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themusingsofacurlyhairednerd · 5 months ago

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hiiii, omg i would absolutely adore more of vampire rhysand fics, especially from that universe you created with them all vampires, will there be more? maybe when reader is turned, she can finally take both azriel and rhysand👀👀👀 or maybe to explore rhysand's relationship with her maybe nesta or someone from her family sneak in to the ball to steal reader back but rhysand is like nu uh tf

those are just some of the ideas that popped into my head, i love your writing and your smut💖

You must be psychic because I had literally just opened up a Word Document to try and write another Vamp!Rhys fic but couldn't figure out where to start!

I've got some ideas, and was thinking about doing some Monster Themed Fics for Spooky Season (More Vamp!Rhys + Bat Boys, maybe a Werewolf or Demon AU) if I can get my thoughts in order enough. Until then, pls enjoy a possessive!vamp!Rhys ;)

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Mine

Content Warnings: Slight SMUT, Possessive!Rhys, Blood and Gore

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“I’m bored,” Rhysand says by way of greeting, as he throws his lythe body onto the chase across from where you sit, curled up in a reading chair in the library.

The sun sets behind you, the golden rays peeking in through the blackout curtains that usually remain closed during the day. Most of the horde sleeps through the day, meaning, if you let your body’s natural rhythm guide you, you have the entire manor to yourself. And of course, you use most of that time to peruse the thousand year old vampire’s massive collection of books. There’s so many organized on the floor to ceiling shelves you’re not even sure you’re promised immortality will give you enough time to read all of them--that doesn’t stop you from trying, however.

The vampire lord remains in the shadows of the library, the crack of sunlight just far enough away to not burn his otherwise unbreakable skin. Sometimes you think it’s a shame he can only go out at night, while it’s true he looks his best under moonlight, the golden hue of the fading sun makes his bronze skin glow like a god. You’re tempted to set down the book in your hands and climb into his lap, unbutton the already half open shirt and run your tongue over every golden inch of him. Time has not dulled the need you feel for him, even after all these months, he’s still as tempting as he was the first time you laid eyes on him.

“There are a number of things you can do in this manor,” you say, ignoring your instincts and going back to the fantasy romance you’ve been devouring for the last hour. In truth, the smut on the page before you might also play into why your mouth is practically watering at the sight of him. You’re right at the good part, and your mind is torn between finishing the chapter and indulging your own fantasies with the very real, and very eager, vampire before you.

“Not entertaining enough,” he whines.

Your eyes still on the page as you try and think of something to offer him. He hasn’t been able to throw another ball in nearly a month, not after a group of vampire hunters had come rolling into town. Their presence had been tiresome and even Azriel, for all his talents had not been able to figure out who’d tipped them off and brought them around. Rhys had initiated an indoor ban on the whole horde just to keep everybody safe. That meant for the most part, everyone had been living off of sheep’s blood and well, you. Mostly the sheep’s blood though. Rhys had threatened to keep you locked in his room, for only his enjoyment if Azriel didn’t stop leaving so many bite marks in your thighs--his favorite place to feed from you apparently. There were more than enough bite marks across your throat to give the others pause before they tried to drink from you these days. And it hadn’t helped that Cass had snuck out and nearly been caught, drinking from a barmaid in an alley three nights ago. Everyone was on edge.

You glance up at him over the top of the worn pages in your hands. He keeps an arm thrown over his eyes, as if, even the little bit of sunlight filtering passed is enough to hurt him. Aside from that, he lays with one long leg tossed over the back of the couch, his shirt untucked and unbuttoned, the swirl of ink across his chest on full display. His dark hair is tousled, falling messily over his forehead. He had to have come directly here from his bedroom.

You look back down at the paragraph you were reading, the spicy scene practically leaping off the page at you, then back up to him as you bite your lower lip in thought. It’s usually him that initiates your interactions, him that dictates how and where you take him. You don’t mind. Truth be told, you love being able to let go of everything and let him dominate you in whatever way he sees fit. It is the height of your pleasure, knowing he could so easily break you, and yet he doesn’t. You think meeting him might actually have put some pieces of your soul back together, rather than shatter them further and you love him all the more for it. And now, in that freedom, you can’t help but wonder if there are still other things to explore?

“We could play a game?” You suggest, voice softer than you mean it to be. Neither of you have ever talked about switching things up. Why mess with a good thing, right? But he’s here, asking, and the idea is literally in your hands as you speak, like fate prompting you to try something new and exciting. It can’t hurt to ask, right? He’s never denied you anything before.

Rhys spreads two fingers over his face, so you catch a glimpse of one, gleaming, violet eye. A grin spreads across his handsome features, fangs glinting in the scarce few rays of sunlight left. There will be nothing but starlight here soon, the plain of existence made solely for him. The others may live in the dark, but it is Rhys who thrives in it. “I’m listening.”

You draw a shaky breath. It’s just a question. No harm can come from a question. But how exactly do you suggest… this? You glance down at the pages again, trying to see if they even gave it a name for you to offer him, but there’s nothing but the promise of pleasure blurring across the pages.

Gathering your courage, you unfurl your legs from beneath you and cross the distance so you can climb onto his lap. Those thighs might have been made just for you, muscle shifting to let you get comfortable as his hands settle on your hips. He sighs contentedly, like this is something he’s been missing as you settle your weight against him.

“I was reading this book and these characters are…” you scrunch your face, trying to explain without sounding crass and failing. A blush works its way up your cheeks as you shove the open book into his hands. “Maybe you should just read it.”

He takes his time, tongue slipping out to wet his full lips as he reads. You count every breath he takes in the silence, watching his face with rapt attention to try and gauge what he’s thinking about it. He’s a master of schooled expressions, always collected and together, but after all these months, you like to think you know his tells. Yet, as he reads, there is no gleam in his eye, no obvious indication of arousal from where you sit over his hips. There is nothing but careful calculation as he reads--and maybe rereads, judging by the time it takes him--the pages.

Finally he closes the book and sets it down on the floor. “You’re suggesting we do that?”

It’s hard to identify if that is amusement or irritation in his voice and you find your heartbeat quickening regardless of which it is. “I-if you want.”

“That’s not what I asked, Little One,” he tuts, hands resuming their rightful place on your hips. His thumbs stroke gentle circles into your skin, a move that can turn either teasing or cruel at a moment's notice.

“I don’t know, you said you were bored. I thought maybe, you know, since we haven’t had a ball in awhile you might want to…” the word sticks in your throat and you swallow as the intensity of his gaze pins you in place. “You know… hunt.”

His eyes light up at the word. “And you want me to hunt you?”

Your thighs clench involuntarily at the thought, a move that doesn’t go unnoticed in the slightest. He grins wolfishly, gaze pinned to where your hips rest over his. He could have you right here, like this and he knows it. All it would take is a couple rocking motions of his hips, a slide of his fingertips beneath the thin silk of your top, teasing up bare skin until he can play with your breasts and you’d surrender. He could drink his fill and take you just as you are, right here and now. But there’s no challenge in it, no fun to be had, and he wants you to tell him you want it. Want him like that.

You’d be a liar if you said you’d never thought about what he would feel like if he let loose his control and showed you just how much a monster he was capable of being. You knew that even if he lost his usual composure, he would never hurt you. Even his basest instincts would balk at the thought of causing you pain. If you said you wanted it, he would make sure that you enjoyed every minute of it.

“Yes,” you say softly.

He sits up, swinging his legs onto the floor, moving you with him. His hands slide over your hips to your ass, squeezing playfully as you squeal in surprise over the sudden shift in position. “What are the rules to this game then?”

Your heartbeat quickens in your chest. You’re actually going to do this.

“I want a ten minute head start,” you say slowly, mind spinning.

He hums as he leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Done. What else?”

“No going past the gardens.” There is enough yard between the manor and the perimeter walls that you could still feel like you were outside without risking an encounter with a hunter.

“Agreed,” he kisses the opposite corner of your mouth.

“If you catch me-”

“When I catch you,” he says, lips pressing to my chin.

“If you catch me before the end of the hour,” that gives him a total of thirty minutes before the clock chimes, “then…” It’s not like you’ve never talked dirty before, but still, your cheeks are a deep set of red as you say, “then I am yours to do with what you wish.”

His eyes gleam, fangs glinting as he leans back and grins like he’s already won. “And if I say I want to be so deep inside you that every sorry hunter for miles will know your mine regardless of where I find you?”

You clench your thighs again, or attempt to, this new position in his lap doesn’t give you a lot of room to do so. “If you can find me.”

He slides you effortlessly off his lap, but you find, given the nature of the way he’s looking at you, that your legs feel weak already. “You should get going. You’ve only got ten minutes, Darling.”

You waste precious time leaning down to capture his lips in a quick kiss, but you don’t care. Every kiss, every touch is worth the lost time. He is a promise of endless time, of boundless freedom and new adventures, time is never wasted with Rhys.

He pulls away with some difficulty. “I’m still counting,” he warns.

You grin as you turn and sprint out the library, leaving the doors wide open as you run. It occurs to you now that you’ve never actually seen him hunt outside a ballroom. There’s a lot of strategy to those hunts, as you’ve observed, but he’s never had to chase anything. He’s like a spider, waiting patiently for his prey to get caught and stuck in his web for him to devour. You don’t actually know how fast or strong he is. He certainly has a heightened sense of smell, but how heightened?

You know you want to make it outside, just to let him feel like he’s getting out of the house, but going straight out the back door would be too easy. You run up the stairs to the second floor instead, then into one of the many empty rooms and unlatch the window. This might waste more of your precious time, but still, you’re curious to know if he’ll save time and run right out the door, or if he can actually follow your scent.

Carefully, you climb onto the roof and pick your way across the slanting tiles, until you reach the side of the manor where tree branches reach for you. The gardens outside the estate are massive, their own little forest, and with the gates closed, the gardeners haven’t been around to trim the trees. Branches that would normally be clipped to keep the leaves from collecting on the roof have been allowed to blossom and you find a sturdy one and nimbly walk across it like a balance beam. He may be the expert hunter here, but you spent years outside the Spring Estate, back when your parents were still alive, exploring the massive gardens and climbing the trees. Until your Governess had dragged you back by the ear, yelling about your ripped skirts and scraped knees. Hardly the lifestyle of a lady, they’d said. You couldn’t care less now as you climb, hand over hand through the dense leaves, moving from tree to tree. This is familiar yet different, you are far more free here than you had ever been back home.

Anticipation sits hot and heavy in your lower belly as you move. It’s hard to tell how much time you have left and you need to decide if the plan is to just keep moving or to hunker down and hide in wait.

When the trees start to thin, you finally clamber down onto the damp floor below and take a good look around. There are certainly plenty of bushes to hide under, but that feels… boring.

You glance over your shoulder, the trees blocking out the moonlight that has now replaced the earlier sun. Shadows cling to the trees providing ample cover, for both you and the predator you know is coming.

You bite your lip. You want it to be a challenge. So you keep moving, ears straining for any little sound that might indicate your ten minutes is up. Every rustle of leaves makes a shiver run up your spine, heart thundering beneath your ribs. It’s a heady sort of rush that makes you laugh as you break into a full on sprint, wind tearing at your loose hair.

This is freedom. Unbridled and unrestrained, there are no limits on what you can do or want, and right now, you want exactly what he promised you.

You slow to catch your breath, the trees thinning as you come closer to the hedge maze on the far side of the property. There’s usually a whole slew of string lights bobbing overhead, so partygoers can see past the towering hedges full of roses and attempt to find the bubbling water fountain at the center of the maze. It’s a showstopper when lit, but right now, it is dark and unyielding and you inch your way towards it with more than a little trepidation. It would be a good place to make him walk through to get to you, but some of the hedges are so thick and overgrown it blocks out the light, and you do not have the night vision of vampires, not yet.

A twig snaps behind you and you jump with a hand clamped over your mouth to keep from screaming as you turn to face the noise. There’s enough moonlight to see by out here, but there is no familiar shape stalking towards you. There’s nothing there at all but the trees and the maze at your back.

You give yourself a little shake to calm your nerves as you inch backwards towards the opening of the maze, still anticipating Rhys’s sudden arrival. One step back, then another, until you can almost feel the shadow of the hedges against your back. It’s a degree colder within it than outside of it.

The first bit of darkness covers your entrance.

And it covered the hiding place too, because you hadn’t seen anyone or anything within the maze until a firm hand clamps over your mouth. Surprise makes you scream, the noise muffled beneath the weathered palm as a strong arm wraps around your waist.

How the hell had he gotten behind you?!

Hot breath fans your ear as he puts his lips to your ear. “Scream, and you’re dead.”

That’s not Rhys’s voice at all!

Panic grips you and you have just enough presence of mind to fight, digging your elbow into the stranger’s soft gut, throwing your head back into his shoulder. You twist and claw and bite down on the hand covering your mouth so hard you taste blood.

“You little bitch!” The stranger snarls, his hand slipping off your mouth.

You don’t have time to spit out the blood as you scream, “RHYS!!!” As loud as you can.

The stranger grabs your hair and spins you, face scraping over a cluster of thorny roses that cuts open your cheek as you fight to keep your footing. You stumble, but before you can hit the ground, another rough set of hands grabs your arm and yanks, pulling you deeper into the darkness of the maze.

“Get off me!” You shout, your game forgotten. There is nothing but wild panic in your blood as you claw and punch at the hands that pull you deeper and deeper into the maze.

Rhys can find you in here, right? He knows this isn’t part of the game?

Blood trickles down the wound in your cheek, following a trail down your neck and chest as your head whips around to try and get a good look at your attacker. He’s not much taller than you, but he’s twice as large, his arms made of thick, corded muscle. A spiderweb of scars travels up the bare expanse of his right arm, but he has no other defining features you can see in the darkness.

The second remains in the dark as they drag you through the maze. They must have been here awhile, if they know their way through it. In no time at all, you find yourself at the maze’s heart, the fountain that’s usually so dazzling at parties remains full of stagnant water and dead leaves. Sitting on the lip of it are another two men, one carrying a sword and another wearing a bandolier full of wooden stakes. Hunters.

Your mouth dries, heart skipping a beat. No no no! This can’t be happening! How’d they get past the gate? Rhys had it made by some local witches, it was supposed to be spelled to keep hunters out!

“Y/N?”

The world narrows in to the sound of that voice, as the body attached rounds the fountain. The sliver of moonlight cuts through the overgrown shrubs, highlighting the swatch of blonde hair, carefully tied back from a face that looks so similar to your own.

Though you have no fangs of your own, you pull your lips back in a snarl as Tamlin draws nearer. “You did this?” You hiss at your brother.

He looks older, tired. Emerald eyes framed by dark circles. It’s been months since you’ve seen him. Months since he sent someone to tell you not to bother coming home since you’d ruined yourself with Rhys. Based on the stories you’d heard, he’d trashed the manor in a fit of rage when he’d found out he could no longer auction you off like a mare to be wed and bred by some stuffy, old baron or count.

He takes you in, nose crinkling as he spots the hickeys littering your throat. You’re not wearing anything more than a pair of lounge shorts and a silk top, an outfit that had felt appropriate a moment ago but now, based on the judgment and leering of the hunters, feels poorly out of place.

It’s an effort not to try and cover yourself, to stand there, blood still dripping from your cheek and keep your chin up.

“Where is he?” Tamlin demands.

Shit. Shit. Shit! Of course he’s not here for you, he’d made it clear you were as wanted as a wadded up gum wrapper. He--they--are all here for Rhys.

“Who?” You play dumb, trying to buy time. Rhys is walking right into a trap and if you don’t think of something quick…

“Don’t play dumb!” Tamlin snarls. “I know you’ve been whoring yourself out to that blood sucker!”

He can’t know that Rhys is the town’s vampire, there’s no way. Every person that leaves the manor is compelled to forget everything they saw. The whole horde is meticulous, Az has even followed people home to ensure the protection of the den.

When you don’t respond, he says, a little gentler this time, “Tell me where he is, Y/N, and I will consider this whole mess a compulsion on his part and not hold it against you. We’ll go home and find somewhere safe for you to live. There’s a temple that will take in ruined women…”

You’re seeing red. “Nobody fucking ruined me! It is my body! What I do with it is none of your business!”

He frowns. “Nesta thought you might have been compelled, I didn’t want to believe that you were so weak minded that it could happen to you, but now that I see you…”

Nesta. Your stomach twists itself into knots. She was supposed to be your best friend, and yet she had gone to Tamlin and he’d called the hunters. She must have seen Rhys drinking from you that first night after all. In her rush, she’d pissed off Cass, who had been so distracted with her leaving he’d distracted Az from following her home. She’d gotten out of the den knowing what they all were and Tamlin had spent all this time summoning these hunters.

The betrayal stings worse than the cut on your cheek, your eyes burning despite your attempts to keep it all bottled up. You can’t cry here! Not in front of them. The four hunters hover near the exits, blocking your escape, but keeping watch for Rhys all the same. They all have stakes. They’re all clearly fighting men, all capable of taking on an unsuspecting vampire.

“Don’t do this, Tam,” you whisper. If anything happens to Rhys… If they get their hands on him because you suggested going outside the manor, you’re never going to forgive yourself.

“You forced my hand!” Tamlin snarls, advancing a step towards you. “You went and made a mess of things as always! If mom were still alive she would have keeled over and had a heart attack from the strain of having you for a daughter.”

The words hit like a slap. He’d always been good at that; when he couldn’t use his size and strength, his words were just as sharp as a blade, and he’d used them to keep you in line for years. Even now, the freedom you had so desperately craved feels like it’s slipping through your fingers. You feel your shoulders hunch, chin dipping towards your chest. He’s always been so terribly good at making you feel small and useless and so terribly unwanted. Even now, your own flesh and blood isn’t here to make sure you’re alright, he’s here to prove himself a hero by killing a vampire. Your vampire.

Figures, as soon as you’d found something to love, Tamlin found another way to rip it from you.

Seeing a weakness, Tamlin stalks towards you, his footfalls heavy in the damp earth. He reaches out a hand to grab you, but before he can so much as brush a fingertip over your arm, his body flies backwards like it’s been tossed by an invisible hand. He hits the statue guarding the water fountain so hard the old angel’s head falls from it’s stone shoulders.

“Don’t fucking touch her!” Rhys snarls so loud the ground shakes. He’d come in silently, stealthy as a cat. The power that radiates off him is nothing like the demure courtier you see in the ballroom, there is nothing subtle or charming about this Rhys. There is only cold, unyielding rage as he moves around you faster than your eyes can track. You don’t even have time to warn him about what the hunters are armed with before he uses his teeth to rip the throat out of the first man. Blood splatters across his face as the hunter falls. Another blink at the second falls, his heart still beating from where Rhys holds it in his fist.

The third hunter has just enough time to slide a stake out of its sheath and lunge, but Rhys is so much faster and stronger, there is no contest. He snags the hunter’s wrist, snapping the bone so hard his wrist twists backwards, the stake now aimed at the hunter’s heart. His own momentum keeps him moving forward, even as he screams in terror, and he impales himself on his own stake. Rhys hurls the body into the thorny hedges, leaving it to bleed out as he turns to face the fourth and final hunter.

It's the one that had grabbed you initially, his thin lips pulled back in a sneer as he flips two stakes around in his large hands.

“You think you can waltz into my domain,” Rhys seethes. There’s an eerie calm to his steps now, blood dripping from his fingers, splattering the trampled grass. “And try and take what is mine?”

Rationally, you know you should be terrified of him like this--this is who he really is, not the courtly mask and disarming smiles you know, this is a full-fledged vampire in all his glory--but you’re not. Not even a little bit. If anything, the sight of him makes you feel like you can breathe again.

“I’ve killed worse things than you,” the hunter spits. “You won’t even be a challenge.”

Rhys cocks his head like he’s thinking, a grin spreading across his face. His fangs are longer than you’ve ever seen them, poking into his lower lip, where the first hunter’s blood still lingers. “Is that so?”

He takes a small step forward, and though the hunter’s fingers twitch around the stakes, he doesn’t move. He doesn’t even blink. He stands still as a statue, his chest barely rising and falling. Almost like he can’t move at all.

Rhys reaches out and plucks the stakes from the hunter’s hands like he’s taking a toy from a belligerent child. The hunter doesn’t move; doesn’t speak in his own defense.

Rhys lifts the stake to get a better look at it in the moonlight. “These are poorly made,” he tuts, right before he jams it between the hunter’s eyes. The man falls, still completely immobile.

“You’re a fucking monster,” Tamlin hisses from where he’s still struggling to get back to his feet.

Rhys slides the hand not dripping blood into his pocket, appearing bored as he puts a boot on Tamlin’s shoulder and pushes him back down into the mud. “Humans are so very dull.”

“Yet you keep my sister like a fucking pet!” Tamlin snarls, trying to rise again and losing the battle as Rhys’s heel pushes down against his shoulder until the bone snaps. “You compelled her into being with you and have been keeping her here against her will.”

You stare at the two of them. Rhys is holding back now, toying with Tamlin--the brother that had locked you up, had insisted your Governess cut your meals in half to keep you thin and desirable for a suitor; the brother who had ignored your wishes your whole life and had stolen almost every bit of happiness you had tried to carve out for yourself. Only one of them is the monster here.

“Nobody compelled me into staying,” you hiss. “Nobody compelled me into doing anything! I chose it.”

Tamlin tilts his head to look at you, despite the pain flashing across his face. “He just used his powers to freeze a man in place, you’re too stupid to know if he used them on you.”

Rhys moves his boot from Tamlin’s shoulder to his wrist, heel crushing down until the bone splinters, the resounding crack echoing through the maze. “Try that again,” he dares.

Tamlin’s howls of pain have somehow not drawn everybody else outside, but you are relieved to see it. As much as you want him out of your life forever, you’re not up for watching them all devour him like a turkey at a Sunday roast.

You pick your way around the mess of bodies until you can grab Rhys’s hand, the blood now cold and sticky over his palm. You do not balk from it. This is still your Rhys. He is still what you would choose, if you could go back to that first night on the dancefloor. Bargain or no bargain, you would have come back time and time again, to be with him and this family you have made for yourself here. This is the life you want, messy and full of monsters.

Rhys glances down at your joined hands, yours so small and delicate against the mess of his own.

You intertwine your fingers. “Please don’t kill him.”

He reaches out with his free hand to run a thumb over your ruined cheek, checking how deep the cuts are. “Why not?”

“Can he be compelled to forget about all of us? Can you make it so that we never existed?”

“Y/N!” Tamlin screams. “You don’t know what you’re doing!”

“I could,” Rhys admits. “Is that what you want?”

“I want to be with you,” you say confidently. “As a human or a vampire.”

Tamlin tries to move out from under Rhys’s boot but gets nowhere.

“I want him to no longer have control of my life. I want to be free to choose where I go and who comes with me. I am angry at him. I’ve been angry at him my whole life. But… but I don’t want him dead.”

Rhys nods, then brushes a tender kiss over your forehead. “It’ll be done then.”

Azriel appears from the shadows then, as if he’d been hovering somewhere in the maze just in case. That intense hazel gaze sweeps over you, taking stock of your injuries before he hauls Tamlin to his feet.

Your brother still tries to fight it, but his right arm hangs limp and twisted at his side, and even if he was whole, he’s no match for either of them.

Rhys takes Tamlin’s chin between his forefinger and thumb, holding him in place with just those two fingers alone. “Any last words, Darling?”

You flash your middle finger at Tamlin, “If you come back through these gates, I’ll hunt you down myself.”

“Vicious,” Azriel praises, tongue running over his lower lip in appreciation to this new side of you.

Rhys keeps his attention pinned to Tamlin. “You’ll return home. You’ll forget this vampire business. You went out and got drunk and got your ass handed to you by the barmaid.”

Azriel snickers at that.

You’ve seen that barmaid, she very well could hand Tamlin his ass, the story will be convincing.

“If anyone asks about your sister, you’ll tell them she ran away to be with the people that love her. There is no need to look for her. She is happy.”

And you are. Your chest warms at the words. You are happy here. You will always be happy here, with this new family you’ve found.

Tamlin repeats the words in monotone, like they’re being forced out of his head.

“You’ll have to find and compel Nesta too,” you say softly. “She saw us that first night.”

“Leave it to Cass to put us in this mess,” Azriel grumbles. “I should make him compel her for the trouble.”

“He’d just turn her for shits and giggles and then we’d be in bigger trouble,” Rhys responds as he releases his grip on Tamlin. Your brother’s head sags to his chest, unconscious, and Azriel drags him out through the back gate.

“It’s done?” You ask, watching them leave.

“It’s done,” Rhys confirms.

You turn to face him again and stretch up on your toes to kiss him gently on the lips, despite the blood. “Thank you.”

When you try to pull away, he slides a hand into your hair and pulls you back for another, ravenous kiss. “Are you all right?”

“A little shaken,” you confess, reaching up a hand to brush a tendril of dark hair off his head. “But alright. Are you?”

He slides his arms beneath you and picks you up like you weigh nothing. “Let’s get you cleaned up and I’ll feel better.”

In no time at all, you’re back safe inside the house, perched on top of the counter in the bathroom attached to his room. Candlelight flickers to give him a better view of the gash across your cheek, now forming a bruise beneath the split skin.

“It doesn’t hurt too bad,” you assure. “Just stings a little.”

He frowns as he pokes at it, then brings his wrist up to his mouth and sinks his fangs into a vein. “Drink,” he orders, bringing it to your lips. “My blood will heal you.”

You stare at him for a moment. It has become an easy thing to accept that he likes to drink from you. He needs blood to live and you want him to keep on living, it is an easy exchange--and one that always ends pleasurably for you at that--but this is different. It’s not necessity. He’s offering because he wants to. Because he cares about you.

“Please,” he says gently, pushing his wrist a little closer. “Let me take care of you.”

You wrap your hand around his arm as you bring his wrist to your mouth, unsure of how to go about this. He holds you steady, pressing his wrist to your lips, guiding you through it like he has everything this far. His blood is a coppery tang in your mouth as you run your tongue over the two puncture marks in his wrist and swallow it down.

By the time he pulls away, the stinging in your cheek has subsided.

“It’ll taste better once you're one of us,” he explains as he grabs a towel and cleans the remaining blood off your skin.

You watch the slow pace in which he moves now, all that rage and strength once again contained within the confines of courtly manners, but there is a stiffness to those usually graceful motions. You can almost taste the unease coming off him as he uses the same towel to clean the blood off his own face and hands.

“You’re not changing your mind about turning me after this mess, are you?”

He tosses the towel in the hamper near the door and comes to stand between your legs. You have to tilt your head back to look at him as he cups your face in his large hands. “Never.” The finality in his tone leaves no room for doubt. “I never wish to be parted from you again.”

Your heart stutters in your chest. This bargain between you is fun and exciting, and truth be told you are more fond of him than you’d ever dare say out loud, but you had always assumed those budding feelings were one sided. This was a game and a bargain at the end of the day, what was one human in the span of eternity to a thousand year old vampire? Daring to believe that you meant more to him was not a luxury you had let yourself indulge in.

“And I thought…” he shakes his head and kisses you gently at first, grounding himself in the reality that you are safe and in his arms, but it turns rough and desperate as he considers what he’s saying. “I thought I might lose you.”

You run your fingers through the silky strands of his hair, knocking a few loose leaves that had gotten caught when he’d come running after you.

“If anything were to happen to you, I don’t…” he shutters as he slides his hands beneath you and lifts you off the counter, carrying you towards his large bed with ease despite the shakiness of his breathing.

“I’ve killed thousands of hunters. I have drained entire covens of witches and packs of werewolves.” He lays you down in the center of the black silk sheets, body propped up against a dozen pillows someone who is undead doesn’t really need, his large frame kneeling over yours as he kisses you again. “I have fought and won hundreds of battles and taken down an army of other vampires. Bloodshed is in my nature. It is woven into the lifeblood of creatures like me. I am used to the killing, but I have never enjoyed it. I avoid it if I can, but tonight, when I saw those hunters around you…”

He steals another kiss, tongue sliding behind your teeth to try and claim your very breath as his weight settles between your legs. “I wanted to take my time. I wanted to make them pay for putting their hands on you. I enjoyed making them suffer. And I’d do it again.”

Perhaps the long lasting effects of being locked up has altered your brain chemistry, because such outright aggression should be a warning sign to run, but it makes heat flare in your chest instead. This is a dangerous amount of possessiveness and yet, you enjoy it. It is nice to be looked after so deeply.

“And I know that I should turn you,” he continues. “You have more than fulfilled your part of the bargain and after seeing those hunters today, I should give you an edge over them, just in case, but…” Another kiss, his hands slipping beneath your top to skim your sides. “But to turn you I have to… You have to die to become a vampire. How am I supposed to do that, knowing that it’ll hurt, even for a moment? Knowing that I will have to be the one to do it?”

Your fingers drift to the buttons of his shirt, slowly popping them open so you can touch him. “It doesn’t have to be today. We never set a time.”

“I saw that scratch on you and almost went out of my mind,” he says as he leans back enough to let you push the shirt off his shoulders, but as soon as the article is off he’s right back on top of you again, kissing you like he won’t ever get enough. “I love you,” he whispers against your lips. “I have never loved a human before. I have never been so conflicted before. I can’t lose you, Y/N. I’m just not ready to turn you yet either.”

Your hands skim up his tattooed torso, tracing every curve of ink up his chest and shoulders until you can cup his cheek. “You’re not going to lose me. Like I said, I choose you. I want to be here with you. Like this or otherwise. I am in no rush.”

He tilts his head and kisses your palm. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“I know,” you assure, using your free hand to grab him behind the neck and pull him down for another kiss. “I trust you. When the time is right to turn me, we’ll know. It’ll feel right.”

His lips pull away from yours just long enough to catch your breath before he starts trailing kisses along your jaw and neck. You let yourself relax beneath his ministrations, eyes drifting shut. It no longer feels strange that this has become the place you feel safest; this is right.

“I love you,” you say softly.

He all but purrs into your throat, the kiss he was placing there more forceful than the last. “Careful, that’s a dangerous thing to say to an immortal.”

“You said it first,” you counter, hands sliding off him to reach for the hem of your shirt. You want it off, no clothes between your bodies, the warmth of him like this seeping into your skin. There is no telling how different it’ll feel once you’re no longer human, you want to relish every experience you have while you still have it.

He nips teasingly at your throat, fangs just barely scraping your skin. Not enough to feed, but just enough to remind you they’re there. “What power you wield over me, Little Human.”

“I’ll try not to let it go to my head,” you reply.

He laughs at that, the sound rich and deep, and you think you might do just about anything to hear it again and again. “Be careful how you wield it, I would do anything you asked.”

“Anything?” You ask with a grin, a few things coming to mind.

He nips at your throat hard enough to leave a bruise this time. “No questions asked.”

“So if I have other scenes in my books I want to try out…”

“What a dirty little mind you have,” he tuts. “And when we didn’t even get to finish the first one.”

“That really is a shame,” you muse. “I was looking forward to it too.”

“Another night then,” he promises, his voice low and dangerous in your ear. “Tonight I want to take my time with you.”

And how can you say no to those kinds of promises?

#rhysand x reader #vamp!rhys #vamp!Rhys x reader #vamp!Rhys smut #vampire smut #rhysand x reader smut #smut request #acotar #acotar smut #acotar fic #rhysand acotar #my fics #my writing #my requests #asks #acotar asks #rhysand asks

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toxicanonymity · 2 years ago

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consider this: down on her luck reader who needs cash and tries to sell something at joel’s pawn shop but he lowballs her and she insists she needs more money and he says “there’s something else you could give me” 👀

Pawn Shop

2.3k / sleazy GILF!Joel x fem!reader / masterlist

mood board by @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog

WARNINGS: I8+ Big girthy age gap (68/20s+) dark / perverted old creep Joel, dubcon nudity. Joel jacks off. Sex dream (oral m & P in V sex) and coming in public. Non-outbreak AU. TW Clowns, Drug/addiction references, transactional. Accidental horror then I kinda rolled with it, possible nightmare fuel?

He sighs, puts down the magnifying glass, and swivels his stool around to face you. "Best I can do is twenty, darlin'." His tired eyes are apologetic, wrinkling under the shade of his brow as he looks up at you. "And that’s pushin’ it. Rock's not real, no market for this."

Your face goes cold. You don't know what else to do. The ring is all you have. You need $75 for your bus ticket, then you're out of here, going to get a fresh start somewhere new. You hold your hand out and the chain of the necklace pools into your palm as he lowers it into your hand. You swallow thickly. It comes out in a broken whisper: "Thanks anyway."

You walk to the door, dejected, being careful that your backpack doesn't hit any of the junk piled up everywhere on your way out. You’ve never seen so many ceramic clowns. There’s a market for all those, but not a necklace? You barely have the energy to push the metal bar of the door. It’s so bright outside your eyes ache as soon as you touch it. When the bell on the door jingles, the man says, "Hold on, sweetheart. C'mere."

You look back to the register and he's sitting with his arms crossed, thumbing a suspender. You walk halfway back to the counter. "Told ya I don't have anything else," you say, tears welling up in your eyes.

He squints and looks you up and down, then scratches one side of his silver beard. "How 'bout that pretty dress?"

You sigh. "I can't, I don't have anything else." Your eyes fall to his biceps bulging out of his short sleeves. There’s a faded tattoo you can’t see. He has the face of a grandfather but the body of a muscular DILF with sun damage.

"Gimme a minute, darlin'." He puts his hands on his thighs and stands up with a groan. He quickly adjusts himself then reaches under the cash register, unzips something, and his hand emerges with some bills. He turns away to thumb through them, pockets them, then hobbles around you to the door, his denim brushing the skirt of your dress. He turns the sign to "closed" and turns the lock.

"Lunch time," he says with a raise of his eyebrows. A pit forms in your stomach, but you suppress it. "Come on back, I'll show ya what I got."

You hesitantly follow him to the back of the store. He walks slowly, like he's in pain. His jeans are tight on his ass, and one side of his shirt collar is creased. If you only saw him from the back, you'd peg him for fifty or so, but his face and mannerisms are older. In the back of the store, there's more junk. One corner has an old sofa and an armchair. He sighs and his knees pop as he sits down in the armchair. He looks at you and nods at the sofa, as if you should know what to do.

"Fifty for the dress."

Your eyes burn with tears of frustration. "I don't have anything else to wear."

"Oh, you'll get it back, darlin'. Don't worry," he says soothingly.

The blood drains from your face as you realize what this is. He stands up slowly again with his hands on his thighs and shuffles over to a desk to get a bottle of lotion. A ceramic sad clown in a bowler hat sits atop the desk. On his way back to the chair, he looks you up and down and his voice goes up an octave like he's talking to a pet. "Hey, it's okay, sweetie. I'm not gonna touch ya." He takes down his suspenders and sits back down with a sigh. He leans back in the chair with one hand on his beard as he watches you think it over. He spreads his legs and rests his heels on the ground. Your eyes follow the grooves in the tan soles of his boots as you think.

Finally, you ask, “Is there anything you need help with? Any work you could give me?”

He smiles and chuckles to himself, looking down. His smile fades when he looks up again with a darker tone. “Fifty for the dress, sweetheart. And ya get it back.”

You take a deep breath.

He lifts his hips and shoves a hand into his pocket. He peeks at the cash and takes out a fifty-dollar bill to show you. "If ya don't want it, I'll let ya go."

You put down your backpack. "All I have to do is take it off?"

"And lemme look at ya for a lil bit," he adds. He folds the bill vertically and holds it between his middle and forefinger on the arm of the chair and palms himself with his other hand. It makes your stomach turn. But it's fast money, and you're so tired, you just need to get on the bus and sleep.

"Okay," you agree quietly and feel a little piece of yourself float away.

"Good girl," he says.

You rip the bandaid off, pulling the dress over your head right away. You hold it in front of your body timidly. At least you still have your shoes and underwear on.

"I'll hold onto that," he says as he lifts his hips to unbutton his tight jeans. You stand frozen as he unzips then reaches into his pants. He takes a deep breath as he takes his cock out. You’ve never seen an old one, and you’re curious, but you don’t look. He extends his free hand for your dress.

You stand as far away as possible and lean forward, extending your arm and practically tossing the dress to him. You avoid looking, but it’s hard not to see it in the corner of your vision. You quickly go back to the couch and sit down.

He drapes the dress over the arm of the chair and pumps some lotion into his hand. Then he wraps his hand around his cock and his fist begins to go up and down, moving a distance that tells you he's well endowed.

You cover yourself with your arms, cower, and look away.

"Don't be shy, darlin'. Only make it take longer."

You put your hands down by your sides. He strokes himself slowly and watches you. "Sure are pretty," he mutters. "sorry you're down on your luck." You look away. "Nuh-uh " he says. "You look right here." Your eyes begin to water. You look past him, to the sad clown on the desk. You're never, ever coming back to this town again.

When he closes his eyes for a moment, you steal a glance and curse the pang between your legs when your eyes fixate on the thick pillar in his weathered, veiny hand. He sees you see him. He looks down at his cock then at you and a wicked look spreads across his eyes. "Yeah, that's right," he murmurs. "Like what you see?" He nods slowly as he pumps himself. He adds more lotion.

The slurping sound makes you sick. Sick enough to snap. You're never coming back, why are you doing this? You feel yourself floating back together.

You offer a small nod of admission, stare at his cock, and wet your lips. Because you know that's what he wants.

“You can have it if ya want,” he says. You act tempted but shy. "That’s okay, sweetie. Just take off the rest and this'll go faster." You don’t take anything else off. “Another fifty for the rest.” He pauses his hand, holding his hard cock at attention as he gets out another bill from his pocket. Arousal stirs between your legs, looking at his stiff member jutting into the air, ready to be mounted. But no, not with this sleaze.

You “pretend” to be turned on. "How much faster?" You ask. He accelerates his stroke considerably to demonstrate, then slows it way down. He wets his lips with the darkest look on his face, and now that you're looking at his cock unabashed, butterflies swarm in your lower belly.

"Ok," you say, and stand up. You walk toward him slowly, taking down the straps of your bra, eyeing the bills in his hand. "How much is in your pocket?" His eyes rove you hungrily. You stand in front of him and ask, “How much if I just do it myself?" You put your hands on his jeans and squat down. He's pumping himself at a snail's pace now.

"Hold it for me," he says as he digs in his pocket. “Lemme see.”

"Not for free," you tell him.

He chuckles and hands you the two fifties. You yank your dress out from under his elbow and make a break for the front of the store.

"Hold on now, darlin'," he protests over his shoulder. You're putting your dress on as you scurry away, leaving your bag. The chair groans as he slowly stands up. You bump into a clown and it crashes off its table to the ground, shattering. You reach over the counter and under the cash register. His silhouette hobbles down the hall, suspenders swinging at his hips, as you grab the pouch of cash.

"You don't wanna do that," he says flatly, footsteps getting closer. You glance back and he's got his pants still undone, grabbing a shotgun off the wall. You tip over a display shelf behind you on your way to the door. You fumble at the lock, then push it open and it jingles as you spill onto the sidewalk, blinded by the sun and stumbling with nerves, part of your dress hung up on your panties.

You fall on your knees and as you're getting up, he emerges from the store with his gun raised. Thankfully, there are other people on the sidewalk who stop and stare at him with his pants and suspenders hanging down exposing his silver pubic hair, biceps bulging as he points a shotgun at you. He notices the stares and lowers the gun as you run away crying, pulling down your dress.

The worst part is your primal brain finds this image of him to be one of the hottest things you've ever seen. You stuff the pouch in the band of your bra under your arm and it gathers your sweat as you walk to the bus station.

At the station, you open the pouch. It's quite a stack of bills and also a few loose pills. Oxy which is the last thing you need, but god, after that experience. You count the money, close to $1,600, and you feel a rush. It’s more than enough to replace everything you lost. You walk to the pharmacy across the street to buy some water, a snack, and some wet wipes to wipe down with because you feel filthy.

Once you're on the Greyhound bus, you settle into the big, gray velvety seat with an eighties-looking rainbow design on it. You still feel disgusting, especially because you can't shake the image of him in your head or the feeling between your legs. A DILF sits next to you but you're too ashamed to let yourself look at him. You discreetly take one of the pills from the pouch and doze off.

You're back in the pawn store, sitting on the sofa completely nude. He's shirtless with gray and white chest hair and a little tummy, but he's not too wrinkled. He’s wearing red suspenders. There’s a faint trace of faded makeup or tattoos stemming down from his eyes - narrow triangles, pointed downward. Somehow he makes it look sexy.

"Spread your legs for me, baby," he says gruffly as he moves his hand up and down his cock. You spread your legs wide and touch yourself.

"Fuck me," he exhales. "Gotta have ya, darlin'," he sighs in resignation. He stands up with no difficulty, crosses the room cockily with his big dick in in his hand, and puts his hand on the wall behind the sofa. He looks down at you darkly, looming over you, stiff cock less than two feet from your face as he strokes it. You scoot forward and suck his tip between your lips. He puts his other hand on the wall and thrusts his huge cock slowly into your mouth, bracing himself with both hands.

You suck him hard, salivating around his delicious cock as his hips push him into your mouth. He grunts and moans and says "yeah, just like that," fucking himself with your mouth. His soft, deep voice stirs a feral desire within you. "Just like that, baby.” You take him out of your mouth and he watches from above, stroking himself as you stretch out on the sofa. "You want this cock, sweetie?" You nod. He brings a hand down to the back of the sofa then cages you to the cushions with his body. "You want it in your pussy?"

He reaches between your legs and lightly taps your cunt a few times, wetting his lips, then rubs your slick around it. You grab his dick and gently tug him closer. You wrap your legs around him and he slams his big cock into you, stuffing you completely full of him. "Yeah," he sighs. He retreats slowly then slams into you hard. "Take it, sweetie." You moan and he grunts.

He repeats the action again and again, and it feels better and better. His belly grinds into your clit and you watch his biceps flex. He pounds you and grinds into you and finally you burst.

You wake up moaning on the Greyhound bus and the DILF next to you looks away, blushing.

All Joel: @ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @jasminespringtime @romanarose @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @lokanda @blackvelveteen1339 @manazo @wolvesandvampires @taeslarityy @str84pedro @kyloispunk @filthfairy @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @harriedandharassed @moonlightdivine @worhols @fan-fiction-floozy @cutesyscreenname @weddingfairy @pedropascal-whore @spideysimpossiblegirl

#gilf!joel #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller drabble #joel miller fic #dark!joel miller #pedro pascal fic #pervy!joel miller #sleazy!joel miller #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #toxicanonymity ☠️#creepy!joel miller #cw clowns #cw sex work #cw dubcon #PPCU jacks off #PPCU jacks off ☠️#someone jacks off

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stellar-skyy · 9 months ago

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Could I order a hot white tea for Aventurine? If you can also add angst to confort please 👀

“order up! i have a white tea for aventurine, fresh and hot!”

☆ — if you're craving a drink, make sure to stop by the teashop!

i. SUMMARY: At a work event, your coworker offers you a dance. ii. CWS & NOTES: no warnings applicable. aventurine x gn!reader. reader & aven are coworkers. mild angst & fluff. 1.6k words. iii. A/N: thank you for the order! i hope you enjoy!

It wasn’t their plan to hide in the corner all night, but it was where they ended up; drink clutched in both hands, shoulders hunched tightly, and eyes cast to the floor. All around them, their colleagues and fellow members of the Interastral Peace Corporation mingled and danced, filling the night with a dull drone of chatter and laughter. Around the groups and pairs scattered across the hall, were those few idly loitering on the outskirts like shadows, themself included.

They could busy themself for a while pretending to survey the hors d'oeuvres arranged on the table, but soon enough they would catch someone’s attention. Then would come the questions of why they were avoiding people, and the feeble attempts to drag them into a conversation they had far too little energy to engage in.

A charity ball, organized by their colleagues and funded by the ICP themselves. It seemed like a perfect idea when it was pitched, all up until they were standing alone in a crowded room, trapped in layers of formalwear the dug into their sides. The festivities grew all too much after a while, leaving them exhausted and weary of every greeting and smile.

It was much easier to turn their back on the other guests and ignore them for however long they could manage. That way, they weren’t forced into mindless small talk, or dragged into a half-hearted dance with any of their coworkers. They were fully content on spending the rest of their evening on the sidelines alone, without anyone to disturb their—

“Ahem.”

Peace.

The voice tore straight through their attempt to sink into the background, silky smooth and laced with the slightest trace of amusement. They lifted their head up, hands tightening around the drink in their hands and lips forming his name before they even had to look at him.

“Aventurine.”

The man smiled. He was dressed much more formal than usual, decked out in a three-piece suit with a deep green tie. It was tailored, cut and shaped around each part of his body to fit him perfectly. The outfit was simple, but it suited him well; even in a room of people dressed in their finest, he managed to outshine every one of them.

“You’re certainly hidden well, aren’t you?” Aventurine remarked, plucking a canapé off the table beside them and popping it into his mouth. “How long have you been here? An hour? Two?”

“I wasn’t hiding—” They tried to say, before they were cut off with a laugh.

“You can lie, but not well enough to fool me.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Don’t make excuses. I really don’t care that much.”

The music changed suddenly, turning from a light jazz to a slower tune, complete with sweeping violins and deep echoes of a cello. Like clockwork, the few folks dancing in the centre paired up—both actual couples who had attended together, and coworkers who hurriedly joined together in time for the song to start.

Aventurine cleared his throat again. When they turned to him, there was a look in his eye that told them he was planning something.

“I did have something I wanted to ask, however. May I have this dance?” he asked with a small smile, hand outstretched.

They bit back any retort that might have been on their tongue, as he stood waiting their response with a glint in his eye. It was a challenge, like everything was with him; a bet to whether their pride outweighed their self-consciousness. They could almost see the dice rolling behind his eyes, breath held in anticipation.

If it was a game he was playing, they would be happy to indulge him, if only for an evening. It wasn’t as though they had anything else to do, other than waiting idly in the corner for the music to die down and the guests to leave. They could spare whatever was left of their energy for a few minutes of dancing.

“Of course,” they said, taking his hand. A look of surprise crossed his face for only a moment before it was replaced with a wider grin.

“Ah, I knew I came over here to a reason,” Aventurine smiled, leading them away from the corner and into the lights.

They were uncomfortably aware of each eye fixed on their back, but Aventurine was unfazed; his hand was firm in holding onto theirs in a surprisingly gentle grip. His gloved thumb softly stroked the side of their hand, a move that was much too close to romantic for their liking.

“Are you ready?” he asked, when they reached the floor.

“Yes,” they said instantly, and hoped it wasn’t a lie.

He laced his fingers through their hand, sliding his other over their hips. A heat flushed across their face—the result of the stuffiness inside the venue, no doubt—and they fumbled to place their hand on his shoulder.

“You act like you’ve never danced before,” he laughed.

The music swelled, and Aventurine began to lead their dance. One step, then two and three. He was surprisingly adept at sweeping them across the floor, out of the way of the rest of the dancers, while keeping up their pace.

Together they twirled and spun, in time as the music sung a chorus for them and them only. The rest of the guests faded away, until the two of them were alone on the dancefloor, held tightly in each other’s arms. It crossed their mind, for a moment, that the scene was something more suited to a couple than a pair like them. They wondered if he was thinking the same, whether he thought it odd that they were so close. Was he regretting his choice of dance partner, or feeling thankful he asked them?

They found themself glancing around them throughout, but oddly enough Aventurine’s eyes never left them. He seemed transfixed, watching them carefully as they seemed to melt into the dance.

“Are you ready?” He asked abruptly, just as the music reached a crescendo.

“What?”

“Are you ready?” He repeated in lieu of an explanation.

“Ready for wh—” they tried to ask, but were suddenly pulled into a spin. He let go of their waist, long enough to twirl them around as they squeaked in surprise. Their head was reeling by the time he pulled them back, holding them even tighter so they didn’t fall over.

“Ready to be spun,” he clarified, a moment too late.

“Yeah,” they breathed, hand clinging tightly to his shoulder to balance themself. “Yeah… I got that, now.”

The two of them whirled and spun for some time more—was it minutes? Hours? It was long enough for the music to change again, into an equally slow but slightly more melancholy song—before he spoke up again.

“You’re not a fan of dancing?” Aventurine asked, an eyebrow raised. The question was posed in his usual lilting voice, but there was a note of concern in his tone that wasn’t present in the moments before.

“Why do you ask?”

Aventurine paused to spin them past another dancing couple—a woman who was giggling far too loudly, and a man who seemed like he would rather be anywhere else—before continuing. “Well, for starters you haven’t made eye contact with me for more than a few seconds this entire time. You keep looking down at your feet.”

The music swelled. Aventurine abruptly pulled them into a low dip, leaning down so their faces were close enough that they could taste his breath. Their heartrate spiked, loud enough to drown out the music, but not enough to mask Aventurine’s voice.

“Is something wrong, [Name]?” He whispered into their lips, and all of a sudden they couldn’t breathe.

Not while you’re here was their first thought, but it was something far too raw to speak out loud, and only a half-truth. Aventurine’s presence had managed to quell some of the discomfort eating away at their stomach, but he was only a pretty distraction to the uneasiness that threatened to sweep them off their feet in the worst way. It whittled away at their already cracked mask of indifference, leaving them desperately holding the pieces together.

The eyes were still there, watching. They tracked their every move, noting each way they tilted further into his body to shield themself from their sight. He noticed too, pulling them up and out of the dip and turning them away from the people staring.

“Can we just go?” They whispered hollowly. He blinked, seeming to be caught off guard by the defeat in their voice. The shift in his demeanour was immediate, like a switch had been flipped.

“Of course, let’s—” Aventurine cleared his throat, standing straighter. “Let’s go.”

His hand rested on their lower back, guiding them out of the ballroom. The eyes never left, but Aventurine met them with a glare, and slowly they turned their gaze.

“After you,” he said, opening the wide doors and beckoning them through. And in the open air, they remembered to breathe. “Now, is something the matter?”

They shifted in their steps, tugging on the edge of their sleeves. Was something the matter? It was a perfectly reasonable question, especially since they dragged him out of the event so suddenly, but they were at a loss for an answer.

“I don’t know. I just—” They let out a shuddering breath. “I just wanted to leave.”

Aventurine hummed. “I suppose that’s something enough.”

“I’m sorry,” they whispered.

“No apologising,” he chided, flicking them lightly on their arm. “You can’t be expected to want to be social at every moment. It’s not like I was inclined to spend my entire evening talking to my coworkers.” He shook his head. “Let yourself breathe once in a while, okay?”

“…I guess.”

“Come on. Let me walk you home.”

reblogs and comments are appreciated! ♡

#✒️ — writing #[ interstellar teashop ☆ﾟ. ]#・ nouveau livre ˎˊ˗#—stellaronhvnters.#honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #aventurine x reader #hsr aventurine x reader #aventurine x gn reader

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blue-jisungs · 1 year ago

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HELLO ALEXA 👀👀 i see ur a fellow polish person i. This community so i decided to check out ur blog and omg??? Ur writing is so good 😭

Anyways i was thinking of requesting maby a little Imagnie of surprising beomgyu on their recent tour, like he spots his s/o from the crowd,

I think this is such a cute idea , no rush ofc!

Also could i please be added to ur taglist 🫶🏻 thank u !

reunion

a/n. HELLO!!! thank you sm for such kind words <33 ii tried adding you to the taglist but i couldnt tag you?? ALSO sorry you had to wait for so long for it + tje imagine :( so long that even the tour ended BYE i hope u don’t mind it turned a bit… angsty 🏃‍♀️💨

summary. moas is think that the lyrics of blue spring are the reason why beomgyu teared up during the last concert of their tour but really, it’s not it

warnings. cursing ++ a bit angst / comfort ?

the tour has been emotional for them. beomgyu missed you, he thought he might go insane if he won’t hold you in his arms soon. sure, you called each other but it was difficult; knowing you sacrifice your sleep to talk to him or just to see him (due to the time zones or just the fact that you both were free during evening/late night hours). he needed to hold you; kiss you. beomgyu is a lover, he loves with all of his heart. and it was his first tour without you by his side.

so even though there was a bitter feeling of their last concert right now, he knew you’ll be together again; soon.

coming back backstage from “farewell neverland” to have a wardrobe change, he could slowly feel the exhaustion hit his body. moas were waiting for them (well, they didn’t know they will be back) so he has to be strong.

entering his change room quickly and wiping the sweat of his forehead, he realised his makeup artist is gone. where are they? he only has maximum five minutes before coming back so– right, he has to change.

just when he pulled the t-shirt, there was a knock on his door.

“yes, come in” he called, grabbing his water bottle. watching the door, brows furrowed in worry – because why the hell is the makeup artist taking so damn long? – he froze. “y/n?”

you let out a soft laugh, nodding your head. beomgyu dropped the water bottle (that was luckily closed) and ran up to you, heart skipping a beat. in a blink of an eye his arms wrapped around you tightly, as if he was afraid you’ll disappear into thin air.

“are you real?” he mumbled into your shoulder, the feeling of your hands wrapping around his neck causing shivers to go down his spine.

“i am, gyu. it’s me” you giggled, caressing his hair in a soothing motion. his heart did a flip at the sound of the nickname rolling off your tongue; god, he missed that so much.

choking back a sob he leaned away and cupped your face, squeezing your cheeks. eyes scanning your face carefully, taking in all your facial features as if he was about to forget the second he looked away.

“one minute!”

“fuck” he grunted, letting out an airy laugh. you could see his eyes watering.

“hey… i won’t disappear. go out there, sing beautifully for moas as you always do and then we’ll have all the time in the world” you said, placing your hands on top of his “i will watch you on the… tv thingy”

“i missed you so much” beomgyu whispered, heart swelling in his chest. he leaned in, wanting to kiss you but kai appeared out of nowhere and pulled him by his arm. it all happened so fast he didn’t even realise.

going back on stage to sing “blue spring”, beomgyu was an emotional mess, a bubble mere moments from popping. he thought it’s because the song itself is touching but the truth was, it was a lot. the song, the fact it’s their last concert and also in such a big venue and… you. you were waiting backstage for him, after all those months of seeing just your face through the screen.

he didn’t even feel the tear running down his cheek, only realised when it got hard to sing. his breath got stuck in his throat, hands shaking. if they weren’t sitting, beomgyu wouldn’t be so sure if he could stand still.

others looked at him, only kai aware that you’re here. he sent beomgyu a reassuring smile.

beomgyu promised himself to finish the song, trying to hold in the tears. his glossy eyes shone when his close up appeared on the screen, causing moas to… sadden. seeing beomgyu like this was never fun, for anyone.

at this point, moas could hear his uneven breathing and single tears trailing down his cheeks. beomgyu was holding on by a thread, knowing that he’ll fall apart soon.

once the song was over, he turned around and quickly wiped his tears. fighting for a best smile for moas, he waved and tried to focus on the arena in front of him. taehyun gave him a small pat on the shoulder, nodding.

the moas in front of him were teary eyed, too. clutching his shirt, he sent them a reassuring smile that said everything will be okay. they slowly left the stage.

he quickly got back to his changing room, where you were. opening the door, seeing you again — this time knowing, he won’t have to go away — he broke down. harsh sobs leaving his mouth, shaky hands reaching out to hold you.

“hey, gyu… it’s okay” you mumbled, feeling yourself break too. he was murmuring some incoherent words and when his body met yours, they became a unaudiable mess.

“i love you” was all you could hear as his arms held you even closer to him. your presence, warmth; beomgyu finally felt at peace, as if a heavy burden was taken off his heart.

“i’m here now, not going anywhere. let it out, gyu” you reassured him through your own tears and sobs. hiding his head in your neck, he listened to you.

[ masterlist <3 ]

taglist. @geniejunn ,, @luvhyun3 ,, @starlostseungmin ,, @elviransworld ,, @jnks6r ,, @sieunsgf ,, @ethereallino ,, @laylasbunbunny ,, @duolingofanaccount ,, @slytherinshua ,, @stxrseungs,, @ka-ni-ma ,, @iliveforlixie ,, @ameliesaysshoo ,, @dazzlingligth ,, @mark-geolli ,, @l3visbby ,, @w3bqrl ,, @ddeonudepressions ,, @yourfavoritefreakyhan ,, @mirxzii ,, @kazmura ,, @primoppang ,, @nfrgirl

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ramblingoak · 1 year ago

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On my way in your ask box oakie for the kiss prompt: confessing in the heat of the moment, leading to a kiss (if you squint enough it definitely be angst 👀) with Copia

Alright Birb I leaned heavily into the angst but hopefully I made up for it with some extra kissing 😘

Don't Go

Papa Emeritus IV x GN Reader ~ While trying to convince Papa to cancel the tour you end up confessing how you feel about him...

Warnings: angst, brief (sexy) angry Copia, grinding, fluff, nsfw, 18+ only mdni, 2500 words

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

“I don’t want you to go.”

Copia froze at his desk at your words. He opened his mouth a few times but seemed at a loss as to how to respond. You looked back down at your laptop but the words on the screen started blurring together when your eyes teared up. This had been eating at you for weeks now and it should have felt better to say it out loud to Papa. Instead his silence at your confession hung heavy in the room. Finally his chair creaked and when you glanced at him he had set his pen down and was leaning back watching you.

“Cara…why do you say this?”

You took a deep breath to collect yourself, crying in front of him wouldn’t help the situation at all.

“I’m worried, Papa. I’ve been worried.”

His chair creaked again and you heard his soft footfalls as he rounded his desk to come closer. You stiffened in your chair because if he got too close you were afraid you’d throw yourself into his lap wailing. He either didn’t notice your body language or didn’t care because he stepped right up to your chair. His gloved hand rested over where yours was gripping the chair’s arm and he kneeled down to look up at you. You couldn’t help but laugh when he groaned as his knees popped, Copia muttered something in Italian before smiling.

“Look at you, laughing at your Papa.” He clicked his tongue as he shook his head. “There are far better ways to get me on my knees for you, cara mia.”

“Papa!”

It was his turn to laugh and despite how much his comment made your cheeks heat up you rolled your eyes. You needed him to be serious right now! If he started talking about being on his knees in front of you, well…

“Hey, stop thinking those dirty thoughts now and tell me what’s wrong.”

He squeezed your hand while bringing his other one up to rub your shoulder, doing his best to soothe you.

“I think something terrible is going to happen on the tour.” When he gave you a curious look you decided to go for broke. “You need to cancel it. You need to stay here.”

You left off the ‘with me’ because despite how much you wanted to keep Copia at your side you just wanted him to be safe. It didn’t matter where or with who.

“Why do you think this?” His voice was gentle as he spoke but his eyebrows were furrowed like they got when he was confused. “Have you seen something? Has someone said something?”

“Papa, no, I haven’t…no one has said anything. I just, no wait, Papa!” You clutched at his hand when he stood up and took a step back. He didn’t look angry thankfully, but he was certainly confused. “Copia, please, I know it sounds ridicul—“

“Si, it sounds very ridiculous. So what, you want me to cancel an entire tour because you have bad feelings?”

He pulled his hand away and crossed his arms. You ignored the way the fabric of his shirt pulled tight around his shoulders, something you regularly enjoyed looking at, and stood up to face him. With your hand in the air you started to tick down all your reasons for asking him to stay, lowering your fingers as you went.

“I have heard rumors, don’t roll your eyes! Rumors from everyone, both human and ghoul alike. I’ve seen Imperator and Nihil schedule meeting after meeting without inviting you.” When he muttered that he ‘was busy’ under his breath you scoffed at him. “You are not that busy, I make your damn schedule Copia!”

“There are always rumors, always! And who cares if Imperator and Nihil are having meetings together? Do you really want to know what they get up to in her office? Alone?”

Your frustration bubbled up at the teasing tone in his voice and when the corner of his painted lips curled up in a smirk you lost your composure. With a growl you placed your hands on his chest and pushed him. He stumbled back against his desk with a grunt, cursing as the edge dug sharply into his hip. You instantly regretted it, your aim was to keep Papa safe, not lose your temper like a child.

“Copia, I’m sor—hey!”

With a growl he straightened up and stalked your way, grabbing your elbows and propelling you backwards until you met the wall. He planted his fist next to your head and glared at you. Some of his hair had fallen over his forehead, the graying strands in desperate need of a trim. They laid across his eyes, both of them filled with anger.

“It’s Papa, cara mia, Papa. You forget yourself.” You gave him a stiff nod, once more desperately trying to hold in your tears. He sighed suddenly, reaching up to stroke a thumb across your cheek. “I appreciate your concern, but you’ve told me nothing that would even have me consider canceling a meeting, let alone a whole tour.”

“What about your brothers?” When he just raised his eyebrow you decided to keep going. “None of your brothers lasted this long, the Ministry always found something wrong and demanded a change.”

“The title of Papa doesn’t come with an expiration date.”

“Not an official one, but look at what they did to Terzo! Not even Omega knew that was going to happen.”

“Si, because if Omega knew he would’ve stopped it. If anyone had known we would have demanded it happen behind closed doors. Terzo might’ve lost sight of what it meant to be Papa, but he deserves his dignity.”

“And so do you!” The tension in Copia’s body seemed to leave him and he relaxed his posture a bit. He still hovered over you but his anger had at least dissipated. “Do you want to be dragged off the stage in the middle of a song?”

He let out an incredulous laugh and wagged a finger in front of your face as he responded.

“If you think any of my ghouls would let that happ—“

“But what if they want it to happen? What if they’re told to let it happen?”

“You are mistaken, cara. I trust my ghouls, all of them, with my life. Anyone that raised a hand towards me would be eviscerated and probably eaten. Especially if Cumulus got a hold of them.”

Copia’s brow furrowed again when he looked you over, he must’ve noticed your hands had started to shake. You couldn’t help but let your emotions, your fear, take over. It didn’t help with how dismissive he was being. When he took your hands in his own you let out a broken sob, shaking your head angrily to try and get yourself under control.

“Papa please, I know it sounds crazy.”

“Do you? I’m not sure you’re hearing yours—“

“And I know you don’t believe me, I know you don’t see what I see.”

“There’s nothing to see! You haven’t shown me anyth—“

“I just care about you so much and the thought of losing you is unbearable. I can’t stop worrying about you.”

“There’s nothing to worry about, cara mia. Except maybe the heat at all these damned outdoor ven—“

“I just wish you’d take me seriously! I wish you’d just stay.”

“Then give me an actual reason to!”

“I love you!” Copia’s mouth fell open and he took a step back, dropping your hands as he went. Your heart clenched painfully in your chest to see him move away but you decided to keep talking. It was too late to take it back anyway. “I love you, I’ve loved you for so long now. Even before you became Papa, before you became a Cardinal!”

“But…all this time? Why did you never say anything?”

You snorted, angrily swiping at the tears on your cheeks.

“Because out of all the siblings and ghouls in the congregation Copia Emeritus would choose me? I’d rather be realistic, Papa. It’s better than being heartbroken.”

“Well, what about me?” When you looked up at him he gave you a gentle smile. “What about my heart, eh?”

“I don’t…I don’t understand.”

You held your breath when Copia stepped closed again. Only shakily letting it out when he brushed your tears away once more.

“Can I show you how I feel? Is that ok?” You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. “Okie dokie.”

Slowly, so very slowly he leaned in close and pressed a kiss along your brow. He cradled your head in his hands as he kissed you again, a little further down this time onto the tip of your nose. When he moved so his lips hovered over yours you couldn’t stop yourself from whispering his title.

“Papa, I—“

“Copia, per favore. I want you to use my name.” You nodded, your trembling hands coming up to cover his own. His name escaped your lips, barely louder than a whisper, but it made him smile all the same. “Bene. Now, where was I?”

“Are you going to kiss me?”

“Si, I’ve been wanting to for quite some time.”

“Oh.” He pressed another kiss on your nose, laughing when you frowned at him when he moved his head away. “For how long?”

“Ah, probably since my days as a nervous Bishop.”

“Seriously?! Since you were a Bish—mmph!”

His lips were warm against yours as he kissed you. He was gentle at first, like he was afraid he’d scare you off, but your mind was still stuck on him having feelings for you for so long. For as long as you had them for him!

You didn’t want gentle kisses.

Your hands left his and you reached out to grip his vest. With a tug you had him stumbling against you, pressing you back against the wall. His knee slipped in between your legs and you found yourself rubbing against it embarrassingly fast. He pulled his mouth away to sweep his thumb along your bottom lip before leaning in again.

His kisses were hungrier this time, more demanding. You met each swipe of his tongue with your own, nipping him back when his teeth got involved. One of his hands dropped to your waist, kneading your flesh through your top. When the fabric rode up and he was able to press his leather glove against your skin you moaned into his mouth. He pulled away with a groan you felt rumble under your hands.

“Look at you, so needy for me.” You huffed and narrowed your eyes at him, but he just laughed and pressed against you. His hips were flush against your own and your mouth fell open when you felt his hard cock. “Do you feel that? I’m needy for you too. I have been for so long, for too long. I should’ve said something sooner.”

“I should have too.”

“We will just have to make up for lost time, eh?” He ground his hips against you and your head fell back against the wall with a thunk. “I need to show you how much I love you.”

You felt embarrassed when you started crying again, but it felt so good to hear those words. To hear him tell you that he felt the same. With a shaky breath you looked up at him, smiling as you took in his messed up paint and wild hair.

“I’m sorry about earlier.”

“Ah, there’s nothing to be sorry for, amore. But I have an idea that might make you feel better.” You couldn’t help but let your eyes fall down to his crotch, it was only for a moment but by the sound of that dirty chuckle of his you knew he saw it. “Besides that, of course. Although I promise there will be plenty of that.”

“What’s your idea?”

“Come with me.” Your head snapped up in surprise, looking over his features for even a hint that he was joking. “I should have planned on bringing you from the beginning. I’d be lost without my assistant. Without you.”

“Is that, I mean, will Imperator be ok with that?”

“Who gives a fuck what she thinks, I am Papa and I am demanding you come. That is, if you want to?”

You let out a squeal and threw your arms around his neck.

“Yes! Yes of course I do!”

“Bene, you can help keep me safe, huh?” He hissed when you tugged on his hair. “I’d take you as my bodyguard over an army of ghouls any day.”

He smiled and leaned down to kiss you, not as passionately as before but you could feel the emotion behind it. You tried to convey how you felt as you kissed him back. The worry was still there, but at least you’d be with him. You could keep an eye out when he got distracted by whatever new sparkly jacket he decided to order. After a moment he pulled away, leaning his forehead against yours and humming softly.

“Thank you, Copia.”

“You deserve my thanks more.” He huffed out a laugh and kissed your forehead before pulling away. With a groan he reached down and adjusted his pants, biting his lip when he looked at you while he touched himself. “I have big plans, I can’t wait for you to see them!”

“Oh yeah, like what? Are you going to play baseball again?”

“Something better, I promise.”

He mimed throwing a few punches, bouncing on his feet as he did. With a laugh you stepped forward and grabbed his hands out of the air. It was his turn to pout and you kissed his knuckles in an apology for spoiling his fun.

“How about right now?” He raised an eyebrow and you stepped closer, letting his hands go so you could trace the patterns on his vest. “Do you have any plans for the rest of the day?”

“Si, si I do.” Copia leaned his face close while he waggled his eyebrows. “Big ones.”

You snorted when he did a few of his famous “mummy thrusts”, shaking your head at his antics. Your heart ached because you loved him so much, you wouldn’t be able to bear it if anything happened to him.

“Promise me, Copia. Promise me everything will be ok.”

“Better than ok, amore.” He leaned forward to kiss you quickly, nipping at your bottom lip when he pulled away. “Everything will be okie dokie, I promise.”

You nodded, trusting him because you had no reason not to.

“Good. Now…” He groaned as one of your hands slid down to rub his cock through his pants. “How about you show me this big plan of yours.”

He reached down and covered your hand with his own, encouraging you to rub harder. Copia’s eyes met yours as he gave you a wide smile.

“Okie dokie.”

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

my masterlist

my ao3

#my fics #my writing #papa emeritus iv x reader #copia x reader #the band ghost fanfiction #papa emeritus iv x gn reader #copia x gn reader #the band ghost fanfic #papa emeritus iv fanfiction #copia fanfiction #popia fanfiction #papa emeritus x reader #ghost fanfiction #ghost band fanfiction

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saiyanwitcher · 5 months ago

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Holy crap, Prince of Death is such a tour de force! The attention to detail, the world-building, the intense drama, the raw emotions - it's all just stunning.

Admittedly, I know almost nothing about DBZ, and you've done a fantastic job weaving just enough background into the narrative for the uninitiated while making it your own for this universe at the same time. The blend of fantasy and sci-fi on display is so yummy and rich to devour.

And Max just needs the biggest hug, ugh. At least he's together with Charles... (for now?!) - tho, I can already picture the angst and drama ahead when Max wakes up - poor thing bears the weight of duty so heavily and personally (and honorably).

And Alonso - omg!! Love how he calls Max out for his shit, protects him, teaches him, just - everything about him in his role in this AU is gold.

Hopefully Carlos stops being a little punk - maybe once he realizes that Alonso has also sent his prince to the same destination that he set for Charles (which I'm dying to see where that it is, btw - with pop culture in my head, I can see anything from Dagobah to Hoth to Vormir to... even Mars lol - whatever you choose, I know it will be great), or once Carlos has an inevitable reconciliation and he sees just compatible Max & Charles truly are... such potential! ✨

I did have higher hopes for George, ugh. He should know better than to follow in his master's vile footsteps, but otherwise, he makes for a rich villain. And that's to say nothing of Jos - you've done an excellent job making him truly repulsive with his physical & emotional abuse in the name of controlling Max. And I absolutely cannot wait for him to get his just deserts - to be on the receiving end of Max letting the full force of his power loose, hair & eyes flaming as he unleashes raw fury - oh, please, please, let it be so! (Tho, no matter how Jos goes down, it will still be infinitely rewarding).

... okay, this got way longer than I thought, so my apologies 🤭 But in short, this fic is just outta-this-world stellar. Thank you so much for sharing and I look forward to reading more ❤🚀

Hello there!

I've really tried my hardest to explain things thoroughly and adapt the universe to make it my own, so I'm glad people aren't like . . . wtf are you talking about? 😅

Alonso is so amazing and fit this roll perfectly in my head, I'm glad it's translating on paper. While he's not Max's or Charles' real dad, he's the father they both deserve.

Carlos is in for some major transformation of character in part 2 as well as George. Those two need some growth and perspective, and they will be getting both (for better or worse) as the story goes on.

I'm so glad you mentioned the little sneak peak I gave for Max's potential in ch 12! I didn't get a lot of comments on it, but in his rage and grief, trying to protect himself, he tapped into something that he will need to find again later. Now, did he find it because it was about Charles? Or has he always had it and just couldn't break through 👀 Regardless, there will be more exploration in part 2.

Max is having the hardest time the poor baby! But you are right . . . when he wakes up 👀 He is so confused lol. In fact, enjoy a little piece:

A soft surface beneath him felt strangely comforting against his back, but the sight of the stars whizzing by outside the familiar red-tinted glass disoriented him.

The robotic feminine voice of the scouting pod continued to drone on in the background, its words barely registering as Max struggled to make sense of the situation.

“. . . initiating vapor bath reversal protocol. You are now one parsec away from your destination. . . ”

Limbs moving slowly, body trying to regain control, Max felt the seat surface behind him gently rise, before lowering again. His heart skipped a beat as he realized he was in the scouting pod meant for Charles to flee Jos’ base ship.

Stunned, Max whipped around to discover that the soft surface his back had been resting against was Charles’ chest, still moving gently with each slow breath.

Relief flooded through him when he spotted the Eldri resting behind him, still unconscious, but seemingly unharmed.

His relief was short-lived, when the memories of the launch deck came rushing back.

#prince of death #wip #max verstappen #charles leclerc #lestappen #anon ask

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quinnyundertow · 11 months ago

Text

When I Catch You Gege

Summary Reader is Isekai'd into JJK with the determination to change canon and make sure she rights the wrongs of Gege. Oh and enjoy her time there...yeah that too. No manga plot spoilers. Reader x everyone. All characters 18+ unless otherwise stated.

Content Warning: Canon typical violence, torture, suicide, Non-con, extreme bullying, angst with a happy ending.

Pairings: Reader x Nanami Kento, Haibara Yu, Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, Junpei Yoshino, Okkotsu Yuta, Toji Fushiguro

Chapter 1

Comments & Candies

It all started with a comment on the internet. Which to be honest was pretty rare for you to indulge in in the first place. Don’t misunderstand, you had strong opinions about things -especially when some of your favorite characters or shows were involved- but between the trolls online and the way things generally devolved in comment sections it just wasn’t worth raising your blood pressure over anymore.

It started innocuously enough in some TikTok comments of a Jujutsu Kaisen fight mash up from the current Shibuya Arc. It was one of those videos where the quality is so high you don’t even understand how the user posting found it.

75 Comments

“Dude I fkn hate Mahito he better get left right goodnight next ep”

“lol get ready to be disappointed”

“I mean why mahito kinda…👀”

“get help….” “girlie I’m all for ignoring red flags but that’s a whole red flag factory” "okay but transforming body parts 😩"

You laughed at the comments per usual thumbing up your favorites before going to type your own. This fandom was so unhinged but you loved it. These comments were tame compared to what you would see on the average JJK thirst trap video.

“Gege is the worst curse 😭”

You hit enter with a small smile before immediately scrolling through a few more TikToks. Your timeline was currently Jujutsu Hell. Just about every TikTok was JJK related and while you adored the show (maybe a little too much) you were feeling a little bummed out by it lately.

Season one had become your ultimate comfort anime. It was endearing, funny, heartwarming and all the characters meshed so well. It made you feel like a part of their family -albeit a very hot family where you thirsted over about 90% of the cast-.

Sure the Junpei arc in season 1 broke your heart but it was a manageable amount of sadness. The movie was much the same; a little sad but overwhelming the good guys win and the family is together at the end. Then came Shibuya and all hell broke loose. Gege made you fall in love with Suguru Geto despite knowing that wasn’t going to end well. Your sweet baby Yuji was tortured relentlessly physically and mentally. Then he put your man Gojo in an eyeball box before he killed off a bunch of beloved characters. You were honestly starting to feel depressed. It sounds dramatic but you really loved these characters and it felt like Gege was torturing them for the hell of it. Character deaths were fine with a literary purpose but it was beginning to feel cruel.

Your mood dipped with your thoughts as you decided to close the app down. Before you could flick it shut a notification popped up at the top of your screen showing someone had responded to your comment. You clicked it to see the bigger thread.

“Yuji had to watch these ppl die to grow as a character”

You screwed up your face into an affronted expression. You had a tendency of wearing your thoughts on your face before managing to school them. Something that had gotten you in trouble more than once. Thankfully, in your own home that wasn’t an issue.

“Not really relevant to my comment..” you mumbled while typing a response. “But I’ll bite”

“Killing off characters just to make another one grow is the easy way out. Yuji is a kid. Torturing him senselessly isn’t making him grow, it's making him traumatized.”

Before you could even click away another comment popped up below yours

“U think u could do any better?”

You rolled your eyes at the comment. You loved Gege’s work, the universe and characters he created were amazing; but that didn’t mean you had to agree with every decision he made as an author. This is why you didn’t bother to leave comments. You hated having to justify yourself to random people on the internet. You contemplated deleting your original comment before you typed

“I mean I could get to the same places plot wise and emotionally without murdering everyone the audience cares about..” Before the guy could respond again you hit the phones off button to put it to sleep and threw it across your bed. You hated that your emotions tended to get involved in things as tiny as internet comments or tv shows.

You huffed into your sheets before mumbling, “If I was there I’d end up being an annoying Shonen protagonist…” you smiled thinking of the way Naruto relentlessly chased down Sasuke or Luffy refused to leave his Nakama behind. Rolling over you lay on your back staring at the ceiling grinning, “Suguru Geto you aren’t escaping the power of friendship buddy! I would drag your monkey hating ass back kicking and screaming. Hell, I’m saving Yu Haibara first, sending Geto to therapy, and taking Nanami to a freaking hair salon. Emo looking…” you laugh out loud before your reverie is interrupted by the screeching of your phone's alarm.

Your mood is forced to instantly sober, “I’m pathetic..” you muttered. Knowing in the back of your head you had to get ready for another day at your mediocre job with your shitty coworkers. And for what? To come home and be sad that the gorgeous pixelated men on the other side of the screen were getting knocked off by their God Gege (who you just decided to dub God-Ge).

After rubbing a hand over the bridge of your nose you tried to muster the energy to get up and get shit done. Raising up one hand towards the ceiling and making a fist you yelled, “Alright God-Ge you dick just you wait till I get Isekaied! Not one of my boys is dying and I all my babies are gonna grow up loved as fuck!!”

That was the last thing you remembered and what brought you to the here and now. Where ever here and now was… you were disoriented to say the least. You went from laying in bed to your body standing. White and red lights were flashing by with a blustery wind shaking you and rattling your clothes. Despite the confusion you registered that you were moving but not with any sense of purpose or even of your own volition. You were submerged in a crowd; bodies flowing around you pushing your stumbling form along. You were in sensory overload; the sound of racing vehicles, people talking, advertisements ringing. The lights flickering around you were blurred and the voices surrounding you were unintelligible.

You felt as if you broke through to the air from a lake in the middle of winter. Your mind was having trouble forming full thoughts. The information it was receiving was partial and you felt goosebumps break out down your arms as you felt a shiver go down your body. You noticed a ringing in your head as it gradually grew louder in volume. The tinnitus like sound became unbearable as you hunched over putting your hands over your ears. Your posture was protective as you just hoped the overwhelming feelings would-

The ringing stopped. The sounds around you clarified and your vision seemed to return to normal. It felt as if someone had thrown you a life preserver in frigid waters and you gasped at the sudden shift in physical sensations.

Something was grounding you. This warmth spread throughout your body and a wave of reassurance engulfed you. Still bent over with your hands on your knees you registered a hand on your upper back near your shoulder. The touch, warm and light, rubs a gentle circle only partially putting its weight on you. You aren’t the type of person to want to be touched by strangers but the person barely holding you relays comfort and reassurance. Their form was removed enough to show concern while not intruding on your space or coming off as disrespectful.

“Hey are you okay? You don’t look so good..” the voice was masculine but had this buoyancy and brightness to it. The energy behind it non-threatening and almost inviting. You squeezed your eyes shut trying to regain some baseline of where you are. You registered the sidewalk under your feet and your familiar pair of shoes. It had to be nighttime based on the level of light surrounding you. It wasn’t dark but the only thing illuminating your feet was colorful artificial rays.

The hand on your back left taking its warmth with it. Your eyes flicked up to meet a pair of brown orbs with flecks of gold. The person's face peering down at you was so close to your own your noses almost brushed when you looked up. Your voice caught in your throat as you choked in surprise at the handsome features directly in front of you. His brown eyes were framed with long dark lashes. The first thought that left your mind was he’s beautiful before a heat raced down your stomach.

At your noses almost touching, he stood up quickly from stooping to get a better look at you. He must have seen something in your eyes that clearly concerned him as both of his arms reached out to steady you on either side of your shoulders. His fingers flexed lightly on your upper arms as he maintained a firm but gentle hold, “Hey I’ve got ya, let’s move over out of the walkway.” The voice sounded like how someone would coax an animal out of a hiding place. It generated a sense of security despite the confusion all around you.

You leaned up to your full height, the hands on your arms providing support in the event you needed it. You fought past a wave of dizziness as your gaze followed his legs on their way to meet his eyes. He was tall, almost two heads taller than you. His face now turned away from yours as it scanned above the crowd for a destination. His hair was the same honey brown color as his eyes. The style boyish, straight and short; stopping above the ears before ending in an undercut. The bangs were untamed like he had run his hands through them one time too many.

“Hmmmm, umm…there’s gotta be a seat somewhere..” he mumbled to himself aloud. You tried to focus on his words but felt your form stiffen as you were bumped by the throng brushing by you, intent on where they were heading. When he spoke his voice tickled the back of your brain, a sense of familiarity rolling over you. You couldn’t help but focus on the sensation of his hands on your shoulders.

He visibly perked up as he seemed to have found what he was looking for before he glanced back over to you. He smiled brightly, making eye contact that made you feel a blush on your face in response. He released your arms briefly before a large warm hand reached out and clasped your smaller one before navigating you towards a less dense part of the horde. “So I don’t lose you.” he explained lightheartedly over his shoulder. His grip was soft despite the roughness of his own hands. You felt yourself rub against him reflexively tracing one of his calloused fingers with your own.

Your own emotions and feelings in your present situation baffled you. You were not some maiden needing saving nor some naive girl who would tag up with a random man. You watched way too much true crime to ever take a strange man’s hand and follow them into a side street no matter how attractive they were. However, rather than your intuition screaming for you to pull your hand away and run, it remained quiet. You had never believed in aura, chakra, energy or whatever but it was like you could sense his and it gave you only positive vibes.

Nothing made sense. A moment ago you were laying in bed on TikTok and now you were in the middle of a massive metropolitan area (you lived hours away from one) in the middle of a crowd with a guy you vaguely felt like you knew pulling you to God knows where?

Swallowing hard, you stumbled behind the larger male his broad back and strong shoulders taking up the majority of your view. You shadowed him closely so that you wouldn’t become separated. This was working fine until he abruptly stopped; someone cutting in front of you both with a bicycle. You tripped forward into his back, your fingers gripping tightly into his black crop top style jacket for support. A soft cry of surprise escaping your lips. He froze letting you regain your balance as you leaned against him fully. His back clearly muscled against your forearms and hands. “I’m sorry” you stammered out letting go once you reoriented yourself. The guy leading turned slightly towards you before readjusting your hand in his making sure not to let go. “N-no worries, one minute and we're there...” he announced in a soothing tone despite an outbreak of red flushing the top of his ears and the little bit of cheek you could see.

True to his word less than a minute passed before there was a gap in the crowds and you both emerged into a smaller offshoot of the main walkway. You must be between stores where the garbage and back employee stairs were situated because the area was pretty empty opposed to the sidewalk not five feet away. The familiar individual in front of you released your hand and began digging in his jacket pockets now. Below the jacket was a simple white t-shirt followed by formal black pants. The t-shirt was snug not leaving much to the imagination as you felt yourself swallow hard. Part of his tongue popped out in the corner of his mouth as he kept searching for something. Your mind immediately goes, cute, at the small pink muscle wedged in the corner of his lips. “Miss, do you prefer sweet or salty food?” He formally inquired looking up with a smile. He managed to fish out some candies from his pockets alongside what looked like a few candy wrappers and some pocket lint.

You blinked at the unappetizing handful in his outstretched hand before studying his face again. It was driving you crazy how familiar he looked. Though another part of you couldn’t help but assert you wouldn’t forget a face this attractive and boyish. A lazy smile graced his face as he looked you in the eyes holding forward his hand of proffered treasures. The way he expectantly looked at you reminded you instantly of a golden retriever. He was convinced that his outstretched handful would solve whatever issue made you double over in the street. “I bet it’s low blood sugar! My grandma has to deal with that so I got in the habit of carrying around a couple of candies in case she needs a little boost!” He gave a short laugh before reaching back to scratch his head with his free hand “but to be totally honest I usually end up eating it all and it’s really more of an excuse to keep candies on hand all the time…” he paused clearly still waiting for you to take one of the brightly wrapped sweets. His expression clearly reflecting that he could never imagine you not wanting one of the slightly melted goodies.

“Oh…okay, thank you?” Your response came out as more of a question then you intended as you glanced down and bridged your hand half way between you two before pausing. The wrappings were unfamiliar and you had no idea what exactly you were taking. A sarcastic voice in your head couldn’t help but quip, Good idea let's take candy from the stranger now that you’ve followed him into an alley.

He watched you, his smile never fading as you glanced up to make eye contact again a small furrow of confusion on your brow. He looked down at his own hand before exclaiming, “Oh! Right so this one is a little sour it’s got like a tangy…” the older teen continued to ramble on. His voice faded into the background as your brain went 100 miles per hour trying to catch up to everything happening. You definitely knew this guy. Was he a coworker's friend? That didn’t explain how the hell you ended up in a city. His candy spiel apparently ended as he looked up at you tilting his head to the side slightly.

A light bulb suddenly went off in your head as you exclaimed out loudly pointing as if you had the answer to a game of Pictionary. “Yu! Haibara Yu!”

Chapter 2

#QuinnyTheLibrary #WhenICatchYouGegeChapters #jujutsu kaisen #jujustsu kaisen x reader #fanfic #fluff

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canirove · 2 years ago

Text

Best friends… forever? | Chapter 22

Author’s note: Next Tuesday’s chapter... 👀

Previous chapter | Next chapter

Masterlist

"Good morning, Mila."

"Morning."

"Are you... Making breakfast?"

"I am indeed" she says. "It's my way of saying thank you for putting me to bed last night."

"I couldn't leave you on the sofa. And you kind of were glued to me" Rúben smiles.

"I can't remember that. I was asleep" Mila shrugs.

"Yeah... You were" he says, still smiling. "Anyway, what are you making?"

"Your usual avocado toast. And I got you your ginger shot too" she says, putting the little bottle in front of him. "I don't know how you can drink that."

"It's good for you."

"Seeing the faces you make when you drink it, I'm not so sure."

"It is good. Look at how healthy and strong I am" Rúben says, flexing his biceps and making Mila feel her cheeks get warm.

"I actually think you drink it so you can be around the house like this and don't get sick."

"Like this?"

"Shirtless, Rúben. Since we started living together, I think I've never seen you having breakfast with a t-shirt on."

"Are you complaining?" he asks with a cheeky smile.

"Whatever" Mila says, turning around and moving to the fridge to hide that, this time, she is properly blushing, something he would definitely be able to notice.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

"What are you doing at the door?"

"Watching" Mila says.

"I thought we were going to train together. Burn those chocolates, you know?"

"You have to burn them. I ate one, and I eat some chocolate every day. It's part of my diet, I don't need to do anything" she shrugs.

"Not even some stretching from falling sleep on a weird position?"

"You have a very comfortable shoulder. But I could do with some yoga, yes. I'm gonna see if I left any work out clothes in my room" she says as she leaves the gym. When she moved to her own place, she left some clothes and random things at their apartment. Rúben didn't mind that she used it as some sort of storage room.

After getting changed and going back to the gym, Mila can't help but stare at him. He's resting next to one of the machines with his back to her, and in a position that asks for his butt to be slapped. That, or for a photo. Or both, to be honest.

"What are you doing?" Rúben asks her when he sees her in the mirror.

"Taking a photo to put it on my stories. After the one with the chocolates, we need to make sure Pep knows you are burning them."

"Does he follow you?"

"Nope. But his daughter does. She knows Manchester is red" Mila says, putting her phone down and picking a mat.

"Manchester is red..." Rúben repeats, shaking his head.

"It is and you know it" she replies, lifting her arms and bending down.

Now Rúben is the one staring. Since when is yoga this... Sexy? He's seen people doing those same moves many times before, and he's never felt anything. But seeing Mila arch her back during the cat cows, and the way her butt is popping out, is making him think of things they've done and...

"Focus."

"What?" Mila says while looking at him, her body on that exact position that is driving him crazy.

"Nothing. Just thinking what I'm doing next" Rúben says, moving to one of the machines.

"Ok..." she says, going back to her routine. She's so focused on it, that it isn't until she gets up and does her first warrior two, that she notices that Rúben has taken off his shirt. And to make things worse, he's doing some back exercises. "Oh, c'mon."

"Uh?" Rúben says, looking back at her.

"Did you really need to do that?" she says, not being able to hold her pose anymore.

"Do what?" he asks, taking a towel and rubbing it over his chest.

"Jesus Christ, Rúben" she says, rolling her eyes. "Did you seriously have to do that shirtless and in front of me, when you know they way the muscles on your back make me feel? And now... That too?" she says, moving her hands in the air and in front of his chest.

"Me? You are the one sticking out your butt while stretching, and you perfectly know how that makes me feel."

"That's how the moves work!"

"And with a t-shirt it's uncomfortable to make my moves!"

"Since when?"

"Always! When have you seen me on that machine and with my t-shirt on?"

"Maybe never" Mila says after thinking about it for a few seconds. "But things are different now."

"They are, yes. And we need to do something about it" Rúben sighs.

"What do you mean?"

"We need to get this out of our system."

"Rúben... We are not going to..."

"We are going for a run" he says, cutting her before she can finish her sentence. Though he knew what she was going to say. The smile that he's trying to hide says it all.

"Running? On our free day?"

"Yes, running. Did you leave any shoes here?"

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"I fucking hate you, Rúben" Mila says, trying to catch up her breath once they make it back to their building.

"What?"

"That was horrible."

"That was nice" he says with a big smile.

"Nice is the bath I'm having the moment we walk through the door. That run... That run was torture."

"C'mon, Mila. You are a professional football player, that should be nothing for you."

"I'm a professional football player, yes. But I'm not a freak. Only freaks like you can run like that, my God."

"Maybe you should try being a freak, it can help you against certain players. That West Ham goal from the other day? I think you could have avoided it if you were a freak like me."

"Oh, fuck off" she says.

"It's the truth" Rúben shrugs.

"Did I ever tell you that Rodrygo, the one that plays for Real Madrid, follows me on Instagram? He sends his regards."

"Oh, that was low, Mila" he laughs.

"It's the truth" she shrugs before walking towards the door.

And that's the mood for rest of the morning. They keep teasing the other and laughing, feeling like the old days. Like what they've always been. Like two best friends.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

#ruben dias #ruben dias fanfic #ruben dias imagine #football fanfic #football imagine

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creepiecreator · 3 months ago

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I got this dang au of ponytail being like a ghost or zombie or skeleton either one probably zombie and gets on one knee and kissed terry hand 👀 could be any version of terry but I was thinking of it be old man terry which flashes to 80s terry which flashes finally to twig and terry just stand there stunned but with that adorable twig smile

I..may have gone off course some with this, it isn't your exact request but it's still decent I'd say- If ya want I'll have to write a different fanfic that completely matches

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It had been such a long time since his service in the army. Terry had done his best to put his past behind him. He built up his company, his legacy forever intertwined with it, quickly becoming one of the richest men in California, then the country, and then the world. He knew he was well off and would be happy to flaunt it, happy to take a variety of men and women into his bed, happy to do as he wished, when he wished, but around this time of year… He would admit, he let his past affect him more than it should. He didn’t wish to be bothered by his past any, but.he had to admit. If any of his past affected him, it had to be the day that he lost Ponytail. The day he had been captured. It was when that time of year rolled around, that he had no choice in letting himself be affected by it. Where he let himself think about how he had never been allowed to say goodbye, about how he had lost the person who he had cared about most.hell. He had to admit, he was pretty sure Kreese cared about Ponytail the most out of the two of them too. He had been a well-loved member of their trio, and without him things had never felt quite complete.

Terry placed his empty glass of whiskey down onto the side table, running a hand through his loose hair with a blank expression on his face as he stood up, walking back towards his bedroom. He hated this. Hated these quiet moments where he had nothing else to do, had no one else to be with besides his own thoughts.which was why he kept his own little secret way to quiet those thoughts. He headed into the extravagant room, exchanging a sweater and dress pants for a much more comfortable set of silk pajamas before he sat down on his bed, grabbing an unmarked pill bottle and taking a single dose, dry before laying down, a quiet sigh leaving him as the tall man tried to get settled, eventually drifting off to an uneasy sleep.

The panic seared through his bones, heart thundering in his chest as he was tossed into the middle of their mission once more, struggling to keep his limbs from trembling and doing his best to just do as he was told, to follow orders and to keep moving, keeping his head low as they waited for Ponytail to rejoin them. He knew what would happen, but there was nothing he could do about it as the radio interference sounded off, alerting the enemies to their locations. All he could do was freeze up and watch as they were surrounded, as guns were pointed at their heads, as his closest friend looked to their captain, to Kreese and to Silver with such fear in his eyes before he was nothing more than a corpse lying on the grass, his head blown to smithereens, blood, brain matter and bits of skull covering the grass by their feet. His internal voice screaming at himself to do something, yet his body never did. He was unable to do a single thing as the gun was jabbed in between his shoulder blades, forcing him to start moving, unable to even say goodbye to him.

Terry startled awake with a sharp gasp, fists curled into his bedsheets, trying to get himself to calm down. Fuck. Fuck. His heart was pounding in his chest, it felt like it would pop right out of his chest. A voice spoke out from beside him. “Did ya have a nightmare, Twiggy?”

Oh. Oh. that voice. He knew that voice so well. He had wanted to hear it again so many times…hell, he knew for a fact that he would have killed to hear it again too. He was so scared to risk looking over and see no one there, so instead he stared at the bedsheets below. “Ponytail?”

“That's my name, don’t wear it out,” What a stupid, cheesy joke. Of course he would say something like that. “Hey, Twig, C’mon…” a hand reached out to rest on his shoulder. “Look at me, okay? It’s alright, I’m here…” The voice was so soft, so encouraging.and he really wanted to give in and look over to him. But there was a problem. “No.” His own voice was uncharacteristically soft, unsure even. “I can’t I- I know you’re not really there. I don’t want to look over and have you disappear or- or worse-”

“Oh, Terry…” It was funny. He used to hate being called Twig. But being called Terry felt so incredibly unnatural now too. He didn’t like it. Not one bit. “Don’t call me that. It's weird coming from you.” he stated, it sounded like it was the first thing he was sure of all night, and truth be told, it was. “Funny, you spent so long hating it when I called you Twig before,” the tone was joking now. “But. Alright. I can go back to that…feels weird calling you anything else anyway ya know. Even if you aren’t so twig-like anymore,” The bed shifted slightly as someone sat down next to him. “C’mon, man. I won’t disappear. You know you can trust me.”

That’s true. He knew he could trust him. But he was just so scared. It was like the powerful business tycoon he had become simply vanished, only leaving a scared little Twig in his place. “Fine. But if you disappear on me, I won’t forgive you.” He warned quietly, looking over to see an all too familiar face. Ponytail in all of his glory, hair still tied back, still clad in his army standard uniform, sitting down on Terry’s bed. He seemed so perfectly normal. To the point where Terry was willing to overlook the little details, like how his muddy shoes weren’t affecting the bed or floor at all, or how, at certain angles, he seemed to appear almost see through.

“See? I’m still here,” Ponytail grinned over to him. “And now that ya know I’m not going anywhere…how about telling me about that nightmare of yours huh?” He suggested. “Talking about it is supposed to help after all.” Goddammit. Ponytail was right, unfortunately for Terry, the goofball of a man had always been right about more things than they all thought. And yet, he still hesitated, glancing briefly back to the blankets before back to the other man. “... It was about you. About…about how you died.”

“Oh,” Now it seemed to be Ponytail’s turn to pause. But it most certainly didn’t last for long, considering how he heard the other speak again only a moment after. “You know it wasn’t your fault right…?” He murmured, his jovial tone dropping to that of a more concerned friend. “It wasn’t anyone’s fault really. Except maybe that stupid radios… But that’s beside the point I think. I never blamed you or anyone else for what happened. War’s a bitch, and men die. Those are simple facts of life.”

“I know I just.. There should have been something we could have done.” He insisted. “You did so much for us just to die like that? That isn’t fair,” Of course. He knew that life wasn’t fair. He knew that war especially wasn’t fair. In a way, he sounded like a petulant child, complaining of the outcome of a game, instead of a man mourning a life lost due to war. Or at least, that was how Terry thought he came off. Judging by Ponytail’s pitying look, he didn’t really agree.

“That’s how life can be, Twig.” He knew that. Of course, he knew that. He had seen how life could be unfair. And hell, he had even made it more unfair, tipping the scales in his own direction as much as possible. Ponytail stood up from the bed, circling around to sit by the other man’s side properly. “Life is cruel, but… I promise I’m okay now,” he soothed quietly. “And you will be too, maybe not now, but you’ll get there,” Terry watched as Ponytail took his hand, his touch cold, but solid. He had to genuinely be there right? This wasn’t just a hallucination if he was doing this. “But what if I don’t? What if I’m just…stuck like this, stuck in the past forever?” Lord, Terry couldn’t take his eyes off of him. He knew he was a man focused on the past, but. Could he move on from it? Could he get the help that was needed to start the process of healing? Hell. Did he even want to move on?

“You will.” Ponytail gave the other a slight smile, raising his hand to his lips and pressing a soft kiss on his knuckles, seemingly out of nowhere. Terry’s face lit up a deep shade of red as the other spoke again. “I promise, you will. It just takes time…now. C’mon. Lay back down. I’ll be here for as long as I can, I promise.” The other let go of his hand, rolling back over to the opposite side of the bed, patting the mattress next to him and staring at him expectantly until he gave in, laying back down beside him, never able to tear his eyes away. “I…why did you.?” Anddd there was a finger pressed against his face.

“Sh. Don’t question it, Twiggy… Just know I wanted to do that for a really long time now, okay?” He insisted, moving his hand back. “Besides… I know you definitely didn’t mind it. You seemed to like me plenty when I was still…y’know. Alive after all.”

Wait.

“You *knew*?” Terry was sitting up slightly again, face flushed out of pure embarrassment. He had thought he had done such a good job at hiding his crush from the other soldier too. “Twig, I’m pretty sure you were so obvious even Johnny knew. We just never said anything.” He shrugged. “Honestly. It’s not a big deal.” He reached out, wrapping a hand around Terry’s arm to pull him back down onto the bed. “Try not to think about it much, okay? It’s the past. Nothing can be done about any of it now.”

Once again, Ponytail was painfully right. But he was pretty sure that sleep wouldn’t come easily now. He huffed quietly, turning over onto his side as he pulled the blankets up over his shoulders. “You’re a jackass… You could have mentioned something to me.” He insisted quietly, earning himself a simple laugh in response. “…. You said you would be here as long as you could right?”

“That's right. I did say that,” He confirmed with a tiny nod of his head. “I’ll be here as long as I can.” That way, if the other woke up again in the middle of the night, Ponytail could still be there for him. “Good. I’ll be holding you to that.” He warned, though he was still reluctant to actually go to bed, doing his best to relax.

“I expect nothing less coming from you. Just.try to get some sleep okay? You still need it, unlike me.” Ponytail chuckled at his own statement. “I know you must be tired. It’s late as hell, and you’re constantly all ‘go go go’ nowadays aren’t you?” A rhetorical question. Ponytail knew he was right. Terry simply groaned in response, not wanting to give a proper answer, but still trying to find one anyway.

“This is the first time I’ve been able to speak to you in over a decade. So pardon me if I don’t want this to end.” Sarcasm crept into his voice, though he wasn’t genuinely upset at the suggestion of sleep. Hell. He was tired too. Nightmares definitely took a lot out of him, and he did have to wake up early as well. “Shut it, Twiggy. I love ya but we both know you need to get your sleep. And don’t argue with me on this either, we both know it isn’t gonna do you any good.” Oh, now that was true. Terry could absolutely remember the arguments they had. Ponytail had this almost Bugs Bunny-esque way of twisting arguments around so that you’d agree with him. Or at least that was the way Kreese had explained it, considering that, at the time Terry barely knew of that cartoon rabbit.

“Dammit…fine.” Terry relented to the shorter man. “I will *try*. But I promise nothing.” How could he sleep easily when his long deceased crush was just right there, across the bed from him? He did his best to get comfortable, closing his eyes. “Goodnight, Ponytail,” He murmured, doing his best to force himself to sleep, which, surprisingly, wasn’t actually too difficult. And the last thing he heard, as he drifted off, was the other oh so quietly returning the statement, alongside the feeling of a gentle hand messing with his hair.

As sunlight peeked through the velvet curtains of his bedroom the next morning, Terry tossed an arm over his eyes, trying to just get a few extra minutes of precious sleep. But it seemed that that was one treasure he would be denied. He let out a low groan, forcing himself to sit up in his bed. “Good morning Pon-” Oh. As he glanced over to the space the other man had occupied last night, he could see it was painfully empty, every little thing perfectly in place, as if Ponytail had never been there at all. His heart felt heavy in his chest as he pushed himself to stand, knowing looking for the other would be fruitless. He was gone again…for all he knew, everything that had happened the night before could have been nothing but another dream.

Terry went through his normal routine to get ready for the day, stepping out of the master bathroom dressed to the nines-as usual. Though he wasn’t quite feeling himself, straightening his suit jacket as one of the staff members came to get him for his morning meetings, quickly moving to follow them out to attend to his work schedule, completely unaware of the old, worn hair tie still lying on the side table from the night before.

#terry silver #terrence silver #terry silver/ponytail #ponytail cobra kai #cobra kai fanfiction #cobra kai #karate kid #karate kid fanfiction

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neonmetro · 3 months ago

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*resurrects and let's out a refreshing sigh*

Wow, guys, I'm back from the dead...( I got my grades up ) AND IVE BEEN KINDA LOW ON ENERGY BUT PARIS ANON IS SO BACK🗣🗣

I would like to give a little appreciation to my girl Conquest if I may....THE GOOBER EVER

SHES JUST SO AWESOME ???? AND BADASS TBH....AND THE FIT 💕💕💕 *does wild gestures* It's SO SICK. AND HIS PERSONALITY WOULD BE SO AWESOME TO SEE IN ACTION YKNOW ??? AND I THINK IT COMPLIMENTS WELL WITH THE REST OF THE HORSEMEN. Guys, can you tell I like Conquest.....I've been meaning to share my love for this little guy for a while, but well, I'm lazy 😅😅

I would also like to ask about the silly goober Chemosh and Kesabel....their designs definitely caught my eye when I first saw them :0 AND MY BABY AZAZEL.....THEYVE DEFINITELYYY BECAME ONE OF MY FAVORITES AS OF LATE..... their literally everything...sobs

And about uly, polities and eury....👀👀 im totally willing to listen to all the rambles....THE GOOBERS REAL !!!!

REST 🫵🏼🫵🏼🫵🏼🫵🏼 YOU DESERVE IT 👿👿👿

-Paris anon

WELCOME BACK FROM DEATH PARIS ANON 🔥🔥🔥🔥 FUCK YEAHHH

she is genuinely so fucking cool. i love just randomly scribbling her down (his hair is really fun to draw tbh he was one of my top guys to scribble down before uly had to come into my life and ruin everything)

i def need to flesh out his character more... he's very serious and ultra competitive and is kind of the only one with a head on his body out of the horsemen, and while he isn't really in the action a lot of the time he does just like watching people be happy together (his and war's relationship is similar to the yapper and the listener...) BUT HE'S GENUINELY SO BAD ASS CRYING SOBBING. ME WHEN CONQUEST USES HIS ENEMY'S BONES AND FLESH TO PROTECT THOSE HE LOVES MOST!!!!!

CHEMOSH AND KESABELLLLL they were def one of my favorite designs when i first designed them...

chemosh is a silly goober who may or may not be slowly building an infection to take over specifically aishire corp buildings but lets not worry about that rn and kesabel who is crying shitting and losing it at all times (they were not an actual employee of projmar just someone who ended up becoming an experiment)

azazel. who has bpd. beautiful princess disorder. they're so girly pop (they're literally so entertaining. trust. girl will just roll up to a casino w a hundred bucks and somehow end up arrested, in debt by hundreds of thousands of dollars.)

uly, poli, and eurylo......... it's so dire man they used to hang out so much together and even have matching ribbons in their hair lol... (how are they so. yk.)

and even though uly and eurylo aren't really close to each other and its not like they hate each other but also they just. get on each other's nerves a lot (they're like. strangling each other mentally and sometimes physically), they still feel like they have to stick together for poli and penelope

RAHHH THANK YOU PARIS ANON!!! i will... shit's just stressing me out for no reason (self inflicted (kills my brain))

#cw eyestrain #GIRLLL I NEED TO FIGURE OUT WHAT I WANT TO DO FOR PINK OVERKILL AND THUTKE I DON'T KNOW HOW TO FORMAT THE STORY STRUCTUREEEEE #oc #novaturient #ask #neon tedtalks #neon's sketchbook #conquest #chemosh #kesabel #azazel

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penroseparticle · 6 months ago

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3, 5, 6, and 16 for the music ask 👀

3. A song that reminds you of summertime

Slide by Calvin Harris ft. Migos and Frank Ocean is my go to, but I'm going off the beaten track for this one. I think I gotta go with Cocaina by Captain Cuts, Daniels ,and Rich The Kid. It's got like. Miami house party doing dumb shit vibes. It feels like it would be playing while we b-rolled over a summer house party or hot people on the beach. It's kinda gross, it's kinda seedy, it's hot and sticky, it's stupid. It's got that summer grit that only the beach brings.

I simultaneously cannot stand parties like this and miss them terribly. Also cocaine sucks do better drugs (Source: trust me). I do love a good song with a stupid play on words.

5. A song that needs to be played LOUD

I know it's a classic but Genesis by Justice. I think. Maybe Pursuit by Gesaffelstein? Mazel Tov by Talco? I did go on a big Italian Ska kick for exactly two weeks. I dunno man, anything that makes me feel like I'm going to cross my eyes watching the light show and teleport out of my body due to the bass allowing me to achieve astral projection. I love a good loud, grungy, rough electronic song played loud enough to be a solid wall. Like some of those samples need to feel like a needle jackhammer man.

The shameful secret answer is If I Can't Have You by Shawn Mendes, I need to have it loud enough to have ear damage while I dance in my bathroom mirror and lipsync it

6. A song that makes you want to dance

I have seen Caravan Palace THREE TIMES live and they are a TREAT every single time. I think I would have to go with Supersonics today, though Lone Digger is a classic shout and I think my favorite dance-y track on the new album is Mirrors. I'm glad Mad finally got an album release though, that video is fuckin weird man. I dunno I just think that Electro Swing in general is a genre that makes me want to move. Jazz sensibilities with electro beats? I just lost my shit about berlioz I can only be so predictable.

16. One of my favorite classical songs

I am a huge, unbelievable fan of Rondo Alla Turka by Mozart. I guess it's Piano Sonata no. 11, but I really only care about the third movement, Turkish March. In a shocking turn of events I like repetition. Time loops. Things iterating on themselves. Running something back and embellishing. Rondos in general do a lot of repetition in a way that doesn't get boring for me, and it's a simple(at least in components of composition) piano piece that was easy to follow for me when I cared more about Classical as a kid (aka when I played violin).

I do love me some Mozart, even today. It's kind of a shame that a lot of pop cuture riffing on classical music I've had access to (So like, Konami rhythm games) has a huge hard-on for Beethoven. Even Catherine focused more on Handel/Holst/Chopin. It's tough out there for a Mozart fan.

#ask meme #fresh jamz #skeetsk

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hellofanidea · 1 year ago

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OMG OMG PROMPT PROMPT! "hold unto me, i don't care if you mess up my shirt" but for the plu horror timeloop bastogne funsies! au bc. well. we both know what happens when They hold on too tight 👀👀👀👀

I have to apologize both for how late and how short this is, but despite my love for this AU I’m really not a horror writer so I really struggled to do any of this justice! Regardless, I hope you enjoy it. Content warning for gore under the cut.

***

The first time she hoisted him onto her back, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

Even with the weight of him, as much as her again despite his height, it felt good, it felt right, his front fitting to her back and his head slotting onto her shoulder like a missing puzzle piece.

She didn’t have time to dwell on it.

“Hold on, jus’ hold onto me,” Morse panted, trying to get a good hold of his legs and run at the same time. He gurgled something in her ear, strained and concerned. “I don’t care if you mess up my shirt.”

Another gurgle, some sick imitation of a laugh. His hands were getting loose on her chest, and she could feel the warm, wet, patch of blood growing against the back of her ODs, seeping through.

That thing, whatever it was, had ripped him open, torn into him with what looked like its bare hands. It had clawed at his chest, but had found the best purchase in his belly, and by the time Morse had fired off enough shots to get rid of it, it had practically laid him open.

She had never seen a creature like it.

It had moved in a scuttle, low and fast, just a shadow in the fog and snow. Her first thought had been an animal, but it couldn't have been. Not even in those woods.

She didn't know any kind of animal with two heads.

Foster's grip began to tighten impossibly around her. His hands had dropped to loosely damgle in front of her, but now it felt like he was trying to force his shoulders into hers. His legs were tightening too, squeezing around her middle until they were painfully dug in.

"Shit, Art-" Morse wheezed, faltering in her quick march through the snow. "I got you, ease up, I got you-"

Her voice choked, the breath struggling to rise from her lungs. Her boot tangled in something buried in the snow and she pitched forward, landing heavily on her hands and knees. Foster’s breath on her cheek had stopped, but the warmth along her back kept growing, seeping deeper until it was too hot, until it almost burned.

The vice grip around her tightened and tightened until dark spots began to dance in front of her. An awful noise, a popping and tearing, split the air as she tried to scream.

She woke up in her foxhole.

For a moment she thought she still couldn't breathe, but that was just the weight of Foster against her. He had slid down from her shoulder in the night to rest on her chest.

Groaning, Morse rolled him off, taking long, deep breaths, even as the cold air stung her nose. That had felt excruciatingly real. She didn't like how vivid her dreams were becoming out here, not when reality had such a hazy veil over it.

"Nightmare?" Mumbled Foster.

His eyes were still shut, his body curled up tight to preserve warmth and sleep.

Morse just grumbled and shuffled back down beside him. His breath was on her face again, hot and as rancid as anyone's by now, but there wasn't that metallic smell to it that had been in her dream. She refused to think of it as comforting because of that.

"What time's it?" Foster asked in that same mumble, though he had already slung his arm across the front of her chest to hold her to him.

Looking through the branches of their cover, Morse tried to assess the same white sky as every morning. She had a watch, but the energy it would take to actually check it from under the blanket was beyond her. It didn't matter anyway. Somebody would come get them when it was time for chow, or a patrol, or whatever fresh horror these woods had waiting for them.

Yesterday it had been Martin, with orders for them to go find Third and look for supplies.

That brought Morse's mind back to the dream, the endless woods and the two-headed monster, and she tried to push it away in favor of that thread of sleep still wrapped around her.

She dropped off without ever actually answering Foster, and both of them were woken some time later by a voice at the edge of their foxhole.

"Alright, time to shake the lead out." It was Martin again. Morse tried to be charitable to his lack of originality - it felt like he said the same thing every time he was the one getting them up. "Got a job for you both. Need you try and find your way to Third and see what they have spare."

#plu horror timeloop #nathan writes #i hope this captures something of this au <3

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luxmaeastra · 3 months ago

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//👀//

Aphaeleon sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked to Rhysand and crossed the Demarcation Line. He felt the magic ripple over him.

The temperature dropping, the swirling of stars in the sky, the twin moons.

Hel was as beautiful as it was ominous. But as Sebastian had liked to say - their children needed to know how to control their magic.

All of it.

Including their Valg blood.

The Valg were broken into three kingdoms, all answering to their emperor Vincent.

But it wasn't Vincent they were here to see. He'd warned both Rhysand and Rhaenyra of the brutality here. Not in the way of the Changelings, but in mind and soul.

Valg took whatever they wanted - bodies included.

He looked from his children, 20, adults. Old enough to survive here for the next couple years. With years of Changeling training in them.

"Hello Aphaeleon. Who have you brought with you?"

He turned from them, to the male walking toward them. Vanth encapsulated the exact nature of the Valg he'd been trying to explain to his children.

He didn't think they understood it really.

He'd let someone in his bed, and that female had slaughtered his parents. She kept him on a leash, she bed him every night.

Valg who had settled outside the realm whispered he'd been whipped and broken.

Though for everything Sebastian told him - Vanth didn't appear so. He staunchly supported his Queen.

Not that Sebastian had been able to cross the Demarcation Line to actually verify any of the rumors.

Silba's forces hadn't let him through.

They'd never reconciled post the war.

Again, neither had told him why.

It must be awful if Sebastian had wiped any sign of her in his own home. That he refused to let his sons set foot here.

"My second eldest, Rhysand and Rhaenyra."

Vanth slid starry eyes to the twins, his lips pulled into a slight smile.

"You're both the twins Seraphine hasn't stopped regaling my daughters about?"

Rhysand perked up, his boredom forgotten.

"Sera is here?"

"Where is she?"

Rhaenyra added, looking around as if waiting for the girl to pop up behind a boulder.

He shot them both a look.

"She isn't why neither of you are here. You are here to learn."

Vanth didn't respond to him, simply turning to nod over the ridge.

"At the palace. Come Aphaeleon, let's reunite the children hmm?"

Silba’s gaze rose when his presence once more filled their home, her fingers gently brushing against the strands of blonde hair that belonged to their youngest. Little Aelin was too young to partake in the activities her sisters did, but they did not mean she was not involved or forbidden from showing her presence.

She couldn’t help but smile as Vanth appeared, her hand reaching out for him as she allowed her guards down when they were within their private quarters. Only those from outside the court who were trusted were allowed in these areas, at least within the areas which were not totally off limits and were strictly for them and their children.

“Aphaeleon,” she greeted the other. “Welcome, I see the twins have grown up nicely since I last saw them.”

She watched her girls rush in, watching as Ulla lead the charge with Calaena and Nehemiah not far behind. She couldn’t help but smile, they really were her gifts after everything.

“We’re is our guest girls?”

Ulla looked to her mother. “She wanted to change her dress, she said it wouldn’t do,” she rolled her eyes with a small smile. “I think she wanted to look nice for someone.”

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starlightsearches · 3 years ago

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Just saw your post for kinky prompts 👀 what do we think about hate-fucking Eddie 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀

Payback

Kinky Prompts

My friend, we think veeeeerrrry favorably about being hate-fucked by Eddie! Thank you for sending this in 💖 Requests are open; comments, likes and reblogs make me soooooooooooooooo happy!

Eddie Munson x Virgin! Femme! Reader

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, PIV sex, protected sex, spanking, virginity kink (kind of), corruption kink (kind of), fingering (f), orgasm delay (f), clothed sex, crying during sex, a little tender for hate-fucking whoops but i contain multitudes, mentions of canon-typical violence, language, season 4 volume 1 spoilers!

"You know you don't have to babysit me, right?"

Eddie pops around the corner from one of the bedrooms, awake from his third nap of the day and scratching at his skin under the collar of his hellfire shirt. The movement puts the top of a tattoo on display, but you can't identify it from this angle, not without catching the black collar in your finger and pulling it down a few more inches.

You tear your eyes from him, glancing at the windows out of habit, letting out a sharp breath through your nose. The curtains are still closed—just like the last time you checked—but his shadow could still be visible to someone passing by.

"It was Nancy's idea. Will you sit the fuck down?"

Eddie rolls his big dumb eyes, plopping down on the floor beside you. He keeps his long legs bent, pale knees poking from the rips in his jeans.

"Well at least you're not cranky about being stuck with me, princess. Because that would make my exile totally unbearable."

You meet his eyes, catch his mocking smile, and shift an inch to the side.

"First off, don't call me princess. Second, you smell like shit. When's the last time you showered?"

He huffs, pretending to think, chin cupped in his hand. "Probably around the last time you slept. If those bags under your eyes get any bigger they're gonna need their own zip code."

You just flash him your middle finger, resting your head against the cupboard and trying to ignore the throbbing pain in your eyes. It's not like you've been trying to stay awake, but stress could do that to you. Every time you closed your eyes, your brain went into overdrive—imagining the yawning horror you'd feel finding your friends' bodies with their arms bent at odd angles and their eyes gouged out.

Eddie nudges you with his knee just as a shiver travels through you, denim he wears brushing against your bare thigh, repeating the movement over and over again until you look at him. He ignores the glare you give him.

"Seriously though, how long have you been awake? 'Cause I'm pretty sure I can manage not to burn the house down for a couple of hours without your constant supervision."

"Right," you scoff, "and when Jason and his friends show up to beat your ass, you can annoy them to death."

"Sounds like a plan to me."

The sun's just starting to set beyond the windows—his cue to stand without you yelling at him again—and he does, navigating the darkening kitchen with ease and grabbing a cereal box from the counter. "Out of curiosity, how are you planning on protecting me? Besides batting your eyelashes and bending over in that little skirt?"

"Something along those lines, yeah."

Eddie still doesn't know about the baseball bat you borrowed from Steve, hidden under the couch. As far as you're concerned, he doesn't need to.

"Good to know they'll all be rock hard when they kill me. Wouldn't have it any other way."

You make a face—maybe just to hide the way your eyes go wide at the idea of anybody being rock hard. "You're disgusting."

"So I've been told," he says, spraying a mouthful of honey comb, "by you, actually."

You just stare at him blankly, watching him chew as you replay the last few days. A lot had happened since you'd saw him threaten Steve with that busted bottle, and you'd called plenty of names during that time, but disgusting wasn't one of them. "No I haven't!"

He's not looking at you, admiring the silver glint of his rings, fingers splayed.

"You're friends did though," he says, quiet enough that you have to stand just to hear him, "and I don't remember you going out of your way to shut them up."

Oh. He's not talking about your friends—Steve and Dustin and the others. He's talking about your friends, the ones from before—the little clique of girls you ate lunch with every day for four years without really knowing each other at all.

"Whatever," you shrug, trying to brush off the accusation, sorting through the food Dustin had picked out to keep your hands busy, "that was high school."

He's unimpressed with your defense. "Okay, well you were a bitch in high school."

It hasn't even been a year since your graduation, but the person you were then isn't someone you'd recognize anymore. Hearing him say that about you makes your stomach sink—remembering all the times you had been a bitch to Eddie and people like him. You'd never be able to take those moments back, no matter how often you and your new friends saved the world.

You do your best to hide the hurt, reaching for a handful of M&Ms. If defense wouldn't work, you'd have to go offensive.

"If we're gonna bring up high school, you fucking started it."

Eddie leans in close under the guise of snatching some of the chocolate from your hand, warm fingers dancing over the skin of your palm.

"How'd I do that?" he asks with mock sincerity. Your heart races watching the movement of his dark pink lips.

"You know . . . you were always kicking my chair in Mrs. Click's class, and sticking chewed gum in my notebook when I turned to talk with Jared or Ashley, and- and whatever."

You can't look at him and talk at the same time. Not when he's got a few strands of hair caught up in his ridiculously long eyelashes, luring you into the warm center of his gaze, trying to trap you there.

He brushes some of the hair out of his eyes, sliding a little closer, chest pressed up against your shoulder. His skin is warm enough you can feel it through his shirt. His voice gets throatier when he whispers.

"How else was I guy like me supposed to get your attention?"

The M&Ms are turning to mush in your palm, crunching a little when your fist tightens involuntarily. You drop the chocolatey glob on the table, sliding away from him and facing the sink, hoping he couldn't feel the heat in your cheeks.

"You've made funnier jokes, Munson."

He just keeps talking, even with your back turned to him, spewing out shit that makes your whole body tense.

"Not a joke, babe. I've always had a thing for pretty girls with sticks up their asses. Figured somebody needed to fuck that attitude out of you."

You've got a death grip on the towel beside the sink, dripping little puddles all over the counter.

"I don't have anything up my ass," you mutter under your breath, as if a weak attempt like that would stop him when he's just getting started.

"—and I figured I could do the job, since those dickheads always drooling around you looked too stupid to fuck their way out of a paper bag—"

You just scrunch your nose, talking to yourself, "like I would know anything about that."

You're sure he won't notice your mumbled response, not when he's having such a good time talking to himself. And you're busy—in your own way—thinking about how many of those same dickheads had left you drunk in party bathrooms or alone in the woods on moonless nights when you'd shoved their hands away from your hemline one too many times.

"What?"

Eddie heard you, somehow—the one time you didn't want him to. Shaking the thoughts from your head, you do your best to change the subject. "Nothing. We really should talk about something else—"

"Wait, are you—?"—Eddie's sidled right beside you at the counter, leaning forward on both arms, smiling so fucking wide your hand itches to slap the smug look from his face— "Holy shit, are you a virgin?"

Fuck.

"I said I didn't want to talk about it!"

You throw the towel at him, but it just smacks against his chest with a disappointing thud, doing nothing to tone down your anger or the stinging embarrassment. "God, don't you ever shut up?"

He's totally immune to your little tantrum, taking one of your hands in his own, bringing it close to him, playing with your fingers.

He's got big hands. They practically swallow your own with no effort, the boar's head ring smiling up at you. You don't want to think about what they'd feel like touching you elsewhere, his huge, hot palms cupping your ass, spreading you apart with his ring-heavy fingers.

"Aw, baby," he coos, "if you wanted me to be your first, you could've just asked."

"Don't be delusional, Munson," you say, yanking your hand from his grip. It tingles a little where he's touched you, nerves deadened when they're not feeling him.

It's not like you cared that much about who was your first; it was always more about how. All those other losers had been fine with a quick fuck in the back of a car and you weren't about that. It's not like you expected candles and rose petals and shit—just a guy who'd at least try to get you off.

With the way he's looking at you now, Eddie's seeming more and more like the perfect candidate.

"Yeah, delusional, okay," Eddie's tone is sarcastic as he rolls his eyes, coming in close, seeing right through you like a piece of glass. His hair is brushing against your cheeks, hot breath on your neck, and your whole body responds, thighs pressing together, a thick swallow in your throat. He smells like cigarettes, with the faintest faded whiff cologne underneath the sharp sting of sweat. The more you have of it, the more you want.

There's something sinful reflected in his eyes when you look at him; it takes a second for you to recognize it's your own expression.

"Five bucks says you're wet for me right now."

He's surprised the sarcasm right out of you, reading you like that—leaving your voice weak and breathless, without your usual bite. "In your dreams, maybe."

"Oh yeah, all the time,—" the tips of his fingers brush against the outside of your thigh, "—but that's not what we're talking about here."

His palm is like a brand, pressed just above your knee, thick thumb stroking across your bare skin.

"Stop that," you whisper. Your throat burns with the smell of him.

He just cocks a brow. "You want me to?"

No. You won't say it—swallowing the word down and staring at him in silence—but you can't say yes, even if you don't mean it. He's the kind of guy who would actually stop if you did.

And you can't have him stop.

His hand curls into a fist against your skin until you lose contact with the cool metal of his rings. Eddie's expression is almost stern.

"I'm gonna need to hear you say it, princess."

The nickname doesn't bother you this time, stoking the heat at your core enough to loosen your tongue, just in case he might say it again. "No. I don't want you to stop."

The smile he gives you is worth your pride a hundred times over.

"Good girl."

Eddie's hand moves painfully slow, tips of his fingers brushing over goosebumps like he's trying to read braille, doe eyes staring down at you, gaze flickering towards your lips. It could be ironic that the one time you were desperate for a guy to rush through this part, the guy in question is determined to take his time.

It could be ironic, if it wasn't so fucking infuriating.

"Eddie," you say—way too desperate—but he just smiles at the shift of your hips as you take the last inch between his fingers and the soaked fabric of your panties by force.

Fuck, he feels good between your thighs—even just this part of him. He strokes his fingers back and forth, pinching a little at your covered pussy, laughing at the gasping sound you make when one of his rings catches against your clit.

You don't even care that it was this easy for him. You couldn't give less of a fuck.

He's got dimples in his cheeks from the grin he wears. "I'm flattered, sweetheart. This all for me?"

He's still stroking you, a smooth back and forth with his long, beautiful fingers. It's hard to form words anymore.

"Sh- shut up."

"About this?" His hips are harsh against yours, "uh-uh, never. I'm never gonna shut up about this wet. fucking. pussy."

He's breathing hard, gripping roughly at your cunt, punctuating each word with a brush against your clit, the tip of one finger past your lips and stroking along your entrance. Even through the cotton it makes you squirm, the feel of the soft, wet fabric almost too much for your sensitive cunt.

Your clumsy hands meet at his belt buckle, just resting there, arms jellied by the way he's touching you.

"Eddie."

He's got his ear pressed up against your cheek, a few of his flyaways sticking to the sweat on your temples. It's good he's so close or he might not be able to hear you at all.

"Yeah?" His chest heaves, arm muscles tight where they press against your stomach. When you lean back enough to meet his eyes, he's got his tongue caught between his teeth.

"I don't—fuck—I don't have five dollars."

"What?"

He actually stops his assault on your pussy for just a moment, and you breathe a soft laugh. It's nice to know you're not the only one who can be caught of guard.

"The bet. I owe you five—"

The thrust of his hips cuts off the end of your sentence, alarm bells ringing in your head. He hadn't been carrying anything in his pockets, as far as you knew—no switchblade or flashlight or a fucking cucumber by the feel of it. Which could only mean one thing.

Eddie Munson is rock fucking hard. For you.

His hand still cups your pussy as the other takes you by the neck, palm easily spanning your entire jaw and there's no chance you'd even think about fighting him when he guides you closer to his lips.

"I think we can work something out."

Eddie's kisses are intoxicating—hot and wet and strong, putting a burn in your throat from the power behind it—body aching at the way he bends you, his jaw pressed tight against yours, guiding your body with every shift of his head. He's got his tongue past your open lips, tasting like cigarettes and sugary breakfast cereal and stale sleep and it's still got you weak at the knees.

Kissing Eddie is everything.

He's making little moaning noises against your lips, the pressure behind his hips denting your back against the counter, digging into you enough there might be print of his dick on your thigh when he pulls away. His hand has gone still as he's caught up in this kiss, and grinding down against his fingers isn't enough anymore for the gnawing heat in your cunt.

You pull back, turning your head a little to the side when he chases after your lips.

"Fuck me, Eddie."

Even in the fading light, you can see how dark Eddie's eyes have become—already deep irises swallowed by black pupils.

"Really?"

His adam's apple bobs with a harsh swallow, like he didn't even think it would get to this point. You don't have time to worry about the statistical likelihood of a situation where you'd be begging Eddie Munson to fuck you—not with the way your pussy is throbbing.

"God, Eddie. Yes."

The muscles in his throat tense, thin blue veins distended, and if he's nervous taking control, he doesn't show it. You, on the other hand, are shaking like a fucking leaf.

"Bend over," he tells you, and you comply without comment—just grateful you don't have to make any of these decisions yourself—stretching out long, arms at an angle against the wall and chest flat against the table top.

There's the heat of his body against your thighs as Eddie steps closer, hips looming behind you, just out of reach. The fabric of your skirt is shifted out of the way, bunched up around your waist, and then Eddie's broad palm cups your ass, thumb achingly close to your core again, whispered touch moving closer, closer, the flat of his thumb pressed against your dripping hole. His other hand reaches for the waistband of your underwear, pulling them down roughly over your hips with the scrape of his rings until they fall to your ankles, leaving you totally bare.

And then you feel the harsh smack of his hand against the swell of your cheek, hips forced into the counter and a low moan on your lips.

You're still reeling when you turn back to look at him.

"Jesus Christ, Eddie!"

"Sorry, baby, but I had to," he laughs, untouched by your anger as always, looking a little endeared by the glare you send over your shoulder.

"You could warn me first," you grumble. Then maybe you could have done something about the mortifying sound you'd just made.

His fingers rub gently at the mark he must have left against your ass cheek, soothing the ache as he presses his chest against your back. "Where's the fun in that?"

He grins—face framed by wild hair, big eyes shining—and it mollifies you, but only slightly.

"Are you gonna fuck me or not?"

"Patience, baby," —he leans off you, reaching into his back pocket for a little silver-foiled packet—"safety first."

A fucking condom. You roll your eyes. "How long have you had that on you?"

"Since you told me you were staying. Rick keeps a bunch lying around—figured it couldn't hurt to be prepared."

So he's been thinking about fucking you for the past two days. You're not sure if that makes you more desperate or more annoyed.

You lay your head back down, rolling your eyes even though he can't see them at this angle. "You're an ass, Eddie Munson."

Not that you care, not with the sound of his zipper and the clink of his belt—which definitely make you hornier—the crinkle of the condom wrapper and the way you hear him spit a piece of the shiny foil onto the floor after opening it with his teeth.

With your cheek pressed to the table, you can't see what he's doing, shifting your hips side to side as you as you wait to feel him touch you again. It starts with a hand at your hip, pulling you against him, the white-hot pit in your stomach fueled by the feeling of his cock pressed between your ass cheeks, teasing you with a few soft strokes.

"You sure you want this?"

His other hand wraps around your waist, splitting your folds with his fingers, just barely petting across your clit. You can feel your pussy dripping for him.

"God, yes. Pl—"

He cuts you off, the end of the word lost in an ungodly moan as he presses the thick head of his cock past your messy entrance, and the stretch is already unreal—a searing sting that has your eyes rolling back in your head and your nails biting into your palms.

"Christ, baby, you're fucking tight," he says, with a hint of awe in his voice, sliding forward another inch, drunk on your little whimpered sounds.

You can't keep quiet as Eddie thrusts forward again, and again, and again, going until you're sure it would be impossible for him to have any dick left, cunt pulsing around him like its in cardiac arrest.

And then he gives you another inch.

"Fuck," —it's the only word you know anymore, the only thing you can think past the tremors running up and down your entire body, every brain cell you've got focused on the stunning pain stretching out your cunt, so full it's like you can feel the tip of him nudging at your lungs. "Fuck."

Eddie's not saying a word—a first for him—but you can tell he's thinking the same thing you are, can feel the letters F-U-C-K printed against your hip bones on the tips of his fingers. His breathing is loud and messy, shifting his hips just slightly until there's the soft slap of his balls against the backs of your thighs.

"Gotta, Jesus,"—two of Eddie's fingers press down against your clit, and you whine, wiggling a little at the feeling until his other hand tightens against your hips, "gotta loosen you up a little, baby. I'm 'bout to fuckin' bust."

He sandwiches you against the counter as he shifts forward to improve the angle of his fingers, circling your clit steadily. Your legs part, a little wider, hoping to make room for more of the feeling he's giving you.

"That's a good girl," Eddie groans.

You hadn't even noticed the way you'd been rocking your hips back against him, too absorbed by the feeling of his dick nudging at some shining point inside you, setting off fireworks behind your eyes with each brush.

He thrusts into you in earnest, and it's like you can hear the pop of your mind's pyrotechnics, the bass thudding in your chest, coming out of your mouth as long, throaty moans.

And Eddie must like those noises you're making, because it's got him pounding at you faster—slamming his whole dick into you hard enough to make the cupboards shake.

"Gonna ruin this fucking virgin pussy," he says, but you're not sure if you're meant to hear, or if it's a promise he's making to himself, "gonna ruin you for the next asshole who comes along."

"Fuck Eddie, I want you to . . . don't- don't want anybody else."

Jesus, where did that come from? Half an hour ago you were teetering on the edge of throttling him and now you're promising him a life-time unlimited supply of pussy.

If he replies, you can't hear him over your high-pitched whine as he pinches at your clit, strumming at you with his guitar-calloused finger tips.

"Gonna cum," you warn him, lashes fluttering at the way the heat is building in your gut and your pussy and your chest, building higher and higher, ready to take you.

Until he pulls back, totally still with his hands at your hips.

"Edddiiiieeeeeeeeeee."

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. The feeling's gone, and no amount of whining is going to get it back, the opening of your cunt trembling and dripping and empty.

He shushes you, one hand at your neck, ring biting at your throat and the chain at his wrist brushing against your chin as he pulls you close. Fat tears blur your vision until he's one big, brown smudge of hair and pink skin.

"Can't make it too easy for you, honey," he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your puffy lips. You blink the tears from your eyes.

"That was mean."

His chest shakes with laughter, and some of your spend smears across your cheek as he brushes a strand of hair back behind ear. "Let's consider it payback, princess. You wanna cum this time?"

I wanted to cum the last time, you think, but don't say it. He's fucked the antagonism right out of you. "Yes, please."

He kisses you, and the angle is awkward with you propped up on your hands, his tongue halfway down your throat as his other hand guides the head of his cock back to your throbbing entrance. He slides inside with ease.

It feels better with him this close, his thrusts shorter and slower but hitting you just right, hips slapping against yours, belt and chains jangling in time with the wet squelch of your cunt. It feels better when you can taste him, running the tip of your tongue along the edge of his teeth.

"You close again, baby?" he asks between sharp breaths. You nod, feeling hot, feeling used, thighs coated with your sticky wet cum, and body trembling in his grasp.

"Eddie," his name is like a cry on your lips, everything else stolen. You can't get the other words out, can't tell him that you feel it looming and it's heavier than the last time and it's strong enough to scare you, can't tell him that you don't know what's going to happen or who you'll be on the other side. "Eddie."

He's unphased, laughing, face mashed up against your cheek. "Tell me about it."

It takes you, fucking swallows you up and spits you out. Your whole body is pulsing, a ten on the Richter scale emanating from your pussy. Total devastation.

He thrusts into a few more times, fucking you through it, short bursts that make you whimper until the quaking stops and he groans, sliding from your cunt.

"God fucking damn," Eddie says, rattling around the kitchen, and you don't have a single brain cell left to wonder what he's doing, "how was that for your first time?"

It's a good question. You shift experimentally, aching in places you didn't know existed and numb everywhere else.

He's back at your side with a wet dish towel in hand. Eddie pets it gently between your legs, cleaning up everything sticky from your skin and your hair. You just hope Rick won't mind finding a towel covered in pussy juice in his house whenever he gets out of prison.

There's a soft look in Eddie's eyes as he cleans you up, tongue caught between his teeth, and it has you gnawing on your lips—a melty feeling in your chest no orgasm could cause.

"So . . . what happens now?"

You're not sure what you're hoping for—if you want him to kiss you, or tell you he'll fuck you whenever, no strings attached, or promise he'd never bring up the way you screamed for him ever again.

Actually, you know you don't want the last one. Beyond that, you're willing to take what you can get.

"Now," Eddie says, cupping your face in his hands, "you finally get some fucking sleep."

Maybe he's being stupid on purpose, saving your question for another time when you've got a little more mental prowess available and he's not being hunted for sport. Eddie leads you to Rick's bedroom, one hand at your waist, and your exhaustion hits you in a wave. You hadn't even realized how hard you'd been working to keep your eyes open.

The rest of you might be on the edge of sleep, but your suspicion is wide awake. "Did you only fuck me to tire me out?"

Eddie chuckles, crawling onto the big mattress and guiding you up with him, his body softer beneath yours in the darkness.

"Not only," he whispers, arms tight around your waist, "but I think it worked out alright."

You're breathing steadier already, having him here. There's no need to listen for him alive outside the door when you've got his heart beat beneath you. You'd never realized how much you worried about him whenever he was out of your sight.

"Eddie?"

He's lit a cigarette—you can see the red orange tip of it glow brighter in the darkness when he takes a drag.

"What, baby?"

"I'm sorry I was a bitch to you in high school."

His chest rises and falls with steady breaths. "Don't worry about it."

And then it's quiet again, your eyelids falling closed and staying that way. Eddie keeps a hand on you—sometimes stroking gently over your arm, or nestled tight at your waist. You would have thought that kind of movement would keep you awake, but you can feel your body grow heavier against him, muscles relaxing under his touch.

"Hey, Eddie?" You don't even bother to open your eyes this time.

"What is it now?"

"Can we do that again," you ask, sentence broken up by a soft yawn, "you know, when I wake up?"

"Sure thing, baby," Eddie promises, "whenever you want."

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