only 6 parts, so it will not be a slow burn. it's gonna get intense fast. also, there is an oc name mentioned, but it's just for the backstory of the plot. this is still a self insert, & y/n will be used for the rest of the story! without further ado, let's get this spooky slutty season started. as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

This was a bad dream. It had to be. There was no other logical way to explain why you were currently sitting in an interrogation room at a precinct, being questioned by police about a man that you had gone on a blind date with not even twelve hours ago, who had been found stabbed to death in an alley two blocks away from your apartment building.

It was just a nightmare. It wasn’t real. All you had to do was open your eyes, and this would all go away. You knew how to deal with nightmares. You knew how to escape them. You’d been running and hiding from them your whole life. All you had to do was open your eyes, and the sinister shadows wouldn't be able to sink their claws into your subconscious to trap you in the dark. Just open them, and this will all disappear. 

Just open your eyes.

“Miss Y/L/N?”

The detective’s voice swiftly brought you out of the trance of denial your mind had wandered into, and your eyes snapped open. To your dismay, nothing changed. The two detectives were still sitting across the table from you, the metal cold against your sweaty palms, one eying you warily while the other regarded you with a more sympathetic stare. The chair beneath you was still stiff and uncomfortable, the light above was still a harsh shade of artificial brightness, and the large piece of glass to your right that reflected your terrified expression still made you feel unsettled knowing there was someone watching you just on the other side of that two-way pane.

“I…I’m sorry. What was the question?”

The waver in your voice gave away how shaken you were by the whole ordeal. When the police had shown up at your office an hour ago stating they needed to bring you in for questioning regarding the murder of Adam Mercer, shock had instantly shot through your entire nervous system, chilling the very blood in your veins with an icy sense of dread. 

This was the kind of thing you heard about happening in the news. A tragedy that struck someone else’s life. A nameless, faceless person whose existence you were unaware of. It was the kind of thing nobody ever thought could happen to them, until it did.

The older detective, the more commiserating one, had said they thought it was some kind of mugging gone wrong. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence in New York City, unfortunately. The dazzling city was also dangerous. But since you were the last person to see Adam alive, they needed as much information as you could give them about the last few hours of his life. For some odd reason, it filled you with a sense of guilt that his final moments had been spent with you, a complete stranger, instead of someone else. 

Adam had been a really nice guy. He’d seemed to enjoy the date. He’d thrown his head back and laughed like a little kid at a stupid joke you’d told. He’d flashed you a charming smile when you’d nearly knocked your glass of wine over into your pasta. He’d animatedly told you about his family’s tradition of selecting a perfect tree together at a local Christmas farm back in his home state of Jersey every holiday season. He’d been sweet and gentle and respectful. But had he been happy? 

Had he succumbed to the inevitable fate of death at his attacker’s hands without a fight? Did he even see it coming? Had he had that moment, where everything flashed before his eyes, all his mistakes, all his regrets, all the would’ve, could’ve, should'ves? 

You knew what that feeling was like. You’d been there, once before. Nothing makes you want to live more than Death deciding to show up at your door and pick the lock with its cold, bony fingers to collect a bounty early. 

Thirteen times. Adam had been brutally stabbed thirteen times. It was excessive for a mugging. It felt more personal, that kind of anger and passion. As morbid as the thought was, you hoped the first one had killed him. You hoped he that went into shock swiftly and bled out just as fast so he hadn’t suffered through the next twelve.

Holding his pen in his right hand, the tip hovering over his worn yellow pocket sized notepad, Detective Craven repeated his question.

“How well did you know Adam?”

“I…I didn’t. I’d never met him until last night. My roommate um…she knew him. She’s the one who set us up.”

“Your roommate being Miss Riley?”

Detective Williamson had his hands clasped together in front of him on the table. He lifted one of his brows while waiting for you to answer his question. Swallowing thickly, you gave a faint nod of your head and dropped your hands to your lap, fidgeting with them under the table anxiously. 

“Yeah, Annie.”

Detective Craven cleared his throat, reading over his notes with his honey brown eyes as he continued his questioning.

“Now, you said he picked you up at your apartment around eight-thirty, the two of you had dinner at Maureen’s, and then he dropped you back off at your place around eleven. He left right after that?”

“Yeah, he…um…we said goodnight, he said he’d like to see me again, and then he told me he’d call me tomorrow.”

“He didn’t come up to your apartment at all?”

Detective Williamson didn’t bother hiding the skepticism in his voice, or the implication behind his words, his icy blue eyes locked on you in an almost unsettling way.

“No, he dropped me off at the front steps of the building.”

“And you didn’t see where he went when he left? Didn’t give him one last look after a goodnight kiss?”

A flash of annoyance broke through your stunned disbelief at the invasive second question. You hadn’t said anything about a kiss. The younger detective seemed to be fishing for a crack in your alibi for some reason, trying to catch you in a lie that didn’t exist. A flicker of defensiveness crept into your voice when you spoke.

“No, after we said goodnight, I went inside.”

Before Detective Williamson could ask another thinly veiled judgmental question, Detective Craven stood up, shooting his partner a silencing look. Glancing down at you with a warmer expression, the older man gestured towards the door with his hand.

“That’s all the questions we have for now. We appreciate you speaking with us. I’ll walk you out.”

The precinct was bustling. Various murmurs of conversation buzzed in your ears. People were breezing past in every direction, but amidst the sea of chaos, you spotted a familiar head of blonde hair. Annie jumped up from the chair she’d been sitting in and forced her way through the waves of people, not once muttering an “excuse me” or waiting for someone to move out of her way. A true New Yorker.

Detective Craven placed his hand on your shoulder to get your attention and held out a white business card that had all of his information on it in embossed black text.

“If you can think of anything else that might be helpful, don’t hesitate to call.”

Taking the card into your hand, you looked up at him and forced a tight smile onto your lips, giving him a faint nod of your head.

“Of course.”

After giving your shoulder a light squeeze, Detective Craven gave Annie a nod of acknowledgement before turning and disappearing back inside the interrogation room. As soon as you turned to face her, Annie’s face contorted into an expression of pity and concern. She immediately pulled you into a hug, and it took everything in you not to crumble under the weight of your own overwhelming emotions.

“Come on, let’s go home.”

»»———　　———««

Annie had swiftly shot down your plan to go back to work before the words could even fully leave your lips. All you wanted to do was dive head first into a distraction, to immerse yourself fully in the piles of paper and black ink sitting on your desk that were waiting to transport you to another universe and into the body of someone else whose world hadn’t just been flipped upside down. Again. 

Instead, she brought you back to your shared apartment, uncorked a bottle of wine for each of you, and did her best to help you sort through the shock and the ripples it caused within you. She didn’t understand that your instinct was to run and hide, and that was because she didn’t understand you, not really. But that wasn’t her fault. She could only understand what you allowed her to, and there were huge pieces of yourself you kept hidden from her and everyone else beneath carefully crafted layers.

Pieces you were not ready to uncover and face yet.

The following morning when you showed up to work at the publishing house, it felt like everyone was looking through you instead of at you. Everyone had heard what happened, had seen the two detectives escorting you out of your office, but none of your coworkers said a word. Not to your face, anyway. You could feel the weight of their lingering stares, their hushed whispers floating past your ear like a cold autumn breeze. It was a familiar territory you’d already escaped once.

To your relief, you hadn’t been harassed by reporters wanting an exclusive on the story. Unfortunately, crimes like what had happened to Adam were a dime a dozen in this city. You felt guilty for feeling grateful for that, but not having cameras shoved in your face to be broadcast on news outlets that circulated on social media worked in your favor. You had come to the city that millions of people called home for a reason. You came here to disappear, to be invisible. The last thing you needed was to be thrust into a spotlight that would attract attention you’d gone to great lengths to avoid.

In the midst of trying to drown out the white noise of suspicious gossip and ignoring the way the stares penetrating the glass windows of your office made your insides twist in dreaded knots, you almost missed the sound of a knock at your door. Lifting your head, you were met with the sight of the last person you ever expected to see standing in the doorway.

Billy Russo.

He was significantly more dressed up than the last time you’d seen him, looking every bit the illustrious CEO, although that signature arrogant smirk of his seemed to be missing for once. His tall frame was covered in a deep navy blue three piece suit with a crisp white dress shirt beneath the matching tie, a dark charcoal gray thick coat layering over top. His raven hair was gelled back perfectly, just like it was that night at the bar, but the gleam of mischief in his dark brown eyes was absent. As he stood in the doorway of your office, nearly taking up the entire frame, he seemed to be looking at you in an expression of something that resembled concern.

“Billy.”

The surprise in your hushed tone rang clear in the quiet of your office. Billy removed the black leather gloves from his hands, slipping them into the pocket of his overcoat.

“This a bad time?”

Your lips parted slightly as your eyes flickered down to the open manuscript on your desk before looking up at him again.

“Um…no. No…I…what are you doing here?”

Billy took a step forward into your office and quietly closed the door behind himself.

“Just came by to check on ya.”

“Check on me?”

“Derek told me what happened.”

Billy kept his eyes locked on you as he explained the reasoning behind his unexpected visit, watching you closely.

Derek Becker was a friend of Billy’s. They had served in the military together, and he now worked for Billy’s private security company, Anvil. Derek also happened to be Annie’s boyfriend. A few months back, the two of them had tried to set you and Billy up. The four of you had gone out to a bar for drinks, but instead of hitting it off with Billy, you’d found him narcissistic, and you’d had no interest in pursuing anything romantic with him. Although, based on how he had interacted with you that night, it had seemed like he hadn’t been looking for anything romantic either, just a night of physical release.

Because Annie was your best friend and roommate, and Derek was often around, you’d seen Billy a few times since then, but it wasn’t like the two of you were friends. Needless to say, the fact that he’d made the trip to your office to check on your mental wellbeing was a bit of a shock.

“I’m fine.”

Billy arched one of his dark brows, and the ghost of a smile graced the edge of his lips.

“You almost sounded like you meant that.”

You opened your mouth to fire back a retort, to protest the underlying accusation in his words, but your defense got stuck in your throat. Seeing the look on your face, Billy’s faint amusement quickly disappeared, and he let out a deep exhale through his nose as he took a few steps closer towards your desk.

“I’m sorry, I’m not here to be a dick. But it’s alright if you’re not fine. Normal people wouldn’t be fine in this situation.”

“Normal people?”

Billy stared down at you for a moment silently before turning his head to look out the glass window of your office, rubbing his large palm over his mouth and perfectly trimmed beard. Looking down at you again, a flicker of amusement was back in his gaze, and there was a hint of a smile on his lips.

“I got a real good habit of sayin’ the wrong thing with you, huh?”

The self deprecation you detected in his smooth voice surprised you. You’d never heard him say anything that didn’t have an undertone of superiority or didn’t sound prideful. The guy standing in front of you wasn’t acting like the cocky rich playboy you were used to, and it made you wonder for a second if that’s what it really was; an act. A flicker of newfound curiosity had you wondering if Billy’s persona was as carefully crafted as your own.

“I don’t know if I’d call that a good habit.”

Billy let out a puff of air past his lips, giving a faint shake of his head in faux disapproval.

“Kickin’ a man while he’s down? That’s ruthless, sweetheart.”

“I think your ego can survive being knocked down a few pegs.”

Billy let out a deep chuckle at that, and his lips spread into a wolfish grin.

“Between you and me, it’s a bit more fragile than you think.”

You looked at him in faux shock, an overly dramatic gasp leaving your lips.

“What? You mean the ego you overcompensate for with designer clothes and fancy cars is delicate?”

Billy rolled his eyes and held his hand up in a gesture of surrender.

“Alright, alright. I get it. You’ve kept me humble enough for one day.”

To your surprise, and to Billy’s, you smiled. It was small, but it was real and genuine. Billy’s impromptu visit was the last thing you expected to provide a lighthearted distraction to the whirlwind of chaos that had been plaguing you since yesterday. 

As much as you hadn’t been able to stand him the night you met him, you couldn’t deny that the banter between you came effortlessly. Within the first five minutes of meeting him, you’d called him a ‘self obsessed dumbass’, and instead of getting offended, he’d smiled. It had quickly launched into a battle of wits, who could come up with the more clever retort faster, and it only took half an hour for Derek and Annie to become exhausted, realizing they’d made a huge mistake and miscalculated their match making skills. Billy seemed to enjoy antagonizing you, and you couldn’t resist putting a man like him in his place.

Everytime the two of you were around each other, it was exactly the same. Just an endless cycle of unrequited flirting and unrestrained snark.

“Humble is not exactly a word I’d use to describe you, Russo.”

Before Billy could respond, your office door suddenly opened and your boss walked in, glancing between you and Billy in a mixture of curiosity and barely concealed displeasure. He seemed to size him up before turning his attention towards you, not so subtly letting his eyes roam over your figure sitting behind your desk in a way that made your skin crawl, which wasn’t missed by Billy. John gestured his head in Billy’s direction.

“Another detective?”

There was clear annoyance in John’s voice that didn’t go unnoticed by you. It wasn’t lost on Billy either, and his posture seemed to go rigid.

“No. No, um…friend.”

Friend. Using that word to describe Billy tasted foreign on your tongue, but Billy didn’t appear to react to it. His dark brown eyes sized John up in a similar fashion as your boss had done to him, only Billy didn’t even attempt to hide his judgment and lack of impression.

“You know, most people knock before just walkin’ in.”

Both yours and John’s heads turned towards Billy. You were momentarily stunned by the way Billy had so casually called out John’s abrupt intrusion, and John looked visibly irritated, but he turned to face Billy with a forced smile on his mouth.

“I don’t think we’ve met. I’m John Altieri. I own this publishing house.”

Unlike John, Billy didn’t plaster a fake smile on his face for politeness, or speak in a faux friendly tone. Maintaining eye contact, he reached out to grasp John’s outstretched hand with more firmness than necessary as he shook it.

“Billy Russo. I own the building.”

That bombshell had you sitting up straighter in your chair and blinking a few times in surprise. Billy owned the building? Since when? That was definitely news to you.

The smile on John’s face faltered for a moment, but he quickly recovered and nodded, trying to appear unphased by that revelation.

“Pleasure. If you don’t mind, I have some important things to discuss with Y/N/N. In private.”

Billy outwardly looked calm and collected, but you swore you saw a flicker of anger in his dark brown eyes. He didn’t seem to like hearing your boss refer to you with a nickname that was spoken with too saccharine of a tone for a superior to speak about their employee. Not that you liked it either. John seemed to always maintain a balance on that tightrope of not being inappropriate enough to report him to HR, but being too friendly for you to not feel uncomfortable. 

The bastard was clever, you’d give him that. He knew what he was doing. He was careful and cautious enough that it couldn’t be classified as textbook harassment, and could be argued as a simple misunderstanding. It made you want to stab him with your pen every time you caught him staring at your chest or your legs.

After letting a purposeful uncomfortable moment of silence pass, Billy looked down at John, that signature smirk you were used to seeing on his lips spreading slowly like a sun rising over the skyline.

“Of course.”

Turning his head to look at you again, Billy gave you a faint nod of his head and a wink.

“See ya later, sweetheart.”

Giving John one last final unimpressed and cold side eye, Billy pulled his leather gloves out of his overcoat pocket and turned to leave your office with a confident stride, leaving you and John alone in your office, and your mind swirling with a flurry of questions about Billy Russo.

»»———　　———««

By the time you walked through the front door of yours and Annie’s shared apartment, all you wanted was a hot shower and a few hours of sleep. You’d spent last night tossing and turning, haunted by the nightmare your life had once again turned into, and you felt the exhaustion in every cell of your body. Tossing your keys into the little green bowl on the side table by the front door, your footsteps were slow and sluggish as you headed down the hall on the left towards your bedroom.

Dropping your purse onto your bed, you sat down on the edge of it and slipped off your shoes, letting them drop on the hardwood floor with a soft thud. Letting out a deep exhale, you closed your eyes and hunched over, covering your face with both of your hands. The muffled noise of your ringtone began to sound from your purse. Dragging your palms down your face, you slipped one of your hands into your purse to dig for your phone blindly, absentmindedly hitting the answer button and bringing it to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Hello Y/N.”

The voice that sounded on the other end of the line wasn’t one you recognized. Pulling your phone away from your ear, you looked down at the lit screen and read “unknown caller”. A furrow creased between your brows as you brought your phone back up to your ear, running one of your hands through the roots of your hair to push it back.

“I’m sorry, who is this?”

“I guess your new boyfriend didn’t make the cut.”

Immediately your hand froze, and your eyes widened. A mix of confusion, disbelief, and anger coursed through you, but the latter won out.

“Excuse me?”

Your tone quickly shifted from one of puzzlement to pure fury as you sat up straighter. A sinister chuckle from the deep mysterious voice on the other end of the line further incensed you.

“Did you really think I’d let anyone else have you, Cassia?”

The phone slipped out of your hand, dropping to the floor below with a harsh sound that didn’t even register in your ears. A pit of dread opened up in your stomach, and fear trickled down your spine as if someone had started to trace the frozen sharp tip of an icicle along the back of your neck. Panic spread through your nervous system like a lit match to a dehydrated forest, and the four walls of your bedroom began to close in around you, squeezing the last breath of oxygen from your lungs.

No one in New York knew that name. 

You’d left it back in California, along with your past. The past that had forced you to run to the other side of the country and bury every trace of who you were before. The past that you tried so hard to forget and cover up with a new identity and a new life. The past that was taunting you from the other end of the line.

The past that had come back, and murdered Adam.

He’d found you.

tags: @thyme-in-a-bubble @ferns-fics @danzer8705 @to-thelakes @simonsgirl @sweetserendipity65 @zomtart @day-dreaming-goddess @caroblogsthings @thomasshelbyswife @snowkestrel @hallowedtangerine @ameliaswife @dreadfulxives18 @ebsmind @lllla717 @slumnit

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[cooliestghouliest]

PUTTY, chapter one

(chapter one), (chapter two), (chapter three)

PAIRING: virgin!Eddie/former cheerleader!Reader

SUMMARY: Eddie has a little brother. Eddie’s little brother has a babysitter.

SERIES TAGS and C/W’s: mutual pining, experienced!Reader, inexperienced!Eddie but he’s eager to learn, mostly sub!Eddie, insecurities and self doubt, narcissistic and/or absent parents, jealousy, mean basketball players, hurt/comfort, they smoke weed, eventual smut (18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI), uniform kink, dirty talk, foot jobs, hand jobs, oral (f!receiving and m!receiving), public sex, sex toys, unprotected PiV. more to be added as this progresses!!!

WORD COUNT: 3.7k+

A/N: hi, my friends!!! this is a rewrite/repost and has been edited for a (hopefully) smoother, more enjoyable read. fun fact that this was one of the first Stranger Things fanfics i ever wrote. it was originally titled She Was Straight From Hell, But You Could Never Tell, and featured Eddie alongside an OC. i’ve changed it to be reader-insert, because that seems to be more in my writing wheelhouse nowadays. this fic will be multiple parts — it begins with backstory, but will eventually branch off into a universe of little smutty ficlets where Reader will corrupt virgin!Eddie as much as humanely possible.

—

Eddie hadn't known about the existence of his little brother until two months ago, when Al Munson showed up in the middle of the night with a small child in tow. Eddie didn't even know his dad was out of prison again, and yet here he was, in the flesh, a little boy with a mop of black curls resembling Eddie's own cradled in his leather jacket-clad arms.

Al was lucky Wayne was working or else this family reunion would have gone south fast.

While Wayne wasn't Al's biggest fan, Al was Eddie's dad, and Eddie would always hold onto as many moments with his father as he could get, no matter how sparse, and no matter how much of a self-serving piece of shit asshole Al Munson truly was.

But Eddie didn’t see it like that. Eddie saw it like this: His dad lived a hard life. His dad struggled with addictions. His dad lost a wife, just as Eddie had lost a mother. His dad tried his best with what he had.

Deep down, Eddie knew these were all just sorry excuses, but he kept that truth tucked away, not wanting to deal with the reality that Al truly only cared about himself.

He already had one dead parent. If he cut his dad out of his life, he’d basically have two.

"When'd you get out?" Eddie asked, stepping aside so Al could enter. His eyes followed the child, brows furrowed. The trailer was always Al's first stop on his freedom tour and the older man had always brought some sort of baggage along with him -- never a little kid, though. What the hell kind of trouble had his dad gotten into this time?

"Few days ago," Al replied, heading for the living room. He placed the sleeping child down on the worn sofa, then straightened and faced Eddie. "Listen, son, you gotta do me a favor. I'm not out long this time. I might've robbed an ATM or two last night. I'm kinda on the lam."

Al didn’t even have the decency to look sheepish at his wrongdoing.

Eddie was used to this. Even when Al was a free man, he was never a free man for long. He didn't think his dad knew how to coexist among non-inmate citizens. Eddie didn't think his dad even wanted to. Prison was a creature comfort for the elder Munson. Eddie wasn't necessarily mad at that fact. He was happy when Al was locked up, because then at least he knew where his dad was. Otherwise, Eddie worried his father would eventually get himself into a situation he wouldn't be able to get out of, and Eddie would really never see him again.

Eddie was also used to Al showing up after months and months, sometimes even years and years, such as now, always asking for favors.

"Who is that?" Eddie asked, pointing towards the couch, not being able to ignore the other human in the room any longer.

"Yeah, that's kinda what I need your help with.” Al rubbed at the back of his neck. "Well, no way to do this other than to just say it. That there's your little brother, Eddie. His name's Oliver. And I need you and Wayne to look after him while I'm gone."

"My... what..." Eddie stammered, face scrunching up. He expected Al to burst out laughing and admit he was just fucking around, and that this tiny sleeping stranger was actually just the kid of a fellow convict buddy. Maybe it was said convict buddy’s turn to rob ATMs tonight, leaving Al the babysitter. Irresponsible. Unlikely. And, turns out, untrue.

With Al's silence, Eddie knew his dad’s admission wasn't a joke.

Eddie was beyond confused now.

"Dad, how... you've been in prison for six years!"

"Conjugal visits," Al answered with a bit of a smug shrug.

Eddie shook his head in disbelief. "What the fuck? Wayne can't afford another kid that's not even his... and I'm in school still, I can't watch him... this isn't... I don't know how..."

But Al was already making his way to the door.

"I know you'll figure it out. I can always count on you, my boy," Al prided, tone cheery as if the favor he'd just asked of Eddie was to give him a quick ride somewhere or find an old family recipe.

Al wasn't acting like he was ditching another Munson offspring off on his older brother. He was treating this like an issue of minor importance, just a little speed bump on an otherwise flat road.

Al Munson was not an upstanding person. Never had been, never would be. Because of this, Eddie shouldn't have been surprised or appalled, but here he was, standing with his mouth agape. Surprised. Appalled.

His dad was out the door with a lighthearted, "See ya 'round, son," and Eddie was left speechless in the middle of the living room.

𖤐 ֪ 𖤐 ֪ 𖤐

Wayne got over the new addition to the Munson household fairly quickly.

While he'd been livid at first, calling up all of Al's old friends he'd still had the numbers of to try and find out where his dumb shit of a younger brother was, Wayne eventually became resigned to the idea that he now had another little boy to rear and mold.

What else could he do?

Wayne took care of his kin, especially if they were innocent bystanders and had no say in being born in the first place. He'd raised Eddie, and although he knew the boy had his struggles, he didn't think he'd done too bad of a job.

Eddie never went hungry, always had clothes to wear, a bed to sleep in, and Wayne was the one who haggled Eddie's van down to a reasonable price so the boy could pay for it with his lunch box salary.

Wayne knew about the weed and the pills, but so long as Eddie stayed smart about where he was selling and who he was selling to, he didn't much mind Eddie's unconventional line of work. It helped his nephew stay somewhat social, and Wayne knew how important that would be for Eddie's future. If the boy was nothing but a lone recluse his whole life, he'd probably end up just like Al. Nobody wanted that.

Eddie was just about grown now. Sure, he was rearing twenty and still in his senior year of high school, but Wayne had an inkling that '86 would be Eddie's year.

Wayne had always thought about selling the trailer and buying an RV with retirement money once Eddie was out on his own. He wanted to travel the country for the remainder of his life.

The idea that he'd have to raise up another wild Munson for the next fifteen or so years caused a knot to form in his stomach.

Would Wayne even be around for that much longer? He may have been relatively healthy, and he was only in his mid 60's, but Wayne wasn't an idiot. He knew anything could happen at any time.

Wayne knew he needed help this time around. He figured he could count on Eddie here and there, but Eddie needed to focus on school this year if he planned on finally walking the stage. Because of this, Wayne decided to enlist the help of someone on the outside. Someone with experience.

So, he posted an ad in the Hawkins Post, looking for a full-time nanny for a five-year-old boy to start as soon as possible, and waited for a response.

𖤐 ֪ 𖤐 ֪ 𖤐

Wayne didn't have to wait long.

Two mornings following the job post, shortly after he'd returned home from work, he heard a knock on the trailer door.

When he answered, he saw a pretty young thing standing on the front stoop.

"Hi!" you greeted, then immediately began to ramble. "Are you Mr. Munson? I hope it's okay I just showed up... there wasn't a number listed, only an address, and I didn't know if you wanted me to write a response and mail it, but the ad seemed maybe a little urgent, so I thought, hey, what's the harm in just... showing... up..."

You trailed off, feeling silly for word vomiting during your first impression. He was watching you with a small smile, eyes flickering with what looked like amusement, especially as your cheeks began to color to the soft red of embarrassment.

Listing no number on the ad was intentional. He hadn't owned a rotary phone in about ten years, after having tried to cut back on bills, and he knew not just anyone would make the trek to Forest Hills for a potential job offer. He’d figured only committed applicants that wouldn't waste his time would follow through.

"I have a lot of experience," you continued on at his silence, almost as if you couldn't help it, compelled to divulge all the information you could in the first three minutes of meeting. Wayne found it endearing. "I used to babysit for three different families when I was in high school. And I have two little sisters. My mom and dad worked a lot growing up, so I spent a lot of time with them. Didn't get paid, but... I made sure they didn't die or anything..."

From their brief interaction thus far, Wayne knew he succeeded in his method of weeding out flakes. You were obviously serious about the position. He felt he was a decent judge of character, and he'd learned in life that sometimes over-explaining was synonymous with caring.

"Sorry," you said, forcing out a little laugh. "I guess I could have just introduced myself. You didn't really need to know all that." You shot your hand out, giving your name. "I'm here about the nannying gig. Um, obviously. That is, if I didn't already scare you off."

Wayne took your hand in both of his own, shaking it. He placated you with a grin. "It's a lot harder than that to scare off a Munson, sweetheart. Let's go inside and meet Olly."

𖤐 ֪ 𖤐 ֪ 𖤐

Although Oliver Munson was only five, he had a spectacular vocabulary and a limitless imagination. Wayne knew the boy was a little charmer, quite like how Eddie was when he allowed himself to be, when the teenager wasn't drowning himself in existential teenage angst and nonsense.

You fell under Olly's spell almost instantly.

And it seemed the little boy had fallen under yours as well.

Oliver didn't stop talking to you while you were there, and didn't stop talking about you after you’d left, asking when you’d be back and if next time you could take him to the trailer park's playground and maybe you two could watch G.I. Joe or He-Man together afterward.

Wayne had taken your number down before you’d left and had told you he'd be in touch soon.

Later that evening, after Eddie had gotten back from his club meeting at school, Wayne took the trip into downtown Hawkins to use the payphone and ask you if you wouldn't mind starting as early as tomorrow.

𖤐 ֪ 𖤐 ֪ 𖤐

You were far from struggling for money.

Your father was a sought-after criminal prosecutor for the entirety of Indiana. Your mother was a real estate agent for high profile clientele who came from old family money; her father was CEO of a day trading business, and his father before him had been the same.

Although you likely would have never had to work a day in your life and could live a comfortable existence off of inheritance alone, handouts and the humdrum of an All-Play-and-No-Work lifestyle was never a dream of yours. That sounded so cookie cutter, so monotonous, so boring.

You liked to feel a sense of accomplishment. You liked setting goals and reaching them. You didn't want to freeload off of money that was gained from the capitalistic professions your parents were a part of. You wanted to be in control of your own finances and be the author of your own future, not have it already be etched into stone simply by being just another rich kid from Hawkins, à la the likes of the Carver's or the Cunningham's or the Harrington's.

You were ecstatic when you got the call from Wayne, asking you if you’d be willing to start the following day. He left for work at 2PM, so you’d have to be there before then, and would need to plan on staying until Wayne's nephew got home around six.

If you were to be completely honest with yourself, you felt a bit nervous, but the job itself wasn't the reason why that writhing feeling accompanied your excitement.

You had more than ten years of babysitting experience under your belt, and you were eager to get back into a job you actually enjoyed as opposed to trying out different careers to see what stuck and what didn't. Having graduated the spring before, you’d been taking an off year to save up money by working odd jobs around Hawkins to be able to buy your own apartment.

You’d worked as a florist for a few weeks, but it turned out your thumb was pitch black instead of green.

You worked as the personal assistant for a group of lawyers from a local law firm, but it turned out they just needed office eye candy and not someone to actually get any sort of work done.

You worked as a veterinary assistant, but it turned out the job was much more than just petting cats and dogs. You couldn't handle it when a sick animal would come in and there would be nothing anyone could do. Your heart broke more at that clinic than it had your entire life.

You were in between jobs when you’d decided to peruse the classified section of the Hawkins post. There, in the shortest blurb on the page, was a listing for a needed nanny, a full-time position offering negotiable pay.

The next bit was where the excitement wavered.

The listing was published by a Wayne Munson of the Forest Hills trailer park.

That had to be Eddie Munson's uncle. There was no way there were two separate Munson families living in the only trailer park in Kerley County.

You couldn't believe that you’d stumbled across this ad, that the geeky metalhead you’d crushed on since your freshman year of high school had a little brother you could be the potential nanny of.

You were two years younger than Eddie, but that hadn't stopped you from losing periods of time to daydreams about the way the wind ruffled his wild mess of curls on breezy days or the way his band tee sleeves always clung perfectly to the soft muscles of his biceps or the way his cheeks dimpled when he teased the other boys he sat with at lunch.

You’d always wanted to introduce yourself, but you didn't run in the same crowds -- you being on the cheer team and Eddie blasting Black Sabbath in the parking lot after his Hellfire meetings. You could never muster the courage. He seemed so carefree, so full of life, so effortlessly funny. Chrissy Cunningham, your best friend, had spoken to him once or twice and had told you how different he was than what other people said about him. He wasn't scary or mean or threatening, and instead was warm and silly and genuine.

But you knew how the people you spent your time around treated people like him. You knew your group of "friends" referred to him as a freak, a Satan worshipper, and did everything in their power to try to bully him into becoming a shell of himself. Thankfully, he never did -- it was almost as if Eddie absorbed the hatefulness and spent it tenfold by mocking the hilarity of the jock hierarchy that ruled the school, as well as using it to strengthen his own ability to embrace every misfit that walked the halls of Hawkins High.

You never introduced yourself because you were afraid he’d think you had an ulterior motive, that you’d be trying to talk to him as a joke or a prank. You knew the company you kept. You were sure Jason Carver had once or twice suggested you do just that, lead Eddie on and make a fool of him in front of the whole school.

You figured it'd be best to just stay away.

But now, you thought finding this ad was possibly a sign from the universe.

Maybe you were getting a second chance.

𖤐 ֪ 𖤐 ֪ 𖤐

Eddie was running late.

He was supposed to be back home half an hour ago to relieve whoever Olly's new babysitter was of her duties, but the campaign had taken a shocking turn and Hellfire couldn't disband until it had commenced.

The night finally ended with Will's character decapitating Dustin's, and Eddie had to thwart an actual attack when Dustin leapt across the game table at Will in a bout of rage. Dustin was small but mighty, and Eddie had to physically wrestle the boy off of Will's neck, threatening to banish Dustin from the next few campaigns if he didn’t chill out. Henderson had huffed and puffed but had admitted defeat and apologized to Will for the attempted murder.

By the time Eddie arrived back to the trailer park, the sun had almost set. He pulled his van into his parking spot to the right of the trailer and shut it off. Stepping out, he swung his backpack over his shoulder, but came to a halt when he heard Olly's scream sound from behind the trailer.

Dropping his bag and beginning to run toward the noise, Eddie's heart fell to his stomach. Horrible images of what could possibly be pulling that sound from his little brother pervaded Eddie's mind. He had an overactive imagination to begin with, and something like this verbal cue only egged it on. "Olly!" he shouted, panic raising his voice. "Olly, are you okay?! What’s going on, where are --"

Eddie came to a halt when he found the boy in the backyard with a huge smile spread across his small, sweaty face. Olly had a fake crown on, one made of twigs and leaves, and he was carrying one of the biggest sticks Eddie had ever seen. He had a blanket tucked into the back of his shirt, the cloth a makeshift cape. A thin piece of metal, probably from one of the cars Wayne and Eddie sometimes worked on, was wrapped around his center, acting as armor.

Olly had just been playing.

Letting out a heavy breath of relief, Eddie noticed your frame just off to the side. His eyes started from the ground up, noting the shiny red Docs donning your feet, moving up bare legs that were covered mid-thigh by a short black skater dress, one that hugged your curves in a way that had Eddie’s mouth going dry.

By the time he reached your face, your eyes were wide with amusement.

You’d been watching as he slowly drank you in. He didn't mean to ogle. He had to shake his head a few times to clear it, and when he did so, the face before him started looking more and more familiar.

"Wait," he started, head tilting. He spoke your name, tone riddled with confusion. "From high school?"

You were about to answer when Oliver cleared his throat, obviously not wanting to be ignored or to have his playtime interrupted any longer. You looked down at the boy, who pointed up to his head at his crown. You got the gist -- Olly wanted the game to continue. You could indulge him. You’d been doing it all day, and honestly you’d been having the most fun you’d had in a while.

You turned your attention back to Eddie, fixing your posture and jutting your chin out slightly. "I don't know who that is," you began, voice lilting. "I am Princess Guinevere of Kerley County and this here,” you brought your gaze back down to Oliver, “is my most loyal servant, Sir Olly of Castle Munson."

Eddie couldn't help the grin that broke out over his face at your announcement. He then took a moment to fully take in the rest of your appearance. You, too, had on a makeshift crown, this one made up of cherry blossoms and daisies. You had a flowing blanket tucked into the back of your dress, cascading down your back like a veil.

No fucking way were you, last year's cheerleading captain and prom queen, standing in his backyard playing fucking knights and princesses with his little brother. No fucking way.

Olly broke the silence by shouting out, "Hey, Eddie! Who are you gonna be?"

Eddie tore his eyes from you to focus on his brother. He pursed his lips to one side in thought, trying to come up with a character. He was usually quick on his feet when it came to creative play, but he had just spent the last three hours DM'ing a month-long DnD campaign. His brain felt shot. He was pulled from his introspective reverie by your soft, suggestive voice — no, sorry — the soft, suggestive voice of Princess Guinevere.

"Wanna be my dragon, Eddie?" you asked.

Eddie wasn't exactly sure why that made his breath catch in his throat.

He nodded dumbly, silent, then forced himself to speak because he didn't want to look totally lame in front of a Princess. "Okay. Yeah, I'll be your dragon."

You graced him with a smile before Oliver's tiny but booming voice cut through the air of the darkening night. "HEY! Dragons don't talk!" the boy stomped his foot and hit his stick against the muddy ground in annoyance.

A laugh bubbled from your throat and Eddie grinned, jumping into a wide-legged stance before outstretching his arms, tilting his head back, and roaring.

[catholicfacade]

WIP PREVIEW

pairing: joost klein x f! reader, joost klein x f! OC

word count: 3,572

synopsis: Joost Klein accidentally meets the love of his life through a tik tok. Valentine. She’s his complete opposite; quiet, reserved, and a bit cold, whereas Joost is bright, bubbly, and extremely outgoing, almost obnoxiously so. But opposites attract and the art of balance is delicate. Getting to know each other without interference proves difficult at first, but the minute Joost and Valentine realize their pining is mutual it’s full speed ahead for the two of them. Like puzzle pieces, they become inseparable, fitted together like it’s always meant to be. Everyone around them is convinced no two people in the world love each other as much as Joost and Valentine do. But Joost’s growing fame sends him down an unexpected spiral, one Valentine is desperate to pull him out of. It changes everything. The two who were once attached at the hip learn to no longer even speak each others names, desperately still in love, but the damage is unbearable. If only the puzzle pieces can come together again to realize just how perfect they are for each other.

authors note: tagging this as both x reader and x OC because this is written in 3rd person POV, i find writing 2nd person difficult for me because i just tend to write “reader” as self-insert, and i know i am a VERY specific type of person 😅 soooooo lowkey self-ship??? but i think it’s best to just make reader an OC and you can simply swap out her name, pronouns, and traits for your own when it’s necessary. and so i would say Valentine [who i named after my own last name, this is just the name i use for ALL my protagonists in my writing actually😅], she’s implied to be autistic/neurodivergent and generally just socially awkward, quiet, introverted. again, self-insert. she is also goth. i always write protagonists with really heavy, angsty, traumatic backstories so i think that’s also why i turn readers into OC’s because i don’t want to force a traumatic past upon you as reader 😭 there is also “April”, who is a second OC i made for this series, she is Valentines best friend who owns her own alternative clothing company and is very important to the story along the way:))

content: RPF, awkwardness, slow burn, pining, yearning, hint of angst, mention alcohol consumption, masturbation, kissing, fantasizing

!!18+ & RPF, DO NOT REPOST OR INTERACT IF RPF MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE!!

how it started:

At 12pm on the dot, two people walk in, Valentine greets them smiling, “Hallo! Hoe gaat het?” [Hello! How are you?] Her Dutch is limited but she tries her best.

“Hallo, is April hier?” [Hello, is April here?] The girl with dark curly hair asks as she approaches, she’s followed by what Valentine assumes to be her boyfriend.

“Nee, maar kan ik jullie helpen?” [No, but can I help you?] Val offers them a gentle smile, unsure if her Dutch is even grammatically correct or not.

“Oh-“ The girls eyebrows shoot up, “You’re Valentine, right?” She suddenly switches to English, Valentine is simultaneously embarrassed but also thankful for the switch.

A blush rises on her cheeks as she nods, “Yeah that’s me, sorry about my Dutch.” She waves her hand apologetically.

“I’m Alanis, and this is Apson.” Alanis smiles and holds her hand out and so does Apson. Val shakes their hands, “Nice to meet you guys, you wanted to film in the store right?”

“Ja, just a little skit about being emo. I wanna seem like a guy who is a total poser and then run out of the store crying when I get called out.” Apson said, maybe blushing a little from having to explain his stupid bit.

It made Valentine chuckle though, “Do whatever you gotta do, man! April told me you have permission from her already so you’re good to do your thing.”

“Thanks,” Apson and Alanis said in unison, which made them giggle at each other.

“Can I borrow some clothes?” Apson said looking around.

“Sure,” Val nodded, “Let me open the changing room for you.” She grabbed the keys and unlocked the changing room at the back of the store as Appie and Alanis brainstormed what the character should be wearing. They ended up picking out a stereotypical e-boy outfit, a black and white striped long-sleeve shirt, a Metallica t-shirt to go on top, some fingerless skeleton gloves, baggy Tripp pants, and a studded belt.

Appie went into the changing room a few minutes later to get ready, leaving Valentine and Alanis outside together.

“How long have you worked here? It feels weird we haven’t seen you around yet, we’re in here all the time it feels like.” Alanis asked, tilting her head slightly to examine Valentine.

“Not long, only a month now. I think we must’ve just narrowly avoided each other this whole time.” Valentine chuckles and Alanis nods in agreement.

“How long have you known April then?” Valentine asks Alanis.

“I got one piece of jewelry here like a year ago,” Alanis shows Val her gemstone necklace, “And now I get all my jewelry from here, look!” Alanis smiles, showing a few silver rings on her fingers and a beaded bracelet.

“Oh, is that moonstone?” Valentine asks excitedly.

“Yeah! Isn’t it so pretty?” Alanis moves the beads around so they flash their colors brightly in Valentines eyes.

“I love it, and it goes perfectly with your outfit!” She said and Alanis thanks her, “My favorite gemstone is—“

“Done!” Apson calls out suddenly, making both of the girls turn, he looks a bit ridiculous, but that’s the point. The pants are definitely a size too big and the belt definitely isn’t helping because they are practically hanging off of his body.

“Let me put some eyeshadow on you.” Alanis mumbles as she approaches Appie, she looks through her bag until she finds the small compact, taking it out to apply the black shadow loosely around Apson’s eyes. He ends up just looking more tired than emo, but again, it must be what works for the skit.

Val just watches from afar with an amused smile on her face, she likes them, Appie and Alanis, they seem like good people. There’s some footsteps behind her and she turns to see a few customers coming in, “Goedendag!” [Good day!] She greets them, they say it back before looking around at some of the shelves at the front of the store. Valentine returns to her earlier work, stitching by hand some stars onto the corner of a skirt.

“Okay, like this—“ Appie talks Alanis through the scene first, he’s speaking Dutch again so Val can’t pick up most of what he’s saying, he’s just gesturing for how and where Alanis should hold the camera when they go to film. He’s quietly rehearsing the lines with her when he perks up a bit, “Wait…Valentine?”

Val looks over at Appie, “Do you mind saying a line for the tik tok? Just the one about me being a poser?”

She grows a bit nervous, “Oh uhhh…I’m probably not very good at acting… I don’t really post on tik tok like that…” She rubs the back of her neck and looks between Apson and Alanis awkwardly.

“Don’t worry, you just gotta go like ‘ew, fucking poser’ and that’s it!” Apson gives the line a little scoff and a little attitude to it. He grins at her, clearly enthused with his new idea.

“Okay…” Val agrees weakly, coming around the counter to stand by Alanis’ side.

“Okay so like this,” Apson says, rerunning through his lines once more while Alanis practices getting the best angles for the tik tok, “And then camera turns, and you say…?”

Alanis turns the camera on Valentine, who scoffs while looking at Appie, “Such a fucking poser…” She says with all the vitriol she can muster.

“Perfect!” Appie shoots her two thumbs up as Alanis turns the camera back on him, “Then, I’ll begin to cry like this, wahhhh!” Appie cries exaggeratedly, then turns and takes a few steps towards the door. “Then I’ll run outside and that’s it, got it?”

“Got it.” Val and Alanis both say.

The three of them get into position, Appie with his back to the door, standing amongst all the clothes, Alanis starting the recording on her phone, and Valentine just off to side, waiting to deliver her line.

“Aaaaaand action!” Apson claps loudly. Alanis zooms in quickly to Appies face, he’s slouching, neck bent at an awkward angle to seem more depressed, the face he’s making makes him look dead inside, it’s exaggerated by the deep black makeup Alanis brushed around his eyes.

“Ik ben zooooo emo….” [I am soooo emo] Apson delivered the line as flatly as he could, adding a bit of a vocal fry to the ‘zoooo’. Alanis snaps the camera back to show his full outfit before zooming in on his face again for the next line, “Ik ben zoooooo depressief…” [I am sooo depressed]

Valentine held back her laughter, perhaps it wasn’t exactly her type of humor, but it was fun to watch!

Apson gave a big eyeroll to the camera, then looked into it, “Niemand zal mij ooit begrijpen…” [No one will ever understand me]

He suddenly grunts loudly, his expression growing more angry, “Ik zit de hele dag op mijn kamer naar muziek te luisteren, niemand begrijpt het!” [I sit in my room and listen to music all day, no one understands!] He yells.

The camera whips around to Valentine, she puts a disgusted look on her face and scoffs like she did the first time, “Such a fucking poser.” She shakes her head lightly.

Alanis whips the camera back around to Apson, he looks like he’s about to scream, “NEEEE!” He bursts into faux tears, and suddenly he turns to run out of the store. Alanis follows, and they pass the customers Valentine had completely forgotten were even in here! They seem completely and utterly confused and Val feels a little bad for them.

As Appie and Alanis cross the threshold onto the street, still filming, Appie still making wailing noises, he trips on his baggy pants and falls. Valentine gasps, Alanis keeps filming, and someone nearly hits Apson on the ground with their bike.

“Ik ben geen poser!” [I am not a poser!] Apson yells his final line, sobbing crying, clutching his elbow, and Alanis stops recording. She helps him up, they’re laughing as they walk back inside but it seems Appie actually got hurt.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” Valentine comes up to them, slightly stunned but also laughing.

“I’m okay,” Appie nods, then turns to the people at the front of the store who are just frozen in shock, “I’m okay!” He waves at them, and they slowly return to what they were looking at in abject horror.

“You’re bleeding a little,” Val frowns when she sees Apsons elbow, “Here, I’ve got a bandaid in my purse.” She moves over to the counter again, opening her bag and pulling out a bandaid for him.

Alanis takes it from her and opens it, “Thanks Valentine.” Appie says warmly.

“You’re welcome.” She smiles.

“I think I should pay for the shirt,” He says while wincing as Alanis applies the bandage to his broken skin, “Pretty sure I got blood on it.”

“Probably a good idea,” Valentine agrees, “April said you could film in the store, not bleed all over her products.”

“Want anything while we’re here, babe?” Apson asks Alanis, who brightens up immediately at the idea of getting herself a little something. “I’ll go get changed while you pick something out.” He says and walks into the changing room to get back into his clothes.

“Can I see your rings, please?” Alanis asks Valentine brightly.

“Of course!” She unlocks the jewelry case behind the counter and pulls out the rack of rings for Alanis to inspect. She picks up one and tries it on, examining her hand afterwards.

“So when will that video get posted?” Val asks.

“I think Appie will post it on Friday.” She studies the ring on her finger before putting it back and picking up another one. “We should be mutuals!”

“I’d like that,” Valentine grins at Alanis and pulls out her phone, opening tik tok and handing her phone to her. Alanis lets her follow both her and Apsons accounts, Val asks to be mutuals on instagram too.

“There!” Alanis says while handing Val’s phone back to her, “You can message me whenever you want to.”

how it’s going:

The sun shines bright outside of Joosts window, he stirs back and forth for a few minutes before finally opening his eyes. The first thing he sees is his Stitch plushie sitting on the other side of the bed, staring at him. He reaches out and grabs it, bringing it to his chest and squeezes it in a bear hug.

“Goedenmorgen.” Joost grumbles while stretching, his head hurts slightly from a long night of drinking but mostly from the way the sun won’t leave his face.

He rolls over onto his back, picking up Stitch again, he stares at the plush toy for a while with his tired eyes, wondering if he’s weird for talking to it or cuddling with it every night. Wondering if that even matters at all. Wondering if it secretly means something about how lonely he is.

But Joost would do anything not to think about that subject, so he tosses Stitch aside and grabs his phone from the nightstand. It’s already passed 2pm and he’s missed at least 15 text messages between his friends.

Stuntje: “You coming out tonight again?” Stuntje: “Bro? U good?”

Tantu: “Beat coming along nicely👍” *1 image attatched*

Apson: “Made a banger post on tik tok! 😂” Apson: “Please leave me a like boys, I bled for this one! 💀” -tap to see more notifications-

Joost sighs through his nose, opening the tik tok app, his therapist has been trying to get him to stay off tik tok first thing in morning but he can’t help it, especially not when his best friend just posted. It’s also not technically morning anymore.

He watches the funny dog video that pops up on his FYP first, liking it and scrolling to the next video. It’s some level 99 brain-rot meme about skibbity rizz in Ohio, he chuckles and leaves a like before scrolling. The next video is an ad and he instantly scrolls. Apsons video finally pops up:

@ apsonarmy posted 1hr. tagged: @ v4lent1ne @ aprilsclosetNL

emos be like 😂💔💀🤘 #emo #poser 10k likes

202 comments

1k shares

There’s big text on the top of the screen that says “EMOS BE LIKE 🧛”, and there’s Apson, fully looking like an e-boy, pretending to be moody and mysterious.

“Ik ben zooooo emo….”

Joost smiles, immediately liking the post. He watches his friend act on screen as the video plays, chuckling as his friends line delivery keeps getting more and more over-the-top with each sentence. And then the camera pans and he sees this girl on screen, she’s wearing tight, leather, flared pants, a grommet belt with a silver star belt buckle, a cute little cropped graphic tee that shows off her midriff, and some silver chains hanging around her neck.

“Such a fucking poser.” She sneers, her voice ablaze with attitude.

Joosts eyebrows shoot up, she has the most beautifully sharp eyes he’s ever seen, and this head full of thick, fiery hair, glossy lips, and gorgeous makeup. She was undeniable, whoever she was. The type of beauty that would end up in every magazines “Top 100 Most Beautiful Women Of All Time” list—No, Top 50, maybe even Top 10. And yet as soon as she was on screen, she was off. The camera points back at Apson’s dramatic reaction. Joost watches as the chaos unfolds when Apson begins running, trips, falls, nearly gets hit by a bike, screams “no” while lying on the streets of Amsterdam, and clutches his bleeding arm.

The video loops…and Joost watches it again. And again. And again. He’s actually not sure how many times he lets it play before the low battery notification snaps him out of his daze. He quickly taps it away, using his thumb to scroll back to the part where the girl calls Appie a poser. He pauses the video when her face is fully in frame and clears the tik tok display. She was breathtaking—literally, Joost was unintentionally holding his breath. He sat there enamored for a while, then brought the display back, checking the “tagged” portion of the caption to see her there, @ v4lent1ne.

Joost clicks on her profile so fast, just to be severely let down when he sees she only has one video available on her profile. He reads her bio;

“Valentine, 27, Designer, Amsterdam.”

221 32 101 Following Followers Likes

Followed by a link to the April’s Closet website. She hadn’t bothered to link her instagram to her tik tok. He clicks on the video, it’s just a cute little tik tok of her lip syncing to Korn in a nice outfit and beautiful trad-goth makeup, the date says it’s almost a year old. She doesn’t seem to have as much of that spark within her as she did in Appies video, maybe it’s because she was just acting for that, but she looked thinner in this old tik tok, maybe more tired somehow. He scrolled away once it looped.

“Valentine…” Joost sighed out loud, letting the name roll off his tongue while admiring her in her tiny profile picture. He went back to Appie’s video and opened up the comments, typing out “I agree, bros not emo, bros a POSER 🤣😂👍🔥” He immediately liked his own comment upon sending it.

Joost realized it was suddenly stiflingly hot under his blanket and that damn sun was still shining brightly on his face. He tossed the blanket off of him, letting the cool air of his room hit his skin, he looked down and saw he was half hard. “Shit…” Joost groaned.

He hopped out of bed and headed into the bathroom, he caught his own gaze in the mirror, messy bedhead, stubble growing in, dirty blonde roots showing through his bleached hair. A mess. But nothing a good shave and shower couldn’t fix.

Joost turned the faucet on in the shower, letting the water run for a minute while stepping out of yesterday’s boxers. His cock sprung free, hanging somewhere between half limp and nearly hard. His pink tip was blushing at him, begging him to give it a little attention. It’s been a week since he last jerked off anyway, might as well take care of it, Joost thought as stepped under the warm water.

He let the water run down his body, rinsing away yesterday’s sweat from the bar, yesterday’s arguments with festival bookings, yesterday’s dull thoughts that kept him numb and unhappy. All that mattered right now was his pretty dick perking up under the warmth of the water and what he was going to do with it.

Joost ran his fingers through his pubic hair, scratching lighting at the forest of hair there, slowly moving down to squeeze it at the base. He had no intentions of teasing himself today, but he couldn’t think of anything worth fantasizing about just yet. Perhaps a familiar pair of lips came to mind but he quickly stubbed out that thought. Too fresh. It was one video. He shouldn’t.

But as Joost slowly pumped his fist around his length, his mind kept wandering back to those same features, he couldn’t help but picture her—Valentine, apparently—gazing at him, watching him jerk off. Her eyes squinted at him, watching him jerk his cock faster now at the thought of her, she’d sneer at him the same way she did in Appie’s video.

“What a loser…jerking off to some random girl you just found on the internet? Pathetic.” He pictured her saying.

Joost wondered what her skin would feel like, what her skin would smell like—he stopped touching himself and pumped some body wash into his hand and lathered it on his cock, careful not to get any inside. The smell was obviously familiar to him, masculine and clean and filled the steam around him with its scent. It would do for now. He could picture Valentine smelling like this as he closed his eyes. He pictured himself standing in front of her, nude, while she was in that same outfit from Appie’s tik tok. He approached her, towering over her, though he couldn’t possibly know how tall she is, he looked down at her and her eyes flicked to his lips.

It’s barely even a lewd fantasy but Joost is stroking himself so fucking fast to it, the soap forming slippery suds under his hand with every long pump he takes. He wants to lean in and kiss her neck, right against her pulse, fuck—he can feel his own pulse in his cock right now. Valentine’s would match his. He cups her jaw and sticks his thumb in her mouth, she gladly suckles on it, it makes him moan out loud, “Fuuuck-“

Valentine sinks, slowly, so slowly, to her knees and looks into Joosts eyes. Joost is massaging the head of his dick now, he’s so close to cumming, just needs a little more. In his mind she takes him into her soft hand, enjoying the weight and warmth of him in her palm. And finally, she leans in to capture his tip between her gorgeous lips. Those fucking lips. With that, Joost is moaning and stroking himself so fast he is coming undone. His white ropes hit the bottom of the shower and get slowly washed away into the drain. He fucks into his fist, mind erratically imagining Valentine in a number of situations as Joost cums. Rapid flashing of doggy style, cowgirl, her tits covered in his cum, she’s just as breathless and red in the face as he is!

He uses his other hand to prop himself up against the wall, panting as the last beads of cum roll down his reddened tip. Breathlessly, Joost returns to reality, he drops his cock from his hand and lets the water beat against body. He’s less tense that’s for sure, but there’s a weird sense of guilt about it, Joost promises himself to never fantasize about her again. And he doesn’t. At least not while jerking off.

The first few days after Appie posted the tik tok, Joost would sometimes go back and watch it, but after a week, he became too busy. He forced Valentine out of his head. The weird, unfinished picture of her he created would still materialize from time to time, but she altogether slipped from his mind as the weeks and even months had gone by.

how its going to go:

“Fuck,” Joost pants looking down at V, her lips are swollen and wet with their combined spit as Joost had all but swallowed her whole, the flavor of her grape lip gloss coating his tongue. Joost’s cock twitches in his boxers, “You know, the first time I saw you in Appie’s video you gave me a boner?”

Val lets out a strained laugh from her breathlessness, “Really?” Her fingers reach up to trace his mustache, the pads of her fingers barely grazing the skin of his lips. It feels like the touch of an angel.

“Ja.” Joost nods, still staring, kissing at her fingertips.

A low, erotic hum emanates from her chest, “I guess it was meant to be then.”

Something flashes in Joosts eyes when she says that, something so deep, it was like watching his brain chemistry change in real time. “You were made for me…” He whispers before dipping his head into the crook of V’s neck and teething a hard bite into her soft skin.

[more coming soon ◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜] -ego⋆♱✮

[viktoriaashleyyx]

This is a pro Tamlin, anti Rhysand self insert revenge fic. All characters belong to SJM, but she wasn't treating them right. Tam x reader, Tam x Rhysands Sister (OC), First person narrative. This will also reference Elucien and Neris in the future but we aren't there yet. Contains slight violence, poisons, broken bones. Also profanity. I'm not sure what else to tw if I miss something let me know. This is my first fic. I honestly don't know how to find word count, but it's roughly 4 pages on word docs. Criticism welcome. Rhysands Sister is back and she's pissed. Rhysand gets his ass whooped and Tamlin gets shown love. Enjoy.

Ch 2. Ch3 Ch4 Ch5 Ch6 Ch7 Ch8 Ch9 Ch10

Tarquin BC

Chapter 1:

I crash landed on a stone surface. A balcony of sorts? It was well built if it was, considering how long I've been falling, I'm shocked I didn't crash right through it. I know now that making a deal with the gods is a lot like making a deal with a damn djin. 

“Who goes there??” A booming male voice barked. I could hear swords drawn. Fuck where am I? My ears were still ringing, vision blurred, and chest heavy from the impact. I blinked my eyes open to find a winged male looming over me. Another illyrian? Have I finally made it home? Fuck, then that means I am in the night court. Damnit, 7 fucking courts in Prythia and I just happen to land here. At my brother's court. 

This ones expression shifted from threatening to complete shock as his gaze landed on my eyes. “Sky?” 

At my brother's court and at his fucking house, Freya has a sick sense of humor. I slowly sat up, ignoring the hand the illyrian extended to me. 

“Your wing!” He gasped. So thats what that throbbing pain was. My wing seemed to have been snapped in the fall. “You need a healer, go get Madja” he commanded the other brute. 

“Don't bother” I dismissed, standing up slowly. I pulled a small glass vial out of my pocket, a healing potion, I always kept a few on hand, never know when you're gonna need it. I downed the bitter red liquid as I've done a thousand times and grabbed the dagger off my hip. I put the handle in my mouth and bit down on it as I grabbed my own wing and straightened out the bone. I held it right for about a minute until the potion worked its magic. It hurt like crazy but I was careful not to show these idiots, the fear and shock on their faces was satisfying if I am being honest. 

“I'm guessing you are Azriel and Cassian, though I can't tell which is which” I admitted, trying to seem just polite enough to leave. 

The one next to me spoke first “I'm Azriel, he's Cassian” okay, Azriel short hair, Cassian long hair “this is Mor and Amren and she is Feyre, High Lady of the Night Court” 

“So my brother is dead?” I had hoped my excitement would come off as concern. 

“No, no, they rule together, as equals” Cassian spoke

“Got it” this conversation is dragging. I need to leave. 

“It's so nice to meet Rhysands sister, we thought you were dead, I'd heard so much about you” Feyre gushed, “Rhys is out on important business at the moment but he should be back soon.” I had no use or interest in this small talk. 

“How old are you?” I looked at her as if to study the young thing in front of me. I was never good at pleasantries. I spent a good while in isolation and I tend to just blurt out the questions on my mind. 

“I am 21” Feyre replied sharply, yep I angered her with my lack of class. 

“Ew, 21 years? Ugh, my brother always did like them unreasonably young.” I'm just gonna keep going with it, hopefully she'll throw me out. 

“My age is not a disability” Feyre snapped. 

“It's adorable that you think that.” I'm in too deep. Oops. “Anyway, I am sorry I crashed into your home, I had little control, but I would like to leave now.” 

“You will apologize and bow to your high lady.” Cassian growled. Azriel stepped in front of the door. 

“She is not my high lady, I am not a citizen of your court, in fact, I am starting to feel like a prisoner.” It's not lost on me that I have bore the title of Queen, multiple times. In both cases I have dismantled the monarchy entirely, setting up a system in which the people vote on who leads them. Her title meant nothing to me. I bow to those deserving, not the one who rely solely on birthright. But she doesn't need to know this. I have more important things on my mind than to argue with a child "I will request one more time, you move and allow me to leave.” 

“Or what?” Azriel snapped. Unmoving. 

I did not want to show this much of my hand just yet, knowing this magic is not native to Prythia. But, if they want to twist my arm, so be it. A swirling purple circle opened up under me and I fell though, closing it quickly behind me. Portals were my favorite magic to do, in more cases than once it ensured my freedom.

Landing softly on my feet, I took in my surroundings. Cool air, rolling green hills, and the sounds of birds chirping in the distance, the Spring court. I was finally home. I eventually spotted the manor I spent so much of my time at as a child. Mother didn't make me train with the illyrians as she did my brother because she feared the treatment I would receive, also by the time I came along she had befriended the ladies of the other courts. We would spend weeks here at times, the children would play together and the mothers would discuss adult things we didn't care about. One of those things being alliances, and what better way to encourage an alliance between Spring and Night than by an arranged marriage.

I didn't mind them encouraging me to play with the cute blonde shapeshifter. He was kind and silly and only a couple years older than me. The other kids, mainly Autumn boys, were rough and volatile, and I just had no interest in what they considered fun. When I would get flustered by my wings knocking things over and getting in the way, the youngest Spring boy would remind me how beautiful they were, or how powerful they made me. The few times he would get a chance to practice his fiddle, I would dance and twirl, even if it was just the arpeggios. He was the 3rd born, and I the second and a girl, they didn't expect either of us to become High lord. 

The manor was about a mile away, I shot up another portal to the door, I was tired after all and, if I'm being honest, a little excited to be back.

When I reached the door it was broken in half and wide open. I creeped inside, cautiously. It looked to be abandoned. Dirt and dust coated the walls and floors, priceless artifacts shattered and books thrown from the shelves. I noticed claw marks in the furniture. “Please just be alive, after everything, I can’t be too late.” I whispered to myself. My heart sank as I looked around. 

Further into the dilapidated manor, I heard muffled voices coming from the kitchen. “Get out.” a tired weak growl. I ran to the entrance and just as I rounded the corner I saw my brother's boot kick in the chest of.. Tamlin. He began spitting up blood. 

“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?” I hissed at my brother. 

Rhysand whipped around towards me, Tamlin looked up from the floor, eyes wide. 

“You're alive??” Rhysand darted towards me and I shoved him to the ground, rushing to Tamlins side. I knelt down beside him, held his head up from where he laid on the floor and pulled another glass vial out of my pocket. 

“It'll be bitter but swallow” I commanded gently. He didn't argue, he took the healing potion and I kissed his forehead as I laid him back down gently to address my brother. 

I stood tall. Nothing but pure rage in my violet eyes toward my brother. I always hated how much we looked alike. “THIS is the ‘important business’ you told your wife you had to take care of?” 

“I thought he killed you, he hurt my mate.” Rhysand admitted, no remorse. 

“And I finally make it back home after 300 years in exile to find you kicking mine” I state through gritted teeth. 

Rhysands eyes narrowed “your what?” It was obvious he wanted me to retract my statement, not going to happen. I didn't waste my time away, I knew I was more powerful than all of Prythia, I had to be, in case I had returned to Amarantha still terrorizing the place. 

“You heard me.” I maintained his gaze. In a split second he lunged for me and I reached my hand out into the small portal that appeared to my side. I grabbed one of the curved blades I was gifted by the warriors I previously trained with. These blades were specifically enchanted to drip poisons into the wounds they create. This one? Bloodbane, or as Prythians call it, “Faebane.” I slashed him across the face in a controlled move, just enough to leave a scar and allow the poison to sink in. 

He screamed in pain and looked back up at me. My eyes fell entirely black and cracks formed across my face as I spit my curse at him, lifting up his chin with my sword to make him look me in the eye “IF YOU, OR ANY OF YOUR LACKEYS, ENTER THE SPRING COURT BORDERS AGAIN, ALL OF THE AIR WILL BE DRAWN FROM YOUR LUNGS, AND IF YOU CANNOT GET OUT BEFORE YOU PASS OUT WE WILL FEED YOUR BODIES TO THE PIGS.” I relaxed, my face returning to normal. “Now get out.” A portal opened below him and he fell, leaving him only halfway up the steps to the House of Wind. 

I turned my attention back to Tamlin, he had sat up, the healing potion having done its job, looking up at me with a million different emotions on his face, shock, fear, concern, confusion and relief. I sat down next to him, draping my legs over his. He embraced me like I was going to disappear any minute. “You're alive. Or I am dead, I do not care as long as I have you in my arms again.” he sighed as we just sat there on the floor. 

I awoke the daemati powers I hardly used as I pressed my forehead to his. A gentle knock on the walls of his mind, and he allowed me in. I shared the memories I held dear for all these years, of us playing in the fields of Spring, the days he would spend with me in the gallery his mother gifted me, watching me paint, the mischief we would get into and the giggles we would share. His face relaxed into a soft smile as I kissed his cheek.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

@ladythornofrivia asked to be tagged❤️

[psychedelic-ink]

Hi everyone!

Due to hours being cut at work, I've decided to open up commissions again! Since these commissions are more of a necessity, they'll be 14% off my original pricing.

So basically:

2k-3k words: Originally 35 USD, now 30 USD

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Sorry if that doesn't seem like much of a discount, but that's all I can do for now. Due to my current workload and mid-packing, I won't be writing anything longer than 6k-7k words. I apologize for any inconvenience.

I'll only be accepting commissions for Marvel, DC, and Pedro Pascal characters since I am most comfortable with those. You can request your fics to be character x character, character x OC, character x self-insert, or character x reader.

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[antion-bewitching-bitch]

Prologue 2 : Childhood Memories Of a Young Heart

Descendants x male Oc (you can read it as a self-insert if you want).

Master List

Next Chapter | Prev Chapter

TW: None Word Count : 2.7k

A/N: WELCOME, THE DAY HAS FINALLY COME. Sorry not sorry but like life just came and made me inactive sorry <3. Now here is the next prologue, the next chapter will be the start! In this story Eli and the other VKs are still kids and this is how they all met, and some foreshadowing in the group dynamics. HOPE YALL ENJOY!

AGAIN, NOT PROOF READ. if there is any mistakes or like just things that are confusing. Please forgive me for this is just my early days of writing, also if you notice a like change of past or just vibes at the ending parts. That is because thats when i came back to continue this chapter. ANYWAYS JUST ENJOY PLZ.

“Do you know who your father is, Eli?” A boy with white hair and black roots asked Eli. Carlos was his name, ever since Eli could remember he was with him. Being neighbors did make them closer than the other kids in the alley. 

Today was a gloomy day at the isle, it wasn’t that different from most days; and like any other day Eli dragged Carlos with him to find something to do in the isle. There they passed countless people laying in the streets with just mere boxes and metal sheets sheltering them, going under the hazardly built complex of the buildings in the isle and passing the people who worked almost everyday.

“Why ask?” Eli replied and looked back at him. 

our voices were so high pitched back then. We both were in our daily garments with patches of fabrics that covered out past activities that left holes, in the isle it was rare to have multiple sets of clothing.

“I was wondering since..” Carlos continued while he walked closer to Eli “I asked my mom who my dad was last night!” He whispered only loud enough for them to hear

“Who is he?” Eli whispered back, they both now stood blocking the middle of the walkway.

Carlos gave Eli a frown in return. He looked at the ground before answering him with another whisper “Mom just told me to stop asking and to never ask the same question ever again. and made me sleep early...”.

“So you don’t know?” 

“Well…yeah..”

“well..” Eli was trying to think of a way to cheer him up a bit, then a memory came to mind. It was when he tried asking my mom the same thing. “Well my dad is a monster! So it's fine if you don’t know yours...”

The old nanny that came with mom to the isle told me this story. I tried asking mom and she just looked terrified when I did. The nanny then grabbed me and left my mom in the room and told me the story of how my mother was kidnaped by an evil monster alone and then left her with me by her side. It wasn’t until I grew older that I was finally told the truth, again making sure my mom was out of sight when the nanny told me the truth.

“A monster?” Carlos looked at Eli with a confused look. “Yeah!”

“So your…your half monster?” Carlos asked with a confused smirk 

“I think? Is that how it works?” 

It was laughable how little we knew back then; still kids. In a place we didn’t even know was that bad since we didn’t even know any other place than the isle.

He started to laugh, Eli cheered him up with his cluelessness. They would then continue exploring the isle, looking  through crevices they found with fungi growing in them, Abandoned buildings that collapsed in itself, and the bustling space of merchants. 

As they strolled down the streets they saw two girls. One had jet black hair like the roots of Carlos the other had navy blue hair. They seemed to be arguing over something.

“Mal I think we’re lost…” The bluenette said to the ravenette. “Relax, Eve! I know the way back.”

Even as kids, Mal was always so stubborn; yet was still with Evie. Those two even back then were inseparable. Be it for better or worse. Huh.. I just noticed that nickname Mal gives her, Eve. Didn’t know that even back then she called her that.

“A-are you sure? It's getting dark soon…” Evie asked Mal, they were holding hands the entire time. With Evie now tugging at her to make Mal look at her.

“I-...I’m sure Eve..I-” Before the ravenette can continue Carlos interjected and asked them. “Are you both lost?”

The bluenette noticed the boy and was thankful that someone was there, that might even be able to help them. “Yes, please help us. We-". "No we’re not.” said the raven haired girl that now has an unpleasant face.

“It's obvious you are.” Eli said, finally showing his presence and walking to stand next to Carlos. “We can help you, I’m Carlos by the way, I'm Cruella's Son! We're used to these parts of the isle so we can help you easily!”

“You can? Oh what a lucky princess I am! Two brave knights came to save us Mal!” The bluenette was filled with joy with the response from Carlos. Mal was still there being stubborn and not even facing both Eli and Carlos.

“You’re a Princess?!” Carlos was in awe, but it's not like it was new to him. Eli was also royalty in his eyes. “Oh I am! I am Evie, Daughter of the Evil Queen!” She introduced herself. Evie now looked at the ravenette and nudged her elbow a bit, but she wasn’t budging. “This is Mal. She’s a close friend of mine and the daughter of the great Maleficent!”

“And you are?” Mal then asked in a still annoyed tone, she was aiming the question to Eli. “Eli. Son of the Mad Queen of Hearts.” Evie gasped, “You’re royalty too?!”

“Hmmm I think?” Eli responded. He thought more deeply into this. “Carlos, am I a prince?”

Both Evie and Carlos answered with a loud yeah.

Mal, now getting more irritated, made a grunt for attention “Are you going to start helping us or not?”. “Where are you both heading then?” Carlos asked Evie so they could help them.

Now that I think about it. I think Mal got irritated about how close Me, Carlos, and Evie were starting to get. She was always so protective of her. I think she also got more irritated because of how close Evie was getting to Me. Which was stupid to be honest.

After a while of going through the alleyways and pathways towards their way home, Carlos and Eli were able to guide Mal and Evie back. Carlos himself was actually seemingly wanting to get closer to Evie, but Mal would always be a barrier between the two.

The entire time they were walking home, it was getting darker and closer to dusk. The sun was already down low in the horizon but they didn’t even notice that for the heart of the isle was filled with claustrophobic building complexes. They only noticed how it was getting darker and darker signaling the time of night.

However Mal was still apprehensive with the two, she was more irritated by Carlos and him trying to get closer with Evie but was suspicious of Eli’s quiet observing nature; he was behind them when walking back but didn’t talk much other than joining in a bit of conversations. She didn’t like how quiet he was.

“I’d forever be grateful for this! And I’m even more glad that I got to meet another royal!” Evie said with her high pitched voice while giving Eli a smile, even when it was now getting night time and was visibly looking tired; she still kept up her imagined image of a princess. 

“It was nothing really…” Carlos blabbered with a blush on his face visible, he clearly has a crush on her. “It was nice making new friends.” Eli stated back.

It's so weird looking back and seeing Carlos having a crush on Evie, now they’re relationship is nothing more than brother and sister. I bet if I ever tell Evie that Carlos had a crush on her back then, he would be so embarrassed and ashamed. Bet Mal never forgot though, I wonder how she feels about Carlos now.

The lights were dimming, soon they would find themselves below the stars. “It's time for us to go Carlos.” Eli told him. Mal would then scout Carlos towards Eli and away from Evie as she did she said “It's night now at this point. You two should head back home.”. “O-Oh…I didn’t notice it was this late now…” Carlos looked up at the fog polluted skies. “Come on Carlos.” Eli grabbed him and started heading back home.

“Ah- WAIT.” Carlos tried to stop Eli from dragging him a bit. “GOODBYE EVIE! BYE MAL!” he screamed since he wanted to say farewell but couldn’t stop Eli from making him go. “GOODBYE SHINING KNIGHTS!” Evie waved back towards Carlos and Eli who were about to turn into an alleyway where they would last see them for the night. Mal on the other hand was thankful they left, sure they helped her. But they also irritated her a lot.

The streets were dark and littered with men and women, some were drinking, some were talking, most were smoking. It wasn’t really a child friendly place to be in, but by some miracle. Eli and Carlos were able to get home safely.

Albeit with a long scolding by Eli’s mom Mary. Carlos was supposed to go to his home but Cruella, his mom, wasn’t home yet. She would work day by day sewing and tailoring for the people of the isle. It was the only way she could earn a living and raise her only child, both her and Mary would sometimes switch responsibilities in taking care of the children when the old nanny wasn’t around.

After the punishment of kneeling on the floor for a long period of time given to them, Eli and Carlos got to bed. They shared a room in cases like this. Eli would sleep on his bed while Carlos would sleep on the spare mattress, if Cruella was taking care of them. It would be vice versa but in Carlos' room.

Carlos asked Eli while looking at the ceiling thinking back to the girls they met. “Do you think they're cute? Evie and Mal I mean…” There was a period of silence. Eli was contemplating about his answer

“I don’t have much of an interest in them if i'm being honest…They’re nice, well Evie seems to be. But nothing much of note rather than Evie being a princess like me.” Eli answered back now looking towards Carlos from his bed.

“Ever since we met, you never thought of girls as being cute…why?” Carlos asked him not maliciously but just curiously, Eli chuckled. “It’s simple, I don’t see them as that. I find other boys to be much more appealing!”. 

Now this was a big lie, in fact. When I was younger, I never found any other boy to be appealing. The taller more mature men though, now that was what I found appealing even at that age.

“Huh... .Am I cute?” Carlos asked him.

“In a scared little kitty way, yeah!” Eli answered him with a smile while cuddled up with his pillow and blanket.

“...” Carlos looked away from him and remained silent.

“Carlos?” Eli called.

“...”

That was the first ever time I got the silent treatment from him. He may be soft and just little back then, but he took such pride in being a ‘man’ as he would say back then. Even when I grow older like now, I still find that stupid.

PANG!....

It was early in the morning, the moon hadn't even set yet. However Eli and him being a light sleeper woke up to noise coming from the kitchen. He looked over at his side and saw Carlos wasn’t there now. Cruella must have brought him home after she came back from her job.

PONG!...

He heard it again, more noise from the kitchen. It sounded like falling metal things, like the pots and pans used for cooking. It was attached to some doors at the kitchen cabinets so he wondered if it fell because it was recklessly opened.

He got out of bed to check what was happening downstairs, was it his mother?

When he got there, he found a tan skinned boy going through the cabins of the kitchen with food wrappings scattered at the floor alongside the crumbs. Some notable silverware was gone missing and supposedly now in the boy’s pockets.

“When robbing someone, shouldn’t it be done quietly?” Eli was able to grab the burglar’s attention. The balancing act he was doing while going through the cabin vanished for he was startled, causing him to fall into the floor.

“Wow…” Eli was surprised how clumsy this boy was.

The boy had dark brunette hair that was reaching his shoulders while wearing red, even as he laid on the floor Eli could tell he was taller than him. It was silent after that. The boy eyed him, he couldn’t think of what to do now.

As protection, Eli bent down to grab one of the cooking pans that fell. Even as his burglar seemed clumsy and a meat head, he wanted to have a way to protect himself.

“..Why aren’t you screaming…” The boy asked him as he sat up from the floor looking up at him.

“‘Cause you're a kid.” Eli answered simply, he pointed the pan at the boy’s face and continued “If you were an adult I wouldn’t have even spoken and ran to my mom.”

“..Are you not scared of me?” He asked.

“No. You’re a child, not much to fear than your idiocy.” He told him. Food crumbs were still visible on the boy’s mouth. “If you were hungry my mom would have fed you out of pity. Now while I’m still merciful, give back those things you stole. Now.”

“..Fine…..” The boy stood up and grabbed all the spoons and such from his pockets and dumped them to the sink. “I said back to where you stole them. Not. The. Sink.” Eli was ready to strike the boy’s face with the pan, even as the boy stood a few inches taller than him.

As the boy fled and grabbed all of it and placed it back to their rightful place Eli was noticing him more. With a more muscular form than normal, tanned skin, scruffy attire. He guessed he was from the morning merchants area not far from here. Maybe he was a laborer, some unfortunate kids in the isle are forced and made to work for whatever reason the adults had. Maybe financial aid, familial businesses, or so on.

He wasn’t that bad, “What's your name?” Eli asked him when he finished. “...are you not going to tell on me?” the boy asked him, he was worried since he was caught if he was gonna be punished. “I’m a merciful kid. Now, what is your name child?” Eli questioned him back with a condescending smirk and his cooking pan now resting on his shoulder.

“Jay. Call me Jay.” He answered back. “Well nice to meet you Jay, quite the first impression huh?” Eli showed his free hand to shake. 

“What's yours?” Jay asked him. He seemed less shaken and worried now by his voice, he grabbed Eli’s hand.

Eli shook his hand and smiled at him “Eli. You can call me Eli.”

Jay had a blush when hearing the name, Eli didn’t seem to notice. “Are we friends then?” he asked

“Maybe. You have to prove to me you’re worthy though, the first impression of you being a burglar isn’t exactly helping you.” Jay smiled for it was his first time gaining a friend, one he thought was as cute as Eli.

It wasn’t that surprising that Jay and I dated once we got older, now looking back at it. That day seems more crazy as it was the first time I met other kids that I like other than Carlos. My first time meeting Mal and Evie, alongside Jay. Now look at us, we’re on our way out of the isle, going to this school we haven’t heard off since just this morning.

Mal and Evie are still quite close together, but with Mal tolerating us more. Carlos was still like a little brother to me, but now he wasn’t as quiet and shy as back then. Then there is Jay, possibly the one that knows me the best out of everyone.

It was nice when we dated, even when it hurt to break it off. Becoming and then staying friends with him was the right choice, though I am happy that I got to experience what I was like to be with him at the time. I’m sure he does too, his one of the best mistakes I ever made. Now, he is one of my closest friends.

As I stare out of this Car window, I can see the clear blue skies outside. We’ve reached Auradon and have left the isle. It's beautiful, I hate it.

An : Did you guys like it? So I tried doing a mix of 2nd and 3rd person, if you can’t tell. The initialization of paragraphs like here in the end, this is all Eli’s Monologue. Also just in case Y'all also didn’t get it, the entire chapter is just Eli reminiscing about the first time he met every other VKs! PLEASE LIKE IT, IM SORRY I’VE BEEN GONE I HOPE YALL ENJOY THIS.

[vespidphoenix]

Entirely at your service

Tag list: @fanaticsnail @turtletaubwrites @weaversofnulbundin

It's Sanji's turn to stay on the Thousand Sunny while the rest of the Straw Hats explore a new island, so he makes his way up to the crow's nest for his watch. He is pleasantly surprised in more ways than one by what, or rather who, he finds up there.

Notes: NSFW, minors begone, lots of swearing, friends to lovers, porn with feelings, idiots in love, chubby OC, some angst, lots of fluff, praise kink, breast worship, consent really is sexy, inappropriate(?) use of observation haki, etc; word count 6.3k

AN: Baby's first fan fiction! Ya girl can have a little a shameless self-insert, as a treat. I've only seen OPLA and I'm not past the East Blue in the manga/anime yet, but I've done my best to keep everything consistent with canon.

AN 2: I use French as the language of the Celestial Dragons, and both Sanji and Amy are fluent. Most of the time, I'll put the English words in brackets at the end of the paragraph, but there are some recurring phrases that I'll leave untranslated: mère bleue is 'blue mother', as in Mother Ocean; merde is 'shit'; mon amour, chérie, and ma chère are endearments

Chapter One: you are here! | Next chapter | Masterlist

Edit: read this chapter on ao3!

(Banner courtesy of @cafekitsune)

As soon as the hatch leading to the crow’s nest clangs shut, Sanji sets his snack tray on the floor mats and collapses with a dramatic groan. 

“Fuck me raw,” he sighs.

“As appealing as that sounds, that’s gonna have to wait another couple days per Chopper’s advice,” a feminine voice deadpans behind him.

Sanji sits upright with a start, nearly knocking over his water bottle. “Mère bleue!” he exclaims as he turns to face his crew mate; “for some reason I thought you were in the landing party today.”

Amy’s reply is drowned out by the pounding of Sanji’s heart when he blinks and notices just how casually she is dressed. He recognizes her sarong as a recent gift from a grateful cloth merchant—he would stand by the assertion that everything looked good on Nami, the original recipient, but he’d have to agree with her that it suited their crew’s interpreter better—and the crocheted halter top as Amy’s own handiwork. He feels a sudden itch to find out for himself just how soft a yarn she chose for this particular work of art…

For lack of a mirror, Amy could not see what her face looked like; but she imagined that if she could, her eyes would be wide and sparkling with mischief. It’s certainly the feeling she always seems to get whenever she’s face-to-face with the handsome blond before her: a grin pressing at her cheeks to escape through the seam of lips pressed together, eyelids spread as if to take in more of him.

(Sometimes, she reckons she could spread other parts of herself for that purpose, if she thought him willing to put his money where his mouth always seems to go.)

“I’m not complaining, mind you,” she continues to say, “but this is the third—no, fourth time in a row!”

Sanji gulps and shakes the slightly-glazed expression from his face. “I’m sorry, can you say that again? I was…distracted by your beauty.” He winks one piercing blue eye, and skepticism be damned, she feels heat creeping over her body and pooling between her legs.

Amy rolls her eyes and fidgets with her sarong in lieu of making a snarky comment about blindfolds.

“As I was saying while you were ogling me, I was going to be one of the landing party, but Nami insisted on having Usopp join her in mapping the island because my handwriting is so much better than his, so I should be the one to help you with inventory. She’s not wrong, per se, but this is the third or fourth time in a row this has happened, and part of me wants to call bullshit.”

“Part of you? What about the rest of you?” Sanji asks, resolutely fixing his gaze on Amy’s eyes instead of letting it drift to her bust or the soft rolls of her exposed torso.

This time it’s Amy’s turn to deliver a blush-inducing wink. “The rest of me is simply happy to be spending time with you.”

“Well, lucky for us, sweetheart, I took the liberty of doing inventory earlier this morning so that Miss Nami would have a grocery list,” Sanji replies after taking a deep breath, “so I am…entirely at your service.” 

Entirely at your service. The words tickle Amy as she takes in Sanji’s shirtless form, supine once more and sporting that megawatt grin. As her gaze trickles down from his abs to those steel-hard thighs, she can’t even bring herself to be annoyed by how smug he looks; Mother Ocean knows how handsome he knows he is, how hard he’s worked to earn those well-toned—

“Have I rendered you speechless, mademoiselle?”

Sanji’s voice, sultry and teasing, interrupts her train of thought.

Entirely at your service.

Sanji knows he’s close to some sort of victory when Amy’s face flushes even more deeply and she still doesn’t answer right away. There’s something uniquely thrilling about fencing with words and looks the way Mosshead trains with Wado Ichimonji—maneuvering, testing, anticipating, parrying, scoring—and he reckons it has to do with the way both parties win something if one goes about it correctly.

He watches and sits up as Amy walks around to his front before she settles next to the tray of snacks. His heart thumps harder in his chest the same way that foolish thing does every time they’re in such close proximity, not quite touching but close enough that he wouldn’t even need to fully extend his arm were he to caress her cheek—

“You don’t need to sit up on my account, handsome. Maybe I’ll take you up on your offer later, but right now maybe I’ll serve you some—how does that sound?” Amy plucks a single grape from the cluster and holds it above his mouth.

Maybe I’ll serve you some.

It’s not often Sanji allows himself to contemplate what he might do with such an offer. As a child, he’d served in order to live; as an adolescent and now as an adult, he lives to serve. But sometimes it occurs to him that letting someone serve him instead can itself be an act of…well…service.

(It will take some time before he allows himself even to think the word ‘love’ in place of ‘service’, and longer still before he allows himself to speak it; but it’s there, waiting like a daffodil bulb in early March for safe conditions to bloom.)

There will be time for Sanji to unpack all of this later, when a beautiful woman is not offering him a grape that looks as sweet and delicious as the person holding it, looking at him with the inviting heat of an onsen—or perhaps it is the sort of hunger that no amount of grapes can quench but he might be able to satisfy anyway. 

All Blue forbid he keep a lady waiting. He lowers himself back onto the floor mats and opens his mouth.

“Good boy,” Amy teases in her best attempt at a sultry purr, frowning when Sanji gives her a strange look and shifts uncomfortably instead of rolling his eyes. “Sorry, does my femme fatale impression need work? Too over-the-top, not campy enough, too demeaning?”

“No, that was—no, no, you’re fine,” he replies, suddenly a little breathless. “How about that grape?”

If Amy notices the hunger filling both his mind and his gym shorts, she mercifully does not comment on it.

There’s a look in Sanji’s eyes that, if she didn’t know better, Amy might call naked desire, and the idea renders her dizzy with want, or it could be dehydration—she’s not sure, not in this weather. She drops the grape in Sanji’s waiting mouth, pats his jaw, and gets up to let a breeze in through a window.

She can hear the slight frown in Sanji’s voice when he calls, “Are you alright, darling? Can I get you something to drink? I think I saw a fountain somewhere…”

“You’re not beating the waiter allegations from Zoro anytime soon, are you?” Amy chuckles, the cooler air having relieved her flustered state.

“He can call me a scullion for all I care; it’s a small price to pay to see you satisfied.” The chef curses under his breath; there are no spare cups up here, so sharing his canteen will have to suffice. He brings it to Amy with an apologetic smile.

She takes a sip and smiles gratefully, and allows her eyes once again to wander over Sanji’s chiseled body. “I have a tall glass of water to drink from, and that’s a good place to start.”

Sanji draws a sudden breath and runs a hand through his hair. “Keep talking like that, and we might not get to finish the snacks I brought up.”

A wicked grin spreads over Amy’s face, and Sanji knows he’s fallen into his own trap.

“How about I help you finish your snack, and you help me finish mine?”

He groans and tilts his head back, and the creeping heat that became smoldering want is stoked into flame by the huskiness of his voice, by the way his neck seems further exposed, there for the kissing—

“Say the word, Amy, and all of it is yours.”

Amy merely smiles. She steps past him, hooking an arm around the far side of his waist as she goes; when he spins around to face her once again, she tugs on the hand suddenly holding hers.

“You gonna have a seat or what?” she asks, nodding toward the tray.

A moment’s hesitation, and Sanji steps forward into the gap between them.

“Are you gonna call me a good boy if I do?” he asks almost under his breath, just above a whisper.

They’re standing so, so close together now, Sanji is sure Amy can feel his breath on her forehead and the place where his shorts are almost too tight to contain him—because she might have called him a tall glass of water, but to him her eyes are Dressrosi kahlua, and he is so drunk on her gaze he would confess to a lot more than his longings, just for another shot.

“I can call you anything you like,” she breathes, “when I am entirely at your service.”

Their lips meet now in a kiss that, for all the repartee and flirtation that preceded it, is gentle and unhurried, a moment to be savored. After a few moments they pull apart, all smiles, long enough for Sanji to remark:

“I’m pretty sure that’s supposed to be my line.”

The pair dissolve into giggles and quick pecks as Sanji finally lays himself down beside the snacks.

To his left, recumbent and supporting herself on one arm, Amy realizes her mistake and gestures to the tray. "Would you mind passing me those?" she asks.

"I thought you were supposed to be serving me," he replied with a mock pout and still-twinkling eyes. 

"I was always taught it was impolite to reach directly across someone's personal space." Amy raises an eyebrow, still looking amused.

Gently, tentatively, as if reaching out to pet a cat, Sanji places his left hand on the small of her back. The hitch in Amy's breath at his touch and the way her eyes widen send a tingling sensation down his spine, straight to his groin. He flashes her the most charming smile he can muster.

"Chérie, in case I haven't made it clear, I want you in my personal space; and unless I am reading you wrong, in which case I apologize sincerely..." He begins to remove his hand.

"No, no, keep doing that—"

(Amy almost doesn't recognize that plaintive voice as her own, but the way his broad palm spread across her back and the soothing way he moved his thumb in little circles have seared themselves into her mind like an addiction.)

Sanji, that smug, sexy bastard, grins and does as he is told.

“…if I am not mistaken, you want me in your personal space, too.” 

Amy is speechless for a moment with an embarrassment she can’t quite explain, but she knows exactly how to get back at Sanji. With his hand back in its place holding her, she smiles sweetly and says:

“Thank you…”

—she moves not only to reach across him for the food, but also to straddle him entirely, which she is sure was his plan to begin with; but then she leans her head close to his, and her smile turns impish—

“…or should I say ‘good boy’?”

Pulling her waist closer with one hand and pushing himself up from the floor with the other arm, Sanji kisses Amy again, trailing along her jawline with an unmistakable urgency.

“Mon amour,” he pleads, “laisse-moi te montrer ce que tu m’inspires…” [Let me show you what you inspire in me...]

“Ho-hold on, lover boy,” Amy gasps, giving the smallest yelp when his hand squeezes a plush asscheek and presses her body against his hardness. “Don’t forget what you came here to do. We don’t—fuck—we don’t waste food.” She pushes against Sanji’s chest and hopes he can see the sympathetic reluctance in her face.

He whimpers. Sanji whimpers, and the sound of it is almost enough to break her resolve; but she knows that if he loved anything in the world more than women, it would be food alone. She presses her forehead to his and a gentle kiss to his nose.

“We don’t waste food.”

If Sanji didn’t know better, he’d think he was dreaming. If he’s dreaming, then woe betide the person who wakes him up, he thinks.

The afternoon sun backlights Amy’s head like a halo, and the breeze through the window causes her brown hair to flutter like a curtain or a sacred veil. Sanji thanks whatever deities are listening—for surely the vision above him is divine in source as well as appearance—for every person before him who fumbled their chance at the privilege that is now his. Hell if he knows what a rejected-princeling-turned-pirate-cook could possibly offer that is worthy of a goddess like this; but he would devote himself to her, be her high priest, beg her to take him as her throne—anything for the heaven in her embrace, if she would only let him.

We don’t waste food.

The reminder nudges Sanji out of his angst, and he grins. “Let’s have those snacks, then, before we get carried away and fill up on something else.”

He gives Amy one more kiss on her lips, chaste yet searing, and lets her go.

The absence of his hand on her waist feels like a loss, until she sits back to reach for the grapes and feels something pressing below her tailbone. She exchanges a knowing smile with the man pinned beneath her, handsome as a demigod.

“You know, if we share those snacks, they’ll be gone faster,” he muses, before dropping his voice even lower. “Then you and I can have our ways with each other.”

“Someone’s eager.” Amy winks and picks up a piece of bruschetta.

“Eager to please you, eager to serve you, eager to feel you in the throes of bliss—yes, I am eager, and you deserve an eager lover, Amy.”

Amy looks stunned. Sanji gestures to the bread slice in her hand.

“Mind telling me how that bruschetta tastes?” he asks. “I used a different combination of cheese and seasoning since we couldn’t find any mozzarella in the last port.”

You deserve an eager lover.

Amy knows this to be true, knows that a lack of sex is better than mediocre sex; but knowing is one thing, and hearing a would-be lover echo the sentiment is another. Not only that: Sanji says it with such conviction, as if pleading with her to believe it too. It's refreshing. Arousing.

So...maybe she leans forward a bit more than necessary when she brings a morsel to Sanji's waiting mouth, and delights in the way his noises of appreciation seem to be as much for the heft of her breasts as for the acidic tang of the diced tomatoes. Maybe she grinds her bottom on his clothed cock just a little when she reaches for another handful of grapes, and smiles with the knowledge that his moaning isn't only for the bursts of sweetness on his tongue. Maybe she is uncommonly thorough when licking the sticky tangerine juice off his fingers.

Entirely at your service.

Maybe I’ll serve you some.

Swimming as their heads are with heady lust, it takes Sanji and Amy by surprise when they find the snack tray empty. They stare at it in silence for a long moment, before—

“Should I, uh—”

“That went more—”

“No, sorry, you go—”

“You go—”

Sanji sits up, laughing, and Amy kneels in front of him, head cocked to one side.

“You wouldn’t happen to have any condoms on you, or know whether Zoro keeps any up here?” Amy asks quietly.

“Hm? I think Mosshead keeps all his in his belt thing; Franky’s shooting blanks and exclusive with Miss Robin, so they don’t need any—”

“Wait, how does Franky know…”

“Apparently the Surgeon of Death also does vasectomies from time to time—wish I’d thought of that the last time we ran into them.”

“Damn. But do you have any?” Amy asks, leaning closer and poking him gently.

Sanji sighs deeply. “Don’t got any rubbers on me, but I keep some in the bunk room…”

“Hmmm, mais je ne peux plus attendre.” With her left hand on his right cheek, Amy pulls Sanji in for a lingering kiss. “J’ai besoin de toi maintenant.” [but I can't wait anymore; I need you now]

“Fuck, Amy,” Sanji groans between hungry, open-mouthed kisses, “how’m I supposed to resist you when you talk to me all sweet like that?” He slides a hand just above the waist of her sarong for emphasis, and cautiously slips a couple fingertips between fabric and skin.

Amy allows her fingernails to lightly scrape his skin as her free hand finds his spine; the hand already on his face threads through his hair. “You’re not supposed to resist me,” she murmurs into his jawline as she pulls his head back to expose his neck. “You’re supposed to forget about that snack tray, forget about our crewmates”—she places a cluster of kisses along his neck—“and enjoy some time alone with your lover—”

Your lover. The words send shivers coursing over Sanji’s skin.

“—just…enjoy yourself for a while.” She looks up at him through half-lidded eyes and allows one hand to drift down to his waistband.

“Well, when you put it like that—merde, ça me sens bien—let me at least put a towel down for us?” Sanji reluctantly extracts himself from Amy, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand when he catches a pout on her lovely face. [that feels good]

“Make it quick, mon amour…vraiment, j’ai besoin de toi…” [truly, I need you]

Sanji pulls a couple towels from a nearby rack, drapes the larger one so that it flows from the bottom step onto the floor, and sets the smaller one beside it. Approaching Amy, he holds a hand out to her with the air of a gentleman at a ball asking a lady to dance. She takes it and pulls herself up to stand in front of him.

“We’re really doing this, aren’t we?” she asks with an adoring smile.

Sanji cups her face in both of his hands and looks her in the eyes. “We can stop at any time and it won’t cause problems between us, y’know that, right? I want this to be enjoyable for both of us.”

Amy lets her eyes flick down to Sanji’s parted lips before meeting his gaze. “What would really be enjoyable right now is you kissing me…”

“So needy,” he teases, but obliges Amy anyway.

“‘Needy’? The love cook calls me ‘needy’?” she replies with mock outrage. “You’re the one who tricked me into straddling you and got so horny over a simple pet name that you reverted to Celestial!”

Sanji gives her a mischievous smile and another peck. “You stepped into the trap very willingly, though, didn’t you?” Another kiss, lingering a moment, and he adds: “And I know for a fact you loved it when I switched languages.”

“Quoi d’autre peux-tu faire avec ta langue, hmm?” Amy whispers against Sanji’s lips. [What else can you do with your tongue]

“S’il te plaît, chérie,” he whispers in kind, his fingers dancing lightly along one arm as he lifts it to his shoulder, “je peux te démontrer…” [If it please you, I can demonstrate]

Suddenly he bends down, and with a grunt he lifts Amy by her thighs, one on either side of his waist. He sets her down on the towel.

No sooner does Sanji let go of her legs than Amy is on him, gripping his face with both hands and kissing him voraciously. 

“That’s so—ungh—so fucking hot, Sanji,” she moans. “Fuck, you’re strong.”

“You’re not that heavy, are you?” Sanji manages to say between kisses—not that he’s complaining. “Ten stone, twelve?”

“Fourteen last I checked,” Amy murmurs into his chin. “You’re so good at what you do, I’m always hungry for more.”

Sanji chuckles at her double entendre. “Fourteen’s nothin’, long as I let my legs do the work.”

“Definitely the sexiest legs I’ve ever seen.” Amy sucks lightly at the base of Sanji’s neck, and almost erases his train of thought completely.

“Merde—since your own, of course, right?” He places his hands on her knees and ever-so-slowly moves them upward.

“Mmm, naturally,” Amy murmurs, more interested in Sanji’s collarbone.

“Are you even listening right now?” Sanji asks, grinning with amusement as he pulls away. He laughs when Amy makes a whining noise and chases him with her lips.

“Your tongue is doing way too much talking, lover boy. Starting to think maybe you’re all talk.”

Sanji narrows his eyes.

Before Amy has time even to discern anything from his smile, Sanji’s gripping the back of her head in one hand and nudging her mouth open with his tongue. His other hand slides higher along her thighs, tantalizingly close to where she suddenly realizes she needs his touch the most. She moans into Sanji’s hungry mouth, the noise sounding more like a whimper than she would have liked to admit were she clear-minded; but her senses are consumed with him, and she can’t bring herself to care. His appreciative groans are like held notes on a saxophone; he smells of musky cologne and sweat in a way that registers as the essence of virility in the back of her mind; he electrifies her skin with the slightest contact; she can taste fruit and spice on his tongue, and—

“Sanj, there’s something metal in your mouth, is that a piercing or…?”

Amy leans back to peer into Sanji’s grinning mouth, and sure enough, the frenulum is pierced with a horseshoe bar.

She puts her arms around his neck and pulls him close again. “You know, I’d heard you described as having a silver tongue,” she teases, her lips a hair’s breadth from his, “but I didn’t think Nami and Usopp were being serious.”

Sanji kisses her again, delicate and sweet like a meringue. “It’s surgical steel, love, but I appreciate the sentiment.” He chuckles and Amy rolls her eyes fondly.

“Now, why don’t we go back to your talent show?” she suggests.

“A show, hmm? I’ve never tried exhibitionism, but we can talk kinks later, sure.”

“You know what I meant!” Amy laughs, giving Sanji’s shoulder a playful backhand.

“Oh, yes, that’s right: the talent show in which I”—Sanji places one more kiss on Amy’s smiling mouth—“pleasure this lovely lady”—he whispers before kissing behind her ear and sliding his hands to the laces of her top—“with my tongue until she”—loosens the knot holding the halter-neck in place and nips an exposed shoulder, prompting her to buck against him—“begs me to make her cum on my face.” He presses his face into her cleavage, and looks up to gauge her expression. “That one?”

Amy combs a hand through Sanji’s corn-silk hair, pushing it back from his forehead, and gasps with something like awe marbled with need. His lust-darkened eyes peering up at her from between her breasts might be the most erotic thing she’s ever seen.

Entirely at your service.

You deserve an eager lover.

“Oh, Sanji…” she sighs and leans back against the bench. “Please, yes, I need it…

“…do I get to serve you after?”

The question is so airy and quiet that Sanji almost doesn’t catch it, occupied as he is with the scent of Amy’s perfume and the solemn task of unbuttoning her from the other side. “What’s that, darling?”

Amy holds his face between her hands and pets his flushed cheeks with her thumbs. “Do I get to return the favor once you’ve made good on those wonderful things you said you want to do to me?”

“You may not need to. I’m pretty, ah, worked up right now—might be that I’ll follow you over the edge when you cum for me.” Sanji kisses her palm and, taking hold of her hand, guides it along the faint trail of hair leading to where he needs her touch the most.

Amy wants to press the question further, but contents herself with pressing her hand to the bulge in Sanji’s shorts. She gasps in wonder at his size and the needy cry that pours from his lips.

“Let’s find out for sure, shall we?” She turns her back to Sanji and lifts her hair out of the way.

Seating himself on the bench beside Amy, Sanji can reach the buttons just fine, but he welcomes the chance to lavish her neck with a flurry of kisses. He smiles against her skin at her giggling, and thinks of how quickly the sound is becoming one of his favorites.

Amy’s breath, already shaking, hitches when she feels her top come loose, and again when Sanji sucks lightly on the skin joining her neck to her shoulders.

“Sanji, please…”

“Shhh, darling, I’ll take care of you,” he murmurs as his hands snake over the bare skin of her waist to cover hers in the front. “Your body is so soft, so beautiful. I love it.

“Can…can I just…feel it for a moment first? Explore it, admire it for a bit before I ravish you?” Sanji continues, tracing with his fingers the places that had previously been covered.

“Just as long as your body stays on mine.” Amy sighs dreamily and leans against him, eyes closed, happy to let him fill her senses once again.

There has, historically, been precious little in Sanji’s life that could be described as soft or tender. Such is a hard-working life at sea, to say nothing of what came before his stint on the Orbit; even on such a well-appointed ship as the Thousand Sunny, piracy is piracy, and the oceans swallow the weak. So when something comes Sanji’s way that could be construed as even the vaguest promise of devotion, he has learned to seize it, to enjoy it while he can, before the Blue Mother’s waves inevitably carry it out of reach.

He does not seize Amy, for she is not a pipe dream or a fantasy: she is substantial, in multiple senses of the word, generous in the warm plushness of her body and likewise in the beauty of her soul. He paces himself, like a man who has known starvation followed by plenty; though he does have to take a steadying breath when she sets aside the bralette and turns toward him, now bare-chested. One hand goes to her heartbeat, one to her shoulder, trailing downward and leaving a tingling heat in its wake.

“I want to figure you out, chérie, before I take you apart,” Sanji rasps in Amy’s ear as he engages his haki.

Amy has a hunch she’s in for some of the best sex of her life. Not that she has a great deal of first-hand experience for the love cook to exceed—men did not often stay in her life long enough for attraction to develop—but even if Sanji is as much of a serial womanizer as Nami and Zoro make him out to be, he has already proven attentive and empathetic enough to be above average. It’s not his skill she’s worried about—

The casual flick of a thumb across a now-stiffened nipple jolts Amy back into the moment with a squeal.

“Fuck, Sanji, that feels so good, do it again…”

He obliges, of course he does, and pleasure like an electric shock goes straight to her cunt, suddenly flooded with slick. She arches her back, leaning forward into his touch; and he must have heard the needy impatience in her wordless moan, because he pulls her flush with him and nibbles her ear. 

“Où d’autre, where else do you need me?” Sanji murmurs. “J’ai besoin de te plaîre…” [Where else; I need to please you]

Where doesn’t she need him? Amy wonders. “Everywhere, babe, jus’—fuck—everywhere. My neck, my hands, my tits, need you inside, everywhere.”

Sanji’s face lights up like he’s received the best news of his life, and he kisses her again. 

“As my lady commands.”

As he nibbles at her ear and her neck, Amy can’t resist rolling her hips against him, flush as she is with his hardened abdomen and his cock, and spirits it feels so good—

“Amy, my love,” Sanji pleads, “I don’t want to cum yet, let me do this for you—”

“But Sanji…”

“Amy. Don’t you want me to keep my promise to you?”

He stands and pulls her up as well, and continues: “Don’t you want to find out what my tongue can do? I should think you wouldn’t want the talent show to end so early.”

“Your fingers untying my skirt are giving me a mixed signal,” Amy mutters, though her fingers digging out the knots belie the annoyance in her words.

“I’m going to have you lay back for me, darling,” Sanji says as he folds the sarong, “and I want to have a cushion for your beautiful head.” He holds the garment out to her, and he’s looking at her with such tenderness that she feels something clench in her chest. “Your comfort matters to me.”

“And you feeling good matters to me.”

“Tell you what,” Sanji offers as his hands push gently on Amy’s hips, encouraging her to sit. “I get to taste every part of you, and you get to shower me in praise and ‘good boys’ to your heart’s content. How does that sound?”

“And then I get to play with your cock?” she asks, pouting slightly but positioning herself on the towel nevertheless.

Sanji makes a choked gasp. “Merde, yes, then you can play with my cock.”

“Sounds good to me.” Amy leans back and watches as he hems her in, elbows on either side of her shoulders, powerful legs astride her own.

Sanji takes a deep breath and considers what he learns from his haki. Amy shudders almost imperceptibly with each heaving breath; her eyes, wide and dark, dart between his eyes, his lips, his chest, and occasionally his groin. Her back is arched just enough to not have the steps’ wooden lip pressing into her, or perhaps she means to draw his attention back to her sizeable breasts; and her knees are turned outward, as though readying her legs to cage his lower torso close to her own. She smells of jasmine, sweat, and the spiced tang of arousal, so much arousal. 

He can’t wait to taste her. With no dissonance of thought or feeling in her aura to give him pause, the tasting begins.

He starts, quite naturally, with her mouth: lips that capture his sight whenever she has occasion to wear lipstick, staining his fantasies a pomegranate red; gasps and moans that spill from her like an overturned glass of sparkling wine; the lingering taste of sweet words and peppery olive oil on a tongue seeking out its counterpart to pull him closer. When the cruel need for oxygen forces them to pull apart, Sanji and his own clever tongue find the sensitive spot just behind Amy’s ear that he knows will make her nerves sing—

“SANJI, oh gods!” she cries, sure enough—

“Amy, chérie, would you be very offended if I were to leave a souvenir on your skin?” Sanji asks in a husky voice while he has her ear. “A mark of my passion, so to speak?”

Amy does not answer right away and her frenzied groping stills, but her embrace remains steady, which soothes his unease. She’s considering it, Sanji reminds himself.

Finally, she caresses his cheek, and he takes the chance to kiss her inner wrist. “Put them in places that can be covered with ease,” she replies decisively. “Whatever…this is”—for the first time since he found her in the crow’s nest Sanji hears a note of apprehension in her voice—“it’s our treasure, and I’d like to enjoy it that way for a bit before making it known to anyone else.

“We may be Straw Hats, but we are still pirates,” Amy continues with a smile returning to her face. “I think we’re allowed to be a little cagey about our hidden treasure.”

Whatever this is. Our hidden treasure. Sanji feels something shift in him at Amy’s words—not a jarring shift like a fall or a sudden change of perspective, but a shift like the changing of plans or steering a vessel in a new direction. A shift like soil making way for growing roots.

In the meantime, Sanji’s cock is twitching at the prospect of marking this woman as his, and again with the thrill of keeping a secret. “Such an angel,” he groans into her neck, “such a privilege just to touch you.”

Such a dangerous business, this whole falling-in-love thing, Amy thinks to herself. No, she’s not in love, not with one of the most notorious flirts on the Grand Line, even if he does look like he belongs on a magazine cover instead of a pirate vessel. Even if she isn’t merely imagining the heartbroken look on his face at the words ‘whatever this is’. Even if he is the most caring lover she’s ever had—because that’s just the thing: he does love generously, he loves in defiance of the sire he left behind, he loves and he loves and it would be selfish of her to want some part of it to be hers alone, wouldn’t it? No, she’s not in love with Sanji, but the cliff’s edge is right there, and the call of the void is strong.

“Chérie, have I lost you again? Is everything alright?”

Sanji’s handsome, smiling face is hovering above her chest again. Amy runs her fingers through his hair—he closes his eyes and hums at the sensation—and tucks it behind his ear.

“I was just…distracted by your beauty.” She smiles and winks.

“Using my own lines on me, are you?” Sanji growls in mock annoyance.

“What?! I’m just learning from the best.”

“Flatterer.”

“Clearly flattery works, or else you wouldn’t be straddling a mostly-naked woman right now.” Amy begins to drag one foot along Sanji’s leg for emphasis.

In lieu of an answer, he shudders and trails a finger along the side of one breast, which he lifts toward his mouth. While Amy lets her head fall back against the improvised cushion, he mouths at one pebbled areola with relish and strokes the other with a firm thumb, basking in her babbled praises over the next several minutes.

“That feels so, so good, darling, so good…

“Gods, your tongue is incredible—yes, just like that!”

“Oh, fuck—could let you do just this to me for hours…”

…and Sanji thinks, feeling the way she bucks and tenses under his caresses, he’d be willing to do it, too, his own erection be damned, if he didn’t think muscle cramps on his part would put a damper on her pleasure. If nothing else happens between him and Amy, he could at least go for months touching himself just to this memory.

Mercifully, the sound of a soft chuckle interrupts Sanji’s anxious thoughts before they have a chance to spiral. He leaves off the sucking motion of his tongue and looks into Amy’s half-lidded eyes. “Chérie?” he inquires tentatively.

She again combs his hair back with her fingers, still smiling. “It just struck me as funny, the way you looked like a boy licking his first ice cream cone of the summer.”

Sanji stares a moment before spluttering with indignation. “And what is a man supposed to look like as he is worshiping at his lady’s breasts?” 

Unfortunately, this serves only to make the lady in question laugh harder, albeit with fondness, and touch her forehead to his.

“I don’t know, I don’t know! It felt so good, but when I opened my eyes, there you were, swirling your tongue like you were afraid of letting your mint chocolate chip melt—”

“Melt?!” Sanji echoes, still playfully indignant. “Oh, I’ll make you melt—”

—to which end he pushes Amy back down and renews his ministrations with a vengeance, licking and sucking and nipping the sensitive buds, and tickling her sides. His hands slide lower and lower along her hips until he’s teasing the skin just above her panties; and when she makes no move to bat his hand away, he dips two fingers into the heat of her folds.

Amy never knew sex could be so fun.

Well, no, that’s not quite true; she’s long known, in an intellectual sort of way, that feeling safe and relaxed emotionally is conducive to both having fun and to having good sex. But the wisdom gleaned from others feels like an understatement compared to the euphoria and the anticipation suffusing her right now.

“You—” she pants, smiling, “you’re as good as your word, ah-aren’t you?”

Sanji releases a reddened nipple with a lewd smack.  “And you, love, have been melting for a while already, haven’t you?” He runs a finger along her slit, grinning wickedly at her wetness. 

“Oh fuck, Sanji, keep—keep doing that…”

“Tell me, Amy, is all of this for me?” Sanji all but purrs. Her pussy clenches at the sight of him licking her slick off of his hand and she whimpers.

A whimper is not enough for him: his fingers tease her clit, dancing around but never touching it. He flicks a nipple with his tongue. “I need words, ma chère…” he says.

Amy does not have words, though. There is nothing in Amy’s world save her body, and Sanji’s touch, and pure sensation.

“Answer me,” Sanji insists in a rumbled voice; and when he hears no answer but more wordless whimpering, he bites on Amy’s nipple and strokes her clit at the same time.

“Fuck! SANJI!” she screams, mustering the last two words in her brain as her world turns from pure sensation to white-hot ecstasy.

Likes, reblogs, and replies are appreciated, especially if somehow I fucked up post formatting or my French grammar LOL

[waterthatsmoe]

I'm confused if ur Yuu is just a stand in Yuu or ur actual Yuu but uh if they are a proper oc-did they have a specific reason to return? Or is it just a "this place ain't for me " thing

My Yuu started off as a stand-in! I wanted as many people as possible to be able to self-insert into Yuu when reading my comic so I could deal the most amount of damage. But it might as well be my actual Yuu since I have drawn them so much now. I'm sorry for any confusion haha

As for returning, it's like a mix of trauma, hero's complex, and self-imposed guilt. It's not that they want to leave, but they feel like that had to, and they took the opportunity when it was given.

Since their arrival to twst, there had been over counts of overblots within a single school year than ever. Naturally, as someone who is magicless, Yuu is going to be ostracised by students who dont know them. Additionally, NRC is a school where students don't cooperate and are generally quite stand offish, so a rumour that the mysterious transfer student is causing all these overblots spreads.

Of course, a rumour is a rumour, but if there's a pattern of Yuu being at all scenes of the event, Yuu starts to think the rumours might not be basless. It adds to Yuu's insecurities as the only magicless student.

If the root of the problem is Yuu... then Yuu just has to leave to resolve everything.

While Yuu had found friendships they would never want to throw away, if there was a chance to prevent another overblot from harming the friends, they hold so dear to their heart, then against their own wish, they shall leave.

Ultimately, this series is just me exploring how it might be like if Yuu went home, but angst to the max, because I had so much math assignments giving me headaches and I took it out on the comic 🤡

[lemon-russ]

This is a new OC x Russ story I wanted to do. Very self indulgent, but a little less silly than my others. I'll still be doing reader insert fics and everything though! Just wanted something different. This one will hopefully be like a slow burn kinda story with more actual plot but there's gonna be smut eventually, as a warning. Short intro chapter for today :)

It's also 30k bc, well, Leman Russ.

(This will probably have breeding kink stuff eventually BUT I am working on a seprate breeding kink/ pregnancy one from the poll thats reader x russ)

(Thanks @squishyowl for the dividers)

Wolf Mother (Ch. 1)

Next>

Ao3

Leman Russ x Fem OC

CW (not necessarily this chapter but overall): Trauma, anxiety, PTSD, General WH40k violence, Sex, probably breeding kink stuff eventually, if there's something I miss and you want labeled let me know!!

Summary: Ex-Captain Vaille is asked a favor by her Primarch

EDIT NOTE: I wrote here that Wren was in the Astra Millitarum (Imperial Guard). I meant for her to be part of the Auxilia, since the IG did not exist pre-heresy. I have changed it to Imperialis Auxilia (Imperial army). Sorry :)

Word count: 1,118

Sitting at her desk in her little office, Wren writes paperwork that will surely just be mindlessly handed around and stamped without being read. She wonders, if she just started writing nonsense in the middle, if anyone would ever be paying enough attention to catch it. She wonders if theres any point in writing them out at all besides the Ultramarine's love of paperwork.

A knock at her door calls her attention. “Come in.” she answers, and the door slides open.

Her eyes widen, and she stands when she sees it is the primarch himself waiting for her.

“Lord Guilliman, what do I owe the pleasure?” She says quickly, and he holds a hand up with a soft smile.

“At ease, Captain.” He says, and you try not to grimace.

“I'm not a Captain, sir.” She corrects, “But it is an honor as always. What do you require?”

He gives a small smile, “As I've yet to think of a new title for you, Captain still works as well for now.” He says, gaze momentarily falling to her bionic leg. “But, I have a request.” He continues, pulling up a chair and motioning for her to sit.

She frowns a bit. It felt wrong to have the primarch sit at her desk like a common paper pusher for a meeting, but she sits down again.

“This is a request, not an order.” He starts, making her scrunch her brow. “It is not that I don't want you here. I think you are one of my top assistants.” He says gently.

The gentleness of the delivery did not dull the blow. “Sir… have I done something…?” She asks. It was improper to speak back to a primarch, but she couldn't help it. She'd been dilligent, attentive, thorough, orderly, all the things ultramarines represent.

He frowns. “I am not firing you, Captain, please, hear me out.” He explains.

“It's about my brother, Leman Russ.” He says with a small sigh. “He is impossible to work with. It is becoming an issue for me. I never know where he is or what his Legion is doing until last minute.”

She gives him a confused look, and then her eyes widen. “Sir, you… surely you don't mean to…”

He gives a sheepish smile, a foreign thing on the face of a demi-god. “Please, Captain? No, I ask this as a friend-” he says, scooting closer to her desk. “Wren, can you please go work with my brother? Even just so I have someone, *anyone* to actually get in contact with?”

Her mouth hangs open. “Lord Guilliman, what- why me?” She stutters. He was really going to feed her to the wolves, literally. She'd never missed a deadline, yet she was being tossed to Leman Russ.

Guilliman chuckles, “Come now, Captain Vaille. I can tell this work is slow for you.” He says, taking a framed pict off her desk.

She frowned a bit as he smiled at the picture, depicting a young, newly promoted Lieutenant Vaille smiling with her squad mates. Two eyes, two legs, years of service left in her.

She frowns as he places the pict back on her desk. “What do you mean, slow? I've been thriving.” She says, reaching over and tipping the picture frame face down.

He chuckles softly. “Thriving? Please. You're bored. You are excellent at what you do, but you do it by habit. I can see you don't love having to sit behind a desk.” He says, righting the picture again. “Third youngest Captain in the Ultramar Imperialis Auxilia. That isn't a woman who rests on her laurels.” He says with a knowing smile.

She frowns harder. “And, what, trying to put a leash on Leman Russ is supposed to be more fun?” She asks incredulously.

He laughs, “It certainly would let you see more action, if nothing else.” he says it cheerfully, but his expression softens when he sees her hand twitch to unconsciously rub where her bionic leg meets her muscle. “Of course, it is a favor I ask. You are free to say no.” He adds.

She grimaces. “I… I'd have to think about it, Sir. I'm sorry.” She replies, hand kneading her thigh nervously.

He smiles again. “Well, that's better than ‘No’ at least. Thank you for considering it, Wren.” He says as he rises, the chair creaking in relief. “You know where to find me when you make up your mind.” He adds as he makes his way to the door.

She gives him a nervous smile, and he nods and leaves the room.

He wants her to go babysit the primarch of the space wolves? Because he thinks she's bored? Well, she is bored. He's not wrong. Her retirement to paper pushing was not one she chose. But that is like saying “hey, you look bored, want to go hit bees nests with a stick?”

She sighs, slinking down in her chair. Her eyes find the pict on her desk he'd been looking at. Her younger, happier, more whole self grins mockingly from the frame.

She frowns and flips it face down again. Then she looked back at her piles and piles of paperwork. Menial, pointless papers no one but her would read.

Could she manage this for another 5 years? 10 years? How much paperwork does it take to cause a baseline human to lose their sanity?

She stares at the paperwork a long while, conflicted and fighting herself, before she lets out a long, tired sigh.

Guilliman looks up and smiles when he hears the doors to his office slide open and sees Wren walking in.

“Have you considered my request, Captain?” He says, sitting up straighter.

She sits at the chair across his desk with her lips pressed to a line. “Not a Captain. Can I give it a few months? Like a trial?”

He smiles wide. “That is a very fair and logical request, not-Captain. You are doing me a huge favor with this.”

Wren bites her lip. “Just a few months. I'll give it a fair shot. But if they're too… space wolves, I'd like to be able to come back.”

He nods, pulling out paperwork. “Of course, of course. I'll start the transfer and inform Leman of the plans. Can you be ready by tomorrow?”

She sighs and nods. “Yeah, I'll go pack, I guess.” She relents.

Her hand nervously kneads at her bionic leg again, and she hopes she isn't getting in over her head.

[godfrey-the-chaos-duck]

Glomgold Night Highlights!!

as @violetganache42 is on vacation, I'm taking on the highlights post for tonight! Now, I missed a lot of the later part of the night so if anyone has any particular moments they want to add in a reblog, please do!

The Ballad Of Duke Baloney! (DT17)

Me finally showing up on time for the start of the thing for once!!!! (buuut i had a black screen for the whole entire thing, Le Sad)

@hueberryshortcake and @luckyduck-main crocheting during this movie night, we love to see it

Everyone LOVING Zan Owlson (as we SHOULD)

Me: "so glad i can follow this with just audio" @hueberryshortcake: "have you tried not being in Ireland" (idfk why the black screen happened but it's not the ireland thing lmao)

(When Glomgold put the fish in the wedding attire and the dynamite out of the boat) @puffyducks: "HE'S TARGETING THE BISEXUALS"

@writebackatya, @hueberryshortcake and I straight up Goncharov-ing a new (and controversial!) DuckTales episode wherein Glomgold was an unassuming pastry chef, the Pep factory is involved, and Gladstone gets killed with hammers. Twice.

The weird-ass dream sequence and the rise of Duck In A Top Hat Thursday (Sunday)

@smugrexx: "Glomgold is just Duke Baloney's self insert OC that he's been cosplaying as for years without end" Me: "nonono, Glomgold is his drag persona, think Chappell Roan"

also @smugrexx posted this

During the scene where Scrooge and Glomgold make the bet, I quoted "And no-one else was in the room where it happened" (i'm a hamilton girlie)

Master Of The Djinni (DT87)

People saying the genie sounded like King Candy from Wreck-It Ralph

@puffyducks "trying to get some ice cream and my BITCH rival is there too"

SCROOGE AND GLOMGOLD IN DRAG

The 87 Cent Solution! (DT17)

me being insufferable about tennant's voice as per usual (this episode is my absolute uncontested favourite) @tealottie I carried the torch for us both. also i was quoting the episode to myself as we watched cause I know that bitch by HEART

@hueberryshortcake "This is literally me every time I get sick I am so annoying sorry, I'M LITERALLY FINE" (i can relate)

Me, to Scrooge: "My good sir. Denial is a river in Egypt."

@writebackatya "Scrooge should get robbed more often, just to keep him on his toes" @smugrexx "Honestly pretty good company test, like any random day of the year one random employee steals like a cent from him and we see how it goes."

@luckyduck-main "BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF HIM ZAN" (YESSSS)

@alex31624 "chicken soup in front of gyro" (duck logic amirite)

Scrooge muttering angrily to himself while the kids count his money

Me, at the scene on the bridge right before the plane crash: "HE AIMS HIS PISTOL AT THE SKY! wAIT--!" (again, hamilton girlie)

@luckyduck-main finding the script for me cause I was curious (thanks btw!)

"Et tu, Headless Man-Horse?" (BEST LINE)

ALL I DO IS WIN WIN WIN NO MATTER WHAT

@puffyducks (about Glomgold's tomfuckery)

A Whale Of A Bad Time (DT87)

Everybody spamming "A SEA MONSTER ATE MY ICE CREAM" in chat. Well done, guys

Navy Donald shoutout

Raiders Of The Doomsday Vault! (DT17)

One Piece jokes in chat

LUDWIG VON DRAKE, EVERYONE'S BELOVED

"STAND OUT, ABOVE THE CROWD, EVEN IF I GOTTA SHOUT OUT LOUD" (powerliiiine)

Glomgold and Scrooge on the ice being a Toxic Yaoi Moment Of All Time

GlomTales! (DT17)

EVERYONE jokingly Della-hating cause that discourse is Ridiculous

people quoting the GlomTales intro in the chat yeaaaa

@spamtoon typing. very oddly

FAMILY IS THE GREATEST SCHEME OF ALL

anyway this night was SUPER fun, omfg THANK YOU