#i like to think it's Richard who finally lets something slip

[bloggerspam]

Lost in Grave Dirt

You've forgotten your name.

You've forgotten a lot of things, actually.

But you keep getting stuck on the fact that you do not know your name.

Maybe John? No, that doesn't seem right. Jane? You've forgotten if you're a woman or man, which feels like it should be important, but doesn't seem to be right in this moment.

Tom? Richard? Harry?

None of these feel right.

"Hello?" You blink. Right, forget the name—someone else is here and has been calling you for a while. "Can you hear me?"

"Yes, I can hear you." You call back, looking down at yourself. You're sitting in a ditch, legs half-buried in the ground. You're disheveled and covered in dirt, but you seem to be okay overall besides that. "Sorry, I was a little distracted. What were you asking me?"

"I asked if you were alright." The person standing at the top of the ditch you're in replies, cautiously, as if they are not sure if you are crazy or not. Which is fair play, really, considering where you have woken up.

"Right." You say, wondering if you should pick yourself up and dust yourself off. "I'm not sure. Would you happen to know who I am?"

The color drains from the person's face, eyes straying to the side, voice trembling a bit as they seem to read off of something. "Uh, does the name Daniel J. Fenton ring any bells?"

"Hm." You think on that for a moment, surveying the ditch and shaking your legs a little to free them. You don't feel like a Daniel, but then again, you don't not feel like a Daniel either. You tell them so, before looking back up in confusion. "Maybe I went by a nickname?"

"Like, Danny?" The person tilts their head, biting their lip. "Probably?"

You consider this, feeling out the possibly-not-new name. "Danny does feel more…right."

"So you don't remember who you are?" The person crouches, leaning more closer. "Or why you're sitting in…uh. There?"

"I have no earthly idea." You admit, to which the person snorts.

"Earthly. good one." They chuckle, reaching a hand down. "Do you, uh, maybe need help getting out?"

"That'd be nice." You take their hand, climbing out of the ditch with surprisingly little effort. You think you've been down there a while, but again, you can't quite remember. Still, you have a lot less aches and pains than you thought you would.

When you are successfully out, you start dusting yourself off, pausing when you see your new companion fidget uncomfortably. You're about to ask what's wrong when you catch sight of the small slab of stone at the head of the ditch you were in.

It's a tombstone, crudely made, with a name and years written on it as they usually do.

Daniel J. Fenton. April 3, 2004 to December 24th, 2023.

"Huh." You say, words slipping out as you carefully make your way over. "That's…interesting."

"I'll say. If I had a nickle for every guy I've seen rise out of his grave," your companion laughs, disbelieving and almost depressively, "I'd have two nickles."

You hum, something not quite sitting right. Your clothes are covered in dirt beyond belief, but beyond the normal wear and tear you're relatively clean. No out of place rips or tears, not even a speck of blood, on your once white teeshirt and blue jeans.

"Which isn't a lot," your companion continues, oblivious to your conundrum. "But it's weird that it's happened twice, right?"

You turn to look at the ditch, inspecting it for a moment, leaning over before your companion grabs you to yank you back.

"Whoa, what—" your companion turns you around, hands clamped around your biceps as if to keep you there, "we just got you out, why are you trying to get back in?"

"I'm not trying to get back in," you try and wriggle your way out, but your companion is not budging. You crane your neck as best you can, before giving up and staring into your captor's blazing eyes. "I just thought it was strange is all."

"Strange?" They finally let you go, moving over to look over the ditch themselves, as if to block your path. "What is?"

"Well," You make a face down at your beat up sneakers. "The grave looks very…machine dug. It's not really what you'd expect from someone crawling out of their own grave, right?"

Your companion freezes, turning slowly too look you up and down in a new light. Their entire countenance changes, as if a switch has been flipped.

"Come to think of it, you don't have a suit," They stalk back to you, taking your hands carefully into theirs. "And your fingernails are too clean to have dug yourself out."

"In the first place," You venture, as they let your hands drop,"Where's my coffin?"

That seems to puzzle them as well, both of you leaning over to peek at the empty grave. It truly looks too clean to have been done by human hands, the walls of it oddly straight. It's about 6 feet deep, with only the side you used to climb out looking slightly lopsided.

"…Huh." Your companion says. And really, what else were you expecting? "Should have noticed that first."

"Can't really blame you." You shrug, looking around and realizing you're also not sure where the missing dirt is, "I'd be more concerned about the amnesiac too."

"I think," Your companion finally decides, having also looked around and found nothing, "that maybe I should take you to my friends so we can sort this out."

"Sure." You agree, amiably. You have this vague notion like you should be more cautious, second locations and all that, but you also have this weird certainty that there's nothing that you can't really handle.

Do all amnesiacs have this kind of cockiness? Or is it just you? You eye your companion up and down as they take out their phone to contact their people, suddenly realizing that maybe you should have taken note of this before.

He's of African descent, skin a smooth and oddly comforting umber color. His eyes are cocoa brown, bright and rounded almond, reminding you of a chocolate Labrador. His hair is in beaded braids, some golden rings decorated here or there.

He's a handsome man, buffer than you are, though only slightly shorter than you. You think, in normal circumstances, that perhaps you would be in trouble. Your own arms are toned but slim, and though you seem to have some abs, you are more of a lean variety.

Still, you somehow know you could take him.

Strange.

"Alright," he says into the phone, "I'll see you at Leslie's."

When he hangs up and gestures for you to follow him with a smile, you realize that maybe you have forgotten something else important.

"So," You say as you trail behind him, "my name might be a mystery, but will yours stay one too?"

The man jolts, twisting around suddenly to a stop. "Right! Sorry," he holds out a hand, sheepishly smiling, "I'm Duke. Duke Thomas."

"Nice to meet you Duke." You smile as you shake his hand, feeling oddly warm. "I guess for now, you can call me Danny until proven otherwise."

"Nice to meet you too, Danny." Duke laughs, tugging you along, both of you walking side by side towards a motorcycle parked just outside the graveyard. "Let's get you sorted, yeah?"

You hop onto the bike behind Duke, feeling a little guilty about dirtying up the spare helmet you were given. The drive from there is smooth, refreshing on your skin—the sights slide by in technicolor and you lean back to flow with it, hands tight around Duke's waist.

You've forgotten your name, though you seem to have a lead on it.

You've forgotten a lot of things, truly.

But somehow, you remember this: this feeling of flying through a city, wind whipping around you, a kind of lightness to your body that feels like gravity is only an occasional visitor.

You find solace in that, this strangely familiar feeling and the warmth that seeps from Duke in front of you.

Somehow, you know:

All is as it should be.

[corroded-hellfire]

hello!! i have seen so many eddie x fem reader but never a chubby fem reader so? can u do one and plz take as much time

(can it also be smut???)

- suki

This honestly felt cathartic to write. Thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoy 🩵

Warnings: smut, p in v, unprotected (wrap it up), oral, f!receiving, body image issues

Words: 4.5k

"Ugh, it’s so cheesy.”

Eddie groans and drops his head back against the couch dramatically. You scoff as you watch him out of the corner of your eye, wanting to keep most of your attention on the flickering television screen in front of you. The end of An Officer and a Gentleman plays, where Richard Gere picks up Debra Winger and carries her off bridal style.

“I think it’s romantic,” you say, lazily flicking your hand at your boyfriend’s chest. 

His dark eyebrows raise up to meet his bangs as he kicks his socked feet up on the cluttered coffee table. 

“Really?” he asks. “So, you’re saying you want me to just scoop you up like that and carry you?”

The snort that comes out of you isn’t intentional, but Eddie’s words force it to come out. 

“Hell no,” you tell him. “You’d break your back.”

Eddie’s previously raised eyebrows furrow as he stares at you. His spine straightens and he crosses his arms across his chest, offense leaking into his posture. 

“What do you mean?”

Surely, he must be joking, you think. But the way his gaze is focused on you makes you realize he’s serious.

“Eddie.” You brandish your hand towards your larger body before gesturing to his own svelte frame. 

Unsure how to feel about your insinuation, Eddie shifts in his seat to face you better. He eyes your body, something that always makes you feel a little self-conscious even if it’s in an admiring fashion.

“You think I can’t carry you?” he asks.

“Not without blowing out your back.” 

That has Eddie pushing himself up off the couch and rubbing his hands together. He nods to you as he shifts his weight from foot to foot.

“Let me try,” he says.

“No.” You don’t move an inch. 

Eddie’s shoulders slump, reminding you of a deflating beach ball as he begins to pout.

“Babe,” he whines. “Come on.” 

“No, Eddie,” you reply, tone more definitive this time. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.” He waves off your concern as if it’s the last thing on his mind. But you’re aware that it’s very real and know it would only make you feel more uncomfortable in your own skin if your weight hurt your boyfriend. 

“Just drop it,” you try. 

As persistent and stubborn as Eddie is about something once it’s entered his mind, he can see your demeanor changing bit by bit, moving closer to upset. It doesn’t mean he’s going to let it go entirely, though. He’ll let you think he’s forgotten about it for now, just continuing on with the nice evening you’re having. But there’s already an idea turning the gears in the back of Eddie’s mind. 

The next week, you waltz into the Munson’s trailer–having learned long ago that you can just let yourself in–and your brow furrows as you slip off your shoes. Eddie is standing between the couch and the television, doing arm curls with a pair of smaller but heavy-looking weights. Not once have you seen Eddie lifting weights before, so you’re confused, unsure of what’s going on. 

Eddie’s eyes glance over to you, away from the rerun of Who’s the Boss playing on the television and gives you a smile.

“Hey, baby,” he says as naturally as always. “Be done in a minute.”

You finally find your voice as you track his arms moving up and down. “What’re you doing?”

“Knitting a sweater,” he answers without missing a beat. 

“Ha ha, very funny.” You roll your eyes even though he isn’t looking your way and plop down on the couch behind him.

Eddie lets out a small, breathy laugh and turns his head to the side so you know he’s talking to you.

“What’s it look like? I’m lifting weights.”

“But why?” you ask, tucking your legs up beneath you.

When Eddie turns face forward again, you catch a glimpse of his smirk in the reflection on the TV.

“So you’ll have no more excuses about why I shouldn’t pick you up,” he says. 

Letting out a dramatic groan to rival one of Eddie’s own, you flop down on your side and bury your face into one of the couch cushions. Irritated, you pick your head up and glare at the back of your boyfriend’s head.

“This again?” you ask.

“I’m gonna sweep you off your feet,” he says as he begins his last set. “Wait and see.”

“Jesus Christ,” Dustin whines, leaning back in his seat. He swipes at one of the D20s on the table out of frustration. “Where the hell is he? Eddie’s never been late for a campaign in his life.”

“Are you sure your boyfriend didn’t mention anything about being late?” Mike snaps at you from the opposite side of the table.

“For the third time, Michael,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest, “no.”

Jeff opens his mouth to say something, but the drama room door bangs open to reveal their Dungeon Master, his soaking wet hair turning the white portion of the Hellfire shirt see-through. There’s a beat of silence as everyone takes in his appearance. Leave it to Dustin to break the seal.

“Where the hell were you?”

“Is it raining out?” Lucas asks no one in particular, eyes trailing Eddie’s weighed-down curls.

He doesn’t receive a response as Eddie saunters into the room, acting as if he didn’t just break one of his own most important rules. Your boyfriend throws a wink your way and presses a kiss to the top of your head as he passes by you to get to his throne. Once he’s plopped down in the seat and made himself comfortable, he takes in all the eyes staring at him from around the table.

“I was in the gym. Weight room, more specifically,” Eddie says, as if they should have known this all along. 

“Like…where the athletes train?” Gareth asks, nose wrinkling up in confusion. You can taste Eddie’s snarky reply in the air before he even parts his lips.

“Congratulations on knowing what the weight room is, Gareth the Great.”

When Eddie’s eyes don’t meet yours, you wonder if he’s avoiding your gaze or not. He has to know that the fact that he was lifting weights again would grate on your nerves. Either he’s oblivious–which is entirely possible–or he’s being smart and not meeting your glare. Eddie is quiet for a moment, which is so unlike him that you’re wondering if maybe he’s waiting for you to say something. If that’s what he wants he’ll be sorely disappointed though because you’re biting your tongue for now. Even though he’ll definitely hear about it later when there are no witnesses around. 

“All right,” Eddie finally says, clapping his ringed hands together. “Shall we get started?”

Whenever you want to vent about Eddie or something he did, you never have a shortage of friends to go to. Most are glad to lend an ear and a few even look forward to hearing what crazy thing he did this time. But when it comes to how you’re currently feeling in regards to your boyfriend, none of your friends could truly understand because they’re all, well…thin. They might be sympathetic to your situation or even relate in some different way, but none of them would wholly understand because they’ve never been viewed in the same light that you are by society. It’s not their fault they don’t understand, it’s just how it is. 

Unfortunately, you’re not as good at keeping your emotions hidden as you thought you were. It’s only a few days before Nancy corners you at your locker.

“Are you okay?” she asks, narrowing her usually wide eyes at you. 

“Fine,” you say with as much forced enthusiasm as possible while you dig around the locker for your biology textbook. 

“For argument's sake, let’s say I believe you,” Nancy says. “Why have you been so quiet lately, then? You seem distracted, like your mind is somewhere else.”

“It’s stupid,” you say to her as you find the book you were searching for.

“Hey,” Nancy says, voice taking on a more serious tone, “no it’s not. Whatever is bothering you, you can tell me.”

You’ve known Nancy long enough to know she’s truly trying to help you and is determined to find out what’s wrong. You also know that if you tell her that you’re not ready to talk about it, she’ll drop it and respect your wishes. But you have been itching to talk to someone about everything that’s been going on, and the opportunity presented itself to you on a silver platter. 

“After school?” you ask softly. 

Nancy nods. “I’m putting the finishing touches on a story for the paper. I’ll be in there alone.”

When the bell rings signaling the end of school you find her right where she said she’d be. Bent over a few papers, shuffling them back and forth and inspecting them with a small furrow to her brow. As soon as she sees you, though, she moves her work to the side and gives you her undivided attention.

“What’s up?” she asks. 

Trying to buy every second you have before you open your mouth and start to explain your predicament, you make yourself comfortable on the stool across from your friend and situate your bag between your feet on the floor. There’s no more stalling, you realize, as you continue to shift in your seat though. Deep down you know Nancy will be sympathetic and would never intentionally steer you wrong, it’s just the fact that she won’t get it that’s keeping you from spilling your guts. 

“I’m not interviewing you, you know,” Nancy says, the ghost of a smile dancing on her lips. “You can start whenever.”

“Eddie keeps saying he wants to lift me up.”

The admission just tumbles from your mouth, no preamble, no build-up, just straight to the problem that’s been lying heavy on your heart. 

“Okay…” Nancy drags out the word and she leans in towards you. Clearly, she was expecting more to the story than this. 

“And I told him that he’ll hurt himself and now he’s working out and lifting all these weights to prove that he’s strong enough for it.” For someone who wasn’t sure if they wanted to talk about this to begin with, you’re now word vomiting everywhere. Between the speed of your words and the way they seem to come out before being processed in your mind, you’re strangely reminded of how it is to talk with Robin when she’s flustered over something. The thought has you biting back a smile; maybe now you’d give Robin less grief about talking so fast. 

“Why don’t you just let him try then?” Nancy asks.

An internal scream sounds in your head at her question. Of course she doesn’t understand what the big deal is. It’s not her fault, but you also know there are no words you could use to explain it to her to convey how you feel deep down about it. It’s something you either know from experience or not. 

“You’ve seen the two of us together,” you finally respond, voice measured and quiet. “He’s so slender and has some lean muscle, but not enough to lift my fat ass.”

It’s obvious from the way Nancy does her cute little pout that she doesn’t like your comment.

“You are–”

Here it comes, you think. She’s going to say how pretty I am, even though I didn’t say I was ugly–just fat. 

“–stressing yourself out by thinking about this too much. Let Eddie lift his weights. If you still don’t want him to pick you up, tell him. You know he respects your boundaries.”

It’s not what you expected her to say at all, and you admonish yourself for thinking Nancy would be anything less than logical about this. And her logic is sound. You know she’s right, but the emotional part of your brain still isn’t completely satisfied.  

On your way out of the school after talking with Nancy, you pass the weight room and hear someone inside. You peek in the small window cut into the door and spot your boyfriend’s mass of messy curls. He has a barbell over his hips, thrusting them up and down. The sight alone has your knees feeling weak. The motion of Eddie’s hips has you hypnotized for a few moments before you decide to go in.

Eddie isn’t facing the door and he’s wearing headphones, so he doesn’t hear you as you slip in and close the door behind you. Now you can hear the soft grunts that leave his lips with every thrust, and it has you biting down on your lower lip. When you take a step closer, you can hear the music Eddie’s listening to, the song pounding out past the headphones. Even though Eddie doesn’t know you’re there it’s almost as if he’s trying to seduce you. The hips, the grunts, now he’s listening to Burnin’ Up by Judas Priest? That’s the most often played song while the two of you are having sex. 

Deciding it’s fine if you’re perving a bit on your own boyfriend, you watch him while he does a few more reps. As he begins to slow down and finish up, you move to take a seat on the piece of equipment next to him. Eddie grins when he notices you sitting there and tugs the headphones down so they’re hanging around his neck.

“Hey, baby,” he says. “I’d hug you but I’m all sweaty.”

“It’s sexy.”

Eddie laughs at the blunt way you say it. 

“Really?” he asks.

You nod your head and Eddie takes it as an invitation to come over and sit next to you. He wraps you up in his sweaty arms, teasingly wiping his forehead against the shoulder of your shirt. It makes you laugh and you wrap your arms around his damp middle. The black material of his Ozzy shirt is sticking to his skin–and now yours too.

“Gonna go take a shower,” Eddie says and presses a kiss to your temple. “Then we’ll go get some food, yeah?”

“Sounds perfect.”

The next week you’re over at Eddie’s house, on your back with Eddie on top of you as you make out. There’s a long-forgotten shitty horror movie playing in the background, but the cheesy, shrill screams of the victims don’t even register to either of you. 

Rough calloused hands slide down your shirt, moving from your breasts to the hem of your tee, where it’s riding up. Eddie’s skin on yours has you arching your back as his hands travel upwards again. It’s clear that he wants your shirt off and who are you to deny him?

“Bedroom,” you mumble as you break apart just long enough for you to yank your shirt off. Eddie takes advantage of your quick preoccupation with your clothing to scoop you up in his arms, bridal style. “Eddie!” you squeak.

He just chuckles and squeezes you tighter against his body. 

“Maybe now you’ll let me throw you around when I have to punish you for being a bad girl,” he says, a cocky smirk quirking his kiss-bruised lips. 

“A-Are you okay?” you ask, arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. “You won’t offend me if you have to put me down.” You’re very aware of his lithe body and how it’s supporting your larger one. This has to be hurting him–right?

“Babe.” Eddie chuckles again and shakes his head. “I’ve been lifting weights that weigh at least double what you do. It feels like I’m holding a feather right now.”

Narrowing your eyes at him, you try to determine if he’s lying or not. But the way he holds steady, not seeming to strain or struggle with you in his arms calms your worries. Eddie heads down the hall and carries you into his room and tosses you down on his bed. You land with a bounce and a giggle as he climbs up on top of you. 

His lips attach to your neck as his fingers reach down and fiddle with the button of your jeans. Once it’s popped open and he drags the zipper down, Eddie starts to kiss his way down your body, making sure to press his lips against every part of you that he can. Your chest, your tummy, your hips. When he gets to your jeans, Eddie slides himself off the bed to kneel before you. He makes quick work of getting your pants off and lets out a sinful groan when he sees the wet patch forming on your pale green cotton panties. It encourages Eddie to move even faster as he yanks your underwear off so quickly that you blink and you miss it. 

Eddie dives right in, wasting no time to run his long, talented tongue through your folds. You grip the off-white sheets below you in your fists at his ministrations. The laugh that rumbles through Eddie at your drawn-out groan sends vibrations up your body, only adding to the pleasure. Strong hands wrap around your thighs and pull you even further down the bed so Eddie can get better access to your pussy. His tongue repeatedly flicks over your clit and your eyes practically roll back in your head. Your boyfriend knows exactly how to work you up and bring you to the brink of–

“Hey,” you pout when Eddie pulls back and sits on his heels. “Fuck, Eddie, I was close.”

“I know, angel.” His words are soft and kind despite the mischievous glint in his eye. “But there’s something I need you to do first.”

“What?”

Eddie climbs on the bed and crawls up towards his pillows. He plops flat on his back as he says, “Sit on my face.”

“Eddie,” you say with a breathless laugh. “I’ll crush you.”

“Then I go out doing what I love,” he says with a shrug of his shoulders. “I always told you that you’d be the death of me.” Eddie looks over you with those brown doe eyes and you feel the resolve melting away in your chest. “But seriously, please come here. I already miss how you taste.”

Lifting you was one thing, but this seems like something he couldn’t prepare for by going to the gym. The sincere, pleading look in his eyes tells you that he really wants this, though.

“Are you sure?” you double-check.

“God, yes, please.”

Hesitantly, you shuffle up closer to him and lift yourself up to straddle his face. Bracing your hands on Eddie’s headboard, you still can’t bring yourself to lower your body. Just as you’re about to open your mouth and say something to Eddie, your boyfriend wraps his arms around your thighs and pulls you flush down against his mouth. 

“Fuck,” you groan. You can practically feel Eddie grinning against your dripping pussy as he gets back to work. After a few moments of making sure Eddie isn’t suffocating below you, you start to relax into it and are able to enjoy the sensations of his tongue leisurely licking up and down your heat. A particularly hard lick to your hole has you letting out a gasp and clutching onto the wooden bedframe hard enough to snap it in half.

“Shit, Eddie. A-Almost there.”

He hums in acknowledgment, even though you didn’t need to tell him. Your body was something Eddie was a quick study in; it didn’t take him long to learn all the little quirks and tells your body gives him when you’re getting close to orgasm. 

“Fuck,” you moan between pants as your breaths become shallower. Sweat slicks your skin as you hurdle towards your peak, body a live wire as Eddie works your body just as flawlessly as he does his guitar. “I-I’m coming, Eddie, fuck, I’m coming.”

Eddie tightens his grip on your thighs as your hips rock against his face. His nose brushes against your clit and it shoots a spark through your body, only heightening your pleasure. 

As the high wears off, you feel boneless and collapse down on the bed next to Eddie. He huffs a breath of laughter and raises himself up on an elbow to watch you recover. Satisfied smirk on his face, Eddie wipes his mouth off on the back of his hand. He only gives you a moment longer to catch your breath before he gives you a smack on the ass.

“Hands and knees, baby,” he says. 

Energy not fully recuperated yet, you give him a nod but otherwise don’t move. Eddie’s not having that, though. A strong arm wraps around your waist and yanks you up, causing you to yelp in surprise. As you settle onto your hands and knees like you were told, you peek over your shoulder to see a cocky smirk adorning your boyfriend’s face. He ghosts a feather-light hand up your spine as he leans in to murmur in your ear.

“Told you I’d manhandle you if I needed to.”

There’s hardly enough time for your brain to process his words before he’s yanking your hips backward towards him. The sudden motion has your arms giving out and you drop face-first into his pillow, filling your senses with the citrus-scented shampoo he uses. The husky chuckle that comes from above you lets you know that this is the exact position he wanted you in any way. You let your eyes flutter closed as you revel in the sensation of him dragging his cock up and down your soaked folds. It’s meant to be teasing you–and it is–but you’d be lying if you said the motions didn’t feel amazing.

Eventually, Eddie can’t take his own teasing anymore–he’s so damn hard in his hand now. He lets his cock drag against your clit one last time before he pushes himself into you. A moan gets muffled into Eddie’s pillow as your fingers involuntarily claw at his sheets. If you were facing him, you know you’d see him smirking. The bed begins to squeak as Eddie moves his hips, his own groans tumbling out as he slides further into you with each thrust until he’s finally bottoming out.

“Fuck,” Eddie groans, head falling forward. His hands grip the soft plush skin of your hips hard enough to leave fingerprint-sized marks. You turn your head to keep from suffocating against the pillow, but you know you’d willingly starve yourself of oxygen if it meant Eddie would keep pounding into you like this. “Shit, baby. I’ll never get over how tight you are. God damn, I love your body so fucking much.”

The only response you can manage is a groan, thoughts fleeing from your head with every snap of his hips against yours. His pace begins to pick up and you know he’s getting closer to the edge. But suddenly he pulls completely out of you, leaving you achingly empty. The loss makes you whine as you look over your shoulder at your boyfriend. Words still haven’t come back into your brain yet, so you just questioningly grunt at him, which makes him laugh.

“Don’t worry, baby,” he says. Your eyes track him as he shuffles up the bed until he’s sitting with his back against his headboard. He pats his thigh and winks at you. “Get over here.”

He doesn’t need to ask you twice. Throwing your left leg over his lap, you whimper as you lower yourself slowly onto his angry and leaking cock. The moment you’ve seated yourself on him, he thrusts his hips up into you, causing you to gasp and clutch onto his pale, freckled shoulders to steady yourself. 

“Fuck!” you cry. “Yes, Eddie!”

The smirk that graces Eddie’s beautiful features is so self-satisfied. Normally, you’d come up with a witty quip or bratty action to wipe that look off his face, but the pleasure coursing through your veins leaves you incapable of coherent thought. 

Eddie wraps an arm around your waist and starts bucking his hips wildly up into yours. 

“Shit,” you all but scream as you drop your forehead down to rest on Eddie’s shoulder. “God, Eddie.”

“Think my lifting paid off now, baby?” Eddie asks, smugness dripping in his tone. He chuckles and presses a kiss to your collarbone as you nod and bury your face into his neck.

“Yes,” you mumble against his skin before pulling back so he can understand you. “Yes, shit, your hips are magical.”

A chuckle rumbles through Eddie’s body and he tightens his grip around your waist, holding your body flush up against his. As you feel yourself getting closer and closer to your climax, your fingernails dig into the delicate skin on Eddie’s back.

“You’re so fucking sexy, baby,” Eddie says. When you don’t acknowledge his statement, he tugs on your hair and forces you to look him in the eye. “Jesus Christ, I love your curves. Every single inch of your body. It’s fucking mine. So perfect, holy shit. How’d I get so lucky?”

“All yours,” you confirm, nodding as much as you can with his hand in your hair. “My body is all yours. Every curve, every i-inch. Fuck, I’m close, Eddie.”

“Me too, sweetheart,” Eddie says between labored breaths. “Come with me.”

“O-Okay,” you stutter out in a whisper.

Your orgasm crashes over you, wave after wave of pleasure washes over you as you cling to your boyfriend. The way your walls clench around Eddie’s cock has him coming immediately after you, his hair tickling the skin of your cheek as he drops his head forward to rest against your body. 

“Baby, yes,” Eddie moans as he spills inside of you, hips rutting against yours as he fucks his spend into you. 

When he’s finished, Eddie lifts his head up before dropping it back against his headboard. A satisfied smile is on his lips as he looks at you, rosy cheeks and coated in a sheen of sweat as he tries to catch his breath. Your body collapses against his, breathing just as heavily, and Eddie wastes no time in wrapping both of his arms around you. It’s quiet as the two of you bask in the feelings, both physical and emotional. Eventually, Eddie turns his head and presses a kiss into your hair.

“I love you, baby girl.”

“I love you too, handsome.”

“So,” he starts, dotting soft kisses down the length of your neck, “you gonna let me pick you up now?”

It’s not something you even need to think about. “You can do whatever you want if you fuck me like that again.”

The laugh that Eddie lets out has you smiling against his skin. He brings his hand up and lightly trails his fingers up and down your spine. 

“Glad to hear that,” he says. “I think next I want to try lifting you over my shoulder. You know, like firemen do. How’s that sound?”

The question makes you lift your head up to look your boyfriend in the eye. 

“Only if you wear the uniform, too.”

[brodygold]

From One Football to Another

Jake sat on the empty football field, staring out at the sunset as the final rays of light stretched across the turf. The season had ended, and he was feeling a void in his chest that he couldn’t quite shake. Football had always been his whole world, but now it was over, and he wasn’t sure what came next. His teammates had all scattered, leaving him alone in the quiet stadium, unsure of his next move. His girlfriend Kelsey had also just broken up with him, leaving him feeling even more lost.

“Hey,” a voice called from behind him.

Jake turned to see Captain Richard, the leader of the Golden Army, walking over. Dressed in the unmistakable gold jersey, Richard seemed to exude a calm confidence. The Golden Army was known for being more than just a soccer team—they were like a family. Jake had heard stories about how close-knit they were, but it was still strange seeing Richard out here on the football field.

“Mind if I join you?” Richard asked, motioning to the empty spot next to Jake.

“Sure,” Jake replied, nodding.

Richard sat down beside him, not saying much at first, just gazing out at the horizon. There was a natural ease to him that Jake couldn’t help but admire. After a moment, Richard spoke.

“I heard you’re feeling a little lost now that the season’s over,” he said, his voice gentle, understanding.

Jake let out a long breath. “Yeah. I don’t know what to do next. Football’s been my life for as long as I can remember, and now it’s just... gone. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do.”

Richard smiled softly, looking at him. “That’s a tough feeling. But just because one thing ends doesn’t mean you’re out of options. There’s always a new path to take. You ever think about joining the Golden Army?”

Jake blinked in surprise. He hadn’t expected that. “Me? I don’t know anything about soccer, man.”

Richard chuckled. “It’s not really about the sport. It’s about being part of something bigger than yourself. The Golden Army is more than just a team—it’s a brotherhood. And we’re always looking for new people who can bring heart and passion. You’ve got those in spades.”

Jake shook his head, unsure. “But why me? I’m a football player, not a soccer guy.”

Richard looked at him with a steady gaze. “Because I see someone who’s searching for something, someone with the drive to belong. You’d fit right in with us. And once you put on that gold jersey, trust me, things will change.”

There was something about Richard’s voice that made Jake pause. He’d been feeling so lost, but the idea of starting something new—something where he could be part of a family again—started to feel more appealing. The warmth of Richard’s words stirred something unfamiliar in Jake, but he pushed the thought aside.

“Alright,” Jake said finally. “What’s the next step?”

Richard smiled, standing up. “Come with me. We’ll get you suited up.”

***

In the Golden Army locker room, Jake stood in front of a mirror, watching as Richard handed him a gleaming gold jersey. His name had already been stitched into the back, but not as "Jake."

Richard grinned. “From now on, you’re Blaze. A name that reflects the fire you bring to the team.”

Jake hesitated for a moment, looking at the jersey. He’d always been Jake, always been the straight-laced, straight-shooting football player. But as he slipped the gold jersey over his head, something shifted. The fabric felt like more than just a uniform—it felt like a second skin, a new identity wrapping around him.

When he looked up, he found Richard’s eyes on him, warm and intense. For the first time, Jake felt something he hadn’t expected—a sudden, powerful attraction to the man standing before him. The room seemed to shrink, and all that existed was the closeness between them. He thought he was straight, but any confusion quickly melted away. Jake knew what he needed to do.

Richard took a step closer, and before Jake could stop himself, he closed the distance, capturing Richard’s lips in a kiss. It was gentle at first, hesitant, but then it deepened, full of unspoken desire.

As Jake continued kissing Richard, he realized it felt right. Before the very idea might have repulsed him, but now he couldn’t imagine doing anything else. And for the moment, he wouldn’t.

When they finally pulled away, Richard smiled, his hand resting on Jake’s chest, over the emblem of the Golden Army. “Welcome to the team, Blaze.”

Blaze felt a surge of something he hadn’t anticipated, something that made his heart race and his chest feel light. For the first time in a long while, he wasn’t just part of a team—he was part of something bigger. And, standing there with Richard, he felt like he was finally home. Football season may be over, but he had a new football to play with a new partner.

[wolveria]

The Anomaly Archives - Reality #004

AU of The Raven's Hymn

Pairing: SCP-035 x Reader

Chapter Warnings: Dubious consent, mind sex, tentacle sex, vaginal sex, 035 being 035

AO3

You gasped in a breath and automatically reached for your face. You patted down your forehead, your cheeks, even your nose and mouth. All you felt was sweat-slicked skin, too warm, but you ran hot after waking up.

Normal. Everything was normal. There was no reason to believe otherwise, because nothing ever changed no matter how long they kept you in this room.

Or rather, how long the Site Director kept you in this room. There was really only one man responsible, but you could blame the whole damn Foundation if you liked.

Your daily routine was a simple one: drink water out of the sink, relieve yourself, stretch, eat breakfast, exercise within the limited space, shower, get dressed, and most important of all, ignore the bastard in the center of the room until it was time to take him out.

Until instructed, you refused to look at the pedestal that seemed to mock you no matter where you stood or what angle you viewed it, should you make the mistake of letting your eyes wander.

You could only drag on the morning ritual for so long before they started making demands through the intercom, but at least you had a few moments to yourself before you had to share the privacy of your innermost thoughts with someone who didn’t know the definition of decency, respect, or anything that didn’t directly involve his entertainment.

Instructions were given, and you approached the pedestal and lifted the glass. The porcelain theater mask stared up at you as it always did, greeting you in a wide, jovial smile. It had no teeth, but you imagined them under the surface, bared and eager to sink into exposed flesh.

It was fortunate you were immune to his bites. If anything, you were the muzzle.

As you slipped on the mask, all of the influence it exerted on its environment, seen in the way it leaked black ooze, and unseen in how it eventually enslaved anyone in close proximity, came to an immediate stop.

SCP-035 was now an inert piece of theater costume.

Well, at least to anyone who wasn’t you.

Morning sunshine, he purred from inside your head. Took you long enough. You’re almost thirty seconds late.

“How would you know,” you muttered. You could respond to him completely in your own head, but you hated doing that. Made everything feel more intrusive than it already was, which was a lot, and at least this way you felt a degree less crazy. And having half of the conversation out loud put a barrier of separation between you and showed 035 that he was not welcome in your head.

You would be surprised the things I know.

When you didn’t take the bait, he continued on anyway, because his own voice was reason enough to keep talking.

Take, for example, your little friend with the long hair. Kaiju? Kirby?

“Kenneth.”

Half the time he falls asleep during the overnight observation detail. Richard got a mark on his record for trying to order whale jizz from 294. And Lucy from Pathology Section 3 and Phebe from Comm Sector in Light Containment? They’re definitely fucking.

You blinked—not because interdepartmental sex was going on, or that another idiot had tried to request cum out of the anomalous vending machine, or that Kenneth was once again napping on his shift, but… because of the fact 035 bothered to pay attention.

After a few seconds of thinking, which wasn’t easy when someone sat in your brain trying to metaphorically look over your shoulder to see what you were thinking, you said, “You’re bored.”

No shit.

You slowly paced the length of the cell, looking down at the progress your feet made without truly seeing them.

“I mean, you’re really bored,” you pressed. “And it’s getting to you.”

035 said nothing. That wasn’t a good sign, the bastard always had something to say.

Finally, in a flat tone, he said, There’s only so much petty human drama I can watch. Only so many small, dull lives I can overhear before I feel the incredible urge to crush you all like the pathetic microbes you are. And then, maybe, after I’m done ripping out spinal columns and crushing all that wasted grey matter into paste, I can finally get some fucking silence where I don’t have to listen to every stupid thought that escapes every minuscule brain in this shit-parade!

You waited until he seemed done with his tantrum.

“That bad, huh?”

You sensed the mental equivalent of a sigh.

It’s like a radio receiver that’s tuned into every station and blaring all the channels at once. All 2,518 of them. And they only play shitty music on repeat.

You’d known 035 could tune into people’s thoughts, but you didn’t know he couldn’t control it. That did sound kind of bad.

It is.

“What did I say?” you growled.

Sorry, sweetheart. Old habits.

You rolled your eyes but let it pass. You tried to hold conversations verbally, but sometimes a thought slipped through, and 035 was supposed to ignore errant thoughts and respond only to spoken words.

Funnily enough, most of the time he did follow the agreement. It proved more than anything how bored he was, that he would continue this arrangement and not piss you off too badly, because wearing 035 was the only time he got to connect with senses to experience the world.

Even if it was only from the inside of a concrete cell, that seemed to mean something to him. And ever since you had been accidentally locked in with SCP-049 and the Site Director discovered you had some kind of immunity to SCPs, your life had been one nightmare after another. Test after test, SCP after SCP, and Leahy had settled on permanent residency for you and 035.

Leahy had said it was a containment measure for the mask, not a punishment for you, but it was starting to feel like punishment for you both. Because while 035 had his powers suppressed when you wore him, including no longer having to hear the thoughts of everyone in Site-20, it apparently made it harder for him to ignore them at night when you slept and didn’t wear the mask.

That was the one request Leahy had agreed to. You didn’t want to sleep with the mask on, and the Site Director didn’t seem keen on 035 having access to your body while you were unconscious.

But that was the one allowance you were given. You couldn’t leave the room, or have any visitors, and the only change in routine was when the researchers gave you new questions to ask 035. Whether or not he would answer them seemed to depend on how funny he could make his answer.

You laid on the bed and stared at the ceiling, blowing out a long breath. Without you wearing the mask, ooze would be dripping from his eyes and mouth. He seemed agitated enough that there could have even been a few tentacles sprouting around the room too. They hadn’t made an appearance yet at Site-20, but you’d seen the footage of the Site-19 breach. 035 could turn a room into an inhospitable alien landscape in under an hour.

What if you asked about the TV again? he mused, and you could practically see the finger stroking his chin.

“They won’t go for it.”

I can’t mind-control a fucking TV.

“You think this is easy for me?” you asked sharply, cutting through his bullshit. “That I don’t get bored too?”

You tried to rest your arm over your face, then stopped when you bumped into the mask. Sighing, you folded your hands over your stomach and closed your eyes, but that just made 035’s presence in your head larger, almost tangible, so you opened them again and glared up at the concrete ceiling.

I know you do, darling.

Oh, he was trying for soft and sweet today. That was always entertaining, right up until he remembered it wouldn’t work and his wry sarcasm mocked you for something trivial and petty. That was almost a routine too.

Whatever. He could suck it up and deal with the boredom. It wasn’t as if either if you could change it anyway.

A new round of tests left you hollow and aching, and when you were returned to 035’s cell, you were surprised to find the mask had begun to leak black ooze from its eyes and mouth.

You went straight to the bed, ready to curl up for a nap, but the intercom ordered you to put on the mask. It must have still been the day cycle then, and you begrudgingly lifted the glass. You’d already tested what would happen if you disobeyed orders, and the last time you’d refused to wear the mask, the floor had been electrified and shocked you straight through your thin socks.

So, you wouldn’t be doing that again. As soon as you touched the mask, the black ooze vanished as if evaporated away. Wearily, you placed the ceramic piece against your face, and once it stuck, you laid down on your meager bed and shut your eyes.

“Don’t,” you muttered, sensing 035 nudging at your thoughts.

You’ve been gone for two days, love. Can’t blame me for being worried.

Had it been so long? That explained the ooze.

Oh, yes, I wept for your return, but the cruel jailors wouldn’t return you to me.

You stayed quiet and stared blankly at the wall.

Not even going to engage me in witty banter?

“No.”

All you could see was a young girl, kept alone in isolation, crying when you were eventually ordered to leave. You couldn’t even promise her you’d come back.

You know, it’s only the two of us, so it’s quite rude to—

“Fuck off.”

035 went silent, and he stayed that way. You couldn’t remember a time when he’d actually listened to you, and you savored it, eyes fixed on the wall as you let the hollowness eat at you in a way 035’s secretions never could.

After the second round of tests, you stumbled into 035’s chamber, catching yourself on the pedestal as your knees wobbled. Your neck ached, the bandage around it old, soft linen. You guessed it had come from 049’s bag, as you’d woken up on his autopsy table, your last memory of SCP-173 staring at the corner before you’d been forced to lower a blinded helmet over your head.

049’s soft gaze was a surprise, and his concern followed you as he was forced into the inner chamber, security taking you away, back to 035’s cell. Whatever 173 had done to you, it was bad enough the Site Director had ordered 049 to medically treat you.

You hadn’t even had time to thank him before they’d dragged you away, and you felt sick, your eyes shut tight against the images. It wasn’t only 173 that haunted you. 106’s leering grin and the hunger in his eyes lingered on your flesh, and all you wanted to do was take a shower.

But 035’s mask was leaking worse than last time, and after being ordered through the intercom again, you placed the mask on your face and crawled into bed, pulling the blankets up to your chin.

The first tremble was mild, but it was followed by another, and another, until you were a shaking mess, biting the blanket so you wouldn’t whimper.

Shhhh.

You automatically balked against the presence in your head, but 035 didn’t barge in with his intruding presence as he usually did. He was being careful, almost gentle, and if you’d been in a better frame of mind you would have told him to fuck off again.

Instead, when something warmed your cheek, like a caressing hand, you closed your eyes and relented. It felt… surprisingly good.

That’s it, 035 crooned softly. You have nothing to fear now.

But you did. The staircase that led downward with no end. The crying man who wasn’t really a man. 173 with its incurable hatred, and 106 with his more calculating version of the same wish to tear you apart.

The staircase can’t move, Skinny doesn’t want to hurt you, and the other two assholes can’t. Although, it looks like Peanut gave it the old college try.

“Who?”

You’re safe here, he reaffirmed, ignoring you. Another sensation joined the warmth on your cheek—a ripple down your spine, like someone was petting a hand down your back.

You thought about shaking it off, you didn’t know how 035 was touching you like this, and it should freak you out. But it felt nice, and if he tried anything weird, you could always take off the mask. That would be the worst kind of punishment for him, being cut off from all physical sensation, so you knew he would behave.

Safe as houses, he added, his voice low and smooth. You’d been so accustomed to his over-the-top showmanship that it was strange to hear him talk like this. Almost normal.

Safe as houses. You’d never really understood that phrase.

Me neither. Houses can have termites, black mold, or explode to a natural gas leak that has already killed the entire family—

“You’re not helping,” you said out loud, and you could practically feel 035’s smugness.

You’re not shaking anymore.

It was true.

Bastard.

The third experiment—which hadn’t been a test at all but a failed execution order—left you nauseous and bleary-eyed. You thought your blurred vision was deceiving you, but as you drew closer, you realized your eyes weren’t playing tricks.

Thick black viscous liquid trailed down the pedestal to the floor, worse than any other time you’d left, and you hadn’t been gone more than a few hours.

The light was dim, indicating the night cycle, but you didn’t wait for the intercom instruction. By the advanced state of decay leaking from the mask, you figured they would break the routine of giving you a nighttime respite

That was fine. Right now, you didn’t want to be alone, even if your only company was a sarcastic disembodied voice that couldn’t take anything seriously.

Just as before, as soon as you touched the mask the ooze vanished from its polished, white surface, but the oily substance dripping down the pedestal stained its surface. They would have to send D-Class in tomorrow in biohazard suits to clean up the mess, but that wasn’t your problem.

035’s presence filled your mind, and though you would never admit it, it was better than being alone. You curled up on the bed over the covers, shivering and too hot at the same time.

Mmm, 035 hummed in your head. I always suspected they’d kept 682 alive. He’s very hard to kill.

“So I’ve heard,” you said dryly, your voice muffled by the sheets. You shuddered, and by the intensity of it you knew there would be more following. You couldn’t get it out of your head, seeing the reptile anomaly being ripped apart and stretched inside-out again and again.

He was still there, right now, endearing torture that would destroy anyone after a few seconds. Maybe you should have tried. Maybe killing him would have been the merciful thing—

None of that.

Just as before, you sensed the warmth layering over your skin, soothing an ache you didn’t understand.

“035…”

You’re wound too tight. You’re gonna snap one of these days, and trust me, that’s going to suck for both of us.

You frowned. What did that mean?

Just… let me try something. If you hate it, you can dash me against the wall and step on me.

“You’d like that.”

He laughed. It reverberated through you in a funny, tingling sensation.

Come on, he said, warmth in his voice that actually felt genuine. What’s the worst that can happen?

A shit ton, for starters.

“You’re not taking over my body.”

Nah. You’ll have full control.

The warm ripple moved up your back again, and you closed your eyes as you tried not to shiver.

Just more of that. A simple massage, that’s all. I promise.

You didn’t respond, shifting onto your back to stare at the ceiling. This was a bad idea.

That’s how you know it’ll be good.

“That doesn’t even make sense!”

035 let the silence stretch between you, and okay, maybe he had a point about being so fucking stressed you were probably going to maul the next person you laid eyes on.

“Fine,” you said in a quiet huff. “But stop when I say. And don’t get weird.”

Yes, sir. Right away, sir.

You rolled your eyes but then closed them, resting the back of your wrist at the top of your head since you couldn’t touch your face. You imagined 035 would start gradually, like any normal fucking person would when giving a massage, and that was your first mistake.

Heat flooded through your body in a wave, like a dozen vague hands were caressing your skin under your clothes, and you nearly kicked the blanket off the bed.

You hissed through your teeth, “S-slow down!” trying to keep it at a whisper so you wouldn’t draw attention from the other side of the observation glass.

They’re not paying attention, 035 said, amusement laced in his words. Was that too much for you, sweetheart?

You glared up at the ceiling. He would get your point.

He sighed, and the intense feeling floated away, replaced by something more pinpointed and focused. It was scattered at first, and then solidified into what felt like a hand on your arm. You had to looked down to make sure someone wasn’t actually touching you, but you were still physically alone in the room.

“It feels… real,” you said doubtfully.

It is, he agreed. In a way. The only reason you feel anything by touch is due to synapses in your brain. I’m simply plucking away at them. I used to be quite the harpsichord player. It’s no different than that, if one knows what they’re doing.

“Uh-huh,” you muttered under your breath. It was getting harder to pay attention when a second “hand” joined the first, both of them rubbing up and down your arms. You didn’t think playing an instrument could possibly be the same as playing with someone’s brain, and you really shouldn’t be letting him do this, but…

But…

Relax, he purred. This won’t work otherwise.

You blew out a breath and let your eyes close again. It did feel really good, and he was keeping his hands—for lack of a better word—in the safe zones.

But it didn’t feel entirely safe the way the hands wrapped around your throat, and you tensed, but his touch remained gentle. He kneaded the nape of your neck, and you melted like warm butter, tilting back your head as if he needed a better angle.

Something… changed. Like a switch being flipped. You’d thought it felt real before, but it paled in comparison as a weight settled over you, a warm body pressing you into the thin mattress. His hands traveled upward to cup your face, not letting you move as his mouth covered yours.

You froze, afraid for a moment that someone else was there, had slipped into the room when you weren’t paying attention, but you could breathe through the kiss. No one was actually there, it was only him.

Before you could panic, 035 broke the kiss, but he didn’t let you go or move off of you.

Don’t open your eyes, he whispered across your thoughts. Don’t break the illusion.

You sensed what he wasn’t saying. Once in a while, emotions would bleed through the barrier, much more easily from your side than his. But sometimes, when he was feeling particularly strong about something, you caught a glimpse of it. Normally what you felt from him was rage at being imprisoned, but this wasn’t that, and the force of it hit you like a storm.

Aching, yearning, desire always denied, it slammed into you and through you, leaving you bare and open.

This time, when he kissed you, you didn’t reject it.

Warmth settled over and around you, leaving you surrounded by sensation on all sides. It was good, really good, but it wasn’t enough. You needed more of that sensation, enough to drown out the fear and loneliness and isolation. You wanted to feel safe.

You’re safe with me, he said, reading your thoughts as fast as you could think them. No one will touch you again.

You could almost believe it. Wanted to believe it. But he had no more control over the tests than you did.

Let me worry about that, he purred, the words caressing over your mind. You really should yell at him for continually reading your thoughts, but you were preoccupied by the unseen pressure of hands on your hips.

Your clothes weren’t really a barrier, but you still wanted them off. Slipping under the covers, you yanked down your leggings and underwear, and hiked up your gown so it bunched around your waist.

035 didn’t need another invitation; pressure delved between your legs, focused and intense, and you grit your teeth to keep from making a noise. So many sensations at once, too many to parse, like there were fingers plying you apart and a mouth latched over your clit, while something else prodded at your entrance.

It was too much but you still spread your legs wide, fisting the sheets for something to hold onto.

That’s it, sweetheart, the honeyed voice whispered in your ear. Surrender to me…

Even while being fingered and eaten out and about to be fucked by something that felt like a cock, you held onto your mental defenses. He could have your body, but he couldn’t have you. 035 wasn’t like most of the other SCPs, most of which were rendered powerless at your touch.

035 was bridled when you wore him, but he wasn’t powerless, even now. He was different from the rest, and you suspected out of all of the anomalies in the facility, he was the most dangerous. Whatever he was, he wasn’t just an SCP—no matter how much he pretended he was only a sentient mask.

Your thoughts were wandering again, and you sensed his amusement at trying to keep him out even while you groaned softly at the back of your throat. You were dripping into the bedspread, so wet you could hear it as he played with you, keeping you just at the edge and not allowing you to spill over.

“035…”

That’s not my name.

You trembled as he dragged his “tongue” along your clit, the prodding pressure at your entrance unbearably teasing.

“I don’t… know your name,” you choked out.

Do you want to?

No. Maybe. You didn’t know—

You trembled as he delivered a cruel flick to your clit, and then you groaned in frustration as he pulled away almost entirely. The pressure of fingers spreading your labia kept you suspended in trembling anticipation, but the sensations on your clit and entrance were gone. So was the comforting weight on your body.

You broke out into a sweat, grinding your teeth so you wouldn’t beg him to continue, but it didn’t matter if you stayed silent with how you were broadcasting desperation in every thought.

“Fine,” you gasped aloud. “Tell me your name.”

Anything to get that feeling back, for him to stop teasing you and finish what he started, but you sensed him hovering just out of reach—you could almost see the amused smile behind the mask.

Even though your eyes were already closed, you squeezed them shut.

Please?

Your silent plea reverberated back at you with a sense of satisfaction, along with a wave of desire that was poorly disguised. At least you weren’t the only one whose emotions kept leaking through the mental barriers.

The weight on your body returned, and heat warmed the side of your face as 035 whispered in your ear.

Dýo.

Something massive pushed against your entrance, and then breached it with a determined thrust. You opened your mouth to cry out, but 035 gripped your jaw and forced it closed as you twitched against his hold. And he was holding you down, trapped against the bed as he slid further inside, stretching you open until you thought you’d go crazy.

You tried to close your legs on reflex, but your ankles were pressed firmly to the mattress, along with your wrists, by something flexible and strong. And when they touched your skin, there wasn’t just pressure, there was texture and real heat.

Panic shot through you like a jolt, and you opened your eyes, twisting your head down to look at yourself. The covers blocked your view, but you could see the shape of flexible appendages holding you down. 035 shouldn’t be able to summon them while you were wearing him, and they only appeared during advanced stages of decay.

Shhh, he hushed you in what might have been a genuine attempt to comfort except for the mockery on the edges. I said you were safe. I wouldn’t lie about that.

You opened your mouth to shout in warning to whoever was in the observation room, but a scarlet tentacle shot out from under the covers and delved between your lips, forcing its way past your teeth, too far as you choked on it.

Another tentacle slithered up your cheek and over your eyes, forcing your head back down onto the pillow and smothering you in darkness. Claustrophobic terror surged inside you as you struggled not to gag.

The tentacle in your mouth slid out immediately and you gasped for breath, tears springing in the corners of your eyes.

I didn’t want to do that. He sounded oddly irritated; how funny your roles had been reversed. But you make every damn thing so difficult, Reid.

The heavy pressure inside you began to retract, and you immediately regretted the loss and reached out, wanting to be filled again, the emptiness making everything worse.

A deep, primordial growl echoed in your mind before he thrust back inside, pressure digging into your hips as if he actually held you there. And he didn’t stop, his rhythm picking up until you were being repeatedly fucked into the mattress, or at least it felt that way even if your body didn’t move an inch.

Your eyes rolled into your head, the ecstatic sensations pulsing through you so deep you feared you might be torn apart. The tentacle that had been in your mouth now grasped you lightly around the throat, and you arched your spine, silently begging for more.

More tentacles slithered up the bed and over your skin, around your legs and stomach and arms, even across your chest to tease your nipples with the deftness of a very flexible tongue.

And then a tentacle thicker than the others slid up your thigh, pushed between your legs, and forced its way inside, its smooth surface joining 035’s thrusts along your walls, fucking you bodily as well as mentally.

035 stopped talking a while ago, but you felt him entrenched just as deeply in your thoughts, wrapped around you so completely that it was an orgasmic sensation all on its own. You were glad you hadn’t known what this was like, otherwise you might have begged for it at the start.

You sensed his need, urging you to come apart, to give yourself to him. A tiny shred of resistance remained as you tried to hold on to your self, your identity.

The tentacle pulsed and squirmed inside you, phantom teeth nipped at your throat, and you shattered, breaking apart into a million tiny shards as you silently cried his true name in a litany of pleasure and surrender. It wasn’t intentional, but it was inevitable. All you wanted was for the bliss to continue, to never end, and 035’s presence wrapped and twisted around you until you couldn’t tell the difference between your thoughts and his. All that remained was sparking heat and ecstatic sensation.

The orgasm dragged on, tugging you past your limits as you twitched with overstimulation, and the pleasure you sensed wasn’t just yours. 035 also felt sluggish and heavy, as if your climax had hit him just as hard.

The tentacles gradually retreated as did the pressure splitting you open, and you whined at the absence. You were drenched in your own slick, and you really should get up to clean yourself, but you didn’t have an ounce of energy left.

Something coiled around you, but when you blinked your eyes open, there was nothing there. 035 had wrapped around your mind like a satisfied cat—or a constricting snake.

I’ll take care of everything, he lulled with his low whispers. Sleep.

Sleep sounded like a great idea, and also a terrible one. You really should take off the mask, but instead, you closed your eyes and basked in 035’s presence. Normally intrusive and cloying, his closeness was oddly comforting. Secure.

You couldn’t trust him, not ever, but as you closed your eyes, you allowed yourself to open up to him. Just a little.

Alarms blared from a great distance, slowly becoming louder and louder until they ricocheted in your skull. Your eyes blinked open, or… were already open, and you winced at the flashing emergency lights over your head.

You were holding something heavy in one hand, and when you looked down, the blank, lifeless gaze of a guard stared back at you.

Dropping the body, you shuddered backwards, confused and panicked. You were in a corridor somewhere, Light Containment by the looks of it. You wanted to shut your eyes, not against the pulsing lights but at the bodies strewn across the tile like broken toys.

Only then did you realize you weren’t seeing the whole picture—literally, your vision partially obscured as if you were looking through something. Your hands tried to touch your face, but smooth porcelain blocked your fingers.

“035,” you whispered, horror strangling your words. “What did you do?”

Your hands jerked away from your face, clumsy and uncoordinated, and you instinctually fought against it. But the presence looming in your mind was too large, and he quickly wrested back control, his movements smooth as he used your body to pick up a guard’s rifle at your feet.

He cradled the weapon in one hand, using the other to pull a level 4 security keycard from the fallen guard. He glanced at the card before twirling it between his-your fingers and pocketed it into the lap coat you were apparently wearing.

A grin spread across your face, so wide and obscene it made your cheeks ache. You fought against his hold, but his tether within your body was too strong.

035 attempted to soothe you, like someone petting an agitated animal, and you wished you could bite. His amusement was patronizing and unnecessary; you both knew you couldn’t break free. You had surrendered to him, let your guard down, and he’d finally gotten what he desired.

“I think the question is…” He spoke using your mouth, your voice layered with another underneath, silky and sinister. “What are we doing?”

His grin spread wide.

“Whatever the hell we want.”

Next Entry

[urfavoritedcwhore]

Not sure if you are up for that but i would love to read the break up from Henry’s POV …

oh pookie yk i’m always up for a good henry pov

break//henry winter x reader fanfic (henry’s pov)

if you haven’t already, go read y/n’s pov loves!!

warnings: swearing, alcohol

not proof read

Yet another dinner at the twins apartment, a space brimming with laughter and drunken revelry. Bunny is in full swing, bickering with me over some triviality, my attention is consumed him. I can hear y/n beside me as she holds on to my arm, her laughter, bright and infectious, pierces through the din. The atmosphere is deceptively buoyant, yet I’m acutely aware of its fragility. Though listening to bunny’s ramblings pain me, knowing that I have the women on my arm that I love brings me some sense of peace. As the night progresses and the drinks continue to flow, I find myself feeling the warmth of the alcohol in my chest. I don’t even realize at first when y/n slips away from me, i’m too engulfed in my conversation with bunny. I suppose in the back of my mind I know she’s slipped away, I can’t feel her warm grip on my arm anymore and her laughter sounds further away. I know Camilla has most likely stolen her away to discuss something, or perhaps to just have a glass of wine with her; But y/n doesn’t drink wine, she drinks scotch. A small glass with ice and lime, she thinks I pour it straight for her but I always dilute it with a bit of club soda. That’s besides the point however. The point is that Camilla simply wouldn’t steal her away when there’s no scotch left. She knows just as well as I do y/n doesn’t drink wine, and they only seem to talk while they’re having a drink together. As my mind continues to conjure up what they could be doing bunny’s words suddenly strike through my thoughts. I raise an eyebrow, not hearing what he said only the teasing tone he said it in. He nods forward looking over my shoulder with a grin, “looks like the old man is taking your girl for a spin.”, he says with a drunken chuckle. My eyebrows furrow in confusion before I turn my body towards where his gaze is pointed. Richard and y/n are in the open space of the living room, drunkenly swaying to the music from the record player. They dance together, Richard’s hands resting too comfortably at her waist. It’s absurd, I know, but the sight ignites a sense of urgency within me. I know I should dismiss it as harmless fun, but I can’t.

I feel any ounce of my inebriation wash away. I’m utterly sober in this moment. I stand wordlessly for a moment before finally speaking up, my tone sharper than intended, “that’s enough y/n. let’s go now.”. Y/n chuckles, disentangling herself from Richard and stumbling toward me. “That was fun, old man. Let’s do it again sometime!” The way she adopts Bunny's vocabulary is grating. I drape my arm around her waist, my grip tight, and turn us around, walking us toward the door. I call out my goodbyes, dragging her along before anyone can even respond. As we make our way down the hall, her laughter rings in my ears, but I keep my eyes focused ahead. Her drunken giggles don’t mask the irritation simmering beneath the surface. I can feel my grip on her waist tightening involuntarily, a mix of possessiveness and frustration swirling inside me. She seems blissfully unaware, lost in the moment, and it drives me mad. I whisper to myself a quote from Dante’s Inferno that seems to fit quite well to the situation I find myself in while keeping my eyes straight. I see her up at me slightly, “huh?”, she asks almost like a child who doesn’t understand a school lesson. I take a breath and repeat myself, “I said, ‘there are two reasons for evil deeds, one is illness, the other is wickedness.’”. She’s silent for a moment as we get into the elevator. I keep my eyes on the doors as they shut, eager to get away from this damned situation. From the corner of my eye i see her head tilt as she looks up at me, “Dante’s inferno. Canto 11, Dante discusses the nature of sin and the motivations behind evil deeds.”, she says. She sounds almost proud she knows the quote. To be quite honest, I feel a twinge of pride as well, though I make sure not to show it. After all, i’m the one who gave her a copy of that book. I simply nod once in response.

The elevator doors finally reopen. I walk out, my grip on her waist still firm. If she wasn’t drunk I’m sure she’d be saying something about how I always, “forget my own strength”, and how she’ll, “probably have bruises in the shape of my fingers tomorrow!”. This thought makes me loosen my grip slightly, I don’t want to hurt her physically, not even when i’m as mad as i am right now. She speaks again as we walk out of the elevator and into the lobby, “why are you quoting Dante to me?”, the innocence in her voice only frustrates me further. I don’t answer, I only continue to walk towards the doors. As we exit the apartment complex, I let go of her waist; The cool air hits me, sharp and refreshing, yet it does little to clear my mind. I don’t bother to open her door when we approach my car, she can do it herself. I open my own door instead and sit myself in the drivers seat. She doesn’t follow immediately, but i choose to not look at her. Approximately 15 seconds go by before the passenger door opens, and I feel the car shift slightly as she drunkenly plops into her seat. I snap my head to her, I force the words out, “So which are you, Y/N? Are you mentally ill or simply wicked?” It’s a question I know is harsh, but I need to understand why she danced with Richard, why she doesn’t see how it looks. Her surprise cuts through me, “excuse me?”, she asks, I can tell my words have sobered her up slightly. I start the car and turn my head back forward as I back out of my parking space. I press on, driving the point home. “Did you embarrass me because there’s something mentally wrong with you, or did you do it just to be wicked?” Her disbelief stings. “Are you joking?” she asks, and I can hear the hurt in her voice. I scoff, but deep down I’m wrestling with the fear that this might be more than just a misunderstanding. I steal a glance at Y/N, confusion etched on her face. “Are you joking?” she asks, her voice tinged with offense. I can feel the irritation bubbling beneath my skin, but I keep my focus on the road, unwilling to let her see just how much this bothers me. “Good God,” she continues, “he’s homosexual, Henry.” Her dismissal stings, but I can’t let it show. “So there is something mentally wrong with you then,” I retort, my voice sharper than I intend. “You don’t see the way he looks at you all the time? Y/N, he practically salivates over you.” The words slip out, laced with a mixture of annoyance and anger. She shakes her head, disbelief written all over her features. I can feel the tension in the car tightening, the air thick with unspoken words. As we drive toward campus, I can sense her confusion. “Why are you driving to campus?” she asks, and I keep my eyes trained on the road, determined not to falter. “I’m taking you to your dorm.”, I reply, forcing a sense of finality into my tone. She should understand this, we’re clearly on the way towards Monmouth house. But inside, I’m wrestling with my own emotions, the weight of my jealousy heavy on my chest. I know I’m being unreasonable, but the sight of her dancing with Richard, the way they swayed together as if it were the most natural thing in the world, has ignited a fire in me I can’t control. She deserves to understand the implications of her actions, and yet here I am, driving her away from me. “why aren’t we going to your apartment?”, she asks, her tone dropping from anger to a childlike innocence. I sigh, she needs to understand that I can’t be embarrassed like this, that she can’t act as if she’s single. I take a moment to collect my thoughts, not letting myself speak until we reach her dormitory building and park. “I need to not be around you right now y/n.”, I say flatly, feeling my resolve harden. That is, until I look at her. The way her face falls hits me harder than I expected. “I don’t want to go to my dorm… I want to go back to your apartment.” Her voice is almost a whisper, and it makes me feel like I’m suffocating.

I want to reach out, but I can’t. “I think it best if we spend some time apart. I cannot continue to be constantly worried about you going off with another man.” The words feel like a knife twisting in my gut, but they’re necessary. When her eyes glisten with unshed tears, I realize I’ve crossed a line. “What do you mean by ‘time apart’?” she asks, voice trembling. “Are you breaking up with me?”. “If that’s what you need me to call it, then I suppose. Though I would rather just call it a break for right now.” I force myself to keep my tone even, to hide the turmoil within. Don’t let her see your emotions, Don’t let her see your emotions. I watch her face shift as she processes my words, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion. I can see the moment the realization hits—her breath catches. I want to reach out, to soften the blow, but the jealousy tightens its grip on me. I see a tear escape down her cheek. She nods, quickly wiping it away, trying to regain her composure, I assume. “Fine. If that’s what you want,” she replies, her voice steady but laced with hurt. I glance back to the windshield, forcing myself to stay focused. “It is,” I say, my tone clipped and matter-of-fact. I can feel her pain in the air between us, but I can't let it show. I take a deep breath, steeling myself against the weight of what I’ve said. I watch her from the corner of my eye. In the fleeting moment when her expression softens, I can see the vulnerability beneath her bravado. But just as quickly, she wipes it away, unbuckling her seatbelt with determination. “Fine then.”. She opens the car door, stepping out into the night, and the sound of it slamming shut reverberates through me like a finality I hadn’t anticipated. I want to call her back, to explain that this isn’t what I truly want, but the words feel stuck in my throat. Instead, I sit in the car, the silence heavy, knowing I might have just lost her.

[upon-sunflower-trails]

love, well i've waited for you... (part 13)

richard hayden x fem reader | 1016 words

work below the cut

prev | next

Your eyes opened slowly as Richard began to shift in his sleep. Your face flushed red yet again, not wanting to move, hoping he somehow wouldn't notice an entire being cuddling with him.

Cuddling. You were cuddling the man you went to high school with! God, this was so unprofessional...

"... Um... Y/N?" Richard whispered. His voice was slightly husky as he looked to you.

You sucked in a breath, the awkwardness of the situation now registering. "Yeah?" your voice wavered.

You watched as Richard's eyes widened before he shot away from you, babbling on anxiously as he got up. You rubbed your eyes groggily, in disbelief of how flustered the usually-composed man in front of you was becoming.

"... And so, I need to go get ready to... Yeah, for our next sale! So. Yeah!" he exclaimed, rushing into the bathroom quickly. You just shook your head in disbelief, turning to Tommy, who still appeared to be sleeping.

You got up, approaching the man as you gently shook him. "Tommy! C'mon, it's time to get up. We've got another big travelling day today."

The man stirred, clutching something in his hand before snapping awake completely. As he looked up at you, a devilish smirk made its way onto his face.

"Hey, Y/N.... How'd ya sleep?" Tommy cooed, catching you off guard. Your face flushed, averting your eyes hastily.

"Uh... fine, Tommy. I feel great!" He snorted at your flustered state.

Tommy suddenly handed the object in his hand over to you, still smirking. "I’m sure you do. Make sure you put that somewhere safe."

The man got up off the bed, all coyness suddenly gone as he rummaged through the fridge for breakfast. You looked down to find what Tommy had given you was a Polaroid of you and Richard... sleeping together......

All heat in your body immediately rushed to your face as you hurried to stash the picture somewhere in your luggage that Richard couldn't find.

Richard came out of the bathroom, still slightly messing with his hair. "What's goin' on, guys?" he smiled at you as the redness in your cheeks became even more apparent.

Your eyes widened as you shouted, "Let's get on the road!"

You were stuck in the back seat next to Richard as Tommy happily drove, humming along to whatever cassette tape you had put in during last night's drive.

Tommy had insisted on putting all of the luggage into the passenger seat as he drove, forcing you and Richard to sit next to each other. You were sure Richard hadn't picked up on his scheme, but you were acutely aware of what game the son of Callahan was playing.

So now here you were, crammed next to Richard as you tried to look out the... well, thanks to the deer, the car was now forcibly turned into a convertible. There were no windows to look out of!

Tommy tried to make idle conversation, but all you could focus on was the way Richard's hand would brush against yours, or how his eyes twinkled as he looked at the scenery.

Fuck. What was going on with you?!

You had known Richard Hayden since high school, why were you thinking of him like this? Your thoughts continued to rattle around in your head as Tommy pulled in to another gas station.

"Alright, last stop before we hit all of our Wisconsin locations! I’m gonna go and do a snack run," Tommy giggled before leaping out of the car, nearly tripping over himself as he ran away. You simply rubbed your temples, laughing faintly.

Richard slipped out of the car, looking over at your hunched form. "Y/N..? You doing okay?" His voice was more tender than usual, your head immediately snapping up to meet the man's gaze.

"Oh, yeah, I’m great! Sorry, the constant road tripping is finally getting to me, I guess! Don't worry about me!"

You simply got another look of concern before Richard opened the car door for you, offering his hand to help you out. You reluctantly took it, your mixed emotions taking over. He gently pulled you out of the car, still gazing at you worriedly.

"Y/N, you've been acting off throughout the entirety of today's car ride... Was it about, uh, last night?"

Your heart nearly stopped at the mention of the night before. You felt like your ears were going to start ringing before Richard went on with his talking.

"If so, I’m really, really sorry. The last thing I want to do is make this trip awkward for you. I know you've always been very clear about setting your boundaries and I... don't want you to feel like I disrespected you at all. It was just a subconscious thing I did in my sleep, I guess, it wasn't intentional at all! I’m sorry," he continued to ramble, shutting down your incoherent thoughts as you giggled.

You squeezed the man's hand, which was still in yours. "Richard, you're sweet," you sighed. "I am fine! No harm done, alright? Just forget about it and keep this momentum of selling shit going!" you beamed at him, trying your best to shake off the elation in your heart at how relieved he looked.

Tommy came barreling back out just as soon as he had left, causing you to suddenly rip your hand away from Richard's. Tommy juggled bags full of snacks while walking towards the two of you, earning guffaws and jeers from both you and Richard.

"C'mon, guys, I was trying to help out! I figured we were all hungry!!!" he protested. Richard rolled his eyes, shouting, "Maybe you should think with your brain and not your stomach for once, genius!"

You smiled watching the two men banter back and forth. You tried to reassure yourself that things were back to normal now, and that all of those strange feelings you had been having towards Richard since this morning were resolved by his apology.

And yet, as you slipped back into the backseat with the man, you could once again feel your heart skip a beat.

[phoebehalliwell]

Out of curiosity, (code: I want to drag someone into alt next gen hyperfixation hell with me and you are like the og alt next gen Charmed blogger, y'know?) do you have any thoughts on what kids of the following pairings would end up like? Piper/Coop, Paige/Andy, Prue/Drake, or Phoebe/Simon Marks? (110% fine if you don't wanna dream up some new kiddos, I'm just currently spinning around in circles yelling about alt next gen potential and it's been a minute since someone forcibly threw an alternative next gen thing at you, I think?)

wait omg awwwww 💕💞💕💞💕💞💕💞💕💞 also yayyy fun okay okay

so i got to piper & coop and paige & andy. there's 1k words about it under the cut ❤️❤️❤️ but the long and the short of it is

piper/coop

juliet halliwell (temporal manipulation, beaming, sensing love)

esme halliwell (photokinesis, electrokinesis, pyrokinesis, beaming, sensing love)

venus halliwell (empathy, beaming, sensing love

paige/andy

clementine trudeau (empathy, premonition, orbing, telekinetic orbing)

sienna trudeau (orbing, telekineis, telekinetic orbing, healing)

ruby garcia trudeau (nyehehehehehehe)

piper/coop i think would def have three kids and i feel like would maybe be named after different iconic lovers? like coop is obvi a cupid and piper canonically loves rom coms and i think also romance novels so like. i think maybe in a world where we scrap the richard intro episode which was obvs a romeo and juliet allusion and instead create an episode where the pain shared by romeo juliet and everyone else in their families so on and so forth creates a Curse the lover's curse where whenever a feud akin to that form romeo and juliet are essentially reborn, destined to fall in love, and, ultimately, die (thus triggering the end of the feud). so these two spirits just keep getting born over and over again and they keep kind of unlocking the memories blah blah blah and idk maybe coop finds them bc love is his deal and they all save the day the point is we're naming the baby juliet. why tho? like. if she's really just a one off person we helped. i mean, yes, also, juliet of romeo and juliet, but, still, only a person we met once. so let's say that in this au they were witches. or maybe just juliet was. so she cast magic that caught coop or tco's radar. and idk maybe we're very worried about piper's baby. and there's a side plot about that. something bad has happened / is happening idk. and juliet after breaking the curse is thanking piper. then! we are attacked by piper's b plot! juliet saves piper. uses her final words to thank her bc now the curse is broken and i can finally move on instead of being reborn into this cursed life. also, i'm healing ur baby. or i'm seeing into the future about her or something. then idk she turns into butterflies whoosh magical death. and piper's trying to name her firstborn she's holding her and then a little butterfly lands on the baby's nose and the baby cooes as if in recognition BOOM welcome juliet halliwell. her power's included temporal manipulation (she can slow time down "to slip in between the heartbeats" as we see cupid do in heartbreak city and she can freeze time (kind of) like her mama. she cannot move backwards in time (yet)). she can also beam and sense love. the next daughter will be from the plot from piper's favorite book she read as a child that she and coop will get sucked into for an episode (maybe one where they're experience love troubles) and it will help reconnect piper with the concept of love and the first story that really had her wishing to be in love and will help coop understand piper's point of view. the next daughter will be named esme halliwell, after the name of the main charcter in that story. she has fire/lightning/light powers, fire as displayed by p russell (and phoebe) in the line and lightning by the evil enchantress who i do headcanon as a distant ancestor of theirs bc of the whole. you know. paige. is her. thing. and then light powers we sometimes see them do. idk. she can also beam and sense love. the third daughter is gonna conincide with an astrological episode where some demon is trying to warp some astral aligning for evil but the charmed ones stop them and save the day!! look at how beautiful. what's that one star rising so brightly right there? oh, it's venus. meet venus halliwell is an empath (with the empath extension pack ability to impact other people's moods by touching them / being close enough to them) who through that power also unlocks deflection and mimicry. can also beam and sense love.

paige/andy it's not gonna be as detailed as the pipercoop one lol. [a/n: as it turns out i was lying :3] this will be the base text we're using. first born we're going to do an episode tensions have been building between paige and andy because of paige's issues with motherhood and what it means to be a mom and maybe it's a muses episode or a trapped in a painting episode the point is there's something artsy paige is trapped in and she has to create something to get herself out of there meanwhile andy is on the outside fighting to get her out and realizing that they are always stronger together and their fight is stupid blah blah blah. paige makes. a painting. she has to find The Color that is the key to getting her out. it's the color that she uses painting one of her first moments with andy (a paige/henry knockoff) their first stakeout, which is also somewhat tied to a bet. they've been waiting in the car for hours, it's sunset now and the sky is tinged orange and andy's peeled her some baby oranges bc she's complaining about being hungry so on and so forth. paige is freed. andy sees her painting. and the daughter is named clementine trudeau. empathy, premonitions, orbing, telekinetic orbing (but really only on things in her line of sight. maybe we do a color theme for this one. their next daughter is named sienna trudeau. i can't reasonably tell you why so we'll say she pulled a chris and came back from the future, giving her her name. powers are. telekinesis. orbing. telekinetic orbing. welcome back, chris halliwell. except sienna can also heal. the third daughter will be an adopted witch that paige and andy found when she was young and idk on the run kind of a la tyler michaels. she's maybe seven or so when they find her, clem's maybe three and sienna's one. plotline plotline, we take her in. she becomes a part of the family quickly and clem and sienna view her as her older sister almost immediately lol. meet ruby garcia. first name color last name i'm stealing from jerry garcia bc my parents were just at a grateful dead show or whatever call it an homage (jerry was not there, he is dead. rip.) ruby might add trudeau onto her last name as well. tbd. anyways, as it turns out, she is a demon witch (omg!!) powers are. fireballs energy balls telekinesis and flaming. i am actually going to make her zankou's daughter. just for funsies.

[awesomephd]

ever draw something so indulgent you have to stop because you're blushing but then you can't stop thinking about it so you write an accompanying drabble?

yeah me either

The silk feels cool as it slips up his thighs and settles, snug, against his hips. Richard runs a thumb along the curve of his hipbone under the soft material, careful not to touch too much and have Hamilton walk in on him fondling himself. The garterbelt comes next and the straps dangle awkwardly against his thighs when he moves to pick up the pair of stockings left on the bed.

Soft jazz music fills the silence of the apartment while Richard struggles through three attempts to pull the stockings up before finally getting one on somewhat smoothly. The second is easier and they’re both clipped to the straps in front before Richard stands again. He has to twist himself almost entirely around to see the straps in the back and as he clips them to the stockings he silently laments for every woman that has to put this kind of get up on alone without superhuman flexibility.

With everything in place, Richard only gets a few scant seconds to look over himself in the mirror and feel mildly ridiculous wearing stockings without shoes, before the sound of the front door opening and closing cuts through the music.

“Richard?” There’s the sound of keys jingling and some shuffling as Hamilton goes through the motions of setting down whatever he was carrying now that he’s home.

“In here, Hamilton.” Richard looks himself over some more until he catches Hamilton in the reflection also appreciating the view. Fighting the urge to cover his body, he turns to face the other man and holds his arms out instead. “So, how do I look?”

“Positively divine. Although, you’re missing the final touch.” Hamilton steps further into the room and Richard finally notices the pair of short heels dangling from his hand. “Here. Sit.”

Richard follows the order, sitting at the edge of the bed again. He gasps, caught off guard when Hamilton then kneels down and puts a hand on his stocking-clad calves to lift first one foot and then the other for him to slip the shoes on for Richard. The intimacy of the moment has Richard feeling warm and lightheaded, but he can’t look away from Hamilton who’s still gently caressing his leg with a gloved hand.

The warm leather brushing over the sheer fabric makes Richard shiver and, like a spell being broken, Hamilton pulls away to stand again.

Clearing his throat, he helps Richard stand and places a hand on the small of his back when he wobbles slightly in the unfamiliar shoes. “Careful, Richard. You’re not walking the runway in Milan. No need to rush yourself.”

“Hush, you. You’re the one that wanted me to wear these sprained ankles waiting to happen.” Watching his steps carefully, the pair make their way to stand in front of the full length mirror and Richard finally looks up to see his reflection again.

Immediately, he straightens up- taken aback by the difference a slightly lifted heel makes in how his legs look in the lingerie. He never knew his calves could look so nice. His eyes rake over his own body again, as if seeing himself for the first time, while he takes in the ensemble and raises a hand to straighten his hair.

“I knew you’d look breathtaking in this color.” Hamilton’s low voice breaks the trance and Richard uses the mirror to look at his reflection too. He’s still fully dressed in his suit and shoes, gloved hand still warm on the small of his back, and has to noticeably tilt his head up to whisper in Richard’s ear now.

The hand on his back finally moves in a small circle before trailing to his hip where Hamilton thumbs over the layers of panties and garters and presses his body closer to Richard’s. “Aren’t you glad you let me get these for you?”

“Yes.” The words come out on a sigh and Richard sways slightly as he tries not to immediately melt against the shorter man.

[bandedbulbussnarfblat]

but that comes later chapter 1

here is a young Daniel/Louis fic, set the night of the first interview. or read it below. nsfw

Who am I? I’m just a writer. I write things down.

I walk through your dreams and invent the future. Sure,

I sink the boat of love, but that comes later. And yes, I swallow

         glass, but that comes later. -Litany in Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out, Richard Siken

Daniel’s heart is hammering in his chest as he follows Louis into his shitty apartment.  His heart has been hammering this whole time.  Not as much as when he saw Louis’...friend?  Boyfriend?  Daniel isn’t sure and he doesn’t really care.  That guy was something else.  But so is Louis and he’s here with Louis now.  

Here.  In his apartment.  Another man’s apartment.  Daniel has never been taken back home by another guy before.  He’s had some quick hand jobs and the occasional blow job in bathrooms or back alleys.  But he’s never had someone bring him home and take him to bed.

Well, probably take him to bed.  Unless Louis is crazy enough to believe he’s an actual vampire.  In which case, Daniel will cut and run after they fuck.  

Daniel really hopes they fuck.  It’s what he really came here for, even more than the promise of drugs.

He’s already played this out a dozen different ways in his head since meeting Louis in the bar.  He wants those daydreams to become a reality.  

He wants to finally be with a man.  To go all the way.  Anal was what counted as all the way with guys, right?  He’s known for a while that he likes boys and girls.  He thought leaving his folks and coming out to San Francisco might make it easier to do something about it.  He came out to be a journalist, because writing is the one thing that makes sense.  He puts a pen in his hand and his mind clears and he gets clarity, focus, purpose .  

He’s going to win a Pulitzer someday.  

Daniel has big dreams and big ambitions.  The future is a bright, dazzling thing shimmering with potential.  

Being queer could squash those dreams, so he has to keep it quiet.  He’s lucky; he likes girls so he can just stick to them.  But he wants to at least know what it’s like to be with a man.  So he’s been hunting, going to gay bars and trying to find the perfect person.

Louis is perfect.

He’s beautiful and charming and kind of weird, honestly.  But Daniel digs that.  

He lights a cigarette because he’s nervous, then swears.  “Shit, it okay if I smoke in here?”

Louis drifts over to him and plucks the cigarette from his mouth and takes a long drag.  He blows smoke out of his nose and presses it back between Daniel’s lips.  He doesn’t let it go, his fingers touching Daniel’s mouth, and his skin is cool, and Daniel is burning .

He makes eye contact with Louis then sucks on the cigarette.  Louis smiles, slow and lazy and takes back the cigarette.  He takes another draw and looks at Daniel’s mouth consideringly.  

“Are you going to kiss me?” Daniel blurts.  Louis laughs and he turns red.  Like he can be blamed for thinking that, when Louis is staring at his mouth.  

Before he can spiral into shame, Louis cups his face and kisses him.  It’s soft and sweet, the way you might kiss a girl when you’re trying to not scare her off.  Well, Daniel isn’t scared; he wraps his hands around Louis’ waist (such a tiny waist, perfect for grabbing) and pulls their bodies flush.  Louis’ tongue teases at his bottom lip and Daniel’s lips part for him immediately.

Louis kisses him deep and hungry and backs Daniel up against the wall.  He pulls away from Daniel’s mouth to kiss and bite his way down Daniel’s jaw to his neck.  He licks and sucks at his skin and Daniel moans.  Louis groans against him and inhales deeply.  

“I want you to fuck me,” Daniel says and feels Louis smile.

“Yeah?  That why you’re so nervous?”  Louis says, and returns to kissing along Daniel’s throat.  One of his hands slips inside the back of Daniel’s jeans and squeezes his ass.  Daniel jerks and flings his head back.  Louis’s hand catches it before it can hit the wall.  

“I’m not nervous,” Daniel protests.  Louis looks ready to say something back, so Daniel surges forward and presses their mouths together.  It’s hot and frantic, until Louis cups his jaw and tilts his head and turns it into something slower and more filthy.  

“Don’t be nervous, Danny; I got you,” Louis says and his hands find Daniel’s fly and undo it.  He’s not wearing underwear, he never does on nights like this.  “Naughty boy,” Louis teases and wraps a hand around him.

His hands are still cold from outside, but that doesn’t matter.  It feels sublime .  

Daniel is nervous, is the thing.  He’s never done anal before, what if he’s bad at it?  What if Louis can tell?  Maybe he should just come clean about it, get it out in the open.  “Hey Louis, can I, ah- ah –confess something?”

Louis mouth nibbles along his ear.  “What, Danny?”

“I’ve never fucked a guy before.”

Louis sucks his earlobe into his mouth, then gently bites it.  He sweeps his thumb over Daniel’s slit.  Daniel gasps and his fingers claw at the wall.  “Aren’t you a sweet thing; Armand would love you.”

“Your friend who rejected me?”  Daniel says, and clutches at Louis’ back.  Louis kisses his throat and starts sucking hard enough it’ll leave a bruise.  Daniel likes the idea. 

“Not a rejection, pretty boy,” Louis says and bites at his neck.  “He likes to play with his food.”

Daniel doesn’t mind if those two want to play with him.  He’ll be their toy.  “You don’t care that I’ve never done it?”

Louis kisses him again and his hand speeds up on Daniel’s cock.  “Does it look like I care?”

His face buries back in Daniel’s neck and starts working on sucking another mark.  Daniel moans, broken and needy.  Louis groans against his throat.  “Fuck, I wanna taste you so bad.”

It’s so hot, the hottest thing Daniel has ever heard.  But then Louis pulls back from him and there’s something wrong.  

His eyes.  There’s something unnatural about his eyes.  And his mouth.  Are those…fangs?

“What are you?” Daniel asks, caught between fear and arousal.  He’s never been so afraid or so horny.  

“I told you, Daniel.  I’m a vampire.”

[fangaminghell]

First, Leo spends most of his time with Suraya, being separated for so long. His happiness over his sister coming back out rules all the thoughts that Richard has put in his head. This, however, pisses Richard off. Leo is starting to slip, spending more and more time with his friends and family, and looking so happy. It's revolting to Richard. He can't even try and get close to Leo without Suraya glaring holes through his skin. So what does he do? In the time him and Leo are together, he gets extra critical of Leo, drilling it in his head that no one, not even his sister, cares for him like he does. They're all just using him, like Lin said. And when he's not doing that? He's cheating.

It all comes to a head where Leo, gaining some independence for himself, decides that he and Richard need to talk. Leo wants this to work, and is starting to think there's some cracks and miscommunication in their relationship. He believes, fully, that Richard would understand, and be willing to talk things out with him.

He is wrong. So, very wrong. So wrong that he ends up seeing Richard with another person. And Leo is devastated. And Richard is pissed.

What happens next is Leo crying, confused, still not fully believing what he saw, being dragged by the arm by Richard, back to his apartment. Like hell Richard is going to let himself be embarrassed in public again. That was when the argument really happened. Leo, in his tears, just asks simple, reasonable questions: Who was that? Why are you doing this? Did I do something wrong? Do you not love me anymore?

Richard takes every one of these questions as an offense. He tears Leo down again and again, blaming what he did on him, saying that he was the one who emotionally cheated first with Cal and Cain and Taka. That he was the one who didn't care enough about how Richard felt, not heading his warnings. Then he switches it up: he tells Leo how truly disgusting and pathetic he is. That he's just as bad as Amaria ( the person who tried to drown Leo mind you), if not worse. He points out every single feature that's "wrong" with Leo: His eyes, his hair, his nose, the way he dress. Richard whole mission here to to make Leo feel the worst he had ever been, to make him feel small and insignificant, just to do the finishing blow.

" You know what? I'm so glad that this is finally over! You wanna know why? Because who the fuck in their right mind would want a pathetic, clingy, worthless person like you?! You're lucky I stayed as long as I did"

And with that, Richard storms out, leaving Leo alone in his apartment. Alone, miserable, and deeply heartbroken.

He doesn't leave his house for the next few weeks.

[ducknotinarow]

[Buddy Richard - they may be being a tad bit dramatic u_u ]

They were a failure! A complete utter failure!

With exams coming up, working at the café, social life, their own projects, not vaping, Buddy had overworked themselves. They knew they had bit off more than they could chew, but the android was too proud to admit to it.

And they had cracked from it.

How they didn't get ID'd at the little corner shop they scurried too, they had no idea, but they needed the nicotine bad, that little rush too perfect to ignore. The taste of Strawberry Bubblegum was a familiar poison that had them sighing peacefully when the smoke finally touched their tongue.

Alas...regret set in twice as fast...

---

Buddy was sat in the kitchen, head on the table, arms folded over their head - their tell tale sign something was wrong. They gripped the vape tightly in their hand. In an already high strung state, Buddy's mind had jumped to the worst - their parents were going to be so disappointed in them, maybe even full name them, ground them for life! What if they were like Owen and abandoned them! No Papá wouldn't do that...right??

When Richard came in, Buddy immediately began to ramble, barely letting their Papá speak,

"I screwed up Papá! I'm a failure! A complete failure!"

With how Buddy exclaimed, one would think they had committed a crime.

"I knew I shouldn't Vape, that I'm supposed to not do that anymore but I did okay I did! I bought a new one and had it!" Buddy explained their crime, "Exams and work and life and trying to stop vaping and projects and everything it's too much Papá and I cracked and I'm sorry!"

Buddy breathed deeply, trying to calm down, vape still tightly in their hand. They awaited the assumed punishment, most likely, abandonment.

| Muse interaction

Richard puled into the drive through and stepped out of his car leaving most his belongings behind in the car. Outside his wallet, keys and phone. His bag he left alone since he be heading out with it again tomarrow. Keys were set away on to thier hook as Richard took note of Buddie’s house key being hung up as well. He half expected his son to be off with Charlie once school ended. Maybe they had to work ? With that in mind Richard made way for the kicthen his assumption that Buddy was likely in thier room. So he was a bit stunned to find the little egeal at the kitchen table.

Head was restting to the wodden surface, and Richard had to fight the ure to tell Buddy to get his hair off th table it was bad enough that Buddy was wearing thier beanie there. Whch was also on the table. But, something just seemed off with his son, resting like this? Gripping something in thier hand even. Richard opted to go for a simple hello instead of the scolding he felt was needed. But before he could even get a single sysablle out Buddy was quick to speak up.

“I screwed up Papa! i’m a failure! A completer Failure!”

“Que?” Richard couldn’t help the slip there as he stepped over to join Buddy at the table “Mijo what are you talking?” Richard asks as he moved to set a hand on the back of the chair Buddyy was sitting in. Though no matter how clam Richard tried to approach the matter it didn’t seem to help i the slightest to ease the little egeals worries as they suddenly brust. As if the words they had been keeping in their head could no longer be held in

"I knew I shouldn't Vape, that I'm supposed to not do that anymore but I did okay I did! I bought a new one and had it!"

Well that explained…well everything really? Buddy may take after Richard quite a lot at that but they also had a lot of Bailey in there as well. Which meant having a very reasonable, mealt down when they went back on recoveray. It wasn’t always an addtic trait some addtics didn’ even hold an ounce of care. But even if Buddy wasn’t happy about being made to quite they still were doing it. This was the kid who wouldn’t do something simply because Richard told them they shouldn’t after all.

“Chiquitito, he clam down alright it’s fine but what caused you to?” Richard knew from expeince with Bailey how this slip ups came to be when trying to cut out a habit. Something always seemed to send a need to get back. Not like Richard was one to talk he missed smoking himself after all Cinnamon sticks were a nice option though.

"Exams and work and life and trying to stop vaping and projects and everything it's too much Papá and I cracked and I'm sorry!"

Richard kneeled and moved his hand to rest on to his son’s back gently patting it with his head. “Mijo breath alright? Just take a few breaths first.” Richard instructed trying to soothing his son and guide them to self regulate thier emotions on top of it. Once he felt Buddy was least able to not break down again he spoke. "It's okay to make a mistake Buddy."

Such an odd thing for Richard to say, not once in his life had he ever felt that way himself. But, well Bailey made mistakes and look at him? In fact that was the perfect example.

"Do you think your dad did slip up a time or more when trying to get sober? Of course he did. But look at him? You're Dad is a hazard in the kitchen but look at him? Of course, he hates and cuts himself down when he dose those things. But, would you ever call your Dad a failure?" Richard gave them a second to think on that. "I wouldn't. I see someone who knows he did wrong and is hard on himself because he knows he can do better. And that is what I see of you as well." Richard stated then smiled.

"If your over stressed by what is on your plate why don't we see what we can do to help make room? You need to study for exams we could make your shifts shorter or drop some? I can help you study if you like. I was the best torturer at my school." Richard states before gently petting over Buddy's back trying to clam them down. "you're not alone in all this okay?"

[loosealcina]

RICHARD WAGNER'S DAS RHEINGOLD AT LA SCALA, NOVEMBER 7, 2024

Alas, gloomy spirits here… I’m fully aware that a grumpiness warning attached to a report on Das Rheingold—a mere (if rather massive, and already crucial) prologue to Die Walküre, Siegfried, and Götterdämmerung—is no ordinary grumpiness warning. It’s truly a quadruple grumpiness warning. Or a two-year grumpiness warning, as well (given this Ring is set to add two pieces in 2025, and come complete in 2026). Still, I need to issue it right away. My short yet comprehensive review is: not great. If you don’t think you’re in the mood for boring, redundant remonstrances, that will do. (This is your chance to slip away). In fact, when I look into it, I don’t believe I’ve got a long list of doléances or something about this Rheingold; it’s more of a lone, gigantic void at the dead center of David McVicar’s production: the unequivocal lack of interest in presenting and/or exploring an individual/original/organic take on Der Ring des Nibelungen. The staging was all but strictly limited to a plain, mechanical re-enactment of what the libretto explicitly describes. If you factor in the complexity, the multi-layered richness, and ultimately the innumerable possibilities that come with a work like Das Rheingold, this kind of approach is bound to result in a stark letdown. I did find it interesting that all the gods and goddesses appearing on the stage—namely Wotan, Loge, Donner, Freia, Fricka, etc.—were wearing odd, nocturnal, positively unique womanly (I’ll say that again for the sake of clarity: womanly) dresses. And arcane masks.

Letting mysterious costumes—in this case, designed by Emma Kingsbury—do (a large part of) the talking is actually a nice, pretty uncommon idea as far as my experience is concerned. But the way it was done here was the definition of an interrupted path. I can’t say I was blown away by the orchestra conducted by Alexander Soddy either. Their performance was often sounding a bit rushed, as if they had been in a hurry. At the same time, their own Rheingold was sort of dragging by—it was remarkably slow in terms of storytelling. I suspect that, had they lingered a little longer within virtually every single bar, this rendition would have proven to be much quicker, nimble on its feet, and possibly over before anyone knew. (Since we’re in a Richard Wagner environment, this hardly qualifies as a big paradox). As for the cast of actors/singers, it sure featured a number of strong, classically pleasant voices. I’d name Ólafur Sigurdarson (Alberich), Jongmin Park (Fasolt), Olga Bezsmertna (Freia), Okka von der Damerau (Fricka), and Svetlina Stoyanova (Wellgunde). However, in the presence of a full materialization of Das Rheingold, there’s something awkward about going, this voice was good. And this one. And this one. It feels like putting aside, or rejecting altogether, the very notion of Gesamtkunstwerk. In order to give you a worthy finale, I’ll leave the floor to an excerpt from the extended, fateful, and fairly rough conjugal confrontation Wotan and Fricka happen to get into (Scene 2; as translated by Frederick Jameson): «Ranging and changing love all who live;/forgo that game, then, I cannot!»

[k-she-rambles]

The Corlath and Harry lose their nerve re: The Sash Thing AU

They don't get less ridiculous.

Lady Amelia's letters are full of Hints to Get On With It.

Richard is in a bind. He feels he should be trying to corner Corlath for the shovel talk. Instead he finds himself painstakingly trying to get to know the man his sister is in love with for her sake. Upon finding that Corlath is equally head-over heels? Richard resumes his usual role of not telling anyone anything, because he'd be breaking confidence, but now he's starting to wonder...

Jack is wondering how much trouble he'd be in if he pulled his new king aside, either to tell him to stop being a dunce she loves you too, or to tell him that if he doesn't step-to, Jack will. (The answer is lots. So much trouble. )

Innath is doing the Dean McCoppin thing with his hands every time Corlath and Harry turn their backs, and even unflappable Faran is getting annoyed.

Harry and Corlath are simultaneously happy and miserable, and there are incredibly awkward conversations about Harry's residence in the Blue Rooms.

(Think "so you have a last name"/breadcrumbs on fire multiplied x10)

(The rooms being, you know, an architectural love letter from Corlath's father to his mother, and therefore the Queen's. Harry's just a Rider, you know. Okay, okay, Damalur-sol, and national hero. But surely they're meant for Corlath's future wife...)

Everything eventually shakes out, though.

“I think you need to taste this for me,” the monarch said. They shoved the exquisite cake in their guard’s direction.

Their guard blinked. “Um.” 

“What, you’d rather your monarch be poisoned?”

Of course not. The guard hesitantly took a mouthful, only to practically melt in satisfaction. “Oh my god.” It was amazing. They caught themselves. “I - er - I think it’s fine.” 

“You should try a sip of the wine too,” the monarch said. “Just to be safe. Sit, sit.” 

It took the guard slightly too long to realize that it was practically a date, with the monarch feeding them delicacies off their plate. 

[suna-reversed]

Talking to the moon🌙

Gojo Satoru x fem!reader

minors DNI‼️

3k+ words

(quote^^ by- Richard Siken)

warnings/tags- blood and violence. oral (f.recieving), vaginal sex, anal, dacryphilia, slight praise, slight degradation, fingering. age gap. toxic relationship. mentions of harassment. yandere themes implied. heartbreak, moving on. fluff. angst. hurt/comfort. (all characters are aged up!)

Gojo Satoru is the moon. Ever changing and radiant. Beaming with light, even when he doesn't have any of his own. And much like the moon, parts of him stay hidden in an ominous darkness as he leaves you cold and alone in the tangled mess of sheets, wondering why your lover disappears at the crack of every dawn.

You had met him a while ago when he had first come into the bakery you worked at part-time, dazzling pearls on show as he ordered every single flavour of mochi off the menu. You didn’t know where it started; how the simple exchanges turned into conversations that lasted up to hours, your manager practically having to shoo him away so that you’d stop getting distracted.

You got used to him visiting you in the day during work, sitting on the barstool near the bakery counter, talking your ear off about the most random of things while he stuffed his face with mochi. You sometimes wondered how you happened to have so much in common with a man so much more older than you. 

You couldn't exactly remember how those innocent conversations turned into you being splayed across the marble kitchen countertop of your apartment at 3 am, the joyous man now turned into a ferocious beast as he devoured you whole, holding your legs apart, tongue licking in between your folds with such fervour that made it seem as if it was the last meal of his life. 

In all honesty, you didn’t know a lot about him, except for the fact that he worked at a private institute and often travelled overseas. He’d be as silent as a mouse as he slipped out of your place before sunrise each time. He never told you why, and eventually you stopped asking- the warmth and comfort of his body too addictive to have to give up for the question of ‘what are we?’ being answered.

On days that you’d find yourself waking up early, you’d simply let your eyes roam over the muscles of his back, adoring the dimples at the bottom of his spine, memorising each blemish, scar and mark as if you’d never see it again. You sometimes found yourself wishing he’d take off the peculiar fabric covering his eyes- your mind could barely fathom the shade of his orbs.

You knew that he was always aware of you being awake. But he didn’t acknowledge it, whether by accident or choice, you could never tell. So every time he’d finish pulling his shirt over his head, you’d roll away, focusing your mind out the window on the half disappearing moon instead of the crushing weight on your chest. 

Perhaps, this was the love they never told you about. The love that wasn’t afternoon picnics and obnoxious public displays of affection. The love that wasn’t late night grocery runs and feeding each other food at cafes.

Instead, this was the love that had you deleting messages and cleaning up the strands of ashy hair from your shower drain. The love that had you lying to your friends about the marks on your neck and pretending like he didn’t just have you pinned down beneath him the night before as you served him coffee.

Every morning that you woke up alone in bed, sore and unclothed from the events of the previous night, you found yourself thinking of ways that you’d turn him away the next time he showed up at your door. But then the bell would ring, and your feet would be carrying you to the half broken man covered in bruises and blood before you could think of it.

This time, you’re sure you tell him to go away, to stop treating you as if you were some toy, slamming the door in his crestfallen face. But then why do you find yourself clutching onto his scarlet stained jacket in the bathroom? The first aid box discarded to the side as you sob into his chest, a hand stroking your hair as he assures you he’s fine. 

That night, you find him buried deep inside of you, your heavy breathing filling the silence of the air, your back to his chest. The arms around you feel unbearably tight as he pulls you even closer to him. Why is he trying to snatch all the warmth from your body?

The hot breath of his mouth is right next to your ear. He’s telling you he wants to be tender and merciful while his teeth are digging into your jugular, the hand around your throat tightening as his hips rut into you harder. He does not wipe away the tears flowing freely down your face.

The next morning, you find a burning sensation rising in your chest as you stare at the empty space next to you; his underlying scent of strawberries and citrus still lingering.

What had you been expecting? Why would this night have been different from any other?

That question is answered when you realise the unfamilair feeling of a cold metal wrapped around your ankle while climbing out of bed. Looking down, you see that it's a thin silver anklet with two charms hanging off of it.

His initials and a crescent moon.

You can’t help the smile that’s on your face for the rest of the day.

--------

You're panting, the drumming of your heartbeat echoing in your ears, vision blurring as you try to make it back home. You’re gripping onto the walls to keep yourself from falling, the pain in your body near unbearable as you somehow manage to unlock the door, not even making it past the entrance as you crumble apart right there, curling in on yourself as broken sobs leave your chest. 

The sound of footsteps has you shutting your eyes, flinching from the pain and fear of knowing you can’t fight. The terror of your attacker being in your home makes your cries even louder.

Instead, you find your senses being flooded by the familiar scent of strawberries and the cologne that you bought him- warm muscular arms come to wrap around your figure, lifting you up. You’re still crying as he settles you down onto the bed, gently pulling your hands away from your face.

He lifts your shirt to reveal the expanse of wounds littered across your abdomen. An unreadable expression remains on his face as he skillfully cleans off the blood, fixing you up like you’ve done for him a dozen times. You don’t remember telling him where you were injured. Could the blood be seen through your shirt? None of it matters as he pushes you back down onto the plush mattress, your eyes fluttering close you as fall into a deep fitful slumber. 

It’s a full moon tonight, the light cascading through your window providing you an odd sense of comfort. You turn over in the dark, gasping a little as your eyes lock onto a pair of strange azure ones. Your mind is still heavy from the medicines you took, perhaps that’s why you don’t react, simply staring into the unfamiliar eyes on a face that you recognised better than the back of your own hand.

His slender pale fingers are trailing over the skin of your abdomen. Shouldn't it hurt more? A hand comes up to your face, gently cradling your chin as he examines the scratch on your jaw. Your heart skips a beat as his soft lips press a chaste kiss onto your brow. His voice is low and tense, anger barely restrained as he asks,

“Who did this to you?”

You try to form a response, but all you can hear is the shallow echo of the beating of your half-dead heart. Your chest feels hollow as words finally rise to the tip of your tongue, eyes dry as you tell him all of it. How a strange force had pinned you against a wall when you were walking back home, how the man who appeared from the shadows of the dark alley didn’t even lift a finger, yet it felt like each bone in your body was being cracked apart. How you barely felt the pain of the broken bottle that impaled your flesh as you were thrown aside, the stranger parting from you with just four words,

“Consider this a warning.”

You don’t care how crazy you sound as you explain the bizarre events that occurred. You don’t care that his orbs are as blue and twice as deep as the mariana trench. You don’t care that for once, his eyes hold something other than just lust as he looks at you.

Your throat feels raw by the time you finish, and it hurts to look at his pitiful face so you roll onto your side, fixing your eyes on the shimmering celestial body outside your window. You both lay in silence for a while.

“I liked thinking of you as the moon at times.”

The calm in your voice startles Gojo, but he remains quiet, wanting you to continue. It doesn’t matter if it's gibberish, doesn't matter if it’s words of hatred, of doubt, of regret; he’ll take it as long as there’s something- as long as you’re speaking. His arms tremble around you a little as a bitter laugh escapes your chest. 

“But at the end of the day,” you pause, taking a deep breath, “...all I am, is a mere star in a galaxy full of constellations.”

The raw sob that rips from your chest is a surprise to both you and Gojo.

“Tell me who cares about a star that burns out and explodes?” your voice is barely above a whisper as you turn around to face him.

For once in his life, Gojo Satoru can’t joke, fight or fuck his way out of a situation. A strange weight has been on his chest ever since he saw your eyes. The light and joy stripped out of them as he found himself staring back at his own reflection. 

His eyes glance down at the dip of your collarbone, the arch of your shoulder that he wanted to reside in forever, now covered in small scars. He knows who hurt you. 

He pulls you closer to him, tangling his feet with yours, the strip of metal around your ankle clinking at the movement. Perhaps it was a huge mistake to have bought you something so carelessly, knowing that the eyes of a few dozen enemies followed him wherever he went. 

He finds himself at a loss for words, opting to convey his emotions through touch instead as he melds his lips with yours. You sigh into his mouth and he kisses you even deeper, almost desperately as if trying to pass over his own breaths to you- as if trying to bring you back to life. He finds the taste of salt on his tongue and the wet drops falling onto his cheeks makes his flesh burn. He doesn't know whose they are as he continues to try and cling onto the shell of what was once a whole person. 

“Please” he finds himself mumbling as he pulls you even closer, heart cracking as you continue sniffing into his chest. 

“It hurts- it hurts- so much” You’re sobbing now, his own body shaking in tandem with yours.

Who is he to deny you when you look up at him, the broken plea leaving your mouth, 

“Make it stop please.”

---

Gojo finds the cold metal of his own initials pressing against the side of his face as he hoists your legs over his shoulder. His fingers are pressing down against your sensitive nub, spreading around your slick before he pumps two of his fingers into you. You buck your hips up, cries escaping you as his tongue licks your clit, suctioning it into his mouth as he increases the pace of his fingers.

You’re cumming undone within seconds, begging him to fill you up. He’s never so easily given in to your demands, but tonight, it’s as if he’s only there to serve your wishes. The sickening thought of getting hurt again just so that you’d get this treatment creeps up in the back of your mind. 

You moan as you feel him line his thick girth with your entrance, the tip catching onto your sensitive bundle of nerves as he rubs it between your dripping heat. He leans forward, pushing your legs up and safely tucking them against your chest, before crashing his lips against yours. It’s messy and rushed; tongue against tongue, spit drooling out as he pushes himself inside of you in one long stroke. The burn of it has you groaning into his mouth, hands moving to tangle into his hair. His thrusts are deep and angled, the feeling of it settling deep in your belly. 

“Fuck- you look so-fucking-pretty underneath me like this”

His words of praise are muffled against your lips, further drowned out by your moans as one of his hands moves down to play with your clit. You’re screaming his name as the coil in your stomach snaps, his own restraint breaking as he finishes, painting your walls with his seed. 

It’s not the first time you find yourself screaming and moaning that night. His cock is inside of you in one way or the other through the entirety of the next few hours- whether it be deep down your throat as his hands pull your hips down to his face, moaning at the taste of himself leaking from your cunt - or stretching the walls of your puckered asshole, the lube he pumped in with his slender fingers dripping out as he presses you to the shower wall, a hand coming forward to fondle your tits as his face falls onto your shoulder, grunting into your ear while he pistons in and out of your tight hole. 

You can barely move a muscle by the time you’re done, body and mind numb from both the exhaustion and overstimulation as he pulls the covers over the two of you, limbs entangled with each other’s, skin against skin, his hands rubbing circles onto your spine.

“No one’s ever going to hurt you again.” 

You’re barely conscious as he whispers that, humming and burying your face deeper into his cozy heat as he presses a kiss to the top of your head. You do not notice the solemn drop of moisture that escapes his eye, falling onto your cheek, a thumb brushing it away just as quickly, as if it was never there. Just as he wishes he could brush away his own existence from your life- no- just as he was going to.

“...I promise.”

---

When your eyes flutter open, they are not met with the moon.

Instead, the light of the rising sun casts a rosy hue across your room. And for once, you do not feel cold as you spread out your legs to take more of the space on the expanse of your empty bed. The sunlight does not feel like a curse anymore, even if the nostalgia of the moon’s glow stays buried somewhere deep in your heart. 

But at least there’s no more crying going to bed alone each night; no more hours of scrolling through social media looking for someone who doesn’t exist; no more one night stands and low grade hookups trying to fulfil the ever-growing void in your heart. 

In fact, you find yourself going out more, singing along to songs in the shower once again, even making friends with a regular trio that starts coming into your bakery every other day. They told you they’re college students too, all around your age, and you find yourself smiling a little more than necessary at one of them, even if a pair of ocean eyes floods the back of your mind each time that you do. You’re still hurting and healing, but at least you are moving forward. 

“At least he kept his promise”  You find yourself thinking as you climb out of bed, sighing in disappointment at the clinking of charms around your ankle. 

—-

“At least I kept my promise.” 

It had become Gojo’s new-found mantra. Every time he saw you drunk out of your mind at a bar, deftly bribing the bartender to replace your ordered shots with water instead. Every time he saw a random body pressed to yours, their tongue exploring your sweet mouth as you pushed them into your apartment. And especially that one time he found himself standing over the half-beaten body of the man who had tried to grope you on the bus. 

“At least I kept my promise- at least she’s safe.”

He knew his actions were of a mad man. Even though he took care of the problem which had hurt you in the first place, he still found himself paranoid. Following you around every other night, making sure you were still here- still alive under the same sky as him, under the same sun and moon and stars. He told himself he was doing it for you- even if he found his heart swell every time he saw the familiar glint of the silver trinket around your ankle.

-----

“No way!” You find yourself laughing around a mouth full of mochi.  

“No- I swear he likes you, he just doesn't want to admit it, you know how he-” 

“What are you two talking about?”

You both immediately snap your mouths shut as he returns from the restroom, sliding into the seat on his side of the booth. 

“Nothing!” you reply in unison. 

“Anyways, do you want me to get you anything else? Something that this idiot wouldn't shove into my mouth?” You joke, tapping your pen against the notepad. 

“Hey! I just wanted you to taste how delicious the mochi was!”

“I know- I made it!”

A loud cough breaks your banter with the light haired boy, 

“I-I do actually want to ask for something”

“Of course, what can I get you? The ginger tea you like?”

“Well- what I want is-” he pauses, and you don’t miss the mischievous glint in the eyes of his friend sitting across the table. 

“I’d like to take you to the festival at the park.”

You’re halfway through writing it down on the notepad before you realise what he’s asked, your head snapping up to see the slightly flushed tint on his cheeks as he glares at the howling boy across the table. Your own face heats up as he looks towards you expectantly. 

“You don’t have to if you-”

“Pick me up at 4”

“Oh” butterflies race in your stomach at the smile that he gives you, “...okay, 4 it is.” 

------

Weeks go by and you don’t realise the slow mending of your heart. Your broken pieces coming together each time he holds your hand, each time he presses a kiss to the tip of your nose, each time he whispers words of affirmations into your ear, and each time he comforts your shaking body, apologising for kissing your brow- even if he doesn’t understand why it made you cry. 

Eventually, you learn to not mind being just a mere star in the vast expanse of the cosmo.

You didn’t care because he looked at you like you held the universe in your eyes, cradling your face with such gentleness as if you were precious china. You didn’t care because when his lips came down onto yours, it felt like the collision of stars- your own little supernovae in the curve of his cupid’s bow. You didn’t care because when you woke up, you’d find him peppering kisses across the purple constellations he left the night before. 

You didn’t care because you never woke up cold and alone anymore.

------

“I’ll be back in just a second.” 

You find yourself saying as you move your head off his lap, waving to your other two friends, their own counterparts lounging beside them. 

“Is everything okay?’ 

He’s always so tender- except for when he has you splayed across the bed on your stomach, hips thrusting into yours as he tells you what a good slut you are for him- just for him. Heat crawls up your face at the memory from a few nights ago. The fingers wrapping your hand snap your mind out of its perverse refuge. Looking down, you find concern-filled eyes staring back at you. 

“Yeah, I just want to take a walk alone by the beach- get some air.” You reply, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to his lips.  

The sound of the waves lapping against the shore in the dark and the fresh sea breeze on your face is refreshing. You make a mental note to thank Nobara for dragging you onto this trip. You stop as you find a cozy spot in the sand, giving you a perfect view of the moonlit sea.

You don’t know how long you sit there, thinking of a particular set of emerald eyes and long lashes, your smile faltering as the promise ring on your finger grazes the forgotten metal on your ankle. Your face remains neutral as you unhook it, even if it feels like cutting your own hand off, but that’s all there is to it - familiarity and nostalgia. There’s no blackhole in your chest, ready to open up and swallow you whole, there are no tears shed as you bury the piece of junk into the sand, and there is no looking back as you walk away, back into the arms of your precious ‘gumi. 

Gojo stands at the rooftop, one hand clutching the sand covered jewellery, the other pulling down a side of his blindfold as he watches you entangle yourself in the arms of another, laughing as he places a kiss on the top of your brow. You’re happy, that’s all that matters- still, the irony of the situation pricks at him - especially after all he did to keep you away from his world. 

He had initially found himself at a loss for words when you had told him that he was the moon, and you, just a star. If you were to ask him again, Gojo would agree, but with only half of it.

He may have been the moon, but you were a galaxy full of stars and planets that harboured dreams and wishes he could never fathom. His mind kept flickering back to the constellations he littered your body with as he now watched his own disciple press kisses into the crook of your neck. 

Nonetheless, he found his own lips twitching upwards- almost tragically, but the warmth in his chest was real as he saw the joy on your face. You were right; he was the moon after all. He had shone as bright as the sun itself despite not having any light of his own. Now he stood there watching the same light reflect off the dark-haired boy who held you in his arms, and suddenly, it all made sense.

Perhaps he should have found another way back then. Perhaps he shouldn’t have underestimated his ability to be able to protect you. Perhaps- 

it didn’t matter now. 

perhaps at the end of the day, the moon was nothing but a dreamer.

© suna-reversed — all rights reserved. please refrain from modifying, translating, reposting of any kind. plagiarism will NOT be tolerated.

[aspoonfuloffiction]

Screaming into the void so someone will answer back:

Nanny 👏 Gregory 👏

When Lucy gets a call that her brother and best friend died in an accident she’s in shock. But any grief she can let herself feel is shoved aside when she’s informed that as their only local relative, she could be given custody of the Watson-Abernathy children. If she doesn’t accept custody would go to Hermione’s mother who lives in the States and the children would be relocated.

Wanting her young niece and nephew to feel some semblance of normalcy after having just lost both parents. And remembering all too well what its like to be orphaned. She accepts and suddenly she’s the lone guardian to two grieving school aged children. But the transition from single up and coming urban designer to responsible for two kids under the age of 10 is a learning curve. So when a friend recommends hiring a nanny Lucy agrees.

Meanwhile elsewhere Gregory, aged 24 is listless. Life makes no sense. He’s felt lost for years, armed only with a business degree and no interest in business, desperately trying and failing at finding someone that remotely interests him. But when his eldest brother threatens eviction Gregory just applies to first notice on the bulletin-a nanny wanted sign.

Lucy initially isn’t sold on him (“having 15 nieces and nephews really isn’t prior experience Mr Bridgerton”) but on his way out when Gregory gets her nephew, who hasn’t spoken since the accident, to talk to him about the video game his playing. She decides to hire him.

He lives in her spare bedroom, helps the kids with school, takes them to swim practice and dance lessons, finds a pediatric therapist on his sister-in-law’s recommendation, packs them lunches and because he’s up he packs Lucy lunch too “because cucumber sandwiches and chocolate digestives are not a sustainable diet”

Slowly, they start to get to know each other, like Lucy hates minimalism, or that Gregory has seen The Proposal 17 times in the past year alone. They slip into a rhythm, life is good. She wakes the kids up in the morning, he takes them to school, she helps with English work, he helps with math, he tucks them into bed, she reads them a story.

One night, just under a year into Gregory starting the job, after waiting for Lucy to eat together (a practice that neither of them remember how it started) and a few glasses of wine they open up about things they’ve barely acknowledged to themselves let alone a different person. Like how Gregory feels like he’s just kind of floating through life as a disappointment to his family. And Lucy is scared she’s doomed to fail her niece and nephew the way her uncle failed her and Richard.

Emotions are high, and the alcohol is out and the next morning Gregory doesn’t wake up in the spare bedroom.

Cue some sex induced panic—Lucy freaking out about the fact that she technically slept with a man she employees. Gregory freaking out because he feels like he took advantage of Lucy’s emotional state. Also they’re both freaking out because the sex was good…really good. And left them both unable to to deny their feelings anymore.

So in a panic, Gregory finds Lucy a new nanny for the kids and quits. Lucy thinks its her fault so she lets him. And her feigned acceptance, confirms Gregory’s fears that its his fault.

While apart—Lucy starts therapy to work through unresolved grief not just Hermione and Richard but even the loss of her parents, Gregory takes early child development classes feeling like he’d finally found something he loved. But even as they improve themselves something consistently feels like its missing.

The kids notice this, and conspire with Hyacinth, (they need an adult with a car and she’s sick of Gregory’s moping) to get them together. Shenanigans ensue, but it ends with Gregory and Lucy kissing in the rain…idk why they seem like a kiss in the rain couple.

This post got away from me it was originally only supposed to be three bullet points…I’m a mess. I just need like one person to see the vision

[the-iceni-bitch]

For smutty prompts: 97) “I think you forgot to lock the door, that means anyone could walk right in and see you like this.”

With Andy or Ransom? Anyone really 😂

Oooookkkkk, this is gonna be Ransom, cause I’ve had a similar idea to this for him for a while now.

What, the OTP again, you say? You guys just keep lining them up for me 😉

Tagging the OTP babes @stargazingfangirl18 @chrissquares @subtlebucky @egcdeath

Send me smutty prompts!!!

Again, 18+ only guys, this is straight up porn!

You had never been more bored in your life.

It was Linda and Richards’ 40th anniversary, and they were throwing a giant party at a fancy hotel in downtown Boston. Of course you had to go, you and Ransom were pretty established now, as much as Linda hated it.

It was literally just a bunch of old money families that Linda was trying to ingrain herself to, bunch of stuffed suits that had nothing better to talk about than summering in the Hamptons or their brand new yachts or whatever the fuck the obscenely rich and out of touch loved to drone on about.

You’d lost track of the number of gin and tonics you consumed an hour ago, keeping yourself glued to Ransom’s side purely because you needed someone to roll your eyes at and he was your only option.

“How you feeling there, sweetheart?” He asked as some ancient man with a name like Chauncey or something finally walked away from you after chatting at you about his damn hunting lodge for what felt like an hour.

“Please kill me.” You whined, running your hand over your face before taking another sip of your drink as he chuckled at you. “Just break your glass and shove the shards into my throat.”

“I thought you were used to talking to rich people?” He said. “Isn’t that all you do at that charity of yours?”

“Those are rich liberals.” You said as you chugged the rest of your drink. “Who also aren’t the best, but at least I don’t have to listen to them complain about environmental regulations the whole time.”

“Well, why don’t we give my parents those super thoughtful gifts you got them then get the fuck out of here?” He said, taking your glass from you.

“Yes, please.” You said grabbing the presents you’d spent way too long on and following him through the crowd.

It didn’t take you long to find Richard and Linda, at the center of a flurry of activity. You waited patiently for them to be free before stepping in front of them, Ransom wrapping a protective hand around your waist.

“Mom, Dad, Y/N and I are gonna head out but we wanted to make sure to wish you a happy anniversary and give you your gifts.” He said, his fingers drumming against your side with nervous energy.

“Yes, happy anniversary you two.” You said, giving them a forced grin as you handed them their presents.

“Oh you can’t leave yet, Ransom.” Linda said, completely ignoring you. “There’s someone here I want you to meet. Muffy!”

Ransom let out a groan as Linda wandered off to grab some uptight looking woman who was about your age but who looked about as bored as you felt. Richard just gave his son a clap on the shoulder and gave you a lecherous grin, before turning to head to the bar.

“Gross.” You muttered before turning back to you boyfriend. “You wanna tell me what’s going on, babe?”

“Yeah, my mom’s been trying to get me to go out with this Muffy chick for months.” He said nervously, loosening his tie around his throat. “I think her parents own a textile conglomerate or something. I thought she would’ve let up once we made it official but I guess not.”

You didn’t get a chance to respond before Linda was shoving the poor girl at Ransom and trying to get the two of them to chat, still pointedly ignoring you.

“Yeah, it’s nice to meet you. This is my girlfriend, Y/N.” He said as he pulled you even closer.

“Hi Muffy, it’s my pleasure.” You said, offering her your hand as you beamed at Linda, who was looking very unhappy. “So sorry to cut this short, but we really do need to get going. Always great to see you, Linda.”

You dragged Ransom away from the crowd by his tie. He made a small sound of surprise when you turned away from the exit and started to head towards the bathroom.

“Babe, the exit’s that way.” He muttered, grinning at you.

You turned around and brought his face to meet yours, smashing your lips against his in a searing kiss, running your tongue over his teeth before breaking away and leaving him breathless.

“I know where the exit is, but there’s something I want to take care of first.” You murmured as he rested his forehead against yours. “Now go make sure there’s no one in the bathroom, and I’ll make you come so good baby.”

“Fuck, don’t gotta tell me twice.” He muttered before striding inside.

He was only gone for a few seconds before popping back out and dragging you in after him, picking you up and wrapping your legs around him.

“So...” you murmured as he set you on the counter, his lips moving all over your neck and shoulders. “Why didn’t you tell me your mom was trying to set you up with a socialite?”

“Didn’t really seem important.” He muttered against your chest as he slotted himself between your thighs. “It’s not like I was actually gonna do anything with her.”

“Right.” You said as you started to undo his belt.

You removed his belt and started to work on undoing his fly, sighing as he sucked a bruise against your throat. You tugged his slacks and boxer briefs down his legs and wrapped your hand around his cock, making him groan.

“Whose cock is this baby?” You purred as he straightened up to rest his forehead against yours, your grip on his length tightening as he hissed between his teeth.

“Shit, you’re mad.” He mumbled as you squeezed him harder, biting your lip as you watched precum leak from his angry tip.

“Not mad, baby.” You murmured, running your thumb over his slit and making him groan. “Just feel like maybe your need a little reminder. Now tell me whose cock this is.”

“Fuck, it’s your cock.” He moaned as you smeared his precum over your fingers and dragged your hand over his length.

“That’s right baby.” You whispered as you brought your hand up to cup his cheek. “All mine. Just like this pretty mouth.”

He hummed as you slipped your fingers into his mouth and continued to draw your hand over his dick. His tongue swirled around your fingers as you pushed them further into his mouth, nudging the back of his throat as you slid off the counter.

“Look at you taking my fingers so good baby.” You cooed at him as you moved to stand behind him, sliding your fingers out of his mouth. “You know what else is mine?”

His breath hitched as you ran your hand over the curve of his ass, teasing your finger around the rim of his puckered hole, your other hand still drawing over his length as you bent him over the counter.

“Fuck, oh my god.” He groaned as you slid your finger inside him, arching his back into your hand.

“Ooh, baby, you are so fucking ready for me aren’t you?” You purred at him as you stretched him open, his cock twitching in your grip. “I own you, Hugh. This is my body, sweetheart, I can play you like a damn fiddle.”

He cried out as you slipped another finger inside him, scissoring them in his pretty hole as you curled over his back and pressed soft kisses against his neck. You shoved them even further inside him until they were nudging his prostate, and he swallowed a scream as your hand moved even faster over his cock.

“Mmm, sing for me pretty boy.” You murmured into his hair. “I think you forgot to lock the door, that means anyone could walk right in and see you like this. Now cum for me sweetheart.”

You sank your teeth into his neck as you shoved a third finger inside him, your other hand squeezing his cock. Ransom screamed as he came violently, his body rolling underneath you as his cum spurted all over the counter and his pretty hole fluttered around your fingers as he sobbed against the countertop.

“Oh my god!” You heard a sound of disgusted surprise from your left and turned to see Walt and Richard standing there with shock written all over their faces.

You stood up and grinned at the two of them as you pulled your fingers out of Ransom and unwrapped your other hand from his cock, smacking his ass hard and making him yelp as he panted against the counter.

“Hey there boys!” You beamed at them, Ransom finally coming back to himself and straightening up, avoiding making eye contact with his father and uncle as he pulled his slacks back up and tucked himself in. “Richard, please tell your wife to stop shoving WASP bitches at my boyfriend.”

——————————————————————————

A/N: This ended up being super long, whoops! But hey, sub!Ransom guys!