#perform as the lead in her college play??? maybe ?????? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

perlelune · 11 months

Text

Tag, You’re It | Ethan Landry | vi.

Happy, carefree college days meet their abrupt end when every guy who approaches you mysteriously turns up dead.

Warnings: NON-CON, Stalking, Bimbo!Reader, Clueless Reader, Loss of Virginity, Incel Ethan, Cheerleader Reader, Skin Carving (w/knife), Canon Typical Slashing, Voyeurism, Kidnapping, Forced Masturbation, Filming, Blackmail

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

"You know you shouldn’t lead him on like that," Mindy muses from your bed, her eyes not lifting from the Stephen King novel she’s engrossed in.

You place your phone above the vanity drawer after hanging up. You just decided on another study meetup with Ethan.

It’s been a few weeks since he began tutoring you. There’s been a sharp improvement in your grades and you’re starting to believe that maybe you’ll be able to graduate just like the rest of your friends.

Before, all those things felt as unreachable as the stars in the sky. But Ethan, with his kindness and unlimited supply of patience, made it a reality.

Sure, you won’t be a top student anytime soon, but at least now there’s hope of you not failing the course and falling behind.

"What? I’m not leading him on. Ethan and I are just friends," you defend, puckering your lips as you apply the finishing touches to your makeup before the big game. Your gaze keeps bouncing to the clock. The playoffs begin in a little less than an hour.

Tensions are high tonight. This is no regular game as whichever team wins will go on to compete in the national championship.

It’s one of the reasons Chad and most of the guys on the team have been in a weird mood all week.

Besides, honor’s at stake when a team plays on their own turf.

The pressure’s been off the charts for the cheer squad too, Alana having run the team into the ground to perform well today and not miss a single step.

Despite how exhausted you are, you’re almost thankful for that. Focusing on cheerleading has helped you file away that god awful night.

The humiliation you experienced still burns a hole inside you whenever you remember it.

While you can’t quite shake the lingering sensation of being watched, you can at least try to reclaim a semblance of normalcy.

Hopefully Ghostface had his fill of tormenting you and won’t do anything like that ever again.

Mindy arches her brow and scoffs, "It’s pretty obvious he’s got some desperate puppy crush on you." Under her breath, she mumbles, "...And I’m still not entirely convinced he’s not Ghostface."

You pause, the tip of your lipstick almost snapping as you press it tight against your mouth. You unleash a heavy sigh and whirl to her, brows drawing together.

"Mindy, please. Not that again," you plead.

It's not the first time your best friend has shared her doubts regarding Ethan and you wager it won't be the last.

Every time she catches you texting him or hanging out, disapproval paints her features. She also squints and gestures at him that she’s watching him whenever she crosses paths with him.

It saddens you that she can’t get along with him and won’t relent regarding her suspicions.

Ethan’s helped you so much. It’s unfair that your best friend keeps claiming he’s a murderer without any evidence to back it up.

And outside of tutoring, he’s been a great friend to you, always here to wipe your tears and listen to you talk about anything, however trivial. Every time you ramble on about cartoons, your collection of stuffed animals and how you’d love to get more, clothes or anything really…Ethan wears that same fond smile on his face.

Outside of Chad, you never had a guy best friend. Unfortunately since getting into college, you haven’t seen much of him since he’s so well liked and has developed such a large circle of friends.

So Ethan’s a breath of fresh air.

You relish the ability to talk without fear of judgment or being belittled for the things you pluck joy from or how forgetful and absentminded you can be sometimes.

Ethan has not made fun of you once for misremembering a word or your tendency to get lost around campus. Instead, he escorted you to class and promised to be with you more often so it doesn’t happen. He also agreed with you that it’s not your fault because every building looks the same, which everyone in your friend group laughed at you for mentioning before.

Mindy leaps from the bed, exclaiming, "Come on, Ethan? Shy, dorky guy who no one suspects because he’s so shy and dorky." She lets out a humorless laugh. "Maybe he went all 'if I can’t have you, no one can' and decided to get rid of the competition…permanently."

Your eyes roll as she concludes her theory with a repeated stabbing motion towards her throat.

"You’re ridiculous." You get back to gauging your reflection. As you adjust the pink bow in your hair, you add, "Ethan’s cool. And I can actually understand some of the stuff Professor Atkins says in class now thanks to him."

In the mirror, you watch a sullen Mindy fold her arms behind you.

"I still don’t trust him." She flicks her hands skyward and exhales in defeat. "But I can’t tell you who to hang out with."

You step away from the vanity to make your way to your pouting best friend. She accepts your hug, a deep scowl still etched on her face.

"Let’s just drop it, okay?" you offer. "I hate arguing with you."

Mindy sighs against your shoulder.

"I’m just trying to keep you safe."

Leaning back, you squeeze her shoulders and smile.

"I know, and I love you for it…but you gotta ease off him, Min." She groans at that, tossing herself back onto your bed with her arms spread. As she glowers at the ceiling, you maintain, "Ethan’s been an amazing friend to me."

More curses are grumbled under her breath. Shoulders slumping, you elect to give it a rest and stop trying to convince her.

You know how stubborn Mindy can be. There will be no changing her mind tonight, or anytime soon.

Casting the upsetting topic aside, you hop to the center of the room and spin in your cheerleader outfit.

"How do I look?"

"Like a fembot specifically designed to appeal to the male gaze," Mindy deadpans.

You angle your head sideways. "Is that a good thing or bad thing?"

She chuckles and smiles at you before elaborating, "You look smoking hot, babe." The befuddled frown on your face vanishes, an elated grin supplanting it. Mindy returns to her reading and gives you a thumbs-up. "Break a leg."

Grimacing, you grab your pom-poms from underneath your bed and head for the door.

"Hopefully not or Alana will kill me."

You’re on your way to meet up with your squad when you stumble upon Ethan in the hallway. As usual, he’s dressed simply in a blue button-up and dark slacks, damp locks of his curly mane kissing his forehead.

He greets you in that bashful way he does while you beam at him, shaking your pom-poms.

You jog in his direction with a bounce in each step.

"Ethan, hey!"

His gaze widens as it roams over you, pink dusting his cheeks.

"Wow, you look…"

Placing a hand on your hip while the other lifts your pom-pom above your head, you adopt a cheerful pose.

"Cute?" you suggest.

Ethan’s throat ripples as he gapes at you.

For a while, he only does that, stare at you open-mouthed.

His face then turns an even brighter shade than before as he dips his head down momentarily.

"Y-Yeah. Something like that," he stammers.

His reaction drags an amused chortle out of you. You surmise it’s the first time you’ve addressed him in your full cheerleader getup and he must be somewhat taken aback.

"I didn’t know you liked sports," you observe.

He shrugs.

"Not particularly but everyone is going and Chad’s my roommate." He points at the camera hanging from his neck. "I also kind of got roped into taking pictures for the school paper."

Some of the other cheerleaders wave at you as they’re running out to the field. The impatient clamor of the crowd already swells from the bleachers, loud enough to be heard even from the corridor.

One of the girls from the squad, Lisa, stops as she catches sight of you and Ethan. A quiet conversation flows between the two of you, an inquiry swaying in her hopeful blue orbs.

You give her an imperceptible nod and she smiles at you, quickly averting her gaze and striding away when Ethan glances from her to you with a look of utter confusion on his face.

"What the hell was that about?" he asks, thick brows drawing together.

"About that…It’s good that I ran into you because there's something I meant to tell you, hm, more like ask you."

He inches closer, his eyes on you wide and alert.

"Ask me what?"

A sliver of hesitation zips through you but you remember the promise you made just a few hours ago at cheer practice.

You can’t back down.

You swallow a lungful of nerve and reveal, "So…one of the girls in my squad sort of has a massive crush on you."

"Oh," he exhales, his shoulders sagging. His smile fades, understanding seeming to dawn on him. "You mean that girl I just saw?"

You nod and explain, "Her name’s Lisa." He considers you blankly. You wave your hands in front of yourself. Words rush out of your mouth in an apprehensive string. "I know. I know. Trying to set up your friends is so cringe but she noticed you since the beginning of the year. The thing is she’s shy and doesn't know how to approach you. I promised her to ask you if you’d be interested in hanging out sometime." You twiddle your thumbs and mumble, "She’s super pretty and so nice, and she’s even into that same board game you told me about the other day…" You trail off, forehead creasing as you try to remember the name.

Ethan tonelessly corrects you when you misspell the name of the game.

You perk up and giggle, "Right. She just told me. I don't know how I forgot."

Ethan studies you long enough that it becomes unnerving and you start fidgeting under his sizzling focus.

You grow nervous, wondering what he’s thinking. Usually, you wouldn’t meddle with anyone’s love life. But Ethan’s done so much for you. If possible, you want to do something for him too.

You just don’t know what you could do to thank him.

Setting him up with someone from your squad seemed like a good idea, especially since you’re pretty sure Ethan’s single. You haven’t seen him hang around any other girl besides you.

A heavy sigh drops from Ethan’s chest as his lips lift into a small half-smile.

"The thing is, I already like someone," he confesses, patting his camera.

Your eyes bulge as a wave of embarrassment washes over you.

"You do? I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize." You blink up at him in curiosity. "Who is she? Does she know?"

He chuckles. "She doesn’t know anything."

You approach him and squeeze his arm encouragingly.

"Well you’re awesome so if she can’t see what’s right in front of her, you’re allowed to move on."

Ethan lets out another wry laugh.

"If only it were that simple."

Your brows knit. "What do you mean?"

He runs his hand through his thick curls and exhales a long, weary breath.

"She’s all I can think about. Literally." He pauses, his gaze corralling yours. "Every hour of every day, I think about her."

"Wow, that’s intense." You rub his forearm and send a sympathetic smile. "Sounds like it’s more than just a crush. Sounds like you’re in love with her."

"Yeah, I guess I am. Silly me, huh?"

"Don’t say that. I’m sure things will work out in the end. You deserve to be happy, Ethan."

His attention on you sharpens before a slow smile unfurls on his lips.

"You know what? I think I do."

"Of course you do."

Your answer makes him smile wider.

The moment is shattered when one of the players wedges himself between you and Ethan and steals an ephemeral, chaste kiss from you.

The buff brunette quarterback flashes you a pearly grin.

"A kiss for good luck?" he says, winking at you.

"Uh, sure," you reply shyly, butterflies swarming your belly.

He smiles at you one last time before jogging towards the stadium.

"Who’s this guy?"

You blink, Ethan’s deep, blunt voice startling you.

Pivoting back to him, you explain, "Oh. Tyler and I met at the boba shop the other day. It’s too early for anything serious but he’s cute and has been super nice to me."

It’s been pleasant to bask in some sense of normalcy again after what happened last month. You craved it. Tyler’s easygoing, fun to be around and he’s never pressured you to do anything once.

Ethan’s jaw clenches as he scoffs, "Do you just go for every guy who buys you candy or gives you some half-assed compliment?"

Your mouth hangs open in shock. "Ethan? What do you mean?"

He scrutinizes you for a few seconds before sighing and moving to walk away.

"Nothing. Don’t worry about it."

The hand you wrap around his wrist stops him, Ethan halting in his tracks. You tug him back with a contrite pout, your concerned gaze rising to meet his.

"I am going to worry about it. Ethan… Did I say something upsetting? I feel like maybe I did. I'm sorry about Lisa. I thought she'd be your type. She's everyone's type."

"Well, she isn't mine," he replies icily.

Budding tears tickle the back of your eyes but you repress them. It’s not the time to weep. The game’s about to start.

So you swallow them with ease, deciding you’ll give Ethan a proper apology later on.

Instead you give a sunny smile and ask, "Are you coming to hang out with everyone after the game? We all decided to meet up for chili fries and beers whatever the outcome is."

Ethan’s eyes fall on your hand wrapped around his wrist. He shifts your grip so your small hand rests in his larger one. He studies your twined hands, rubbing his thumb against the back of yours.

When he looks at you again, a glint dances in his chestnut orbs.

"Thanks but I’m gonna be busy actually." He flashes you a broad grin. "I just remembered I have some trash I need to take out."

#ethan landry x reader #scream fanfic #bimbo!reader #scream 6 #ethan landry #ethan landry x you #scream #dark!ethan landry #ethan landry x bimbo!reader

933 notes · View notes

rubycruzin4abruzin · 13 days

Text

never been (stage) kissed

Summary: After years of being a struggling actress in Los Angeles, you finally land your big break! The only problem is, you’ve been cast opposite your longtime celebrity crush… Ruby Cruz. What will you do when the director demands a kiss between the two of you?

Pairing: ruby cruz x actress!reader

Contains: mature language, small amount of adult humor, kissing, fluff, thigh touching, in depth details of Hollywood movie shooting, anxious!reader, publicity tweets and comments, ruby being the sweetest girl EVER

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: This is a Real Person Fiction. I’ve included a mass disclaimer of RPF guidelines here. Make SURE to click the link before reading, it’s extremely important for the safety of all Real People involved in this fiction.

———

You stared at the movie script in your hand, biting your lip to stop from squealing. After being in Los Angeles for the past five years, you had finally landed your big break.

You had known that you wanted to act ever since your mother signed you up to be a munchkin in a community theatre production of “The Wizard of Oz.” Of course, being a stubborn elementary schooler, you fought her on it, saying the songs were “stupid” and the costumes were “itchy.” But as soon as opening night came, and the lights hit your face, you put on a smile and celebrated the death of the Wicked Witch like it was something you’d been waiting for your entire life.

After the song's last note, deafening applause echoed around the theater, causing adrenaline to course through your veins. In that moment, you decided to spend the rest of your life chasing that feeling.

When you reached middle school, you joined their drama department, taking theatre as an elective class while occasionally participating in the school plays. Once high school rolled around, you began to take some of the more advanced classes, and even competed in a couple One-Act Play competitions. A lot of the people you started taking classes with eventually got bored and left to pursue other hobbies, but over the years you just fell more and more in love with acting, and became completely dedicated to your craft.

Instead of attending college, after you graduated high school you packed up whatever you needed and moved across the country to a small town about half an hour away from Los Angeles. The area was slightly sketchy, your apartment was small, and you had to work two jobs while sharing with four other roommates just to make rent.

Los Angeles kinda… sucked. But you had stars in your eyes and couldn’t be happier.

Unfortunately, you were kind of in for a rude awakening once audition season rolled around. Back in high school, you would book leads left and right. Now, it seemed like the only gigs you could book were background work, maybe a role in a rinky-dink student film if you were lucky. You always took what you could get, but you longed for something that could get your foot in the door.

One day, one of the short films you starred in entitled “Attack of the Killer Zombie Prom Queens” got entered into some film festival, and not only did it win an award you couldn’t remember the name of, it ended up going viral on YouTube, and not in a bad way either. Your performance in that film was astounding.

Plus, not that this was the sole reason the film blew up, but as an actress in your early 20’s who tended to take care of herself, you were kind of… well… hot.

Suddenly, you were getting recognized in public, signed with an agency, and landing more notable roles. You were featured in a music video for an up-and-coming country artist, booked a commercial for a costume makeup company (in which you brought back your look from “Attack of the Killer Zombie Prom Queens”), and even starred in three episodes of a new series on HBO Max.

Just when you thought life couldn’t get any better, one day you were coming back from what was either your third or fourth audition of the day, when you got a call from your agent on the drive home. You groaned, almost certain she was calling to schedule another “last-minute” audition. Sure you appreciated how hard she worked to get you booked, but you were also so tired after a long day.

To your surprise, when you picked up the phone, she ecstatically announced that you had booked a huge role.

In a feature film.

Starring alongside your celebrity crush… Ruby Cruz.

You had to pull over on the side of a highway to keep from swerving out of excitement.

Ruby had been your celebrity crush since you saw her in the Disney+ series “Willow.” Her masculine ambience, her devil-may-care attitude, and the way she swung her sword had you absolutely drooling. Somehow, you finished the entire series in two days, and immediately ran to IMDB to add Every Single Thing she’s been in to your watch list.

Now, you stood in front of the building where your first read-through was supposed to take place, the script for “Aliens of Atlantis” resting in your shaking hands. You gulped as you pushed open the door, wondering how you were going to keep your cool around Ruby when the very thought of her practically sent you into cardiac arrest.

Walking into the reading room, you were met with several chairs arranged into a circle and sounds of chatter from the other actors. You recognized a few of them from some smaller projects, even recognizing one from a movie that had come out the previous year. Your eyes scanned the room for Ruby, heart beating out of your chest when they landed on the back of a choppy brunette bob.

When Ruby turned around, you swore her blue eyes sparkled under the fluorescent lights. She caught you staring at her from across the room, and shot you a wide toothy smile before walking over to you.

“Hey,” she started. “You must be Zephyra.”

You blinked at her. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Zephyra.” She repeated. “You’re playing the alien queen of Atlantis, right?”

She furrowed her eyebrows at you slightly and tilted her head, worried she may have gotten you mixed up with someone else.

Her words clicked in your head, finally. “Oh! Yes! I’m playing the role of Zephyra.”

Ruby’s smile returned as she let out a lighthearted chuckle. You swallowed, trying to keep your cool. You still had trouble wrapping your mind around the fact that you were standing in front of the Ruby Cruz, and having a semi-successful conversation.

She stuck out her hand, offering a handshake. “Hi, I’m Ruby. I’m playing Calantha.”

You took her hand, electric shocks vibrating through your body at her touch. “Nice to meet you.”

After removing her hand (much to your displeasure), she turned to walk back over to her seat, but not before flashing you a smile over her shoulder. “Can’t wait to work with you!”

God, why did she have to be so cool?

The table read went fairly well, in your opinion. The movie was about Calantha, an underwater adventurer, finding the lost city of Atlantis during an expedition. Once there, she finds the city being ruled by aliens who’s spaceship crashed near the area about 100 years ago. Calantha finds Zephyra, the alien queen, who makes her promise to keep their secret, and in return, Calantha will help her run the city.

You were playing Zephyra, of course, since being in “Attack of the Killer Zombie Prom Queens” proved you looked hot even in otherworldly makeup. You kind of thought there might be some romantic or even sexual tension between Calantha and Zephyra, but you brushed it off as you thought that might not be the artistic intention.

Once filming started, your days were basically exclusively spent on set. Not that you were complaining, you loved every second. Even after coming home at 1am when you left for work at 6am, a blissful smile would be painted across your tired face.

The only thing that bothered you was that you barely ever got to talk to Ruby on set. It was more your fault than hers. Every time you two were working together, your brain short circuited and you couldn’t get out anything more than a few dim-witted babbles. Ruby was always so sweet about it though, always lightheartedly chuckling at your barely-comprehensible speech, sometimes even giving your upper arm a squeeze if you felt especially nervous.

You knew she meant well, but any touch from your celebrity crush was sure to do the opposite of calming you down.

One day, during a filming session, you and Ruby were meant to be sitting especially close to each other. You were sure you felt some romantic tension between the two characters, but you chalked it up to your crush on the actress and tried to downplay it. The director, however, seemed very frustrated today, this was the nineteenth take of this particular scene and he still wasn’t happy.

“Cut!” He yelled, letting out a frustrated sigh as you and Ruby turned your attention towards him.

“Everything alright, sir?” Ruby asked, making you glad you weren’t the only one who noticed his irritation.

“This scene… it’s missing something.” He brought his hand to his chin and squinted at the both of you. “Do we think we could add a kiss? Right here?”

Your heart stopped, and all the moisture disappeared from your mouth.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t kissed people before. You had your fair share of dates back in high school, that wasn’t the problem.

You’ve kissed, but you’ve never stage kissed.

Sure you had plenty of acting experiences, but the roles you played never required kissing. Instead of playing Aurora, you made a fabulous Maleficent. While Elle Woods locked lips with Emmett, you were busy portraying a hilarious Paulette. And of course, nobody wants to make out with a zombie prom queen.

You had no idea if there was any difference between actual kisses and stage-kisses. Obviously, sex scenes in movies weren’t real. But kisses? What if there is a difference and you go to kiss Ruby on camera and make her uncomfortable? What if she pushes you away? What if she gets mad? You don’t know how you’d recover from something like that, and your mind swarmed with plans to flee the country if that did happen.

Ruby opened her mouth to answer the director, before looking at you for confirmation and noticing your overly-panicked state. She sent you a reassuring smile, and placed a gentle hand on your back.

She turned to the director. “Could we pick this up after lunch? I think my scene partner and I have some things to discuss.”

The director agreed, and since it was still about thirty minutes to lunch, decided to use that time to record some “room noise.” You and Ruby were meant to sit still and quietly, the only thing you heard being the echo of your heartbeat in your ears.

Suddenly, you received a text notification, causing sound to go off and the director to groan and shoot you an annoyed look. You mumbled a quick “sorry” before switching your phone to vibrate and looking to see who texted you.

After wolfing down a sandwich from the craft services table, you stood in front of the trailer with Ruby’s name on the door, wringing your clammy hands while deciding whether or not to knock. You took a deep breath, raised your knuckles, and knocked three times, taking a step back after.

She answered almost immediately, staring down at you with a comforting grin. “Hey, come on in.”

Walking up the stairs and into Ruby’s trailer, you couldn’t help but notice how much cleaner it was than yours. You weren’t necessarily sloppy, but your vanity was covered in various bottles of blue face paint, while your floor held multiple alien-like prosthetics. Ruby’s was tidier, with a small couch pushed up against the wall, and her vanity holding nothing but some makeup basics and a half-full can of Dr. Pepper she had been drinking right before you walked in.

Ruby took a seat in her vanity chair and took a sip from her Dr. Pepper, motioning for you to sit on the small couch. “What’s going on? You didn’t seem too comfortable with the kissing scene.”

You gulped, staring down at your lap. “It’s not that…”

Ruby sat up, leaning forward to gawk at you. “Oh my god… have you never been kissed?”

“What? No! Of course I have…” you trailed off. “I just… I’ve never stage kissed before, and I know you have, so is it any different from regular kissing? I feel so stupid for asking and I’m so sorry but I didn’t wanna do it wrong while filming and I’m kinda embarrassed that I don’t know the answer so that’s why I wanted to ask you privately because I didn’t wanna fuck up…”

Ruby stared at you, silent and wide eyed. You felt your heartbeat in your ears as you tried to decipher what she was thinking. Suddenly, she threw her head back and let out a hearty laugh. Your heart sank. Here you were being awkward and vulnerable in front of your crush, and she was laughing at you.

Just before you decided to get up and walk out, Ruby calmed down, wiping away a tear and smiling apologetically. “I’m sorry, I promise I’m not making fun of you. I didn’t mean to laugh, really. You’re just so cute.”

You felt your cheeks burn at her words. She thinks you’re cute?

Ruby threw her soda away in a nearby trash can and moved to sit next to you on the small couch. She criss-crossed her legs, turning to face you while pondering how to answer your question.

“So… stage kisses are different from regular kisses, but they’re also not, you know? Like, we’re kissing but we’re not like… kissing.”

She peered over at you, studying your facial expressions. You looked more confused than ever, so she continued her explanation.

“So, if you’re asking if my lips will physically be on your lips… then the answer is yes, they will. But they’re not exactly like the real thing, because it’s more of a demonstration to the audience rather than an act of passion between two people.”

“A demonstration?” You cocked your head. Ruby nodded.

“Yeah, so say the camera was over there…” she pointed out in front of you. “…then you might cup my jaw, or cradle the back of my head. But if you were to grab my face or something like that, it’d look pretty awkward in a fifty-fifty profile shot.”

You nodded in understanding. “Ok… I think I get what you’re saying.”

“There are also different types of kissing.” Ruby continued. “Like, it should portray how your character feels about the other character. When Zephyra has scenes with Calantha, how does she feel?”

You gulped, focusing on your lap again. “Well, to be honest, it kinda feels like there’s a lot of romantic or sexual tension between our characters, but I’ve sort of been suppressing it because I’m not sure that was the intention.”

“But you feel like Zephyra is attracted to Calantha sexually?” Ruby asked. You nodded. “Great! You don’t necessarily have to make it explicit, but something like that can help you dive deeper into your character.”

Ruby scooted closer to you, taking your hands in hers. She gazed at you with half lidded eyes, causing your breathing to accelerate.

“I want you to kiss me.”

Ruby’s words barely resonated in your head, there was no way you heard her correctly. “You… huh?”

“For practice.” Ruby clarified, letting go of your hands. “Like you would during filming. Is that ok?”

An involuntary swallow forced itself down your throat as you nodded. You couldn’t believe you were about to kiss your celebrity crush, even if it was only for practice.

You pressed your hand into her warm cheek, pulling her close and quickly pecking her lips before retreating away. Your face burned from embarrassment while Ruby cocked her head, clearly confused.

“That’s it?” She asked. “My bad, I didn’t realize Calantha was your grandmother.”

Ruby moved closer and cradled the back of your head, entangling her fingers into your soft locks. You felt your hands sweat as her big blue eyes gazed into yours. “I was thinking maybe something more like this…”

She crashed her lips into yours, causing warmth to explode in your chest. Her fingers played with your hair as you began to kiss back, and your arms wrapped around her waist. Holy shit could she kiss! You could barely fathom how soft her lips were, tasting faintly of Dr. Pepper and vanilla lip balm. As hard as you tried to act professional and pretend there was a camera in front of you, every inch of your body screamed at you to succumb to your most primal instincts.

You lifted one hand from her waist and moved to rest it on her mid-thigh, causing a gentle moan to escape from her lips and a shiver to run down her body. Startled, you moved back, throughly convinced that you majorly fucked up.

“Shit, I’m sorry!” You exclaimed, pulling back your hand like it had touched fire. “I wasn’t thinking, fuck. I got too swept up in the moment. I shouldn’t have touched you, that was completely unprofessional.”

“Hm…?” Ruby blinked, still in a daze. “Oh. Oh! You’re good! Don’t be sorry. I liked it. Really.”

Ruby grinned at you shyly. You stared back at her, a question you weren’t quite sure how to ask lingering at the tip of your tongue. “Ruby, are we still… practicing?”

Her smile faded as her eyes went wide, her gaze dropping to her lap. It was her turn to be coy, a sight you’d never seen before.

She dropped her voice to a low whisper as she choked out her question. “Do you want to be?”

Before you could even open your mouth to answer, your phone alarm screeched from your jacket pocket. You took it out, groaning as you turned it off.

Ruby furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. “What was that?”

“My alarm,” you answered. “I have to go.”

“But lunch isn’t over for another twenty minutes.” Ruby pointed out, trying to hide her disappointment.

“Yeah, but I have to head back early so they can touch up my makeup and fix my prosthetics.”

Ruby sighed in understanding. She supposed your costume might have a bit more upkeep than hers. Your prosthetics did look a little wonky after the lunch break, never mind your smudged blue lipstain that made her apprehensive to look in a mirror.

You collected yourself and turned to walk out, but looked over your shoulder before opening the door. “Uhm… Ruby?”

“Hm?” She answered.

You wrung your hands anxiously. “Do you think we could maybe… do this again? Sometime?”

Ruby’s head shot up to look at you, and a playful smile spread across her face. “Do what? More kissing lessons?”

You rolled your eyes as she chuckled, then gave you a lopsided grin. “I’d like that. Lunch again, tomorrow?”

A blush pink color sprinkled across the apples of your cheeks as you smiled back at her, trying your best to stay cool and suppress the giddy feeling that was bubbling inside of you.

“See you then.”

185 notes · View notes

inklore · 9 months

Text

sweet serial killer

premise: it doesn’t matter if he’s killing you or you're killing someone else. you’re putty in his hands right now, and you’re both fucked.

pairing: ethan landry x (f)reader

word count: 1.7k

contents: piv, more psychotic feelings than anything, choking, mentions of knife and blood play, murders, dirty talk, stalking, au since this is not in correlation with the film, pain kink.

note: this is my first time writing for this little fucked up curly q even though i have drafts upon drafts of ideas for him, which i'll gladly write if ya'll want more.

haunted hoedown day three.

You should be surprised.

You should be pissed.

Scared.

Running for your life.

Something. Anything.

Other than standing in front of a murderer, your knuckles curling around the edge of the dresser your ass is pushed against. Your excelled heart rate pounding in your ears the closer he steps to you, leaving no room for you to breathe without touching him. Without smelling him. Stealing each other's air.

Your eyes should be mapping out a quick exit. Coming up with a plan to get the hell out of here. Not looking into his. Not seeing the deep hue of nothingness that is abnormal to see in a sane person's eyes. The dilation of pupils letting you know that he’s got a plan either way. No matter how you take what he just told you.

“I’m ghostface.”

The darkness in his eyes tells you you can run, but you won’t get far. You can tell someone, but we both know you won’t because I see you.

It’s why you haven’t moved. Why an escape is the last thing on your mind. Because your eyes are casting that same darkness right back at him.

“You don’t have to pretend with me.”

His words are like a fire engulfing you, more dangerous than the performance of normality you constantly put on. The sweet, rich girl whose parents gave her a free ride to college, who dote on her like a prized show pony because she’s the perfect child—the perfect daughter.

The one thing in their lives they didn’t screw up.

Being born screwed up and hiding it well, no fault of their own.

Known psychopaths rarely get what they want. They might, for a little while. But the lavishes never last. There's always more you need, more you want. And there are only so many people in this world who will give you what you want out of fear.

Fear leads to trouble. Fear leads to getting caught. Turned in. Turned upon.

Hidden psychopaths, however, have an advantage. A perfected way of being that makes them seem like the nicest people you’ve ever met. The person you can run to. Trust. Count on. The person you wish you could be.

That’s how you get what you want.

That’s how you make the high of deceiving, hurting, and killing last.

And if rich parents who like to hire nannies have taught you anything, it's that it is very easy to pretend. To perfect this little act. To be perceived as loving and being able to love when really all you want to do is gouge the person next to you’s eyes out.

You have a system. A routine. You never let your crown slip. You never let anyone see you for what you truly are. You’d lose everything. Lavishes gone. That control you have gone.

You didn’t care about being loved or feared.

Feelings meant nothing to you.

But watching the emotions of pain enacted on someone's face when you caused it? Nothing compared to it.

Besides, maybe the way Ethan is looking at you right now.

The look someone gets when they look into a mirror and like the monster they see looking back at them.

Part of you should have known. Should have seen this coming with the way his eyes were always already on yours when you looked his way in class. Or that night you caught him following you around campus, but you pretended you didn’t see him—much like the night he caught you red handed, literally, with blood staining your nails, and your pre-rehearsed explanation only making his eyes grow wider and fill with darkness, he quickly smiled away.

And the nail that should have been pounded into the coffin when your roommate got attacked and all Ghostface did was wave his shiny little knife in your face, a gloved hand around your throat, and then disappeared down the fire escape. And the next day, when everyone was making your skin crawl from sympathy hugs and the fake tears that were glossing your eyes, Ethan had only given you dark looks from across the courtyard.

Brows low and casting a shadow over his eyes in class.

You should have known then.

You’re usually so much better at reading people, trying to understand their normality to copy it. Use it against them.

But Ethan wasn’t normal. That much was clear.

“I didn’t think you had it in you,” he chuckles under his breath as he shrugs, “this perfect little daddies girl, the girl everyone wants to sleep with, is crazy.” A slow smile lifts the corner of his mouth, “so many nights I’ve followed you, and you’ve kept your facade going. Even when no one was watching. Until the night I ran into you in the hall, the night I knew. I could see it written all over your face.”

He leans in closer, his curls ghosting over your forehead. His voice a whisper, “but you’re not very good at hiding your messes, so I did it for you. I saved us both the trouble. You getting caught and me—well, Ghostface—taking credit for a kill so messy. And when I gave you my little present, that pesky roommate of yours gone, I could see it in your eyes. That trust. That you would have been happy with me either killing you or fucking you.”

Your breath halts in your lungs, burning the back of your throat from the noise you let out when Ethan grabs it. Squeezing just enough to make it hard to swallow and to make that growing hunger move past your belly and throb between your legs.

“Which is it now? Do you want to be fucked or killed?”

Your lips try to form words, but the hand around your throat mingled with that perfected crown falling and shattering to the ground has your darkness making itself known more than just in the fire that’s so clearly burning in your eyes—the gasps that sound like weak whimpers, the warmth of your body against Ethan’s, the way your insides feel like molten lava when you consider both objectives—your mind is clouded with a pleasure you’ve only ever felt when you’ve watched the agony of pain fade out someone's light completely, your nails smelling of copper for days after.

If Ethan pulled out his knife right now and put it to your throat, you’d come before he made the first cut.

And as he says, “if I went downstairs and grabbed one of your fans and brought them up here and slit their throat for you, would you like that? Would you prefer that instead?”

Your body shivers from his words, from the free hand that's running down your hip to the apex of your inner thigh—your sorry excuse for a skirt giving him more than enough access to press his thumb to the growing wet patch on the outside of your underwear. The pad of his finger pressing in and adding just the right amount of pressure to your aching clit to make your eyes flutter.

“Or is it your insides you want me to see?”

The involuntary whimper of his name, the motion of your hips trying to rub yourself against the miniscule touch between your legs, his last words, and the accuracy of it all are the finality for both of you.

The thing that finally lets you both know that it doesn’t matter if he’s killing you, or you’re killing someone else, or blood is spilt for you, you’re putty in his hands right now, and you’re both fucked.

So when his lips come down on yours, it’s hard and rough and lacking any sort of passion.

Any sort of fake pleasure you’ve always had to give to past lovers.

There's nothing fake about the heat inside of you. The sauna of depravity that Ethan is pulling out of you—devouring it with bloody teeth that match your own hunger. Your own fucked up way of getting off. Of feeling something.

When Ethan starts to descend to his knees, leaving a trail of bites along your neck that feel too hard and imprinting to not be a personal vendetta of anger, of want, of a need to make you feel pain, to want it from him—you stop him.

Yanking his curls so hard, he’s hissing against your mouth. Your fingers move in a flash of pushed away fabric, buttons, and zippers to free him and wrap a hand around his cock. Giving it a couple pumps. Watching the way his mouth parts and his lips curl in pleasure when you tighten and twist around the head.

Wordlessly telling him what you want when you turn away, pushing your ass out for him as you bend yourself over the dresser.

If you didn’t have him inside of you one way or another, you know you’d lose your patience. Know that darkness would simmer away into something worse, something that would leave the both of you in more agony than pleasure.

You needed him.

And by the sound Ethan makes when he thrusts into you—hard, without warning—you know he needs you too. Know that he’s probably gotten off to the thought of you bloodied and underneath him, his knife pressed to your throat, threatening to make you bleed if you didn’t let him come inside of you. If you didn’t let him lick the wounds he wants to create against your flesh.

The pace he sets is rough.

Harsh against your body that rubs against the rigid edge of the dresser. His nails dig into your hips as he pulls you back onto him, as he grabs the back of your neck, digging his fingers into your skull.

The palm that snakes around to your neck pulls you up and against his front, putting your body at a new angle that has your muscles stretching in pain and making your eyes roll back. The noises of pleasure and pain like a fucked up hymn.

“That night I was in your apartment, your life in my hands, do you know how much self control I had to have to not slice this pretty throat?” His teeth graze against the skin below your ear, his own groans and hitches of breath making you feel lightheaded. “To not make you bleed and spread it against my cock and make you jerk it off. Make you use your mouth to lick me clean.”

It’s those words and the lack of air his palm is allowing your lungs to intake that make you come. That has the gasp falling from your mouth sounding like something dying, something begging for life.

Portraying the opposite of his words. Of why you’re coming. Of why the rush has you going lax against him and smiling.

#ethan landry x you #ethan landry smut #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry x y/n #jack champion x reader #scream smut #ethan landry imagine #ethan landry #ghostface smut #ethan landry one shot #ethan landry fanfiction #ethan landry fic #hauntedhoedown

824 notes · View notes

phasecornnuts · 30 days

Note

I would love to power bottom Valentino from hazbin hotel ples 😏 also I LOVE angst so maybe a bit of that 😌 head cannons or a fic doesn’t matter I love words

Hello again whores! This is over 16k words…. I think I may have a problem, but I cooked so whatever

Tbh I may open writing commissions bc I love y’all but if I’m writing biblical epics I lowkey would appreciate being paid (college is expensive) 😭

CW: For general angst and Drug use

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

You hated working nights, but working for Val always meant you worked nights. If someone were to ask you to write a list of everything you disliked about the club, you’d swear the exterminators would be here by the time you were done with it. But alas, it was what it was and there was nothing you could do to change it. That fucking contract made sure of that.

There were a few things that could make your shift bearable though. You liked Angel, even though he didn’t really come by anymore because of that stupid hotel, you liked the free drinks, even though Val made sure they were watered down after you vomited on a customer, and you liked the pills Val would give you, even though they made you feel loopy when you preformed. Those were the shit. Grade A. Top tier. Happiness in a tablet the size of your fingernail.

In your dressing room you watched the clock, five minutes. God, you were already sweating in the shitty outfit Val made you wear for tonight. A frilly maid outfit with black lingerie underneath, the man wanted a strip-tease and he was gonna have it one way or another. With Angel gone, you were the only other person he thought was worth headlining. That felt good to hear, even if you were only second choice. Maybe Angel being gone was a good thing, not for him but for you, maybe Val would see that you’re better than him, that you tried more. Maybe then you could be the star, and not just the understudy. Maybe, maybe, maybe; The word’s rhythm wavered in your head.

Hoping for Val to want you was fruitless though, you knew. Angel was the golden goose- or spider, you supposed - and it would take an act of god for someone to eclipse him. You took your eyes off the clock, knowing getting lost in your thoughts would just lead to a spiral of self-loathing. You closed your eyes and released a heavy sigh. On your table, beside your makeup and phone stood a fluorescent orange bottle. Unscrewing the cap you let loose three in your palm before capping the bottle. You ran the pad of your thumb over the tiny white buttons, smooth and chalky, before placing them in a row on your tongue, all washed down with watery gin. A twisted communion.

You lean back in your chair, wondering when the pills are gonna kick in. About two minutes pass before you hear the door to your dressing room open and a tired waitress with smudgy blue eyeliner and a crooked wig tilts her head towards the hallway to tell you it’s time for you to get on stage. Walking past her, you can smell a heavy peach scented perfume she used to try to cover the smell of sweat. Your heels clacked on the tile floor as you walked up to the entrance of the stage. You scratched your back from the itchy fabric of the costume, then adjusted the tops of your stockings. The song that’s currently playing ends and the performer before you walks to the back, they’re huffing and tired. They stretch and pop their back before looking at you, mouthing “Good luck.” The DJ of the club took a beat before announcing you to the crowd. Rolling your shoulders, you walked on stage feeling the hot spotlights shine on you.

That’s when it hits.

All of the tension you held in your body lifted, and your mind began to swim as you felt the Oxy kick in. Fuck, they really were the best. They made you feel warm and floaty, made the world seem bearable. You swung your hips seductively as you sauntered to the pole, ready to begin your act. Looking around, all the faces of the crowd blended together. It felt like the world was painted in watercolor, all of its harsh edges gone, replaced with washes that drifted out into nothing.

A chemical confidence kicked in then. Those languid movements of yours had everyone entranced, grinding your sex to the pole as you teased eager watchers with a peek up your skirt. Over the music you could hear their hoots and wolf-whistles, then frenzy when you began to shimmy off your top, exposing that black bra you had on under. You throw it out into the crowd, grateful not to have that polyester piece of shit on you anymore. The way they all clamor to catch it made you bite your bottom lip with a smirk. They were all so pathetic.

You spun on the ball of your foot, but the weightlessness of your opioid addled body worked against you, making you fall. Luckily you caught yourself on your hands, pretending it was some sultry move like a lady in a porno. The crawling was good though, you pretended to fuck the stage before you got to the center. You leaned back on your hands, stretching out a heeled foot that they all begged to touch. One almost did, before you snatched it away.

Slipping off that ugly skirt and kicking it off into the drunken crowd felt so good. They were transfixed, enthralled, however you wanted to put it. Your high made everything better, blanketing your body in comfort- That was always the peak. Savoring those small moments that made them scream. Looping and spinning and sliding and going upside down, stretching your legs out spread-eagle. When you felt the room start to spiral you stopped with your back to it for support. With a fake sexiness you slid your hand down your stomach, into those thin painties before taking it out.

God, it felt good to be desired even if it was like this. Sure, Val didn’t want you, but they did. All those sinners and hell-born who clamored to touch you and have you touch them. How they fought over an ugly, scratchy top because you wore it.

Turning your head you saw a wide-eyed patron ignoring a half-drank glass. You smirk and crawl towards them, and their eyes turn to the size of saucers. Reaching the edge of the stage you lean over, hanging over their small table. You opened your mouth wide enough to kiss- But you didn’t. You let your tongue hang out of your mouth, letting a fat drop of spit land in their drink. That was all they could have of you; You smile and go back to the stage to continue your act.

You don’t know how long he’d been standing there when you saw him. Valentino. He nips at his cigarette while he looks at you, not knowing what he’s thinking. Your moves become bigger, looser, hoping to impress him. A glob of phlegm sits at the back of your mouth and you swallow, feeling the tenseness grow inside your body. I can be good too, see! I’m as good as Angel! Even better! Please…please don’t fire me.

He walks closer to the stage as you keep grinding on the pole. Your eyes meet for a second before you look away, unsure. When he reaches the edge of the stage is when you slam yourself to the floor- the crowd hollered. Val adjusts his glasses and takes a long, long drag from his cigarette. Your body cranes towards him, head lowered in reverence while you studied his face. Val was always so hard to read, that’s the thing you hated most about him - well, at least one of them- was he displeased, impressed, disinterested? Fuck if you knew.

With one hand he pinched your face, between his pointer and thumb. He pressed his mouth to yours, filling it with all of that warm smoke. The roof of your mouth hurt so much, but the rest of your body trembled. He’d never been this open, kissing you, watching you dance, it felt so, so good to have his attention. Val pulled away, pink cloud leaving your parted lips.

Valentino leaned in, “Meet me in the back.”

“I still have five minutes left…”

“I’m your boss.” There was a vague sternness to his words, what were five minutes compared to his regard?

You breathed heavily. “Gimme a second.”

Quickly as you could you got off stage. Your head was spinning and you couldn’t tell why- was it the Oxy? The drink? The dancing? The cigarette? All of them combined. The backstage was full of cold air, making goosebumps prickle over your legs. You crossed your forearms and leaned them on the wall. Eyes closed, you counted backwards from 100; 100, 99, 98, 97- Val with his cigarette showed up in your mind, how he pulled your mouth to his, how you shivered, how you liked it. You tried again, but he kept lingering. Another restart, going a bit longer this time, but you gave up somewhere around 56.

Through the backstage hallway you walked to the back, The Velvet Rooms. Those fancy, gilded places hidden away that only those Val liked - or who could afford it- could enter. Valentino hid himself away in the biggest one, a room within the wall closed off with heavy dark blue curtains. The Velvet Rooms were where Overlords and certain Goetia came to be spat on, spanked, and other “peculiar wants” that Val catered to.

Opening the curtains you were struck with the heavy scent of his smoke. You closed them shut, the room illuminated by a faint pink light. Val sat on the couch, legs spread wide and arms slung over the top, his heavy coat thrown to some unknown corner. Seeing him reminded you of how little clothes you had on. Val’s second set of arms beckoned you over, you obeyed. He rested them on your waist, idly feeling the texture of your garter belt.

“Good of you to come carino,” He kissed your stomach, tittering at the way you quivered. “You did so good I had to meet with you privately.”

“How could I deny you Valcito?” You responded in a honeyed tone that made him chuckle.

“Valcito?” He smirked.

“Aren’t you?” You tilt his head up to see your smiling face, dressed with sultry bedroom eyes, “My little Valcito who liked my dancing.”

Val showed off that gold tooth of his; He kissed your stomach again, leaving a little red mark.

You dropped your hands to his arms, sliding up to his biceps. You bit your lip, so hard and toned. For so long you were curious about Val’s body, his sex, his libido. You wondered what he did to Angel to make him so sore and his voice so hoarse. It was embarrassing how many nights you spent thinking about what he tasted like- though now there was no point, you knew now, cigarettes and citrus vodka.

The tips of his fingers traced along your hips, fingering the thin strap of your panties. Your voice grew weak as he nipped again and again at the soft flesh of your stomach. Mind in a daze, words slipped out of your mouth.

“You know, I’m surprised you called me back here…” A kitten-lick across your navel that made you squirm.

“Why’s that Carino? Don’t think you’re pretty enough?” His voice teased.

“I thought you didn’t like women”

“Why would you think that?” He looped his finger around the hip strap again

“Angel.” He snickered.

“Oh Carino, don’t worry. Angel is just the soup D’Jour,” His finger dipped forward along your hip bone, “Men, women; Women, men; all of those sweet things in-between, how could you pick just one?”

“How poignant.” You said with a bit of a flat affect. His waxing-poetic seemed so unimpressive to you. Though, you felt a stab of guilt for thinking so.

“You, Sugar, I just can’t deny,” Val moved his hands up along your torso, stopping just underneath your breasts, “Good tits, nice stomach, pretty face,” his attention went back to your panties, “You coulda been on the cover of Hustler. Hhhnn, maybe I’ll make you the centerfold this month…”

You leaned over him, pressing your face to his. Fuck, his tongue felt so good in your mouth, making your stomach start to knot and squirm. He took your bottom lip between his teeth, making you whine before you pulled away. Placing tiny nips on his neck, you felt the heat in your stomach grow hotter and hotter and turn to slick. You wanted to touch him, feel him, consume him, and be consumed.

Val pulled away for a second, but it felt like forever. He reached into a shallow pocket and produced a button of something. It was a tiny tablet, waxy and fat, and pinched between his two fingers. You wondered what it was, it didn’t look like Oxy. You hoped it was something stronger, desiring the out of body experience you’d been losing since you started to grow tolerant of the opiate.

“You ever play a game of rolling roulette Sugar?” Val asked, you shook your head no.

“You trade the X tongue to tongue, and whoever’s it dissolves on is the lucky winner.” Oh so it was Ecstasy, now that’s good shit.

Val pulled you onto his lap, cupping a breast, “C’mon Baby, let’s go on a trip together…”

That’s all it took.

The tiny pill teetered between both of your tongues as you kissed, growing smaller and smaller and smaller. Val’s spit was thick and sweet and wonderful, something about it making your body go alight with electricity. The X melted so easy, like blue cotton candy; You could feel the serotonin swell in your brain like a party balloon.

When the first roll happened you moaned into Val’s mouth. All of your nerves were standing on edge, shivering with anticipation. He removed your bra, placing a nipple in his mouth as you felt his cock grow harder. It felt so much better than your other highs. The Oxy only ever calmed things, washed them out. The X was so different, so so much better. Everything seemed to shimmer, like the whole world was wrapped in cellophane. How could you think the absence of feeling was so wonderful when this existed?

Your mind was in a twinkly daze when you started to undress him. He kissed and licked at your neck while you felt your way through unbuttoning his top. Fuck, his skin was so smooth and warm; He pressed you closer, teeth bit into your collar bone before dragging his tongue over the marks he left.

You kissed your way down Val’s body. At his chest you lingered, leaving tiny red marks on the trail to his V-line. Valentino’s head lolled back on the couch as you unzipped his cock with all of its dark hair. You put it in your hand, running your thumb over the leaking tip. He swore under his breath as you pumped him slowly, up and down up and down.

The warmth of your tongue dragged along his thick shaft. Your stomach gets a sharp squirm to it, same as your cunt. It’s hard to tell because of the drugs or how sexy Val looks with his legs wide open and his cock needy for your touch. Looking up at him, you’ve never wanted anything more in your life.

His breath hitched when you took him in your mouth. Your tongue twists and swirls around his cock, savoring the feeling of him hitting the back of your throat, making you gag. To try to calm that darling pain between your legs you rubbed your thighs together, but that didn’t help. All it served to do was make your cunt needier. You push his member deeper and deeper into your mouth; You moan into his sex, making him squeeze the palmful of hair he had in his hand tighter.

“You’re so good, Carino.” He says, breathless. You start to suck him faster, blowing and kissing and licking. Val kept sprinkling compliments throughout. It felt so good to be praised by him; All of those sweet things he’d save for everyone else, but never you. You’re so good, you’re so sexy, you take me so well, you’re so pretty, you make me so hard.

“‘M close.” He grabs your hair again, pulling your face in. Feeling devious, you pulled away, savoring the flustered look on his face. Val is huffing, fucked out, and dazed out of his goddamn mind on X.

“You can stand to wait a little longer Valcito~” You nip at the inside of one of his thighs, making his voice hitch into a falsetto. You dragged the tips of your fingers up to his sensitive stomach, mouth leaving a hard bite outline near his ribs. Tracing him was so wonderful, feeling all of those hard edges give into softness. Nursing on his neck, your thumb and forefinger followed his neck muscle and collarbone, dipping into their crevices.

“Valcito~” Your breath was hot against his neck. He mumbled something under his breath and tried to slip his hand into your panties. You caught his wrist and pushed it away, biting hard on his collarbone. You can wait.

Again your mouth found its way south, the want in your cunt becoming more and more painful. You took him in your mouth again, your saliva getting thick and syrupy. Val seized the opportunity and shoved your head down on his cock, chasing the release you denied him. Your teeth grazed his member before pulling away again. Val whined, his eyes pleading. A dark smile grew on your face before you took him again.

He let out a sharp breath and pressed his hands onto your scalp. You went faster, letting the flat of your tongue trace the vein on the underside of his cock. It was fun playing with him like this, having a little control with him for once. Val’s hands tensed in your hair when he warned you he was going to cum.

When he came he wailed, filling your mouth with his salty taste. Looking up at him, you opened your mouth. Val’s thumb traced your bottom lip, admiring his work.

“You look so good like this, Carino.” He huffed.

Pushing yourself from your knees you kissed Val, his seed still in your mouth. That’s all that took to make him go feral. He pulled you to his lap and laid you down, wrapping your legs around him. Without taking his mouth off yours he took his top off, ramming into your needy sex.

Fuck, Val was bigger than you thought he was. His pace was hard and fast, making you scratch your nails into his back. Your kiss tasted like everything good in the world- cum and grapefruit and cigarettes and cotton candy and euphoria. Both of you swallowed, pulling your faces away to catch your breaths. God, you were so wet, Val’s cock slipped in and out of you so easily and it felt so goddamn good. Better than any finger or cock or toy and it made you squeeze him tighter.

You pressed your forehead to his neck, mumbling nonsense. “I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.” Val spat on his fingers and slipped his hands between the two of you. You didn’t know what he was going to do until you felt his wet fingers graze your clit. He got rougher with it once he found it, making you squeal and cum on him.

That didn’t stop Val though, and god did it feel good. He kept fucking you through your release, making you cum another two times. Your legs felt like jelly, body weak and weightless. The X was releasing its last wave of chemical joy as he fucked you, pleasure rippling inside of you. He came inside you, making you sob into his neck. Val pressed you closer to him, whispering in your ear as you felt your release drip out of your cunt.

“You’re so good baby, so good and pretty.” Pleasepleasepleaseplease, say the magic words.

“I love you, you’re my perfect girl, my pretty baby.” You came again.

His thrusts got sloppier and you could tell he was gonna cum again. “Please, please, please, let me be your favorite, I’ll be good, I’ll be good, I’ll be good.” You whimpered.

The anticipation of an orgasm built up, shivering and needy. Val grazed your face and kissed you, “Oh you’re my favorite, baby. My little sullen girl~” He held you closer, savoring the way you squirmed when you came together.

When he was done he stayed inside you. Val pressed his head on the couch beneath you. You traced the scratches you left on his back, feeling your high from the X begin to ebb. Your breath felt so heavy and your mind so fuzzy. That all didn’t matter though, Val wanted you now. He’d been inside you, kissed you, felt you, squeezed you, and couldn’t get enough. He wanted you. So what if it was only for the moment, so what if this meant you could disappoint him, so what if you’re only a place-holder until someone better comes. You’re the favorite.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #fanfiction requests #valentino #hazbin hotel valentino #valentino x reader #valentino x you #hazbin hotel imagine #the vees

98 notes · View notes

berzahoes · 4 months

Text

you and me | izzy stradlin

summary: no matter what axl told him, izzy could never stop loving you.

an: it’s about time i wrote something for my man izzy <3 not an exact timeline of how things actually went but hey, that’s fanfiction for ya!

warnings: axl rose that should always be a warning

the moment izzy saw you, he swore he was in love. at the time, you were both in high school. he had long hair and beat up shoes that were years old. on the other hand, you were the nicest clothes and shoes while your hair was perfectly cut and brushed. he noticed that you always wore a locket, maybe a family member had given it to you as a present.

you were known as the nicest girl in school. nobody had anything bad to say about you until a certain lead singer saw how in love his friend was with you.

“she’s a prude. why waste your time on her?”

izzy would immediately defend you. “you don’t know her. stop saying shit if you don’t know her.”

it was after your high school graduation that you and izzy began to talk. your family had thrown you a party. as you were helping your mom bring in decorations from her car, izzy just so happened to walk by since your houses were close to each other. you noticed him and waved for him to come over. he couldn’t believe that the most popular girl from high school was about to talk to him.

“hi, jeffrey.” you said in your sweet voice that izzy loved.

“you know my name?” he asked.

“well, yeah. we went to the same elementary school. remember mrs. smith? she wore those big glasses?” you said.

“i remember now and i remember you doing a project about the ocean and you said your favorite animal was a betta fish and some kid made fun of you for liking a fish.” he realized how much information he remembered. was it normal to remember all that? he probably looked like a creep—

“it still is. it’s a pretty fish.”

izzy only nodded.

“do you want to come over later? i’m having a graduation party and i would love for you to come.”

“yeah, thanks. maybe i’ll drop by. i’ve been busy with my band.”

“you’re in a band? that’s cool! what kind of music do you play?”

izzy wished he didn’t even the band, but at the same time, he wanted to share what he loved with you. “it’s just a . . band. you know, rock, we play that.”

“cool, maybe i can come see you guys perform?” you questioned.

“if you don’t mind sitting on a old couch in a garage.” he joked.

“every band starts somewhere, jeff.”

“izzy, i go by izzy.” he was nervous about what you thought about his name. did you like it? did you hate it so much that it made you not want to talk to him ever again?

“well, izzy, i still mean what i said.”

during the party, you introduced izzy to your parents. izzy thought it was a bad idea since most parents took one look at him and instantly thought he looked like trouble. but your parents weren’t that type.

“mom, dad, this is izzy. we went to the same elementary school. he graduated too.” you said as izzy shook hands with your parents.

“nice to meet you, izzy. congratulations on your graduation. any plans for your future?” your mom immediately asked.

“honey, the boy just got out of school. the last thing he wants to do is think about college,” your dad said. “our daughter says she wants to travel for a bit before she goes to college. we told her that as long as she has the money and she’s with someone we trust, she can travel as much as she can.”

then you whisper something into izzy’s ear that had both of your parents wondering. when you finished, izzy chuckled and nodded.

“he let me say this, izzy is actually in a band.” you blurted out.

“a band? that’s great. you know, i was almost in a band once. . .” your dad spoke.

and that was your cue to take izzy someplace else so you ended up in your old treehouse that your dad built. the party was still going on as you and izzy layed on the wooden floor.

“do you want to go to college?” izzy asked.

you sighed. both your parents went to college so they expected you to go as well. but all of you wanted to do was travel. you were born and raised in lafayette, the only time you went out of state was for your cousin’s wedding in georgia that you didn’t remember because you were five years old.

“I don’t know. you know how our teachers always say you have to go to college to get a good job and good money? i don’t think that. i want to go anywhere, everywhere. i don’t need a math degree or read shakespeare,” you explained. “i want to go to los angeles, i want to experience it so bad.”

“then let’s go.” izzy said casually.

“what?” you turned to him.

“let’s go to los angeles, you and me.” he repeated.

“but what about your band?” you asked.

“we were never going to make it out of the garage anyways. maybe los angeles has something for me.”

so after a few weeks, it was decided. you and izzy were going to the city of angels. when you told your parents, they were hesitant, but you reminded them of your dad’s words. they helped you pack and even gave you extra money so you wouldn’t worry.

back at izzy’s house, axl was trying to talk him out of leaving, especially with ‘the prude’ as he nicknamed you. but izzy wasn’t listening to him. he continued packing as axl listed all the reasons why it was a bad idea.

“she’s not going to survive the streets of los angeles, izzy. look at her! she’s going to break and then she’ll come back crying to mommy and daddy.” axl stated.

“she won’t because she’ll have me.” izzy replied.

“then you’re both dead.”

soon, you and izzy were on your way to los angeles. your parents had payed for your plane tickets. when the plane touched down in lax, you smiled at the feeling of being out of indiana.

“you ready?” izzy asked, grabbing your hand.

you nodded. “ready.”

1982

you and izzy now called los angeles your home. it took months of working and saving up money, but you and izzy found a nice small house in a good neighborhood. your parents often called to make sure you were okay. you would sometimes find izzy on the phone with your dad.

when you and izzy arrived to the city of angels, you immediately started looking for a job. a record store owner hired you since the store had just opened and the way only had two employees. it was definitely a dream job for you.

it was a spring break when izzy’s friend, axl, decided to join you and permanently move to los angeles.

“you’re still here?” axl asked you when he saw you walk through the door of your house. he was sitting on the couch, feet up on the coffee table. he definitely took the phrase ‘make yourself at home’ too literally.

“yes, axl, i’m still here. this is my home.” you clarified as you walked towards your and izzy’s shared room. you dropped your purse on the floor then threw yourself on the bed. you were exhausted from work and all you wanted to do was sleep, but of course when axl rose is in your house, sleep is not an option.

“hey, you hungry?” you heard izzy ask from the doorway.

you could smell mac and cheese. “not right now, izzy. my feet hurt, i have a headache and i have the opening shift tomorrow.” you groaned.

“you have to eat something.” izzy encouraged.

“she doesn’t want to eat, let her starve i guess.” axl took the pot of mac and cheese from izzy’s hands so he could eat it.

“what is he still doing here?” you had enough and got up from your bed.

“don’t even start with me, bitch!” you heard axl yell as izzy closed the door to your bedroom.

“i’ll make him leave. he’s only here because we were rehearsing. we got a few gigs coming up. i promise he’ll be gone soon.” izzy assured you.

“he just gets in my nerves.” you sighed.

“i know. but he’ll be gone soon and you and i can continue where we left off this morning.” he started kissing you. then axl happened.

“you guys fucking in there?” he pounded his fists on the door.

“i’m going to fucking kill him.”

#izzy stradlin #izzy gnr #izzy stradlin x reader #izzy stradlin imagine #izzy stradlin fanfiction #gnr #guns n roses #guns n roses imagine #band imagines

136 notes · View notes

applesontheground · 11 months

Note

could you write a nsfw piece with patrick bateman and a timid fem reader who’s started working at the office with him, which he doesn’t like because yk, misogyny. so, he invites her over and he’s degrading her and just being cruel under the guise of just hooking up but she surprisingly likes it. thank you!

i could absolutely do this, anon! (forgive me for the misogyny, though, lol!)

lion's den 💼

NSFW | Word Count: 1,931 | Patrick Bateman x Female Reader contains DUBCON/unwanted touching, very casual workplace misogyny/sexual harrassment, mentions of drug use, degradation 🎼: x

Even after tenure had weathered you well into your position in the workplace, there was still a subtle hostility every time you sat in the line of mostly single, mostly lawless men. It honestly fascinated you to see such clean-cut faces never progress past what you might have seen on a college campus, to do the things they did outside of work – but you kept that to yourself.

Like you didn’t do a line in those club bathrooms every so often.

Any threat posed by you wouldn’t be taken kindly to. It was as though an elephant had stampeded through the room as you sat yourself at the conference table, a small portfolio splayed in front of you. The presence was loud enough, the mere appearance that you were the only woman there, and that there was no need for a throat clear or even an adjustment in your chair that would break such fragile silence.

This only became worse when you were directed to lead the conference, your branch at Pierce and Pierce being the one under question, and so early in the morning on top of it. Just one good thing for you after another. Your voice began to take control. Rather, set on top of the surface of the room as all your male coworkers acted like it was holding any actual water. Everything was so fabricated you were close to tearing your own hair out should you be left alone.

“Any questions?” You asked towards the end of the display you had put on, oblivious to what was about to happen as you closed the portfolio. “[Y/N], I’m sure you get this question a lot,” You glanced up, interested at first until you heard a snicker from the other side of the conference table. You held your breath, gaze frozen to your coworker Turner as he went on, “But you know, you could leave us to do this sort of planning.”

Your throat tightened, a confused smile crawling over your expression as you lied, “I’m sorry, but I don’t-“

“Boys. He means us as in men, sweetheart.” The snickering voice finally broke into his abrasive tone, and the table couldn’t help but laugh along. You smirked, the fake chuckle in your mouth drier than you had meant it as you clasped your hands together, a quiet murmur above the voices, “Yes, I am aware. Not now, though, but maybe one day.”

“One of us could pick you off the vine,” Your teeth pressed together in their interlock, pressure building badly in your face as the smile became jagged. “Settle down, have some kids...”

“Turner, cut the shit. Not at the conference,” Another piped up, but he was leaning back in his chair; a posture he had worn the moment you had opened your mouth.

He watched this from afar, a few catches of the eye all he got from you as he took it in. Something was starting to cave underneath that smile, he figured, but the utter disdain he caught as you closed your mouth to run your tongue over your teeth. A sign of disgust, she’s hiding it well.

I wouldn’t tolerate blatant undermining from these men, he then concurred, more for a stroke at his own ego than any kudos to you. It was simply a power play, and he’d be lying to himself if he didn’t flat out admit it was delicious to watch. A dark tress of his own psyche asked the question, looking to the man who was leading the berating in harmless breaths. Why does Turner think that he has any sort of control over [Y/N]? Besides being a man, his performance at best runs alongside hers – let alone struggles to maintain even her average pace.

When he looked back over to you, pulling from the cyclone behind his glassy brown eyes, he then caught the stare that was quickly moving on, throwing itself to the window in a surprised flash of [y/e/c].

Was she staring at me? His mouth twitched from behind a curled hand, still doing his best to appear disinterested.

Why?

Maybe you could understand why there was such heavy drug use outside these walls now. Standing in a secluded break area, away from the council of airheads and with your cup of coffee, you recalled you had a flask in your office. Would anyone notice the spiked coffee? You thought with a smirk, but then seeing a glance of yourself in the crystal clear pot you were setting back in its place on the maker, you stomped the moment’s happiness back down with a following thought.

They’d notice if it was you.

“Oh, Miss [L/N]? Are you busy?” You almost didn’t recognize the voice of Jean, one of the secretaries for the VPs. You didn’t know if she was Constance or Bateman’s girl, but she cleared that up rather quickly with an introduction, stepping into the room with a downturned smile that did nothing to hide the intimidation she was feeling. “Jean, Mr. Bateman’s secretary. Have we spoken before?” You outstretched your hand and replied quietly, “Don’t believe so. Knew you helped one of the Vices here, though.”

She nodded hurriedly and mentioned, “Mr. Bateman told me that you were great at the meeting today. He…” She faltered, and you turned away from the counter fully, mug in hand and eyebrows furrowing. It was something you once again saw coming from a mile away, but still left the poor secretary to spit it out. “He wanted me to find you so that he could ask if you’d stop in his office at around two today. Go over your plans for the upcoming…uh-“

“Transfer?” You finished for her and smiled along when she beamed and nodded to you, “Yes, that. The transfer.”

You nodded, only thinking for a moment before answering, “Tell him I’ll be there, but I have another quick meeting at four. It’s a tight fit but I’m sure he’ll understand.”

Seeing that smile on her face again as she nodded for the third time in five minutes, you then admitted to her, “I’ll be honest, it felt like he was the only one taking me serious during the stand-up this morning.” Jean hummed in agreement, and mentioned, “He takes the girls here very…coldly, I think. I-It’s better than being laughed at, I suppose.” She paused, and then pleaded, “Oh, don’t tell him I said that.”

You winked at her, “Of course not. It’s between us.”

At two, you went down the hall with your portfolio (just as infamous as you were at this point). Jean gave you a meek smile to see you enter the small office that came before Bateman’s quarters, and before she had even got on the phone to tell him the door opened.

“[L/N],” He greeted, and you caught that he was overtly warm as he gestured inside. You wondered if this was going to be anything of substance, but still walked in with the same level of mock joy. “Bateman, glad to meet with you.”

The door closed behind you, and there was an almost serene silence as he walked over to his desk. A careful finger dragged on the page of his open planner, checking something while you merely stood there.

“You know, I think Turner had a point.” Your eyes grew cold, staring at him as he stood from his desk, eyes still on his planner as he closed it. He then stated in a plain voice, “You’re far too incompetent to be leading this transfer.” You scoffed and were about to mention something about tenure when he suddenly froze up and looked at you. It wasn’t a friendly workplace stare or the stifled contempt you had seen from coworkers before. It was irritating, downright callous as he seemed to already be looking past you. You couldn’t help but stand a little straighter as he then approached, still in a leisurely stroll.

He got uncomfortably close, and you almost pressed into his office door as he murmured, “I think that you take disrespect far too often to ever be taken seriously, [Y/N]. It’s embarrassing.”

For once, you received this sort of comment from a sharp voice that was a little more than a complicated strain of hot air. He meant that, something he wasn’t just regurgitating from his peers. It was honest, and it was making your face catch fire as you muttered, “I’ve earned my place here just as well as half the trust-fund children who bought their way here, Bateman.”

Part of you was downright terrified of losing your pristine mask, frowning as you gave his well-fit suit a glance up and down. He was doing the same, and the two of you met eyes at the same time. He then sighed, “Well, I don’t think it’s going to get you anywhere. Especially not here."

You dug your tongue into your cheek, and snapped back, “I don’t need to be anywhere else besides here.” A pause, and you quickly clarified, “In this office, doing these busywork transfers and inventory checks so you men can go on, do coke and fuck whoever you want in your free time.”

He took in a breath, facing you and not shy to start backing you into the door. It should’ve made you leave, but that same hollow reminder that HR wouldn’t do anything kept you glued to the door, trying to stand your ground even while downright petrified. You wondered if Jean had heard the door shift from your shoulders sliding up against it.

It shouldn’t have made you wet, either, but knowing he was speaking his mind – his cruel, lucid mind – was going straight to the part of you that desired that. You desired drugs, you desired distraction, but you desired something real more than any of it.

Suddenly, his hand slid up your thigh, and your mouth fell open to yelp but he silenced you with nearly boxing you against the door, feeling the heat kept between your legs even through the layers of fabric, the guise of professionalism. The shock melted into pleasure as he watched you crumble bit by bit, pressing harder against your sex just for good measure.

“Do you bring this on yourself because you like it?” He then asked, scrunching his nose, “That’s deplorable.”

“Please,” You huffed, “It's only because you've been the only man who means it.” His neck straightened, no longer ogling your body to see you smile at him in a wicked prick of the lips, “I hear it all the time from these goddamn parrots we work with. Turner heard it from Allen, Allen heard it from Constance…But that’s the first time a man has had the brain power to call me deplorable.”

His hand left your crotch, and he almost seemed taken back by the way you smiled. You then asked, “Are you telling human resources about this, or are you going to make a woman do it?”

He scoffed now, and reminded you, “They wouldn’t do anything.”

Grinning, you agreed, “I know.”

He was stunned again, watching you adjust your clothes from where he had haphazardly pushed them aside. “Let me know if you have any more concerns about the transfer, Mr. Bateman.” You plainly stated, turning the knob to his office door before excusing yourself.

You closed the door, and Jean and you both jumped when his fist pounded against the door. You stood with your back to the wood, and when you met the secretary's eyes, you merely smiled.

"That wasn't cold at all."

#patrick bateman x reader #american psycho x reader #slasher fanfiction #slasher x reader #requests #slasher requests #notsfw #✏️#💼#anon corner #i just love writing this man to the girliest music

209 notes · View notes

daisyblog · 1 year

Text

The X Factor Audition

When We Were Young Masterlist Summary: YN auditions for The X Factor and is completely shocked when she is put together in a band, with five other boys.

From a young age, YN was always trying to entertain others. She would make up plays to perform in front of her family, sing along to the radio with her father whilst in the car and once she was able to there was a guitar glued to her hands.

So it was no surprise to her family that when she turned eighteen, she wanted to audition for The X Factor. So on a summer morning in June, along with her parents and younger brother, Alfie, YN travelled to her audition in London from her hometown in Brighton.

Once they arrived at ExCeL London, YN was given a strip of paper with her unique audition on it from a crew member and was instructed to wait in the long line. Despite rehearsing the song for what felt like a million times, YN's hands began to feel sweaty and the butterflies in her tummy were erratic.

"Take a deep breath darling" Rose, YN's Mum encouraged "You're going to blow them away"

"Maybe I should audition with you?" YN's dad, Miles joked.

"You'd empty the arena Miles" Rose teased her husband.

"Even if it doesn't go okay...I'll still be proud of you YN" Alfie sweetly interrupted.

"Aww Alfs...c'mere" YN pulled her brother into a cuddle.

After waiting outside in the queue for what felt like days, they were now backstage in a smaller line waiting for YN's turn.

Once YN had been told it was her turn, her family pulled her in for good luck hugs and words of encouragement, before she followed the crew member to the stage. Standing on the allocated mark, she took a deep breath before she spoke to the four judges in front of her.

"Hi" YN manages to say as she takes a deep breath and holds the black microphone in her hand. This is the moment she's been waiting for.

Hi lovely..what's your name and where are you from?" Cheryl asks.

"Uh..I'm YN and I'm from Brighton" YN nervously answers into the microphone.

"And what do you do YN?" Louis speaks.

"I'm in college, studying music"

"Interesting..what are you going to sing for us today?" Simon asks with a stern look.

"Chasing Pavements" YN answered confidently.

"Adele" Simon stated, "Are you sure?" clearly doubting her already.

"More than sure"

"Good luck" Simon nodded his head for her to start. The track begins to play as YN holds the microphone to her mouth.

I've made up my mind Don't need to think it over If I'm wrong, I am right Don't need to look no further This ain't lust I know this is love, but

YN glances at the judges and see's Cheryl smiling and Louis nodding his head, but Simon's expression was hard to read.

If I tell the world I'll never say enough 'Cause it was not said to you And that's exactly what I need to do If I end up with you

As the music built up for the chorus, YN had this boost of confidence as the crowd cheered and began to move around the stage.

Should I give up? Or should I just keep chasing pavements? Even if it leads nowhere Or would it be a waste? Even If I knew my place, should I leave it there? Should I give up? Or should I just keep chasing pavements? Even if it leads nowhere

YN couldn't help but cover her tears as she watched the three judges clap and the audience roars with claps. After a few moments, the crowd quietens down and the judges talk.

"YN..babe..that was incredible..you should be so proud...It's a hundred yes' from me" Cheryl was the first to speak, earning a big smile from YN and a thank you.

"You young lady as gonna be a popstar" Louis complimented "yes yes yes"

"YN" Simon's intimidating voice began "I..I won't lie..I didn't think you would be able to sing that song...but you've proved me wrong...so guess what....it's a yes from me"

YN couldn't believe it, her dream was one step closer. Immediately she ran off the stage and into her family's arms. A moment they would never forget.

---

Despite feeling over the moon at being at Bootcamp, YN couldn't help but feel like an outsider. Other contestants seemed to have made friends as they stood and sat together. But YN sat in one of the corners, just her and her guitar. She had just finished performing 'If I Were A Boy' for the judges and was waiting for further instructions when she saw two figures sitting beside her. She glanced in their direction, two boys one with curly hair and the other with a beanie sat covering his head.

"Uh hi" YN greeted.

"Hi..M'Harry..what's your name?" the one with curly hair spoke first.

"YN"

"Louis" the other boy introduced himself. "We thought you looked a bit lonely on your own..so we came to join you..if that's okay?"

"Uh..yeah..I don't really fit anywhere" YN laughed nervously.

"Do you play?" Louis nodded his head towards the guitar sitting in YN's lap.

"Yeah..I've been playing since I was seven"

"Sick" Louis complimented.

"Where are you both from?"

"Donny" "Manchester..well Holmes Chapel" the boys spoke together, making YN smile.

"I'm from Brighton"

"Posh girl" Louis teased.

For the rest of boot camp, wherever Harry and Louis were YN could be found too. YN would be strumming on the guitar and Harry would sing along, but Louis was mesmerised by the girl he had just met, even Harry had begun to tease him when YN wasn't looking, making the Yorkshire boy roll his eyes and swat his arm.

Being told they had been eliminated from the boot camp stage was devastating. Harry, Louis and YN were backstage crying into each other's arms. Harry wiped his tears with his black beanie and wrapped his arms around the pair as they huddled together, waiting to go their separate ways.

"I just don't want to go home" YN sniffled and wiped her tears with the sleeve of her jumper.

As the three and the other rejected acts, began to leave a member of the crew began to call them back.

"They're gonna make us cry...make a good bit of TV" Harry mumbled.

The crew member began to call names from the boy's and girl's categories and asked them to return from the stage.

"Zayn Malik, Liam Payne, Harry Styles, Louis Tomlinson and Niall Horan"

Both the boys left YN's side and followed the others to the stage. YN's name was then called and she walked onto the stage and naturally stood next to the other girls.

"YN..can you go and stand with the group of boys instead please darling" Nicole asked. YN walked over to the boys and Harry and Louis both smiled at her as she stood next to them. "Thank you all for coming back..judging from some of your faces this is really hard..we've thought long and hard about it..and we've thought of each of you as individuals and we feel that you are too talented to look go of..we think it would be a great idea to have two separate groups"

"We've decided to put you both through-" Simon added.

YN and the five boys instantly huddled together and celebrated their second chance. This was just the beginning.

Tag List: (let me know if you would like to be added) @peterholland04

140 notes · View notes

w1ldthoughts · 9 months

Note

Justin Herbert smut. The chargers are in Dallas playing the Cowboys and he notices one of the dancer he went to college with, he thinks she looks hot. After the game they start talking and he get an hard she notices, she is still in her uniform, she decided to take care of him. Just a thought. Thank you

I love requests so thank you!! Keep ‘em coming!And this one is a little spicy, I hope I made you proud🤭

Warning: smut

Follow-up piece

America’s Team

The Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders. America’s Sweethearts. You’d seen them perform on tv and even watched a few episodes of the show growing up. It was cutthroat, competition filled job and as soon as you graduated from the University of Oregon, where you cheered for four years, you knew you had to head to Texas to give it a go. Three years later, you were still living the dream, traveling with the team and dancing your heart out on game-days, enjoying the love from the fans before, during and after your performance. There were some days that were hard, some parts of the routine were challenging and the rules were rigid but for the most part east to follow.

Until one particular Sunday.

It was a normal primetime Sunday evening matchup at AT&T Stadium. The lights were bright and the stage was set for the Cowboys to host the Los Angeles Chargers. A battle between two high powered offenses and a welcome home to the Chargers’ new offensive coordinator Kellen Moore.

Your heart was torn because graduating from Oregon, you wanted all Ducks to succeed. And you may or may not have thought about hooking up with Justin Herbert a few times but that was beside the point. The Cowboys were off to a 14-3 lead going into the second quarter and the entire stadium was on its feet. They were quickly silenced by two touchdown drives led by Justin and a two-point conversion going into the half. The Chargers were down 20-18 at halftime and they ended up coming back to win 42-38.

It was standard to stay on the field and wave the guys back into the locker room and then you had your team debrief before tomorrow’s practice. Before you headed back to the cheerleaders’ locker room you spotted him walking in the tunnel.

“Justin?” You called out and he stopped, already out of his uniform. He must’ve just come out of his postgame interview.

“Hey!” He exclaims, “long time no see. You—you look amazing.”

Your face lights up at his shy compliment. “Thank you, haven’t had the chance to change yet. Great game. It was really nice to see you play again.” You open your arms to give him a hug, his tall body flush against yours and you could have sworn you felt the slightest bit of a tent growing in his shorts.

“Um, this is embarrassing.” He chuckles nervously. “I’m gonna walk away now and we can just pretend this didn’t happen.”

This was an opportunity that would probably never arise again and you couldn’t waste it. “Or…we could acknowledge that it’s happening and I could show you a secret place where I could take care of that little ‘situation’ and get you to the team bus on time?”

You knew he wasn’t one to break the rules but you also knew that time was ticking and there was no way that he would ever live it down if his teammates saw him in this state. “Lead the way, but we gotta hurry.”

Working in the building and being there everyday certainly had its perks. You found this secret room deep in the tunnel a few weeks ago and would often use it just to clear your head throughout the week. Or scroll through your phone and maybe catch a quick nap in between dance rehearsals when you were too lazy to drive home. It was an old office that nobody used and you grabbed the quarterback’s hand to lead him in there and firmly locked the door behind him.

Your lips were on his instantly, the anticipation of the moment a bit too much to handle, considering the fact that the two of you had known each other for about seven years. This was almost a decade of longing, secret glances and several dirty thoughts all wrapped into one messy, sloppy make out session. You helped him out of his sweatshirt and left a trail of kisses down his body, until you reached his crotch.

“I can’t believe we’re actually doing this.” He whispers out as you palm him through his shorts.

He throws his head back as you reach in to pull his dick out, licking the tip a few times before taking the entire thing into your mouth. You felt his body arch into your touch and a tight moan escaped his lips. Hearing his satisfaction gave you the confidence to suck on it a little harder, humming as you went because you knew that the vibrating sensation would just enhance the experience.

“Good g—that feels so fucking good.” He stutters out, a large hand reaching out to hold your hair back as you gently caressed his shaft.

The more you maneuvered your tongue around it, the closer he was to falling apart. He arched his back and his legs trembled a bit as he released the tension, a warm sensation making its way into your mouth. He pulled his boxers and shorts back on and helped you to your feet, giving you another hungry kiss. Breaking the rules lit a different kind of fire under him.

“If we had more time, I’d take care of you but I really have to get back before they call security or something. I’m so sorry.” His eyes are full of sadness and a part of you wishes you could look at him forever.

“No don’t sweat it,” you reassure him. “That just means that next time it’ll be your turn.”

Justin’s lips curl into a smile, “it’ll be all about you next time, that’s a promise. I gotta go but it was really good to see you.” He chuckles.

“And thank you for um—celebrating the win with me.” He opens the door and gives you one more glance before heading out.

“Any time. I’ll see you around Justin.”

The Cowboys might have lost the game but it was definitely a win for some people in the organization.

#justin herbert #justin herbert imagine #Justin Herbert smut #justin herbert x reader #nfl imagine

118 notes · View notes

courfaeriedust · 7 months

Text

Okay I would like to talk about Sam the Quarterback in Kaleidotrope, because I adore her and also her arc is so funny to me.

So this is her big realisation moment:

I think this is one of my favourite pieces of Sidlesmith ridiculousness because it’s just, what??? This team have won basically every game intentionally playing badly, until the timing is dramatic enough to stage a desperate comeback. Every game. Every game, and they just think it’s all because of the Sidlesmith Magic. Like, what is up with that??? Do they think they’re a really bad team and it’s only because of the Magic that they’re able to win? Are they just fucking around til the last minute? Are they instructed to do this by their coaches in order to keep the football-watching population of Sidlesmith happy and secure that the tropes are still going as planned??

And what’s it like to play on that team? If they’re winning every game they must be highly ranked (I am very British please feel free to correct me on how American College Football works), so I assume the entry expectations are high? Do they recruit and then the freshmen come in like ‘yeah I can play good football’ and then get told ‘sure, but not until the final quarter’? How frustrating must that be?? But Sam seems to genuinely be shocked by the idea of playing some other way. But imagine also playing against this team. You start playing. You’re winning easily. You get cocky and then Sidlesmith start playing well suddenly and oops they’ve smashed up your lead and is this even the same team, suddenly you’re way outmatched and there’s nothing you can do and then oops you lost, even though no one should have been able to make up for that lead you had during the first three quarters. And you hear that they’ve done it to other teams, no matter how good. And so the next time you play against them you keep your guard up, you warn all your rookies. They don’t believe you after the first quarter, but you know what you’ve seen. You keep the lead up; Sidlesmith get some scrappy points but nothing nearly to the level you remember them being at last time. And then when you’re begging your team not to let this lull you into a false sense of security, BAM, Sidlesmith take it seriously again and even though you play your hardest you suddenly can’t do anything to keep hold of the ball. AGAIN. And you ask them about it afterwards, because this must be some kind of joke, right? They must be mocking you, or maybe they think you’re a terrible team and they don’t want to make you look too bad. But no, it’s none of that — or at least, they don’t say that. They just talk about the “Sidlesmith Magic”. All of them, with no conferring. If it’s a joke they’re all incredible actors. You seriously wonder if it’s some kind of performance-enhancing drug, this magic stuff, but you find out another team had accused them of that, demanded drug tests, and had to drop a bunch of their own teammates as a result. All the Sidlesmith team had been indisputably clean. So you’re left with nothing, no answers, a demoralised team, and thousands of questions about what the hell the Sidlesmith team are up to.

This got so very off track, but anyway: Sam’s incredible, what the actual fuck is up with that whole thing, and I’m so excited for Sam’s future where she just obliterates every single team in the league.

#Kaleidotrope #Sam the Quartback #She’s so serious!!!#The whole opposing team sidetrack has me wondering in general what people outside Stoneybrook think of Sidlesmith #But that should probably be it’s own post #For Sam I’m imagining in their next year they do so amazingly that all the pro football teams are like… can we play too?#So they set up a bunch of charity games #And those ARE more difficult but they still win #Obviously #alternatively the next year they’re all like #Oh fuck we actually need to do more cardio if we’re doing this properly for all four quarters #This has been Kaleidotrope Thoughts with Em

34 notes · View notes

sailorspica · 2 months

Text

reijean hitchannie college band AU headcanons that may not lead to fic form but i feel strongly about because i did undergrad at a huge university with a prestigious music school where everyone was depressed + i've been giffing kids on the slope (2012) w reiner's seiyuu + the given akihiko/haruki reijean agenda:

all the warriors grew up playing classical music w/ varying degrees of parental pressure, for example mr leonhart is a violinist and annie's first and forever teacher so maybe she maims him here too (he's like jk simmons in whiplash); karina is into classical music as a status symbol

by contrast hitch and jean know how to have fun. hitch learned everything from youtube, jean's mom let him quit piano lessons as a kid so he came back to it on his own when he realized it was cool/thought it could get him girls (it doesn't) (inspo: nick cave)

annie (lead/rhythm guitar), hitch (vocals/rhythm guitar/octave pedal "bass"), jean (vocals/keys/bass), reiner (drums). reiner would do bass if he had sukuna arms

reijean meet in intro to audio engineering which counts as a science class for some reason, form the band after roping annie into their final recording project; annie's an undeclared part-time student who mostly works

first they try marco as rhythm guitarist but he is too jazzy and cannot wrap his mind around rock tone, annie is furious (low stakes version of trost; sounds derogatory but marco just looks like a jazz guy)

hitch is a business major who thinks music is a hobby, kinda yasu from nana energy. annie recruits her after overhearing her teaching/berating marlowe before he absolutely bombs an open mic night

hitch is an acoustic girlie (dark ukulele past) but annie and jean take her shopping and she picks a danelectro stock '59

annie plays a jaguar bc of her short fingers, she's some combo of lindsey jordan / luna li but also j mascis

reiner's favorite drummer is karen carpenter, deadass

hitch is the least disciplined which equal turns teaches them to relax but incites rage, annie and jean lock her in a room w reiner bc this bitch cannot count

everyone sings but especially hitch and jean, the vibe is michelle zauner and craig hendrix; i think they hype up the other two who are very self conscious

main songwriters are annie and jean, jean finds jazzy chords that hitch hates

annie was concertmaster of her arts magnet high school orchestra until mikasa showed up and the worst part is violin is mikasa's like, tertiary instrument; now they are ex-gf roommates

opera singer mikasa ruins lives, she is kissing kissing mezzo historia in boy drag (inverse girl armin) in uhhh idk la clemenza di tito

ymir is probably a drummer in a nu riot grrrl band, root of her frenemyship with reiner, also i think she's trying to steal annie and/or hitch

reiner is a cello performance major who became interested in rock percussion after hooking up w eren; eren's taste is incredibly lame, he likes like, dave grohl

eren and mikasa both did piano lessons as kids and she forces him to be her accompanist most of the time, but he and jean tag in and out ever since eren gave himself gamer's carpal tunnel before mikasa's first jury freshman year

jean is Not a music major but he makes money as music majors' accompanist; he could be studio art? or something "reasonable" (a la the MPs, business school hitch), like cybersecurity

annie and marcel = violin, pieck and bertie = viola, reiner and porco = cello

bertolt is living studio ghibli whisper of the heart in italy

for the first half of undergrad reiner lived with marcel in place of porco bc that little shit felt smothered by the galliards bUyINg a whole apartment for their boys, but when marcel graduated pocco moved in and uhhhhh evicted reiner, who thought he had saved enough to make it on his own by living rent free but uhhhhh karina stole it

uhhh pieck looks like my first gay crush (a violist opera singer) so let's say she's studying abroad

point is, reiner is isolated through no one's direct fault, really, besides pock; annie is his closest friend in town and she's such a tsundere about it. he lived on her and mikasa's couch for a week but will never return because it was too awkward even for his broke ass

#my aot fanfiction is: post-rumbling political criticism and/or pushing my hobbies onto blorbos #anyway #hitchannie #reijean #☽ music au #☽

10 notes · View notes

sidestepping · 8 months

Note

I’ll take 1-50 for my BELOVEDEST hero but barring that, 6, 21, 28, and 42 💕

Hi!! I’m very late to reply to these. Thank you so much, I’ll try to keep it down to a normal amount of words (…)

6. What were they like at school? Did they enjoy it? Did they finish? What level of higher education did they reach? What subjects did they enjoy? Which did they hate?

So, Hero was taught at home until she went to the college of lore, and while she wanted to hate it (sending her there was in part a way to keep her out of the way and keep her existence on the down low), it was everything she wanted and the gateway into honing skills that would sceal her freedom. She did finish, and she loved music, spell work (her preference goes to psychic spells), storytelling and arcana the most; she also enjoyed religion, but in conflating religion with storytelling: the stories we tell ourselves can become shackles if you forget that truth is as flexible as everything else, and who bends it.

Hero loves learning and is studious: she didn’t really hate any subject, at school or at home, though she had beef with etiquette, since it was used to remind her of her place (placeless). It turned out useful for deception purposes though, so she’s made her peace with it easily; etiquette is only another way to play-act, and she loves performance.

21. Do they have a temper? Are they patient? What are they like when they do lose their temper?

Hmmm. Not a temper, per se, but Hero is very… petty. In most cases, if she is angry or vexed, she retaliates in venomous but not explosive ways (though some of those ways DO lead to murder). In that, she is patient — but patient to strike. Her temper is circumstantial; if she has the upper hand, if she’s taunted with provocations she enjoys (wit sparring, deception4deception, charlatanism), she’ll play the game with delighted patience; even defeat will be taken in stride, if the adversary played as well as her (her scenes with Raphael are a nightmare: they’re both having way too much fun with devil bargains).

All in all, she doesn’t mind being underestimated or insulted when it’s all part of the wider scene, a scene she has some control over. Someone else’s frustration or anger only sharpens her patience and her provocations: needling the temper of others delights her. However, if she showed a shred of bravery and sincerity in lending a hand or trying to comfort and is punished/disrespected for it, she turns viper-like immediately—when showed, her temper is tantrums, tied to surprise, underappreciation, or unexpected defeat. Putting her life at stake is not a duty, it’s a service she could have chosen to withhold, and ungratefulness or belittlement of her achievements make her bristle. Anything tied to her origins / her family would also make her snap, but she’s secretive enough about this that nobody really has that weapon in her arsenal.

Maybe Raphael… Maybe I should write Raphael talking to Hero about her daddy issues and watch her combust.

28. What is their biggest fear? What in general scares them? How do they act when they’re scared?

The loss of her freedom, for sure. Though she is not one to dream of death for glory, she would rather die fighting than being taken into slavery (or so she believes). She has lofty ideals of freedom, which have lead her into the life she lead in Baldur’s Gate before the nautiloid (charlatan bard, a face with many masks and connections which were never tethers), and have sustained her until now. However, both her adventure through Faerûn (the many faces of enslavement she sees first hand, and finds in herself the desire to fight, while she equated freedom with staunch individualism before), and learning to know Astarion, Karlach and Shadowheart, especially, are teaching her how simplistic her views were in that respect, and how easy the “prisons” she fled were.

BUT that’s not the question. Losing the capacity to wriggle free scares her very much: bargains, gods, devils, parasites and guardians, all of them excite her (the desire to beat them at their own game) and terrify her in equal measure; she’s pushed and pulled between arrogance and the awareness that she could become the toy of those more powerful than her. She’s good at masking fear, testing boundaries, projecting either weakness or insolence depending on what the situation allows; but if the situation is lost and fear takes over, she’s not above fleeing.

42. What are their goals? What would they sacrifice anything for? What is their secret ambition?

She had achieved her goals before the Nautiloid: it was to live as she did, free, unknown, unmoored, a sort of half-entity made of fantasy as much as flesh. In any eyes she could become wha she wanted to be, then disappear. She was not real, but that meant that she was not tied. She’s rethinking that now. Secretly (not so secretly—her name is Hero after all, and she chose that), she did wish to become a story rather than their conduit, one day, maybe, in a sort of fond, impossible dream way; you need people and trust and attachment to be worthy of a story, and you need to forget the story in favour of the real and the now, and she wasn’t planning on putting herself or her freedom at risk that way. This, too, has changed.

#hero

8 notes · View notes

dawningfairytale · 1 year

Text

here’s my theory: ocean originally started the choir for constance

i will elaborate

i think that constance has always loved performing and the performing arts: acting, singing, dancing. outside the mind-control death scenario and the choir, we don’t really see two of those. however, in the 2016 production, she plays the part of mary in the school’s nativity play (this is when noel breaks into waiting for godot). she tries to steer it back on track while staying in character, and while this could be her “being a good girl” in part, i think it’s also her wanting to stay in the role. this is something she cares about and, while she’s don’t stupid, this matters to her more than school.

additionally, i think the way that sugar cloud is staged like a concert (particularly in the part where the choir sings “i used to think that life was just a jawbreaker” and she has that belty ad-lib) also adds to this idea of a desire to perform. plus her presenting the song the choir performs before each intro number, rather than ocean. sure, ocean presents the choir, but constance introduces the song itself.

so, from this, i believe that constance has an interest in the performing arts. as a result, i like to think that ocean thought “two birds, one stone” in making a club that could make her friend happy and having something to put on college applications (presuming canadian college apps are the same as those from the us). so, she starts up the st cassian’s chamber choir and upop (from later editions of the show).

but, even with the best intentions, ocean starts to overshadow constance. part of it is accidental, it isn’t her fault that most satb arrangements are written to highlight the soprano. she only wanted to be a leader, and constance just wanted to be involved. ocean, mostly unintentionally, starts to belittle constance’s ideas.

i think this might be why they have such a fractured relationship during the show. is it possible that a lot of little things created tension between them in the “you punched me in the fricking boob” scene? definitely. however, i think it’s possible that they had a fight on the day of the fall fair. ocean paraded around the victory she lead them to, kept talking about how she was the queen of the choir. and while constance didn’t confront her, she was a lot more… distant. maybe even a little snide. ocean could hear that something was a little off with her, but she couldn’t place what, and she definitely didn’t think it wasn’t her fault. constance still sat next to her on the cyclone, ocean doing another thing for constance.

and then they died. both blaming the other for their misfortune. not knowing what was really going on in the other’s brain. but this story has a happy ending, or maybe it’s bittersweet. you’ve seen the show, you know how it goes. there is no other way this story could end.

#rtc #ride the cyclone #constance blackwood #ocean o'connell rosenberg #blackrose rtc #blackrose #this is just my theory on why they’re Like That #and i feel like ocean believing constance can only pursue stuff bc of her leads to the:#‘you just told your best friend her greatest achievement in life would be to become an organ donor’ line from noel #ocean believes she’s almost. constance’s knight in shining armour?#like with the ‘she serves me coke and a medium fries’ she thinks that without her constance will be stuck in the service industry #not that that isn’t valuable - bc it is!!! - but ocean thinks it isn’t and therefore that constance can do better #but not if she’s doing it alone #anyway!!! that’s my constance stuff #this is scheduled hopefully im asleep when this goes up

36 notes · View notes

railroad-migraine · 2 years

Note

Hey Poet, it's been awhile college's been crazy for me but I'm always so excited to request headcanons from my fav writer! I was wondering if I could request Laudna, Ashton, and Orym where they are at a festival with their normally reserved S/O who once they hear a certain song start gets all giddy and excited and drags their partner out to dance with them. It just seems like such a cute mental image just the music playing with lantern light in the background. These guys just falling deeper and deeper in love with their S/O seeing this more playful side of them. Do the characters join in? Are they good at dancing at all? I just wanted to share the brain rot I have and maybe inspire you. I hope your doing well and having a good day/night.

Good luck with college darling, thank you for supporting my work! ❤️ A very cute scenario indeed <3

~ Poet

Dragged Into a Dance By Their Partner

Ashton 💙

Digs their shoes into the ground in an attempt to stay put where they are when you take them by the elbow and point at the festivities ahead. Ashton isn't really a dancer - he's more of a drink until the music sounds good enough to dance type of guy lol. There's a grimace on his face, glancing at the rest of Bell's Hells in search of judgy looks (especially Chetney with his dirty grin) because this is definitely not their scene, but ultimately decides "fuck this, and fuck you all. I'm gonna have some fun" and runs after you.

It's not elegant when you finally have them in your arms and swaying to the local band performing, but it's fun and easy, lazy spins and stepping on each other's toes - both accidentally and intentionally - and it's perfect all the same. They've relaxed a bit, but insists on only dancing with you and you alone, not comfortable enough to join in a group dance.

Surprisingly okay at slow dancing. It's less about technique and more about just being in the moment, which is what Ashton excels at. Whispers gossip and snarky comments about the party members keeping an eye on you both, peeking at them over your shoulder and flipping them off with a laugh as you playfully scold him.

Laudna 💙

The festival's atmosphere is infectious, so lively and hopeful that she's clinging to your arm in pure excitement, pointing out firework displays overhead and craft stalls scattered around. When you approach the town square and begin to hear music, Laudna's grip on you tightens and she pulls you forward.

Soon enough, she's right there in the fray of dancers with you. Smiling with unfiltered joy as she's effortlessly spun from dancer to dancer before returning to sanctuary in your arms. Whenever you meet again, she briefly kisses the apple of your cheek, able to feel her smile against your skin. She lingers longer every time until she can't stand being separated any further.

Knows a little bit of ballroom dancing that might come in handy on the dance floor - a little bit of the foxtrot, a little bit of the waltz. More than happy for you to follow her lead if you're not familiar with the steps, eyes lighting up when you get something right or even stumble a little before trying again. It feels good, normal even, to share this moment with you.

Orym 💙

Don't think he doesn't see you begin to bop you head and tap your foot idly while he and you wait in line for some candied fruits. He pretends not to notice, a fond smile growing on his face as he counts his coppers and purchases the treats. After a while, he reminds you that this is a celebration and that you're allowed to go off and have fun.

He's happy to stand watch at the sidelines while you get swept away by the festivities, a little wary of himself being stepped on if he joined you in the group dance. You spin and skip between strangers, laughing as each one holds you gently or is held gently in your own arms, and it's so carefree and fast paced that Orym's smile begins to make his cheeks ache.

Nods and accepts your offered hand when you sidle up to him, and you both try to accommodate the height difference. Depending on the song, he's standing on your toes while you hold hands, or you might just scoop him up to hold him close and sway slowly and softly. His ear is pressed to your chest, your heartbeat just as rhythmic and lovely as the music surrounding you both.

110 notes · View notes

briamichellewrites · 3 months

Text

1998. Bria Michelle Johnson was the adopted daughter of investor, Chris Johnson and makeup designer, Rita Johnson. Together, their net worth was in the multi-billions. They spoiled their daughter with whatever she wanted growing up. She went to a boarding school in Switzerland where she was able to participate in their theatre program. They also paid for voice lessons, acting classes, piano and guitar lessons; and dance lessons. She learned ballet, jazz, and hip-hop.

With only three hundred students, the school was quite small. They knew that if given a chance, she would be on stage performing. Whether it was dancing during talent shows or performing in one of their plays or musicals. She often had the lead role because of her talents. Her parents tried to see her performances whenever they could.

At eighteen years old, she learned that her parents were killed in a car accident. A driver under the influence of drugs and alcohol crashed into their car at over a hundred miles an hour. They both died on impact. Because of their deaths, she was given everything. That included their house in Los Angeles, their apartment in Waldorf-Astoria, their car collection, a private plane, a house in the Hamptons, and a house in Middletown, New Jersey.

After graduating, she returned home to LA. She had nothing, as everything had to go through the probate court before it legally became hers. Her family’s attorney allowed her to live in the house until everything was settled. She could then sell or keep whatever she wanted. The house was her childhood home, so she wanted to keep it.

She was introduced to Brad Delson and Mike Shinoda by Jeff Blue, an A&R guy for Warner Music. He heard her demo and he had her come in for an audition. Once she was signed, he had her meet them. They introduced themselves to her. It’s nice to meet you. What kind of music was she looking to play? Indie folk or country. She wanted to tell stories like Bruce Springsteen. Even though she had grown up in Switzerland and LA.

Jeff had her play something for them, so she got a guitar that was lying around and picked it up. When she sang, they heard her voice. It sounded like nineteen-sixties folk rock. Maybe a little Johnny Cash or Joan Baez. When she was done, they clapped for her. Where did she learn how to sing? She had voice lessons in school. What school did she go to? She went to Saint George’s Boarding School in Switzerland. They had a performing arts program.

Boarding school? What was that like? It was an interesting experience. She guessed it was like college, except with more adult supervision. They laughed. What else did she learn? Did she take any music lessons or classes? She took piano lessons, dance classes, and acting classes. For dance, she took jazz, hip-hop, and ballet. It was a great way to work out.

She had to be on stage performing, even when she fell on her ass. They laughed. That happened once during a ballet recital. She got up, bowed, and then went back to the choreography. They wanted to help her with her album, so they invited her to join them. At the moment, they were using Mike’s in-home studio to make demos. They thought she would get along well with their band members. She thought it sounded like a cool idea, so she accepted their invitation.

Mike lived in a rented house with his college roommate, Joe Hahn. Together, they formed a band with Brad, Rob Bourdon, and Dave ‘Phoenix’ Farrell. They were currently looking for a lead singer after firing Mark Wakefield. He and Brad introduced her when she came over. The guys thought she was beautiful! Joe offered her a coke.

Yeah, thanks. They found she fit in perfectly with them. She could tolerate their sense of humor and she wasn’t afraid of being the only girl. Her long brown hair had been dyed black and cut short to her chin. It was hidden underneath a beanie. She had tights underneath shorts with an oversized Bon Jovi t-shirt and a plaid long-sleeve top. Dave asked if she was going grunge. She was feeling a little Seattle rock at the moment.

She was thinking of piercing the cartilage in her nose and getting a tattoo to honor her parents. What happened to them? They were killed by a driver under the influence of drugs and alcohol. I’m sorry. Thank you. She also wanted to adopt a kitten.

“Decisions. Decisions. What will you decide to do”, Rob joked.

“I don’t know. I’m indecisive. I’ve always wanted a cat but I’ve never been able to. It wouldn’t have been fair because I was at school.”

“Bria, get the cat”, Joe said.

“I might have to give into peer pressure.”

They laughed. Did she get the cat? She did! Woody was an eight-week-old brown and white domestic shorthair kitten. Everything about him was adorable! He meowed at her and pawed at her leg, making her crouch down to him. Hi, human! She said hello to him and scratched his little head. He got excited when he saw he was getting adopted. I’m going home! Meow. Meow.

They went to Petsmart to get everything he needed. He had a collar and a leash, which were required in the store. As they walked around, he looked at everything while in the cart. He was curious about everything! There was so much to see and smell and hear! There were humans everywhere! He wanted to say hello to them. Meow. Meow. Some of the workers stopped to say hello to him. Hi, human! I’m Woody! I got adopted today!

He wanted to play on the belt at the register, but Bria picked him up. She didn’t want his little paws getting smashed. When they got to the car, she put him back into his carrier before putting the purchases in the backseat. Yes, she had an assistant who usually did the shopping for her, but she wanted to do this herself. Nicole was hired by her mother to take over the day-to-day responsibilities.

She was a woman in her twenties who had recently moved to LA from New York. They also had a long-time housekeeper named, Rosita. She and her husband, Miguel immigrated from Mexico in 1990. They both loved Bria and her parents because they were so kind to them. Her parents gave them money when they needed help paying bills or expensive gifts. They were considered family to them. Bria was not a spoiled brat, despite her immense wealth.

She was taught to never look down on anyone and to always be thankful for what she had. Everything could be taken away from her at any moment. Woody had zero knowledge of that. He was involved in watching his human put everything together for him. His water and food bowls went into the kitchen. She filled up the bowl with water before setting it down. His litter box went into the laundry room.

His toys, bed, and cat tree went into the living room. He had everything a kitten could need and want. For the moment, he wanted to play. Bria went into the kitchen and found the takeout menus. She looked through them as she thought about where she wanted to order from. As she made up her mind, the phone rang. It was Dave. She invited him over and gave him her address. After hanging up, she ordered pizza to be delivered. She then went to the living room to play with Woody.

@zoeykaytesmom @feelingsofaithless @alina-dixon @fiickle-nia

3 notes · View notes

perpetual-canon · 1 year

Text

Perpetual Canon Chapter 1. Light in The End of The Rabbit Hole

before / 2. “we go way back” II - 2/2 / next where it started / navigation / about the story

Russ turned to Noodle.

“So that's your friend?”

“Yeah,” she said. “‘Ts ma bestie. Great guy.”

Russ raised his eyebrows.

“We go way back,” she added defensively.

Ace blinked. Alrighty then.

(ABOUT) THREE WEEKS AGO

To be honest, no person in their right mind would go to the club to listen to a solo bass performance.

Ace tried to master acoustic guitar back when he was a kid, but apart from bringing some skills and some change on the streets, it made him bored outta his mind. Besides, Ace couldn’t even mask his mediocre skills with singing. He was no Ed Sheeran, that much he knew.

But bass was another story. Ace was leaning mainly on intuition while learning to play, and all jokes about bass players aside, it proved to be possible to reach a somewhat decent level just by lots and lots of improvising, and some solid pointers from Grubber.

So one thing led to another, and Ace landed this part-time gig downtown. He was hired by a fairly successful local cover band for a set of services, which included:

1. Playing before said band in bars, to make up for them being constantly late due to various “mystical coincidences”. (Ace suspected the lead guitarist's drug addiction. It was quite mystical how she fell from the stage a couple times already in the past week Ace has been working with them.)

2. Watching over the band and being their designated driver in case something goes wrong. (Things did go wrong for them pretty often.)

Unfortunately, considering the quality of bars the band was performing in, unless you were Jaco Pastorius, there was always a slight risk of being shot on stage. So Ace’s act usually was brief and involved a lot of guitar-slapping.

Apart from that, it was nothing special – worse than it could’ve been, but better than the jobless void Ace was stewing in for a whole year. To be honest, it was hard. When he and the boys were living in a leaking bus on a literal dump, Ace was a proper leader, capable and (allegedly) even fearless. Now, when they finally were able to afford renting a flat, everybody proved to be more capable than him. Everyone managed to find decent jobs, and they even started a fund for Lil Arturo’s college. Sure, for now it was just a jar in a closet. But a big, promising jar. Full of wonders yet to come, as Big Billy used to say.

And then there was Ace. 20-something, good for nothing. He has been doing odd jobs, but couldn’t settle anywhere for long. Maybe he looked too much like a street rat to catch the eye of proper employers. And, in all honesty, he was one, no avoiding it. Wasn’t looking good in a resume tho.

So no, Ace was not complaining about the gig. He was just observing, making notes. Wasn’t his fault notes came out to be sorta greasy.

After Ace finished his routine, he sat down at the bar.

He watched the band perform, and let the familiar numbness blur the uncomfortable pangs in his chest. As a cover band, they accepted requests. Sometimes they were hilariously bad. Right now someone ordered Nickelback and it was a jab at the vocalist’s pride, so instead of singing properly, he was hissing like bacon on fire.

Ace swirled on a bar stool and heaved a deep sigh in hopes that the bartender would take pity on him. The bartender wasn’t impressed, but rewarded him with a glass of water.

The night was still young and people just started to gather, so the bar was not very busy.

Ace was wearing his dark shades again, and so could stare at people busying around without drawing attention. Some might say that only douchebags wear shades in the building, but Ace was ready to accept any label as long as it came handy.

Aside from a couple of obvious regulars, there was also a tiny woman in a sickeningly bright hoodie. She looked quite out of place, like a teen who wandered in to take home her drunken father.

She sipped whiskey on rocks.

Maybe she was the drunken father.

Even with the hood covering her bangs, Ace couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something familiar about her. He vaguely hoped that it wasn’t because she was Asian and he had sight problems. He didn’t want to be That Guy.

In the meantime the band had finally finished torturing people with their take on Nickelback and got to another request.

“Somebody is feeling nostalgic!” the vocalist yelled in the mike. “Here is “Feel Good Inc”! Without the rap part tho, sorry”.

Ace felt a tingle of warmth rise up from under the dull blanket of boredom. To be honest, that was him who left this request. He figured that if he is going to sit here at the bar with only water in his system, he might as well try to enjoy it. And he knew for sure that this was the only Gorillaz song the band was capable of playing.

Humming under his breath, Ace glanced at the girl again.

She looked sorta tense now. She finished her whiskey in one gulp and called the bartender.

From the corner of the eye Ace saw her showing something to him. It looked like some piece of paper. Whatever it was, the bartender shook his head with a blank expression.

The girl was visibly disappointed by that and slided down from the stool, clearly about to leave. But then she looked up – straight at Ace.

He quickly darted his eyes back to the stage, burning with sudden embarrassment. The girl’s look was pretty intense.

By the time the vocalist reached the second windmill, she was already gone.

Only way later, when Ace was driving drunken band members home at night, it suddenly hit him. The reason why she seemed so familiar.

But it couldn’t be true. His vision must’ve been playing tricks on him.

It couldn't have been muthafuckin’ Noodle from muthafuckin’ Gorillaz.

The club was way more sleazy than the one they played at before. Ace half-expected that someone would throw a bottle at his head at some point during the performance. The band climbing on the stage was still hungover and slightly high, so for them the possibility was still on the table. Ace was already bracing himself for driving them all to the hospital instead of their houses.

Unfortunately it meant that, once again, he couldn’t get even a fucking Margarita.

Ace quickly slided between people and furniture, trying to find the least grease stained place for himself and his bass. He was pretty sure at least three couples were already fucking in darker corners of the bar.

That’s when he saw her again.

Same hoodie, same complexion. It was the girl.

She was diving through the crowd like a little koi fish, with a joint in her fingers and a hood on her head. Heart-shaped glasses sparkled dully under the dim lights.

Now Ace could say that he was quite intrigued.

Hypothetically, yes, it could’ve been Noodle. He was aware that The Band was staying in Detroit. But what could’ve prompted her to visit such smelly places? Aren’t stars supposed to club at the tops of skyscrapers with Snoop Dogg and Martha Stewart making brownies, of something?

How dangerous exactly was it to get mixed in this?

So far things have been pretty intense. The guitarist ended up in ER two times in the last week, and the drummer caught some STD that didn’t allow him to sit properly.

But all this meant nothing to Ace. His thoughts were completely occupied by the hoodie girl.

For the last five clubs and bars they’ve been playing in, she was always there. She usually arrived well after the band started to play and there was a decent crowd in the venue already. She was always covered up in some way, took something to drink and chatted with the bartender. Then she disappeared.

By this point Ace was pretty sure that she was, in fact, the Noodle from Gorillaz herself. He’s made a point to google paparazzi photos just to compare how she would have looked without makeup and photoshop, and it was a match.

This time Ace was expecting her. The curiosity was bothering him like fleas (And he knew the feeling, the metaphor was quite literal here).

Would he get a chance to talk to her, to learn about why she keeps visiting all these places? Would it be better to ask her directly? Wasn’t she a direct person? What were the odds she’d hit him directly in the face?

As always, Ace sat down at the bar. Watching the drummer suffer on stage was quite entertaining, but he couldn’t stop looking around, waiting for a glimpse of the pink hoodie.

“Hey,” the bartender snapped his fingers, to get Ace’s attention. “You can’t sit here”.

Ace stared at him blankly, trying to remember if he did something to piss the guy off in the past. He appeared quite generic.

“Unless you buy a drink, you can’t take up the space. I don’t make the rules”.

Ace looked at the plaque behind the bartender. It said “My Bar – My Rules”. Right.

“Sorry chef. Ain’t got no money tonight. But you see, I need to watch those fuckas on stage. I’m, how do you put it… their nanny”.

“I don’t care, mate. Unless ya skinny ass ‘bout to order somethin’, Imma callin’ the security. We’ve got a hit up ‘bout ya folk, that stuff disappears here and there after ya’all performance. And from what I’m lookin’ at, you better leave the premises and wait for your friends outside”.

Ace clicked his tongue.

Fuckin’ band had a chance or even a plan to throw him under the bus for whatever junk they’ve smuggled from those shitholes? Not cool.

“That’s a shitty team to be on, that’s for sure,” chimed the voice from behind Ace.

He turned around.

The one and only Noodle from Gorillaz plopped on a stool beside him.

“I’m buying, man,” she said to the bartender. “Long Island for my friend here. And make it longer.”

She saluted Ace with her drink.

Bartender shot them a weary glance, but obliged.

Ace stared at Noodle, desperately trying to find some words to say that would not sound completely and utterly dumb.

“So,” he said.

“So,” she repeated. “Wassup?”

“Drummer got an STD and can’t sit properly,” blurted Ace. His cheeks burned. By the end of the sentence he was already accepting his imminent death.

Noodle raised an eyebrow and shot a quick glance on stage.

“Shit,” she chuckled. “I thought he was just energetic.”

“Gettin’ a solo in the middle of the chorus? Yeah, you can say so.”

Noodle snorted in her drink, splattering whiskey all over Ace’s shirt.

Great.

PRESENT TIME

“Music,” stated Noodle with a strainingly wide smile. “That’s how we know each other! Ha-hah”.

Russel was observing her quietly, with some sort of underlying intensity. Sure, it seemed that he was doing everything intensely, but Ace still panicked – just in case.

“Look, he’s got a guitar! So yeah. We jam sometimes. Don’t we?” She slapped Ace’s shoulder, probably dislocating it forever.

“We sure jam,” croaked Ace through the pain. “We jam very much”.

before / next where it started / navigation / about the story

#gorillaz #noodle gorillaz #ace copular #murdoc niccals #stuart pot #russel hobbs #power puff girls #ppg #PC!story

20 notes · View notes