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rorywritesjunk · 5 months

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I can't tell where the journey will end But I know where to start

Prequel to my Kid Buggy fic, set about 11-ish years before that story. Buggy meets you by chance when he needs his buttons sewn back onto his jacket. He's young, up and coming, and he thinks everyone should cower before him wherever he goes, but all you do is smile at him. Rating: PG-13ish just for some swearing. Warning: Buggy's in his early 20s. He's an asshole. He just is because I wanted to write him loud, demanding, everything. There's 3 new characters thrown in because why not? Future Wife gets a name as well! A/N: I have no idea when Buggy became a Captain, so he's a fresh faced captain in this. No clue how long this fic will be. I just started on the 4th chapter but I'm excited to write it out! I had fun with the original fic and decided to write the prequel to how they met. Enjoy! Title comes from "Wake Me Up" by Avicii. TAGLIST (if you want to be added just let me know!): @lostfirefly @ane5e @kingofthemfingpirates (I didn't add others from the previous story because I didn't want to assume you'd want to be added, so please let me know if you want to be tagged<3)

Chapter 1 + Chapter 2 + Chapter 3 + Chapter 4 + Chapter 5 + Chapter 6 + Chapter 7 + Chapter 8 + Chapter 9 + Chapter 10 + Chapter 11 + Chapter 12 + Chapter 13 + Chapter 14 + Chapter 15 + Chapter 16 + Chapter 17 + Chapter 18 + Epilogue

Chapter 1

He burst into the shop like waves crashing against the rocks: loud and violent. The door slammed open, catching the two teen girls by surprise while your boss looked at him disapprovingly. The young man glared at her as he stomped up to the desk, removing his jacket with a flourish before throwing it down onto the counter.

“I need this repaired now!” He demanded as he dropped three buttons down on top of the fabric. “These damn things fell off!”

The older woman glared at him and crossed her arms. She wasn't bothered by some demanding young pirate like him. She was used to it having her shop in a town that was frequented by pirates of all experiences and ages. The upside was that the pirates paid well for her shop’s services, but the downside was the up and coming pirates with egos the size of the sea.

“And?” The shopkeeper retorted. “You come in here demanding help like that? Why should we help?”

He didn't expect the pushback and it showed on his face. “B-Because my coat is ruined and needs to be fixed!” He pointed to the three buttons that had fallen off, loose threads still attached to them. “I need these to be put back on!”

“Hm, one of my girls could do it, but I don't know if I want your business.”

“Excuse me?!” The pirate exclaimed. “Do you know who you're talking to?!”

“No, not at all.”

Before the pirate could explode into a tirade you stepped into the shop from the backroom, frowning as you came to see what the noise was about. There was your boss, not taking any shit from the young pirate who looked like he had steam coming out of his ears. The other two apprentices were working at a table nearby, watching the exchange take place.

“What's going on?” You asked as you walked over to your boss. You saw the coat and reached out to touch the fabric. “Oh, this is lovely. What's wrong with it?”

“The buttons fell off.” The pirate told you, jaw clenched as he glared at your boss. The older woman didn't back down, arms crossed as she stared right back at him.

“Oh, I can fix that.” You said as you collected the buttons and picked up the coat. You smiled at the pirate; he swallowed heavily and looked uncomfortable with you taking his things away like that. “Can you give me about an hour?”

Your boss turned her attention to you with her eyes narrowed. “You don't have to, I was about to kick him out.”

“I don't mind.” You said with a smile. “We shouldn't turn business away.”

Your boss grumbled and looked at the pirate. “Tell me your name and then come back in an hour, do you understand?”

He didn't hear her at first, too busy staring at you as you walked away with the buttons in one hand and his coat draped over your arm. Why did you offer to help after he just made a scene? The boss was glaring at him and waved her hand in front of his face.

“Young man? Your name?” She insisted. He finally looked at her, a scowl on his face once more.

“Captain Buggy the Clown.”

She said nothing as she wrote his name down on a claim ticket. She tore the ticket and gave one half to him. “One hour and you better have berry to pay.”

He snatched it out of her hand, glaring at her as he turned to storm out of the shop. Your boss just shook her head. She loved having you around but at the same time you caused as much trouble as the ruffian pirates who came by. Hopefully he would just be a one time customer.

When he returned an hour later, you were at the counter. His coat was hanging up behind you, the buttons reattached and shining like new coins. The rest looked brand new as well. He frowned as you looked up from your book. You smiled brightly when you saw him and he avoided your gaze, turning his attention back to his fixed coat.

“You're back!” You beamed as you turned to get the coat for him. “I fixed the three that fell off and made sure the rest were properly sewn on as well, so you shouldn't have any problems with them.”

Buggy took the coat from you, inspecting the buttons by tugging on them. They were secured, even better than before, and they all looked like they had been polished by how shiny they were. He looked at you suspiciously as he put his coat back on. You walked around the counter to him and he took a step back. Without a word you smoothed out the shoulders of the coat, ensuring they laid flat before you reached down to lift the hem of the coat up, pointing to the inside.

“The lining was starting to come undone so I mended that for you as well.” You pointed out before dropping it and straightening back up. Buggy’s face started to redden as he continued to scowl.

“I'm not paying you for extra work!” He snapped. You smiled at him and shook your head.

“It's a courtesy.” You told him as you went to grab his bill. “You're paying just for the three buttons I sewed back on, everything else I chose to do.”

He took the bill from you, scowl now a frown. “Why?”

“Hm? Why what?”

“Why did you do all that extra mending?” He asked, suspicion in his voice as he reached into his pocket for payment. “What do you want from me?”

“Oh!” You chuckled and shook your head. “Nothing, but pirates pass through here all the time and I don't want you to have to come back for more services, you know. I figured if I got your coat into a newer condition you wouldn't have to come back.”

Honestly, you were providing the ultimate customer service to him, but Buggy thought it was almost insulting you didn't want him to come back. Sure, once he got back on his ship he wouldn't come back this way, but at the same time…

He glared at you and grabbed your hand, slamming the payment onto your palm. His cheeks were red like his nose at that moment, and before you could check to see if he paid the right amount he hurried from the shop, door slamming behind him. You shrugged and went behind the counter, counting out the berry. He paid over what the cost of services were and you sighed. He didn't even wait for his change.

“He was scary.” Livia whined over dinner that night as you stood at the stove, stirring the soup while Edith set the table. “Is that pirate going to come back?”

“No, I don't think he will.” You assured her as you flashed her a smile. “I made sure his coat was like new, so don't worry.”

“Why were you even nice to him?” Edith asked with a frown. “He was a jerk to Miss Pins.”

“I was taught to be nice to everyone because you don't know everyone's story, you know?” You told the younger girls. They were newer apprentices for Miss Pins while you were nearing the end of your 10 year apprenticeship. The two were only 14 and 15, whereas you were about to turn 24 with your birthday a few months away. “He could be really nice and just having a bad day.”

“Or he's just mean “ Livia said, making a face. “And did you see his nose? D’you think that was real or fake?”

“I bet it was fake.” Edith said as she sat down. “It seems like a lot of pirates have themes and stuff. I heard there was one who had a crew called the Black Cats and I think his ship has cats on it.” She looked over at you. “So that clown pirate is probably wearing it just for show.”

You just shrugged as you checked the flavor of the soup before adding in some ginger to it. “I wouldn’t know, but dinner is ready. Livia, can you go get Miss Pins? And Edith, can you slice some bread for us?”

Livia pushed away from the table and bounced out of the kitchen to go find their caretaker. Edith looked at you as she started cutting some slices of bread.

“He was really mean, you know.” She said as she put the pieces on a plate. “I don’t think you should have been so nice to him. What if he comes back?”

“I’ll still be nice to him because there’s no reason not to be.” You told her as you went to the table to grab the bowls one by one, filling them with soup. “And he wasn’t a threat, just loud.”

“I didn’t like how loud he was.” Edith sighed.

“If he comes back, just call for me and I’ll help him.” You assured her. “Honestly.”

The younger girl didn’t look convinced but didn’t say anything. Livia returned a few minutes later with Miss Pins and everyone sat down. Dinner was always a peaceful affair, discussing how the day went and what to expect for the next day. Mostly it was assigning the younger girls chores and tasks while you helped Miss Pins with the running of the shop. You had some errands to run in the morning before the shop opened, grabbing groceries and just stretching your legs.

When everyone finished, you took care of cleaning the kitchen while the two girls went to their shared room. Your boss looked at you from her place at the table.

“If that pirate shows up again, you turn him away.” She told you. “I didn’t like him one bit.”

“He’s not the first one to act like that.” You replied as you wiped down the counter. “And he won’t be the last.”

“I didn’t care for him.”

You grinned at your boss. “You don’t like anyone who comes in the door if they aren’t kissing your feet and saying how wonderful you are.”

“Well, they should be saying how wonderful I am since I’m the only one on this damn island willing to help those pesky pirates.” She retorted as she glared at you. “I’m serious, if he comes in you turn him away.”

“Okay, okay. If he comes in I’ll tell him we’re closed.” You smiled. “I don’t think he’d believe me but I’ll make sure to tell him.”

#buggy the clown #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x reader #buggy x you #buggy the clown x you #opla buggy the clown #opla buggy the clown x reader #opla buggy x reader #opla buggy the clown x you #opla buggy x you #buggy the clown x oc #buggy x oc #opla buggy the clown x oc #opla buggy x oc #sunny x buggy #one piece #one piece oc #one piece fanfiction

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scentedpepper · 2 months

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Missions, Malaise and Migas Pt. I | Leon Kennedy

Pt. 2 Pt. 3 Pt. 4 Pt. 5 Pt. 6 Pt. 7 Final Part

Fandom: Resident Evil

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x Male Reader

Summary: Leon and Y/N have some underlying issues. Ones they tried to warn DSO about.

Content Warnings: None (?) see below

Other Pairings: Luis Sera x Reader [not 'til pt. 2]

Author Note(s): Guys, let's note RE is a game where big monster throws you into wall and you eat herb to heal. This idea is very much so present here however, I wanted to incorporate some realism as well while still maintaining that superhuman feeling to y/n.

This is again targeted at male readers because they don't get enough attention BUT you can pretty much still read it despite your gender!!

This takes place AFTER the mission to rescue Ashley but not too long after.

There's pretty much no content warnings for this one other then like description of injuries.

Oh, also Luis is alive in pt.2 because I love him

You can't remember the last time in the past four months when you'd actually been able to breathe.

Every inhale had been choked with spores, filled with the odors of infection and death; every exhale had brought on chills, fearing what genetic monstrosity might rise up behind you.

You'd be a fool to think that sitting back in your cot, against a tree, some abandoned building wall or even within the warmth of DSO headquarters would grant you it. A deep inhale. A calming expansion of your lungs.

Because there was your partner, Leon S. Kennedy, butting his head. Like the virus scratching up your insides, clawing to the top until it etched its fingernails against the walls of your throat and brought upon a sharp, painful cough.

It's been nearly a year now. 10 months and a half. And you weren't sure if this was like the phase married couples went through where the adoration melted and was replaced by hot pits of lava and fire shooting out your mouth with every word or– well, there was no or. That just seemed to be where you and Leon sat, in limbo, glaring at each other from across the rope.

Only good thing about ropes was climbing them. Scaling it up to get the advantage, bring him down so you could win. Everything was a game with you two, always had been. Didn't know when it started but knew when the tension began to boil over.

Maybe you should've seen it. Hell, with the way you two complained to your superior for a partner switch –or rather no partner at all– you should've expected. Expected it like you expect a high-speed car to mangle your body after deliberately stepping into its path.

That's what it felt like sometimes with you two. A car crash.

When you first met, you were like two dull kitchen knives being pressed and sliced against each other until an edge formed. Sure, the rough, uncut, jagged edge hurt with every prick and prod but it was the start to a bond. And then you were learning to work the edges on each other's weapons to ensure a lethal and clean cut. —Until, you weren't.

He was civil enough in the beginning —and so were you.

But when things began to slip into that weird, unspoken comfortableness of having a missions partner. The one where you find yourself up shits creek together, bathing in lakes and rivers and showering under the rain together. The one where your hearts are sewn intricately within each others and the responsibility of one another's lives rest against your shoulders.

That one.

That's when things began to slowly unravel for you and Leon.

And now you were here.

Free falling from the side of a mountain.

Deeper and deeper.

Winding, swirling, spinning.

And you're grasping. Grasping for the rope like Leon is.

Your fingers graze it, trap it, and you fight to ignore the razor sharp burn of it against your palms.

But your body isn't stilling yet, and your grip isn't strong enough, and you're being slammed into the harsh rock of the mountain.

It falls again.

This happens two more times over.

And on the last, you're holding on for much, much longer and you almost believe you're stable when your eyes begin searching for your partner.

He's gone.

The ropes blowing in the wind.

He's gone.

Your eyes move rapidly, panicked but before you can do much of anything the wind catches up to you again and your body is crashing right back into the mountain side.

Upon collision, you lose your grip and you're plummeting.

You don't have time to think about your partner as your raw hand clamps down on the rope for the fourth time. Your red palms leave your life line stained and your grip slippery but the blood, or the wind, or the friction, or the speed, or even the rain isn't what sends you fumbling in the air like a baby bird this time.

There's a pop. A sick crunch.

You don't hear it over the rain and wind and the beat of your own heart.

But you feel it.

The pain isn't delayed. It's hot and sharp and sends an immediate chorus of curses from your mouth as your arm goes limp. No grip. Nothing.

You have nothing.

Your body is in gravity's hands. You can't reach the rope. And your right arm is flailing in the wind like a deflated balloon of some sort.

The trees come on quickly.

But for a long moment you stare at the wall you had so harshly collided into, disorientated, your body shifting and swaying with the rushing of the wind.

In another moment, you think there's hands on you.

Frantic and needing, fighting for balance, fighting to save you.

But they're only your own.

And you're ignoring the slight pain that slips through the pump of your adrenaline as you fight against the wind to grab your right arm and tuck it beneath your chest.

Your body curls in on itself, your head tucks into your knees and your free arm wraps around the top of your head, securing yourself into place.

For seconds that feel too long, there's nothing but the rush of wind in your ears and it's almost peaceful. Like floating, drifting, basking.

But then your body is crashing violently, violently through the trees, through a bunch of saplings. Your ears pick up on their snapping, crunching, –it's fleeting. Your body's slowing down considerably but the ground hasn't met you yet. The weight is shifting, your body is jerking and dipping destructively and suddenly, your stomach feels unsettled.

But then you go still. Completely.

The rain stops.

The wind stops.

It's for two seconds, maybe three. Then your ears cut back into reality and your eyes peel open and you find yourself on an enormous branch, right in the crook of its "elbow" so to say. Your body bounces up, nearly slips from the spot, but your left arm shoots out, tightens and your knuckles turn white.

It's not enough.

You're slipping.

Fingers dancing over the wet tree bark as you begin to lose your balance completely, unable to spread yourself out enough because of your hurt arm. You fight but you fall, landing hard on the next branch below. And the next one beneath it.

Violent coughs threaten to bubble through your throat with the impact but you push them down. Because right now pain is a good thing. Means that everything is alive.

Your back feels like it might snap in half if you hit one more branch. So you opt for your stomach and maybe then you can brace yourself, grab something, anything.

Your ribs make contact first. Your body twirls. Not an inch unscathed.

Again and again, you meet with the branches until you fear that it may never end.

But then there's warmth. It's enveloping you and for a moment you think it's your own blood. Or the air being knocked from your lungs when your body finally lands in its final resting spot.

No.

These arms...

"Reach, to the side!"

There it is.

A small bit of bark you can snatch.

You latch onto it, press yourself against the tree.

"Alright, I got you. " Leon whispers above you but it feels too far away as you allow your left arm to slacken, resting the rest of your weight on the tree.

"Shoulder?"

He's asking about the limp, near useless thing that was hanging by your side. You open your mouth to respond, not with much success. The movement nearly cuts it off.

"Yes..." The word forces itself out, strained and bitter. And then you're shaking your head and swallowing past the lump in your throat. "No, I think it's dislocated. "

"Can you manage?" His assessment of you is quick.

"I can't move it. " You spit out and your words are still breathless. Winded. With your face buried in the tree bark, one cheek against the cool, rough surface, you scoff, "Don't think 'm goin' anywhere. "

You want to laugh. But there's nothing funny about this. Just empty air and a thick heat that seems to be simmering between the two of you. The tension is threatening to spill.

"Stay here. "

His voice is too far. His weight is leaving your branch. And your fingers grab ahold of the fabric of his sleeve.

"Where're you going?"

Leon hesitates.

"Ada can help us. "

Your breath whips back into your body.

"Ada?" You question and your eyes are searching, really taking him in now. His form. The rain has soaked him. His breathing is just as heavy. His jacket has the largest tear down the side, the lining popping at the seams and tucked into his waistband is a hookshot. Adas.

"When the fuck did Ada get here?" Your tone is one of bewilderment as you stare at your partner and finally put together how he went so unscathed.

"Back on the mountain. "

"Shes been following us you?" You inquire.

"I didn't realize she was there until she was grabbing me out the air. "

"For a top agent, you got shit on her, Leon. "

It's out of your mouth in a hurry, a slap to the face. It's anger on your part. You turn your cheek against the tree and your eyes focus on the town, not Leon.

You hold grudges. Not that he knew the reason for this one.

He's silent for a moment, his anger seeping through it as he scans the surrounding area. Looking for Ada, no doubt.

But in a little voice he hums a retort.

"Could say the same thing for you. "

Your head snaps up, cheek no longer nursing the rough grooves and ridges in the bark.

"'Scuse me?”

He's quiet again.

"Oh, you don't have some bitch-ass comment to make?"

"Are we really fighting right now?" He looks at your with narrowed eyes and whip of emphasis on his tongue.

"I'm just speaking in a language I've only ever known with you. "

"What does that mean?" He says, turning his attention on you full now.

"Don't act all almighty, Kennedy. I've treated you a hell of a lot better than you have me. ”

"Oh, my bad. What am I? Your husband?" The annoyance is obvious. His voice grows sharp and jabs at your neck as if threatening to slit it. "Because the whole relationship rule to the game is when you see the one person you hate in this godforsaken town you fucking say it. "

You say nothing.

It strikes a chord in you. Rocks you.

But you light like gasoline at what he's referencing and you're opening your mouth again.

"I don't hate Luis. " You spit it out before your voice falls flat and its like a cool cord wrapping around his neck and choking him.

He makes a noise of bewilderment and his mouth falls open.

"I–" His words catch on his tongue as his adam's apple bobs in his throat.

His eyes search for yours, dark and boring into them with a burning intensity that nearly turns your insides out. Or maybe that's your adrenaline. You're not sure.

"I'm getting Ada. " It's final.

And then he's slipping down the tree without a sound. Just him. Your teeth grit into each other, hand clinging to the tree bark.

You and Leon. Tearing at each other like it's a five dollar shirt.

#resident evil #leon kennedy #angst #male reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #luis sera x reader

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h0unds-of-h3ll · 4 months

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☆ 𝓢𝓲𝓵𝓮𝓷𝓽 𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 ☆

The night of Christmas Eve, Graceland has never been quiet as it was now. When a wannabe Santa awakens you, you can’t help to see the man for yourself.

60s! Elvis Presley x Reader! Smut.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: slight daddy kink, exhibitionism, breeding kink, domestic asf, overstimulation.

A/n: I’m sorry I’ve been gone, however this is your gift for Christmas. Have a happy New Year, along with any holidays you celebrate!

Sprawled out, bare naked, in his bed. His very big, cushy, and comfortable bed. You’re passed out. Head shoved into your pillow, snoring quietly. His duvet and thick blanket are strewn carefully over your body. It’s cold in Memphis as the snow falls onto the roof of Graceland. A soft, melodic rhythm. Rolling over, you blink at the missing bear. You pat his side a few times, thinking that he’s just sleeping on the edge. He’s not there. That big mass of a man that keeps bad guys away is gone. A sense of fear washes over you. He’s most likely in the bathroom, reading. His insomnia gets to him on most nights; you knew that. So why is this dread clinging to you?

Sitting up, the blankets pool on your torso. You take the back of your fists and wipe your eyes, your engagement ring burrowing into your eye socket. The rock on it, biting into your sensitive face. You're not sure why he got you a ring with such big diamonds, but he insisted. In true Elvis fashion, he wasn't going to let someone in his circle be disregarded. At the end of it, the people who were closest to him represented him.

Stretching your arms out wide with a yawn. It must’ve been at least two in the morning. You look at the window by the bed, the curtains pulled back. The sky is still dark, and the snow isn’t glittering like it does in the morning when the sun shines on it. Jumping at the sound of something downstairs bumping loudly. Your eyes become wide, and shivers run up your spine. You feel too exposed for your liking. The thought of a robber makes your blood run cold. Getting up, you take your dark red robe off the carpeted floor and put it on. Tying the sash in the front. His initials are sewn proudly onto your right breast.

Walking over to his side of the bed where he’s missing, you take the wooden Louisville slugger that’s encrusted with his name and the number 8 as your weapon. He only kept it by his bedside to protect you from this very situation. He also had it because he believed it made him a god amongst men when he played baseball amongst the Mafia, but that’s irrelevant. You breathe heavily, taking the heavy bat onto your dominant shoulder and opening the bedroom door.

Almost swinging as you round the corner. The culprit wasn’t there, but you couldn’t know! You had to be safe. All you wished was for Elvis to deal with this, not you. Every step you take down the decorated, festive stairs fills you with an extensible feeling of misery. When you reach the last one, you hear the tree you ornamented rattle. Hearing the scavenger dig into the expensive presents Elvis had bought. You watch as if you were a hawk, as a hand sticks out with a gift. You can't tell whether the suspect is putting it down or taking it. What a precarious thing for a robber to do. To give someone gifts instead of taking them.

The (attempted?) robber bends down once more, and you hear a hollow smack and a hushed,

“Shit!”

You're not very sure why, but that was your mark to charge out. Feet making a soft rumble as you run across to the living room. The man with dark blue eyes looks over to your raging bull stature and raises his hands out. He grabs onto your little fists, holding onto the large bat. Golden 24k carat rings pinch your tiny knuckles, making you drop his bat.

“Hey!”

Squealing wide-eyed. Realizing you've made a grave mistake. You just attempted assault on your fiancé. He takes one of his hands off your wrist and cups your mouth under your nose. Giving you a stern look, then nodding to the ceiling where Vernon slept.

“You best be quiet when I let go.”

Blinking softly, listening.

“Understood?”

You nod swiftly, and he removes his palm slowly.

“Why were you shuffling around? I thought you were a damn bandit!”

Whispering loudly at him, his broad, heavy shoulders go up and fall as he shrugs.

“Tryin’ to be Santa.”

He says it nonchalantly. Shaking your head discouragingly, you pinch the bridge of your nose as a smile comes onto your lips. Laughing to yourself at the thought of him rummaging down here and running into things just to put hidden presents under the tree. His desperate attempt to let his inner child come out.

“You can't be Santa when there already is one. Dummy.”

Those sharp blues narrow as he cuts his eyes at you. One of his ringed pointer fingers comes up and sticks in front of your face.

“What’d I tell you ‘bout calling me that?”

Your cheeks burn at the slip of the childish name. You've become so accustomed to hanging out with the mafia and joking with them that you forgot who you were talking to. The man who deserved the utmost respect on the property. He's looking at you, his finger outstretched, like he's scolding a child.

“What’d I say?”

You swallow your pride. Looking at a bulb hanging from the tree.

"If I did, you'd bend me over your knee.”

He nods.

“That’s right.”

His heavy tongue pokes out between his lips and runs across the plush bottom one. Standing proud and strong in front of you. His hands rest on his torso. On top of his longer red robe that matches yours. His emblem is on the same breast. Inky Black locks in disarray on his forehead.

“You're lucky that I ain't goin’ to. Not gon’ wake my daddy on Christmas,”

He cranes his top half down to look down at you.

“Not over a disobedient brat.”

After thinking for a minute, he stands straight. Rubbing his bottom lip between his thumb and index. Staring at the twinkling tree.

“What I'm gon do is teach you a lesson ‘bout ‘bein quiet.”

“What do you mean, El?”

Touching his chest, his eyes flick down to your puppy dog ones. Your hands flat on his wide chest, your ring shining against his emblem.

“I've been nice all year, don't you think?”

Sticking out your bottom lip for extra effect. Yet, your advances fail as you feel his chest rumble with a shallow laugh. Top lip curling as he smiles wide at your accusation. Your face falls flat, embarrassed. Taking your small hands in his big ones, he holds the tops of them.

“Shit, honey, you've been naughtier than ole Scatter.”

He cups under your jaw, running the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip. His eyes are half closed as he admires your pout.

“You wanna look at the tree or the snow?”

Eyebrows pinching together, he smoothed out the wrinkles between the hair. You're confused by his question, but that was just a quirk he had. To be different. He went by his own normal, not by anyone else's. You decide on snow for whatever reason. The bright lights the Mafia precariously worked so hard on emitted enough light for you to see the blurry balls of flakes falling down. The long, luxurious curtains are tied back by a golden rope.

“Snow.”

He nods, taking one of your wrists into his palm. Long strides over to the window, and he pulls you behind him. Between the television set and the piano. He guides you to stand in front of him. You could feel his soft, fluffy robe on your back as he shuffled to cover your back with his chest. He sighs, breathing in your lotion. He holds your hands together on your abdomen. You can barely make out the soft outlines of your silhouettes in the window. He drops your hands, dragging his fingers into your sash. His rings are catching on the sides.

"Elvis, what if-“

“Hush.”

Once he finishes with the silk, it opens to your sides. The valley between your breasts met with cool air. Snaking his hands up your sides, he takes the sides and pulls them both down your shoulders. A shiver runs up your spine, and your thighs clench together. His hands return once the garment falls to your feet. They run up the curve of your sides. The soft curves you have, he lingers on those and squeezes before continuing. His broad nose is tickling behind your ear. Gentle lips press chaste kisses over the expanse of your neck. Your bare ass pressed firmly against the opening of his robe and silk pajama pants. Feeling the faintest hint of a tent growing on his lower belly under all those layers. His breathing is quickening as he starts to lose himself from touching you. Some nights he couldn’t touch you because he knew, just from your caress, he’d get worked up. When he first met you all those years ago, he’d convinced himself that you were his very own angel. An angel God personally sent down for him to experience and revel in. To defile. To Elvis, he wasn’t taking your purity; he was allowing you to experience what grownups do.

“Did you check?”

He whispers haggardly on your shoulder. You nod.

“Yes.”

“And?”

“No baby yet.”

He groans, his eyes rolling back in his head.

“By God, if it’s the last thing I do, I’m going to get you there. We just have to try once more.”

One of his hands holds tightly onto your hip while the other pushes his pajamas down his thighs enough for him to touch himself. He’s aching and bursting at the seams. Precum nestled at the uncut head. Beading down where it can. You watch the flakes as they fall, getting lost in the nature of the snow.

“You’re gon be so beautiful when your belly’s all round. I’m so proud of you. Gon be such a good little mama. Wear little dresses all the time; nothing's gonna fit ya. Fuck-“

His fist hurries along his shaft.

“Nothing is gon fit ya.”

He groans in awe at the thought.

“Oh, god, I ain’t gonna have the strength to resist you, little darlin.”

You’re dead quiet, listening to the slickness of him jerking off as he gets more and more lost in his daydream.

“El?”

“Mm?”

“What if it doesn’t work?”

“It will.”

“But-“

He taps the soaking wet head of his cock onto the supple flesh of your ass. Gasping at the feeling of being reduced to a cum slut.

“I said you would. End of discussion.”

His voice is deeper, hoarse even. Stepping backward, he leans downward. His fist at the base of his dick as he grinds over your damp folds. Your hips buck up into the cold window. Your hands are flat against the plane. Breasts pushed up and together. His hand pushes down on your back, making your back arch into his waist. When he thrusts, the skin of his tip meets your throbbing clit.

“Oh!”

Your lips part, your breath fogging the window. He gives another teasing thrust, and you spread your legs out farther so he can gyrate his hips against your ass better. Touch your clit better. Make your beating heart pulse a little faster.

“If it’s a boy, I wanna name ‘em Jessie.”

Your walls flutter around nothing as he talks. He pulls back, pushing his head into your entrance. He chokes on his saliva as he watches you move back and take him deeper. His eyes nearly bulge at the sight of the head of his cock moving back as your cunt swallows him. Bucking his hips up, yours are plush against the window. You couldn’t move if you tried. The only option is back, and that meant him hitting your awaiting cervix. With every hesitant thrust, a breath of air is hit out of your lungs, and the cloud of fog around your head grows.

“I- If it’s a girl, I wanna name her Lisa.”

He drags his hips in more, taking both of your sides and pulling you back. His thick brows were knitted on his forehead. He’s immensely focused on getting inside you as far as he's physically permitted. He’s determined to get you knocked up.

“Lisa Marie,”

He nods to himself, establishing the title of his little girl.

“Purty name, ain’t it.”

The swelling heat in your stomach and the mix of hot and cold your body is, along with the concentration of being quiet, makes you unable to focus on anything else. Not even Elvis’s validation for your future baby's names. He stills his hips, so you can think.

“What d’ya think, mama?”

He angles his hips up, bends his knees, and pushes. Getting better leverage to hit that sweet spot inside your pussy. His balls hit against your cunt, making a moist, wet slap.

“I- I love it.”

He laughs softly, pulling out. Making your walls retract from that familiar burn of his length. You’re profusely sweating.

“You love my dick buried inside your little hole or god-“

Gagging on his tongue, he can’t speak. His breath caught in his chest. He can’t move. Your tight pussy is too tight for him to keep fucking you. Your wet slick is coating him down to his sac. Grabbing onto your hip tighter, he lays one of his hands flatly beside your face. His rings clink against the glass. Your combined breaths tangle together as you both regain your composure. Neither of you can fathom the intoxication. His cologne held in your lungs, musky and earthy, as he held onto your sweet and sugary scent.

“Honey, you gotta let loose.”

Attempting a few little half thrusts, he can’t keep going. It only edged him and got you wetter, but your walls won’t let him back in. He pushes your hair from your back over your shoulder. He rests his forehead against your feverish back. Tears prick at your eyes from the overstimulation, along with the stretch of his fat cock.

“C-can’t ‘m sorry.”

He presses a wet, mouthy kiss on your spine.

“Why not?”

He asks calmly, like he’s asking a kid why they aren’t eating their peas.

“It’s too cold.”

Whispering shakily, your body is shivering with goose flesh. He sighs against you.

“Tell ya what, doll, I ain’t got nothin, but another couple strokes left in me. If you let me fill you up, I’ll warm your sweet angel face by the fire and make some hot cocoa.”

“With marshmallows?”

He chuckles, smiling cheekily. Running his big hand down your back.

“Of course.”

Bending down, he kisses your jaw. When he does, he arches his torso. Making him slip farther in while he’s distracting you with his little kisses and hot cocoa with marshmallows. His signature kisses are your demise.

“What d’ya say? Do you think you can do it for me?”

Planting your head back onto the panel, you moan out a broken yes. His golden fingers playing with your clit is what convinced you. He smiles wide, his cheeks and neck flushed with crimson. His teeth are against your back as he smiles. It’s silent other than the soft echo of a clap from your bodies coming together.

He nearly shoved his whole hand down your throat when you finally finished, your shivering knee bending wave almost waking every person in the ten-mile radius. He’s still goal oriented. Every thrust of his ends with his balls slapping your thighs and hitting your pelvis against the window.

“What’re the kids gonna call you?”

Your voice chirps crisply and clearly. A shit eating grin is spreading on your lips.

“Pops? Hmm, no, that sounds too old-fashioned.

Poppa? No, that sounds like a pimp,”

His fingers dig into your hips. You’re distracting him.

“Oh! I know, Daddy would work!”

Faking a pout, you push your bottom lip out.

“But that’s what I call you, and I’m not too keen on sharing the little name I call you.”

His thrusts start to falter into a hapless tone of despair.

“Stop it.”

He snarls.

“Stop what?”

You play dumb, asking innocently.

“Stop asking me if I like being called Daddy.”

“But I don't get what’s wrong with-“

He pushes his hips forward, hips pressed firmly against your ass cheeks. Spreading them with his hands so he can get close. His cock twitches and throbs a few times before his stomach twists and white-hot goes over him. He starts to pour his cum into your core. You whimper his name drunkenly. He stays standing, pressed up against you and the glass. Dark blues shut tight behind thick black lashes. He resists the urge to go for seconds. His lips are parted as he pants. Adam's apple bobbing in the column of his throat.

“I think you can slip out now.”

Whispering back to him as your pussy starts to burn with discomfort and your limbs begin to ache.

"The doctor said two minutes, minimum.”

You whine, pressing your sweaty forehead against the glass. Watching the balls of snow pour down. Wondering if the kid you’re carrying in your womb is going to be a little Elvis or a little you. Wondering how Elvis will react to the positive pregnancy test you’ve had since last week.

#xreader #fanfic #smut #fluff #elvis presley #elvis presley x reader #elvis #send me asks #elvis presley x reader smut #elvis x reader #elvis presley smut #elvis smut #60s elvis #elvis presley x y/n #elvis presley x you #elvis presely smut

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finitevariety · 11 months

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have to say I really loved how Shiv brought up the waiter. Does she give a shit about him, or that Kendall killed him? Nah, not really. Will she weaponise it to appear more moral in the moment? Yeah, absolutely.

It's like she said to Mencken: she's flexible. She LARPed as progressive to get her career in politics and genuinely believed she believed all these things--it's easy to believe you believe nice things, when the shit you actually do care about isn't in conflict with those beliefs. But then she wrangled Gil and Logan into a handshake, and she played her card as a woman to silence a victim--and, by shooting the one with her head above the parapet, many more victims--of institutional sexual abuse. She has even hurt herself by sailing too close to the wind in her girlboss liberal lean-in shit sometimes, with her dinosaur cull comment at Argestes, or with overplaying the hand she thought she had at Tern Haven.

She was viscerally angry at having to take the photo with Mencken, and perhaps angrier still when ATN called the election for him. Not because he's a fascist, although he is, and not because she dislikes him--although she does! She was angry primarily because the photo nuked any chance of a political career for her going forward, and because the call for Mencken hurt her chances with Matsson.

Did she ever make any of that clear in the moment, though? No. She talked about fascism and morals and things do happen, Rome. It is easier to wear that cloak that sometimes helps her--the woman cloak, where she claims to care for the group that she belongs to and steps upon its members at the same time--than it is to admit personal rage or vulnerability. That would be hysterical, and grasping, and not CEO material.

Shiv's relationship with womanhood is like Peter Pan's with his shadow. She used to be able to cast it off, or feel like she could, and now it is sewn in to her very fabric: it's everywhere she fucking walks.

She hates that there is not a play she can make that will separate her from the group of women-who-experience-misogyny. And still she makes use of that group, because it's one of an increasingly limited set of options she has. She was never allowed to gain experience--so she's inexperienced, and implausible, and shut out. It's the treehouse, again, Kendall up there playing king of the fucking castle. Shiv must have spent some holidays like that: Roman might have stayed with his mom in England on shorter breaks from military school, and Shiv was left to snotty, whickering horses and fucking tennis, throwing rocks up at Kendall whenever she saw a limb emerge from a window or doorway.

Anyway, if Shiv can't have the high ground, at least she can try to claim the moral one when it suits her. That's what I see as the context for her jab about Andrew Dodds.

#succession #shiv roy #there's a bigger thing here about like. shuffling through things that are true and using them as the face or reason for a bigger truth #that is less virtuous or more painful to admit #and that's shiv all over too: s1 'we're adults' instead of actually even attempting to talk it out #that WAS her attempting to talk it out #'love is bullshit' and 'box set death march' instead of getting into why she's so afraid of vulnerability #i love shiv so much lol #and also: KENDALL DOES THIS TOO.#fuck the patriarchy! he shouts #playing rape me on the speakers #it just hits differently for obvious reasons and is miles more transparent and manic.#roman is the only one who's not doing the dance

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homomenhommes · 8 days

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STORY: Officer Cooper

by Brock Archer

Sirens screamed, lights flashed, police cars descended on the Eisenstadt house across the street, and cops swarmed all over the neighborhood.

I had just returned from my workout at the gym, still soaking in sweat. Usually, I shower at the gym, get dressed and go straight to work from there. I love to soak in the eye candy in the showers, and sometimes I even manage to get a blow job there. Once, I even fucked a guy in the steam room while four other guys stood lookout. I love public sex. That Friday morning, though, when I finished my workout I suddenly realized that I had forgotten my wallet, so I had to go back home to retrieve it.

I didn’t have to be at work until 10:00 that day, so when I got home, I grabbed a cold mineral water from the fridge and plopped down on the reclining sofa to watch some porn. I figured I might as well jerk off before taking a shower and heading out. I have my laptop hooked up to the TV so I can watch all the hot action on the 60” screen. I picked one of those Websites that shows short clips and automatically rolls over to the next one and stroked my cock through four or five videos when the storm hit.

When I heard the sirens, naturally I stepped to the window to see what was going on, and I wasn’t alone. My neighbors all up and down the street were stepping onto their lawns to see what all the commotion was about. Still clad in my sweaty tank top and gym shorts, I walked to the curb and, looking left and right, discovered that the street was blocked off in both directions. What the fuck? How am I gonna get to work?

I approached one of the platoon of cops blocking off the area around the Eisenstadt house to ask if I could get through the blockade to go to work.

“I wouldn’t count on it, sir,” said the handsome officer as he sized me up, lingering on my crotch. Oh, shit. I was still semi-hard from watching that porn and stroking my cock. Momentarily, he suggested that I go back home and call my employer to let them know that I would be detained for a while, possibly even for several hours. When I inquired as to what was going on, he simply said, “Go home, sir. Go home.” Now, I’m a reasonably big guy and well muscled, but he was bigger, and he had a billy club and a gun, so I did as I was told.

I called my boss at Costco to let him know that I would be late, and he was very understanding. Anyone who has ever been to a Costco knows that many of the men who work there are really jacked, and I’m no exception. We have to be strong to help customers load large items like appliances into their pickup trucks. And I had played sports all through high school and maintained my muscles through regular trips to the gym, so I was pretty hot if I do say so myself.

The porn flicks were still running on the big TV, so I watched a few more clips and headed for the shower. As I soaped my body, I lathered up my cock real good. I didn’t exactly pump it; I just played with it a little, but between that and the porn, I was rock hard. As soon as I turned off the water and reached for my towel, I heard the doorbell ring. I quickly wrapped the towel around my waist and scurried to the door, still dripping wet and still sporting at least half a boner.

Imagine my surprise when I discovered that same very handsome cop standing on my doorstep with the name Cooper sewn into a label above one of his pockets. He sized me up as he had done before, lingering a second or two longer on the bulge in my towel, before he finally spoke. “Is there anyone else in the house with you right now?”

“No, I’m alone,” I replied.

“You live alone in this big house? Forgive me sir, but you seem a bit young.”

“I’m 19,” I said, feeling just a tad put down. “I live with my dad, but he’s on deployment in the Middle East right now.”

“I see,” he said, not really varying the skeptical tone in his voice. “Would you mind if I come in and have a look around?”

“Do you have a warrant?” I snapped, getting a little annoyed with his attitude.

“No sir, but we have a dangerous situation here, and I really think it would good for your own protection if I had a look.”

“Dangerous?” I asked. “What’s going on? Are the Eisenstadts OK?”

“Your neighbors had a break-in last night, and we suspect that the intruders are the same ones who are responsible for several other burglaries in the city,” he explained. “The Eisenstadts seem to be OK, but some of the other victims have not been so lucky.”

For several seconds, I stood frozen in disbelief.

“Sir, may I?”

Looking over his shoulder, I could see that other officers had fanned out to talk to my other neighbors up and down the street.

“Oh, yes, officer, of course. Come in…please.”

I opened the door to let him in, but still somewhat stunned, I failed to step back far enough, so as he entered, he brushed up against my body. A tingling, erotic sensation shot through me as the thick hairs on his forearm tickled my bare arm and his upper arm scraped across one of my nipples. Attitude or not, this dude was fucking hot.

We live in a mixed neighborhood, mostly middle class, from lower to upper. The Eisenstadt house is a McMansion: 5 en-suites, a game room, home theater, resort-style pool, and so much more. Mr. Eisenstadt owns several jewelry stores, and I had to wonder if the burglars thought they might find some merchandise at his home.

The house I share with my dad is much more modest—a 3 bedroom, 2 bath ranch. We also have a pool, but it’s nothing compared to the Eisenstadts’. It’s not luxurious, but it’s home, and I’m grateful for it.

I trailed behind Officer Cooper like a puppy as he walked through the house, checking for possible criminals hiding out. When we got back to the living room, it suddenly hit me that I had left the videos running on the big screen TV. I had originally picked a video that featured hot jocks having an orgy in the locker room, but the video that was now playing showed leather guys gangbanging their boy in their dungeon. I quickly grabbed the remote and turned off the TV, but not before Officer Cooper got a good look at the screen…and again at my crotch, which had already started to balloon again. I muttered something akin to an apology, but I realized that I was just making a fool of myself. Hell, man. I’m 19. It’s my fucking house, and I have a right to watch porn if I want to, so fuck off. But instead of sounding like a man asserting his rights, I’m sure I came across like a blithering idiot.

Officer Cooper just flashed a dry smile and said he would like to ask me some questions if I didn’t mind. I sat down on the sofa and spread my legs as I often do before I realized that I might be exposing my junk to this stranger, so I quickly snapped my knees together. I offered the cop a seat, but he chose to remain standing, which meant that I was pretty much eye-to-eye with his crotch, which bulged out considerably from the pressure of his gun belt strapped across his lower abdomen.

“So, it’s just you and your dad here?” he asked. I explained that my parents had divorced when I was 14, and since I had already started high school here, I didn’t want to move across town with my mother. Frankly, I have always gotten along much better with my dad than with my mom anyway, but I didn’t tell him that.

“How well do you know the Eisenstadts?” he asked. “Did you observe any unusual activity in the neighborhood this morning? Have you seen any strangers around here lately?”

I answered each question in turn. “Not well. I see them coming and going, but I don’t really know them. No, I didn’t observe anything unusual. Strangers? Well, yeah, but that’s not unusual.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

I explained that I see handsome young men coming and going at the Eisenstadt house all the time. All the neighbors have taken note of it. Some have speculated that Mrs. Eisenstadt is entertaining them for her pleasure. Others have suggested that they are there for Mr. Eisenstadt’s benefit, but I don’t really know. “All I know is that they all look really hot.” Oh, my god! I didn’t really say that to this cop, did I? Oh shit!

“Hot?” he asked in that official droning voice.

“Oh,” I stammered, “I just mean that they look very handsome and well built…like the guys I see at the gym.”

“Like you,” he interjected. It wasn’t a question.

Caught off guard by that comment, I continued to humiliate myself in his commanding presence.

“Have you ever spoken to any of these young men?”

“Oh, sure,” I confirmed, a bit too quickly. “I mean, sometimes I pass them when I’m out for a run, and I just say hi. Just being neighborly, you know.”

“Of course,” he replied, but I could tell by the look on his face that he read more into my answer than I really wanted to reveal. I’m just thankful that he ended the inquisition there and didn’t ask me if I had ever invited any of the young men over to my house because the truth is that I have done that more than once. Their balls are usually pretty drained by the time they leave that house, but that doesn’t matter because I’ve always got plenty of juice to share. In case you haven’t figured out by now, I’m a total top. I don’t care if they can’t get it up because I can always get mine up, and all I want is their ass anyway.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” Officer Cooper said as he headed for the door, but before leaving, he turned, thanked me for my cooperation, and said that he might have more questions later.

I must admit that I had mixed feelings about the prospect of seeing him again. On the one hand, who wouldn’t want to see him again? He was practically a god—about 10 years older than me, I would guess, about 6’2” compared to my 5’10”, thick black hair on his head and arms and, I speculated, all over his chest as well. Even against his dark complexion, his mahogany eyes stuck out like my dick did when I first saw him. I’m jacked, but he was even more so: broad shoulders and chest and thick biceps that strained against the stretchy fabric of his police uniform, which also accentuated the most beautiful bubble butt I’d ever seen. I love a man in a uniform. I always thought my dad looked super hot in his army uniform, but this stud was scorching.

On the other hand, if I were to see him again, how would I react? Would I be my usual confident—some might say cocky—self, or would I melt and make a complete fool of myself again?

The second that I closed the door behind him, I went straight back to the couch and turned the porn back on, but this time, I selected a video featuring cops. None of the porn actors was as sexy as Officer Cooper, so as I watched the uniformed officers fuck away on the screen, I imagined that it was Officer Cooper in the center of the action…with me, of course. In no time at all, I was jizzing all over myself. I don’t make a habit of eating my own man chowder, but when it just happens to land in my mouth, what the hell am I supposed to do, huh? Time to take another shower.

It was nearly 2:00 p.m. when the cops began to disperse and open up the blockade, so I went to work. I really love my job. The pay and benefits are good, and I find the physicality of the work invigorating. It augments my gym workouts. Besides, I like getting hit on by the customers, quite a few of whom I have subsequently made “deliveries” to.

Because I had gotten in late, I chose to stay later than usual. My boss told me that I didn’t have to, but I felt that I owed it to the company to put in a full day’s work. Consequently, it was after 9:00 when I clocked out. I had been horny all day thinking about Officer Cooper and fantasizing about him with me in one of those porn flicks, so I decided to stop in at a video arcade before heading home. I was hoping to find a cute young sub to fuck real good, and there were several there who were eager to ride my big cock, but none of them really appealed to me. Just when I was about to give up, in walked a man who caught my attention. He wasn’t a twink at all…just the opposite. Dressed in a business suit and tie, he was at least as old as my dad—something that doesn’t usually appeal to me—but there was something about him that reminded me of Officer Cooper.

I followed him as he strolled past the private booths in the arcade, hoping he would enter one and leave the door unlocked for me to join him. Instead he walked out of that part of the store. I thought he was gone, but he stopped at the checkout counter and handed the clerk a $20 bill. I realized then that he was purchasing a ticket for the theater. I resolved then and there to buy a ticket myself and try again to seduce him. As he passed me, though, on his way to the theater, he smiled and, without saying a word, handed me a ticket. The sign on the door said “Admission $10.” He had bought two tickets, one for himself and one for me.

Inside the theater, I lost him for a brief moment as my eyes adjusted to the darkness. I stumbled down the aisles, bumping into several men and getting groped by most of them before I spotted him standing in a corner, half a dozen other men circling around him. When he saw me looking in his direction, he gave me an ever-so-slight nod that said, “Come here, stud.” As I approached, the predators dispersed and made an opening for me.

Without saying a word, I grabbed him and pulled him into me, assaulting his mouth with my tongue. I was so hungry that I tried to ram my tongue as far down his throat as I could. He responded by wrestling with my tongue and rubbing his hands frantically all over my back, arms, and chest.

As he started to remove his blue suit coat, I snapped, “Leave it.” In a strange way, his blue suit reminded me of Officer Cooper’s blue policeman’s uniform. I guess that’s what had attracted me to this gentleman in the first place.

As I backed him up against the wall, I removed his belt and used it to bind his hands behind his back, I imagined that I had cuffed him and was about to frisk him, which I did, patting him down before grabbing his crotch.

With his hands immobilized, I grasped his shoulders and pressed him down on his knees. Standing over him, I pressed my crotch into his face and gyrated against it. With my cock growing and straining to break free, I pulled down my jeans and shoved my cock and balls back into his face. He gasped at the sight of my 6” dong, which wasn’t even fully hard yet. Once my cock had grown to its full 8”, I pulled down his jaw and shoved my cock down his throat. He gagged and moaned for relief as tears began to stream down his face, but I kept skull-fucking him until I felt fully primed for the next move.

“Get up,” I commanded him, and when he stumbled, I grabbed the lapels of his coat and pulled him up. The circle of men who had dispersed when I approached had reassembled to watch my animalistic assault. I grabbed one of the twinks who had followed us into the theater from the arcade and threw him to the floor. “Hands and knees,” I ordered, and he complied promptly. Using the twink as a sort of bench, I bent the businessman over the kid’s back and pulled down his pants and boxers. I grabbed another one of the onlookers, pulled his face down toward the businessman’s ass and barked, “Lick it.” Once I was satisfied that my target’s ass was sufficiently lubricated, I shoved the licker aside and impaled the businessman with my cock. Naturally, he jerked and cried out from the pain, but I slapped his butt really hard and shouted, “Shut up. Shut the fuck up, bitch.” He tried in vain to squelch it, but he could not avoid whimpering as I drilled his ass raw. I pounded him hard, balls deep.

The kid we were using for a bench also squirmed under the pressure of my assaults, but I slapped his butt too, and he stiffened.

If they didn’t already have their dicks hanging out when I attacked the businessman, they did now, and all of them were either stroking gently or pumping away for dear life. I glared at one of them, first at his face and then at his cock. “Come here,” I ordered, and when he did, I grabbed the hair on the back of the businessman’s head and pushed it toward the eager bystander’s cock. “Fuck his face,” I commanded.

As the new guy and I spit roasted the businessman, the others dared to move closer, beating their meat for all they were worth. They were all as turned on as I was.

When my cock began to pulsate and I knew I was getting close, I withdrew, grabbed the businessman by his blue suit and threw him to the floor. “On your back, bitch.” And when the twink who had been kneeling beneath him tried to get up, I raised my foot and shoved him down also. “You too, kid.” With the two of them lying side by side on their backs and looking up at me, it suddenly occurred to me that the businessman was old enough to be the twink’s father...and mine.

I straddled my two perps, as I had come to think of them, and pulled the voyeurs into a close circle. As I began to pump my rod, I didn’t have to say another word. The guys got the message and pumped away to my rhythm. Pretty soon, we were all shooting all over the faces of the two men on the floor. After all the ejaculations, I grabbed one of the men from the circle, pulled his head toward my dripping cock, and yelled, “Clean it,” and when that was done, I pushed him toward the two cum-faced victims and directed, “Now theirs.”

As I zipped up and headed for the exit, I paused to look back and saw that other men in the circle had gotten down on the floor to help lick their faces and swap the cum among themselves.

Driving home, I kept asking myself what had gotten into me. I have always been dominant—no, I wouldn’t even go that far. I have been somewhat assertive when it came to sex, a take-charge kind of guy, but I had never been that domineering. But thinking of the man in the blue suit as Officer Cooper in his blue uniform had really gotten my juices overflowing, and I just felt like I had to pound it out of my system. It was almost like a self-administered exorcism.

On the drive home, I couldn’t get Officer Cooper out of my mind, which means, of course, that I drove home with a hard-on. As I entered my house, I decided to put on some porn, jerk off, shower, and hit the sack, but it didn’t quite work out that way. I did get through the first three steps, but just as I was stepping out of the shower, the doorbell rang—as it had that morning. And when I got to the door, dripping wet with nothing but a towel covering me, there stood the man of my dreams—or at least the man of my wet dreams—Officer Cooper.

To be continued

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celtic-crossbow · 2 months

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MarchWeres Day 4

Prompt: The Curse

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Tabby (oc)

Warnings: None

“S’not smart, Tabby.” Daryl tossed the rock he had been toying with, watching it skip across the surface of the lake before disappearing. The redhead at his side leaned over against his shoulder.

“I never claimed to be a genius.” She smiled softly and tugged on a thread trailing along the outside of a patch Carol had sewn into the thigh of his jeans.

“M’cursed. Ya don’t need that on top’a ev’rythin’ else in this shit world.” The archer looked down at the crown of her head, discreetly inhaling her scent as she chuckled. She was intoxicating and he was addicted.

“Who are you to tell me what I need? I’m a big girl.” She straightened and turned, sitting cross-legged with her shins against his hip. “It’s not a curse, Daryl. You don’t have to see it that way.” He scoffed, shaking his head, but sobered when her small hand covered his. “I mean it. I wouldn’t even be here if you hadn’t taken out half of that herd.”

The rest of the group didn’t know. For all his bravery, Daryl didn’t have the courage to tell his apocalyptic family his secret. But for Tabby? He’d set the world on fire for her. He didn’t think twice before shifting and clearing a path for her escape.

“Daryl, look at me.” With visible reluctance, he obliged, the weight of his dilemma wearing away at the sparkle in his eyes. It made her chest ache to see him so despondent. It was time that he knew. “I love you. Do you hear me?” His jaw dropped, mouth opening and closing before shutting completely into stunned silence. Tabby placed her hands on either side of his face. “I love you. There is nothing about you that could ever be a curse. Nothing. You’re one of the best things in this world and I’d be proud to call you mine.”

Daryl could do nothing but stare for a moment. He loved her. Of course he did. It wasn’t love at first sight, that shit was for fairytales but over time, building a friendship and earning trust and respect had shifted into something deeper. Maybe he could have something good in his life.

He nodded, swallowing hard. When his eyes closed, he felt exalted, newly alive and impossibly whole. “Then m’yours.”

Maybe he wasn’t cursed after all.

#marchweres #marchweres2024 #day 4 #the curse #murda writes #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x oc #the walking dead #werewolf au #werewolves #werewolf daryl dixon

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bearwriting · 11 months

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Mended

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Summary: Bruised and bloodied, you end up with the last person you'd thought you'd turn to, and you’ve got a delivery to make.

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: stitches, brief mentions of torture

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Blinking awake, you were acutely aware of the searing pain that felt like a blanket over your body. As your eyes adjusted to the light, you realized you had no idea where you were or how you had gotten there. You remembered the frost giants and you remembered managing to escape, but you didn’t remember this shithole motel and why was Mad fucking Sweeney asleep on the floor next to the bed?

He stitched me up, you remembered. You’d shown up at his door, half dead, and Sweeney had sewn your ruined flesh back together, but you couldn’t remember how you’d found him. Lucky guess? He usually holed up in dingy places like this. It must have been some weird combination of fate and luck that you ended up where he was.

Sliding out of bed as gingerly as possible, you moved to step around the sleeping leprechaun but found yourself gripping the nightstand in an effort to stay standing as a wave of dizziness passed over you. When you finally managed to haul yourself to the bathroom, you looked at yourself in the mirror and winced. Unsurprisingly, you looked…well, to say you looked like shit would be putting it nicely. A bruise had bloomed across your cheekbone in garish hues of purple and black, already turning a sickly yellow-green at the edges. Your lower lip had been split clean down the middle and, looking at the stitched wound across your face, you were surprised you still had two eyes.

You gently prodded the dental floss stitches, regretting it instantly as pain shot through your head. To his credit, Sweeney’s stitches were much neater than you’d expected. There would still be a scar, that was for sure and certain, but you supposed it wouldn’t be as awful as it might have been.

Probing your ribs, you winced. Once again, it seemed that luck had been on your side in that none of them felt broken, but they were most definitely bruised as all hell.

You knew you needed to assess the extensive damage to your back. You knew you did. If anything, just to get an idea of how long it would take to heal, but the idea of being faced with exactly how badly the Jötnar had rocked your shit made you want to curl into yourself. It was one thing to see the bruises and the stitches on your face, that you could deal with. Hell, the scar would honestly look kind of cool, you figured. But your stomach churned imagining what the skin of your back might look like. It wouldn’t look cool, it wouldn’t look badass. All it would do would be to serve as a reminder that you just weren’t fast enough. You weren’t good enough and you’d let them catch up to you. Fuck.

Bracing yourself, you carefully, slowly attempted to angle yourself so you could see your back in the mirror and inched your shirt up. Nausea rolled through you, an awful oily feeling at the back of your throat at the sight of the shredded skin. These stitches were tighter and cleaner than the ones on your face, and a lump formed in your throat as you remembered how careful and gentle the Irishman had been as he’d worked. You remembered the feel of his calloused hands on your face and your eyes burned with tears.

You released the hem of your shirt and let your head fall forward. With the way the stitches were catching on the fabric, you knew you’d need a bandage. Honestly, you should’ve had one anyway and you needed one for your face too. The last thing you needed was an infection, but there was no way in hell you could clean and bandage it yourself. Your face, sure, but your back? You weren’t even going to bother trying.

You padded back into the room and kicked the ginger giant’s leg. He snuffled in his sleep and rolled away from you. You huffed in annoyance and aimed another kick at his ass, this one with a little more force behind it.

One green eye cracked open and he peered up at you blearily. He was annoyed that his first reaction to seeing you out of bed and standing was to check you for torn stitches and just generally fuss over you to make sure you were okay.

“If the next words out of yer mouth are to tell me how shite my stitches are, I will pull them out and make you do it yourself,” he grumbled, sitting up and scrubbing his hands over his face.

You refused to rise to his bait. “I need you to bandage the stitches on my back. I can’t reach them and they keep catching on my shirt.”

“A please would be nice,” he muttered, but still he rose to his feet and followed you into the bathroom.

You only scowled at him as you tried to lift your shirt enough so that he would have space to work, but your back screamed in protest and your stitches pulled. A hiss escaped through your teeth as you tried not to make a sound, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of showing weakness. Before you could say anything, he had hitched your shirt up himself and was applying antiseptic and gauze, his enormous calloused hands once again displaying the impossible gentleness they had shown the night before.

The silence in the bathroom as he worked was tense and smothering, but stubbornness dictated that you absolutely could not be the one to speak first.

Eventually, he broke the silence.

“Gave me a right scare, showing up at my door like that,” he said quietly as he taped down the gauze on your back and turned his attention to the stitches on your face. “How’d you even know I was here?”

You made a noncommittal noise. “Maybe your luck’s rubbing off on me.”

His eyes met yours. “Maybe.”

The intensity of his gaze began to make you itch and you looked down at the counter and began to toy with a roll of gauze.

“What did this to you, anyway?” he asked.

“None of your business.”

His hands stilled. “You made it my business when you came to me for help. Whatever did this could show up at my door.”

You glared at him in the mirror. “I stole something for the old man.”

He looked at you expectantly.

“I stole something for the old man, and it turns out that frost giants don’t love it when people take their shit, even was the old man’s to begin with.”

He blinked. “He sent you in there alone?”

You snorted. “Like he hasn’t done it before.”

Sweeney’s lip curled. The idea of Grimnir putting you in a position where this could happen to you made him more upset than he thought it would. “What’d you take?” he asked.

“Now that’s really none of your business.”

He rolled his eyes. “So they caught up with you but didn’t get what they were looking for?”

You shook your head. “I hid it until I could shake them and circle back for it. Worked out real well for me.”

“How long did they have you?”

You shrugged. “A couple days? Maybe a week.”

He stared at you incredulously. “And the old man didn’t send anyone to look for you?”

“Why do you care?” you snapped.

“Because if I go missing, I wanna know if anyone’s coming for me or not.” Now he looked away from you, suddenly very interested in the tiled floor. “Besides, you’re my friend. I don’t want you to turn up dead.”

That took you off guard and now it was your turn to stare incredulously. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t make me say it again.”

“Since when are we friends?” you demanded.

He looked at you like he wanted to hit you. “Dunno, maybe when you showed up covered in blood and half dead because you quote, ‘didn’t have anywhere else to go.’ Besides, at some point, I figured it would be easier to be friends if the old man was gonna keep pairin’ us up.”

At this, you laughed in his face. “Was that before or after you abandoned me in Tennessee? Or the time you literally almost let me get flattened by a steamroller? Or—“

“Enough!” he snapped. “You made yer point. I don’t know when it happened and trust me, I'm no happier about it than you are, but you…you’re my best friend.”

You pointed at him. “I’m your only friend. That’s not the same thing.”

He scowled. "It’s enough for you to ask me to save your life, apparently.”

“After everything, it’s the least you could do,” you said. “If I had anyone else, I would’ve saved you the trouble.”

Hurt flashed across his face before it was replaced with another scowl. “Fine. Next time I’ll just let you bleed out.”

“Good,” you snapped, “glad we got that sorted.” You shoved past him out of the bathroom but stumbled as a wave of dizziness almost drove you to your knees. On instinct, you grabbed for Sweeney, and his arms were already encircling you, keeping you upright.

“See,” you said weakly, “you can’t even let me fall and I'm supposed to believe you’d let me bleed out?”

“Shut up,” he muttered as he hauled your arm around his shoulders and half-carried you back to the bed.

Once you felt steadier on your feet, you snatched your arm back. “Look, thank you for fixing me up, but I have a delivery to make.”

He made a disbelieving sound. “You’re not serious.”

You raised an eyebrow and you had never seen a man look so exasperated.

“The Jötnar are after you and you can barely stand!” he argued.

“And I have an obscene amount of cash waiting for me once I get the old man his trinket,” you countered.

Sweeney looked at you, your jaw set and a mean glint in your eyes, and knew he wasn’t going to get anywhere trying to argue with you.

“I’m coming with you,” he said eventually.

You scoffed. “Like hell.”

He glared at you. “I'm s’posed ta meet the old man at Jack’s anyway. And like I said, you can barely stand by yourself. No way you make it there alone.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he had already hauled your duffel over his shoulder and was halfway out the door. When he realized you weren’t behind him, he turned back to face you.

“Well? I don’t have all day,” he drawled.

You gave him the dirtiest look you could manage, but he hadn’t left you much choice.

tagged: @imaginethatneathuhpartdos @sparklypandemonium

#hope y'all don't mind that i tagged u i tried to get the people who asked abt a part 2 lol #if you did and ur not on here lmk!#mady sweeney #american gods #mad sweeney imagine #mad sweeney x reader #mad sweeney reader insert #american gods imagine #american gods x reader #american gods reader insert #bear writes

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lovelyladyabsinthewrites · 1 year

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A Mouse in a Lion’s Den Pt.4

Pairing(s): Rhaegar Targaryen x Lannister!Reader, Jaime Lannister x Cersei Lannister Warnings: childhood trauma, emotional/psychological abuse Words: 2786 Summary: Lannister Lions descend upon King’s Landing Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18

Book One of Heir of Ash and Fire

Even being a daughter of the man who supposedly shit gold you had never seen such a beautiful dress. Not even the one you had worn at the Lannisport tourney. There were red gems sewn against the white fabric that shined when the light hit it. You didn’t even want to lay a finger on it, afraid that your touch would dirty it.

Rhaegar chuckles behind you. “I’m guessing it is to your liking?”

Dumbly you nod. “It’s. . . It’s beautiful Rhaegar.”

Lords and ladies all over Westeros were coming in flocks for your wedding. King’s Landing was filled with a multitude of different banners. It made Aerys even more nervous to where he hadn’t come out of his personal chambers for days.

You noted your own family had yet to arrive. Would Tywin not even attend your wedding?

Jaime had tried to reassure you that even if you weren’t his favorite, Tywin would still show up. The Lannister and Targaryen families were merging after all. It would be incredibly disrespectful for Tywin not to show up even if his relationship with Aerys was strained. The Lord of Casterly Rock was not a man who would ever dare of sullying his family name. He had Ilyn Payne’s tongue ripped out for even spreading the rumor that he defecated gold.

You hoped Jaime was right not because you wanted to see your father and older sister or anyone else, all you wanted to see was Tyrion.

Rhaegar leaves, having business to attend to as well as to let you try on your wedding gown. You wished he would’ve stayed a little bit longer but you weren’t left alone for too long. Jaime had entered the room as your hand maids were tightening your bridal corset.

You were about to greet him but an aggressive pull on the lace has you gasping. Jaime chuckles, his armor clanking slightly as he moves inside, his pristine white cloak fluttering behind him. A few of the maids blush and hide their face at Jaime’s presence. You had grown used to it though.

“You’re usually busy at this time of day.” Wheezing you try and steady your breathing.

“One of the other guards is filling in for me. It’s not too hard to protect someone who won’t even leave his room.” Jaime rolls his eyes. He shooed away the maids and they scurry along to give you and your brother privacy. “It makes my heart weep to see my baby sister in a wedding dress.” His tone is heavily laced with sarcasm that makes you twirl around and shoot him a playful glare.

“You never seemed attached to your baby sister before.” The most you could tell of Jaime’s affections for you in your childhood was that he tolerated you more than Cersei. No matter what he would always be on Cersei’s side. Even when she was in the wrong, which happened to be all the time. Cersei was his favorite. She was everyone’s favorite. Except for Rhaegar’s. That much you were sure of.

Cupping your elbow, he brings you closer to his gleaming chest plate that you could see your reflection in. “Of course I was attached to my little sister.”

You realized you had never been as close to him as you were now. You caught the fine features of his face, the elegant chisel of his jawbone and his perfect nose. “Funny, you never showed it. You always let Cersei do whatever she wanted.”

“Do you really think she would listen to me? You forget she is older than me as well and doesn’t take too kindly to being told what to do.”

He had a very good point. Even so that didn’t change the fact that he hardly ever intervened or took your side.

Tilting your chin up you look away from him. It hardly mattered anymore. “I guess you’re right. Not even father could ever get Cersei to do what he wanted.”

“Only mother ever got Cersei to listen to her.” Jaime muses and nods.

Softly you smile. “Sometimes it seemed that mother could do anything. Beautiful and kind and smart too.”

“Just like you.”

It made you scoff. “No. Mostly like Cersei.”

Taking a step toward you Jaime sighs. “Cersei is a lot of things but she was never like mother. She’s her own person.”

Wandering away from Jaime your gaze falls on the tall mirror that reveals you in your magnificent wedding gown. You felt a little shameful for being so happy that Cersei would also never be Rhaegar’s bride. Something that terrible didn’t deserve Rhaegar.

She got so many other things, but she would never have Rhaegar.

He didn’t understand what was going on. Jaime had always seen (y/n) as his sweet baby sister. Someone who needed to be protected.

Now he couldn’t explain his feelings for her. Of course Jaime still saw (y/n) as someone who needed protection yet things seemed different now. Since her arrival she continued to surprise Jaime. Sometimes it would be the way her eyes fluttered to focus her attention on him or the subtle touch to his forearm as she would laugh brightly at something that had happened. Or the coy little blush that would dust her cheeks when she was near Rhaegar. That made Jaime’s insides burn. It was like when he saw another man looking at Cersei in an obviously lewd manner. Cersei loved the attention she got from other men which made things harder for Jaime; as if loving his sister wasn’t hard enough. (y/n) was completely oblivious though. There were a few knights and squires that Jaime had caught oogling her. Not his little sister had noticed. She only had eyes for Rhaegar.

Illustrious Rhaegar who was perhaps only marrying her out of pity.

It was all starting to get on Jaime’s nerves. And he couldn’t explain why except. . .

The very thought made Jaime take a deep breath and try to banish the very idea. It couldn’t be. What kind of sick joke would it be if he was attracted to his little sister? Jaime had never thought it weird that he was attracted to Cersei. They were two halves of the same whole. She was a part of him. But (y/n)? It was weird yet somehow made sense to Jaime. Cersei being the independent girl that she was didn’t like any suffocating affections, much like a cat, and would only go to Jaime when she felt like it. (y/n) had always been his though; had always needed him. The poor girl craved for his love and attention. She had constantly sought shelter behind Jaime.

It was too out there though, even for Jaime. Being in love with both of his sisters. . . He laughed bitterly. Cersei would definitely not enjoy that news. She was still upset over (y/n) marrying Rhaegar. She didn’t like losing out to her little sister. Cersei never did quite get over that (y/n) had been Joanna’s favorite; not that Joanna had ever said it out loud or shown favoritism but everyone knew. It was an unspoken truth that made Cersei resentful toward (y/n).

Jaime shuddered to think what would happen if Cersei were to find out about his new attraction. No one was to know about this. Every time he saw Rhaegar and (y/n) together though made Jaime’s lips press tightly together in an attempt to suppress his angry snarl. He hoped that this feeling for (y/n) would pass. It was just brought on because he hadn’t seen her in years. That’s what it had to be. Once he saw Cersei he would no longer feel attracted to (y/n).

That was another reason why he got so excited when he saw the flying red banners with golden lions embroidered in the middle.

His fingers twitched at the thought of weaving them into Cersei’s wealth of blonde hair.

Then the nagging fantasy of running them through (y/n)’s racked his imagination further.

Jaime had to keep still in his position as King Aerys was now willing to exit his room just to get a glimpse of a man who had once been his Hand. Not out of courtesy but cold contempt for the Lannister lord.

“The lions have descended upon King’s Landing.” Aerys mutters to himself. He was constantly talking to himself or ghosts. Jaime couldn’t decide which one creeped him out the most. Each was equally disturbing.

One of the many things Jaime had learned from being in the King’s Guard was to tune out Aerys’ demented ramblings. It took him a while and had felt difficult to do at times, especially when Aerys besmirched the Lannister name, but it made his job easier when he could turn a deaf ear.

“Rhaegar better not be wrong about that little Lannister bitch.”

Muscles spasmed and Jaime literally had to bite down on his tongue, clenching everything together to stop himself from attacking the king he was sworn to.

That was one thing he couldn’t ignore. He didn’t like it when anyone called Cersei anything distasteful, he absolutely could not stand it directed at his sweet, baby, sister.

Jaime knew that if (y/n) had heard, it would wound her deeply. Her gentle heart would take it seriously.

“They’re almost within the gates of the Keep, your Grace.”

Aerys groans. “Very well.”

It was no use. Rhaegar couldn’t help the stretching of his grin as he watched (y/n) run from window to window to catch a glimpse of her family’s banner. She was like a bird fluttering from branch to branch and tweeting a happy song. He enjoyed it most when (y/n) was so happy. A burst of sunlight in his otherwise cloudy world. She lit up a room with her smile and actually made him laugh! Rhaegar had forgotten the last time he had genuinely laughed before meeting (y/n). He hadn’t known how much a distraction she would be; a good distraction. There were dark things to come in his life that would surely lead to spilled blood. Yet (y/n) was able to keep his mind occupied and away from what he would have to do in the near future. In the Dragonstone archives she would keep him company or venture out to where the sand met the salty ocean and sit with him; listening to him play the harp. If Rhaegar insisted, (y/n) would even bring her own harp and try to play along with him to the best of her ability. He knew each string so well that he didn’t have to look down at his fingers when he played. Instead he would look at (y/n) as she kept her eyes trained on her tiny digits. Her eyebrows scrunched together as she concentrated on the placement of each finger. She had grown immensely since the Lannisport tourney. (y/n) had grown yet still remained the same somehow. She could still be shy but in certain situations she had a level head and was confident. Acting serious when need be then laughing once the moment was over and it was just the two of them.

He didn’t regret the decision to marry her yet he couldn’t get rid of the image of a certain northern lady that he had met in passing. A girl with a cold beauty to her looks and a sharp tongue. A lady that could very well hold her own against any man. Those gray eyes that drilled into anyone who dared look too long. She was like the very ice of her land. The chance glance had been for just a few moments. Nothing more, nothing less. Yet Rhaegar felt bad for feeling something for another woman. It was obvious that the young Lannister girl was infatuated with him. (y/n) trusted and adored him. How could he betray his mouse? He helped her out of darkness. He wouldn’t so easily thrust her back into it.

(y/n) struggles to peer past the glass. “I hope Tyrion is down there!” She says with wavering hope. He detected the worry and desolation as she must already be preparing herself for disappointment.

“I’m sure he is. Your father is aware of the position you’re in now. He wouldn’t dare do anything to displease the future queen.”

She snorts and although it’s meant to be derisive, Rhaegar finds it adorable. “He does things to displease Aerys all the time. And on purpose too.”

Sharp as a tack too. Rhaegar chuckles; her family didn’t give her enough credit. At Casterly Rock she had been an observer while everyone else dismissed her. She listened to the talk and scheming that went on without ever being noticed. (y/n) was aware of how power worked. She knew the rules to the game of thrones. That was the one way she was like Tywin. He had unknowingly taught her. Not that she would do anything with the information. She wasn’t ready to be a hands on player quite yet.

Soon though she would have to participate. Whether she was ready or not.

Until then Rhaegar would do his best to shield and protect her.

Gingerly he tugs at her arm and immediately she turns to face him. (e/c) eyes staring up at him with complete adoration. “Shall we go welcome your family, princess?”

He knew it would make her blush and sputter. “Me? Princess?”

Rhaegar hums. “Technically yes. You’re going to be my wife which will make you a princess by proxy.”

“A princess, huh?” (y/n) replies quietly. “Never thought I would be a princess. . .”

Chest warm, Rhaegar leans into her which was a little tricky to do considering that she was smaller than him. After all this time she’s still surprised by his bursts of affections.

The golden family. They looked powerful, just the three of them together. Each holding the same unwavering green eyes that challenged everyone and anyone to look upon their glory. Then there was you.

Your heart sank when there was no sign of your little brother and you felt your throat tighten. You knew Tywin wouldn’t dare to bring Tyrion because he felt ashamed of him. Shame and resentment for killing his wife, not that it was Tyrion’s fault.

Shooting your eyes down to the ground you try everything in your power to stop yourself from crying there on the spot. You would show them how much you had grown. You would fight through the pain.

You didn’t bother to hide your disappointment at seeing your father and sister only. Other factions of the Lannister family had arrived to see you wed but didn’t have the honor to see you before the pre-wedding breakfast. That honor was only for your immediate family. Which unfortunately was merely Tywin and Cersei.

She was stunning, just like Jaime. You half worried if Rhaegar would change his mind and decide to marry your sister instead.

“I’m happy you could make it.” You say although the words come out emotionless. The words were merely out of formality. Just like you knew the last place your father and sister wanted to be was at your wedding.

“We’re all happy you could make it.” Rhaegar says as well, matching your tone although he managed a detached smile.

One stormy day at Dragonstone the two of you had gone back and forth describing the terrible things your fathers had done.

It was painfully obvious to the other onlookers in the room the hostility that made the air almost unbearable to be in.

“Of course.” Tywin speaks up. “This is a proud day for the Lannister family.” You never did like the way his eyes would look at you, as if you were still somehow disappointing him.

“I see you are missing a son.” Rhaegar bravely brought up the fact of the missing Tyrion.

Cersei makes a face before looking at her father’s reaction. Tywin, as per usual, plays it off cooly. “As requested by your grace the prince I have brought him.” He didn’t seem to happy about that fact.

Rhaegar doesn’t let up. “We fail to see him.”

“He has been sent up to our room along with our luggage. I thought it best that he stay there to have a. . . private reunion with his sister.”

In other words Tywin didn’t want anyone to see him.

At least he had brought him. You look up hopefully to your fiance who smiles down at you and nudges you. “Go and see him. I’ll finish up here. Ser Connington, will you escort my lady to see her little brother?”

The redhead seemed hesitant to leave the prince’s sighed but reluctantly followed you as you fled from the Great Hall.

#reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones fanfic #Game of Thrones fandom #asoiaf fandom #asoiaf fanfiction #asoiaf fanfic #asoiaf reader insert

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munsins · 2 years

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Music Boy - Eddie M.

Summary:After multiple failed dates and relationships you’ve given up dating all together until you bump into a cute metalhead at the music store you frequent who also happens to be the towns outcast.

Warnings: fluff, Eddie and reader being nervous and awkward, Eddie being Eddie

Characters: fem!reader, Robin Buckley, Eddie Munson.

FEEDBACK IS GREATLY APPRECIATED!!

You slide your lunch tray across the wooden table and sit down with your chin in your fist. "Listen, your dating life isn't that awful, you'll meet someone y/n." Robin says her mouth moving at 60 miles per second as she slides in next to you. Your dating life has been the hot subject since second period, but it's not the enchanted Disney movie you'd expected it to be. In fact, it's the entire opposite

You murmur, poking at the mystery meat on your lunch tray, "I don't know Robin, maybe I'm destined to be alone forever." Every date or relationship you've ever been in has been awful; the people were either trying to get in your pants or were just outright douches. You've experienced everything Hawkins has to offer and you don't want to live some depressing life with two kids, a husband you don't even love, and a house on the end of a cul de sac, “Listen that’s a bunch of bull and you know it I mean there’s nothing wrong with not being in a relationship.”

“Easy for you to say you're dating Vicky,” Robin shrugs her shoulders while grinning apprehensively. As she places your fork on the lunch plate, you roll your eyes at her in a huff. “You'll still find someone, so don't worry,” okay, yes. When it came to discussing your love life, Robin was constantly upbeat, and you were appreciative of her positivity since it gave you a lot more confidence in your ability to meet someone.

Before the conversation continued the bell rung signaling everyone to move on to their next class “so what are you doing after school” Robin gets up slinging her bag over her shoulder “just the usual wallowing in my own sadness and self pity” you shrug your shoulders with a sarcastic grin, Robin tilts her head at you and groans in response “fine, fine I’m stopping at the music store to get a few things then heading home” you and Robin begin to exit the cafeteria, the stench of sour milk and cheap imitation meat leaving your noses “sounds like a y/l/n afternoon to me.”

Robin sends you a smile and a wave before heading into class and you into yours, you take your seat at the back of the classroom slouching into your chair and fiddling with your pencil drowning out whatever bullshit the teacher is spewing out.

———

You enter the small music store in downtown Hawkins, opening the door as the bell above it chimes, and the aroma of the store and the tranquil music fill your senses giving you serotonin, You typically stop by whenever a new album by your favorite band is released or just to browse what they have in stock and pick what you like. The music store was moderately busy, with only a dozen or so people hanging around, mostly customers trying to get their hands on anything by Madonna, Bowie, and The Beatles.

However, you typically find yourself exploring the back of the store where all the vinyl and tapes from metal/rock bands lie mostly untouched. Your fingers skim through each row gently as your mind is entirely focused on finding something you fancy; as a result, you hardly notice anyone approaching you until the loud sound of squeaking shoes startles you out of your reverie, "Woah, holy shit, didn't mean to scare you." A tall boy with long hair and tattoos all covering his arms appeared in front of you. "No, no, you're okay." You talked softly, taking in more of his little features, like the maroon vest he was wearing with his name sewn into the top corner and pins of metal bands scattered on the fabric also the tag gun tight in his ring clad hand.

You look away from his hand and toward his eyes to see that he is still staring at you in shock. "I'm sorry I just didn't expect to see anyone back here well, there is the usual old head but I've never seen you here," he smirks as he approaches you while pulling vinyls from the stack tagging them. “Can’t say that I’ve seen you here either, usually it’s Otis manning the register.”

He peeks at you and your intent demeanor as you continue to flip through the rows of vinyls, "Yeah I'm new and Otis is out today I'm surprised he trusts me to take care of things by myself," he says with a huff as he tags the scarcely touched records. You pick out a Led Zeppelin album and chuckle to yourself, "That's a nice one, I have it on tape back at my house." You look up to find that he is now paying close attention to you, "Oh yeah? Which Led Zeppelin song is your favorite?”

You grin broadly as you rock the record back and forth, "wow, you're really putting me on the spot right now." Eddie leans against the shelf, deep in thought, "can't say that I have a favorite; I like a lot of their songs, but a favorite very hard." His mouth widens into a toothy grin as you return the smile, his smile lines becoming more obvious as his eyes crinkle slightly, "oh boooo cmon, really you don’t have a favorite?” You mock Eddie while tilting your head back sarcastically.

You both share a genuine laugh it soon dying down as you both get lost in each other’s eyes, You can't recall the last time you actually connected with a guy like this; typically, guys talk about themselves and the girls they want to bone (you, sadly, being one of them), but this brief interaction you had with him was one of the most sincere interactions you've had thus far, despite the fact that you didn't know him all that well.

Eddie soon blinks out of the trance shaking his head in embarrassment “I’m uhh, I’m Eddie by the way” he eagerly extends his hand for a handshake. “yeah I know it’s embroidered into your vest there” you point at the white stitched name on the vest “oh yeah right it is my bad” he bashfully raises his hand to the back of his neck rubbing it while avoiding eye contact with you.

You fumble around with the record in your hand and say, "I'm y/n," as Eddie raises an eyebrow and smiles slightly. "You go to Hawkins high right? Friends with Robin Buckley?” "Yes I do, and uhh yeah I'm friends with Robin she's basically my ride or die," you confess. "I'm not like a creep or anything like that we have a mutual friend group outside of school and one of the guys we're friends with is in my party," Eddie says, a tiny nervous blush forming on his cheeks.

“Your..party?” Your brows furrow at him, "oh! Yeah, I play Dungeons & Dragons with my friends; it's kind of like a fantasy game," Eddie says, rambling on about the foundations of his game and how he serves as their dungeon master.

“I’m surprised you’re even talking to me with me being the town ‘freak’ and all” he air quotes around freak as he rolls his eyes “I’ve heard your name through the halls and your tittle of freak devil worshipper but I’ve never believed it since I didn’t even know you at the time” Eddie gives you a sincere smile; he likes knowing that at least one person outside of his friend group doesn't see him as the terrible things people call him, whether it's to his face or through the halls.

You never agreed with what everyone called Eddie you’ve seen him around school but it was mostly for a split second none the more you always thought he was just misunderstood I mean if Robin knows him then he can’t be a terrible person.

You and Eddie chat some more, talking about music, school, just anything, standing in this music store talking to Eddie has been better than any date that you’ve been on, he was funny, charming, and passionate about the things he love “well I don’t wanna hold you up any longer so how about I ring that up for you and you can be on your way” He gestures to the record in your hands, and you look down surprised you're still holding it because you've been completely distracted by him “oh uhh yeah sure” you and Eddie walk towards the front of the store as he makes his way behind the counter.

You take out your wallet and give him the cash, "Oh, and keep the change," you say with the same grin that he had before. You're not sure what made you so anxious, but something about him made your heart beat quicker and your palms all sweaty. Eddie delivers you the record in a bag, and you shyly wave at him as you head out the door, "Hey, wait up!" You're caught off guard as Eddie leaps over the countertop and approaches you, "I know we just met and you can absolutely shoot me down, but I was umm wondering if you'd want to maybe go on a date?"

In anticipation of your response, Eddie crosses his arms over his body while fidgeting with the hem of his vest. Maybe this was your opportunity to finally have a successful date and possibly even develop a genuine relationship. As you continue to be silent, Eddie becomes anxious, "If you don't want to, that's great. I'm not trying to pressure you into anything; I just thought you were pretty and we like the same music." Eddie begins to ramble fiddling with his rings, his shyness making you smile “yes Eddie I would like to go on a date with you” Eddie stops his rambling as his eyes meet yours.

“Wait, really?” His eyes beam with a big smile on his face “oh shit uhh let me give you my number” He pats himself down in an effort to locate his notepad, then gestures towards the rear room “g’me one second I think I left it in the back” after that he darts towards the back which you assumed was Otis’ office and the break room, his head pops back out as he jogs towards you his loose curls bouncing as he walks.

He takes out a pen from his back pocket and writes down his number before handing you the piece of paper “here, uhh give me a call when you want no pressure of course and we can talk about that date” his excitement warms your heart, It's not often that a guy is this excited to go on a date with you, you admired his excitement so maybe this time will be different. “yeah I’ll definitely call you don’t worry” you pocket the piece of paper as you fiddle with the bag in your hand.

You glance up to find Eddie still grinning at you with his huge silly grin still covering his cute face. He shakes his head once he notices that he’s staring "Oh yeah, uhh, I'll see you later. Maybe at school or here again. Hopefully soon." You look down making eye contact with him through your eyelashes “don’t worry you’ll see me again Eddie” he smiles at that piece of information “Great, bye y/n.”

He gives you an open mouthed smile as he fiddles with the pen in his hand, you walk backwards towards the door with a wave before turning around and walking home. As you were leaving, though, you caught a glimpse of Eddie pumping his fist in the air in celebration , which made you giggle.

You've never made a guy as nervous as Eddie was, and it was cute. As you walk the remaining distance home, all you can think about is Eddie—when you'll talk to him again, whether he'll pick up the phone when you call, and so many other things. But the main thing was his smile—that big idiotic smile he mostly kept on his face the entire time.

———

You plop down on your bed kicking your feet in the air as you hold the phone up to your ear “Wait so you genuinely like this guy?” Robins muffled voice speaks through the receiver “well I don’t know if I like like him I just think he’s cute and kind and cute..” you trail off as your overly broad smile causes the apples of your cheeks to ache. “you already said cute y/n and you met him in the music store?” Robin shared the same amount of enthusiasm as you did “yeah! And he actually has good taste in music” you shift into your side playing with the hem of your shirt.

Robin ooo’s “so who is this cute, kind guy with good music taste” She pry’s making you smile even harder which you didn’t even know was remotely possible “his name is Eddie, you might know him he said you guys had a mutual friend group” You wind the phone line around your finger, “wait, Eddie as in Eddie Munson!” Robin squeals making you chuckle, you felt like a 14 year old girl talking about her crush to her friends at a sleep over “yeah he’s actually really sweet” you coo making Robin fake gag “well he seems kind of dorky and weird to me plus he always smells like cigarettes” you scoff and smack your lips “yeah whatever Rob” you chuckle.

You and Robin talk for another 20 minutes before she calls it a night and goes to bed. You’re sat on your bed reading a book, your eyes drift from the pages and to the little piece of folded paper, you grab it opening it to see Eddie’s phone number written in a messy and hurriedly manner a skull with heart eyes scribbled next to the digits, you peak at the clock it being 10pm you contemplated calling him afraid he might be asleep and you’ll be on the phone with an angry and sleepy Eddie.

The notion fumbles about in your head for another ten second before you pick up the phone and dial the number, the phone rings as you grow more anxious with each buzz it goes of for a while before you begin to feel defeated and give up until the phone stops ringing “Munson residence, how may I help you.” His voice is deep and raspy when he speaks into the receiver causing you to remain speechless “hello?” You snap out of it stumbling to speak. “Oh, uh hey Eddie it’s me y/n from the music store” your voice was gentle and nervous.

“Oh y/n hey!” You hear shuffling on the other side of the line causing your eyebrow to quirk up. “Wasn’t expecting you to call tonight” you can feel his smile through the phone which causes you to smile aswell “yeah I didn’t wanna seem desperate but I found the courage to call so here I am” you say, and he offers you a laugh in return.

You guys continue to talk throughout the night as it gets later and later. The conversation switched between various topics such as music, random stories from your childhoods, and you even learned that he's in a band, which you think is cool. He plays you a little bit of something he’s been working on before you eventually drift off to sleep with the phone steady on your pillow. Eddie soon notices the light snores and smiles to himself.

Before getting comfy in bed, he stretches his body, the noises of muted movement can be heard from your side of the line

He murmurs softly, "Goodnight sweetheart," before putting the phone on his bed and smiling as he closes his eyes letting the peacefulness of sleep soon consume him.

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #stranger things #stranger things fic #Eddie Munson x f!reader #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #female!reader #eddie munson fic

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silverypebbles · 7 months

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Sol's place in the WQAU, and what happened to Hollyclaw

To get some stuff out of the way, Hollypaw never trained as a medicine cat and was instead apprenticed to Thornclaw, becuase of that Poppypaw gets shuffled to Birchfall as a mentor. Dovepaw of course goes to Ashfur, Lionpaw gets Brightheart, Ivypaw gets Sorreltail, and Jawpaw wasn't forced to be a Medicine Cat because of his disability, he chose to of his own will, so he gets Leafpool.

Another thing, Dovewing, Lionstorm, and Jayfeather are the three. Jayfeather learned about the prophecy at the end of The Sight, but he didn't tell his siblings and he doesn't know which of his siblings are "the three".

Also my po3 memory is a little hazy so if I leave something out of make some shit up blame that.

Hollypaw's first encounter with Sol was during Dark River, as opposed to Eclipse. She only sees his sillouette on the moors, so she only actually talks to him in Outcast when she runs into him while out of camp. Sol is friendly towards Hollypaw, and she finds it fascinating that a cat can live without the warrior code guiding them. When the rest of Thunderclan hears of Sol barely a quater moon later, he tells Leafpool and Jaypaw about the eclipse, and Leafpool does not take this well.

She basically calls him The Antichrist and sends him away from Thunderclan and tells him to never return (she has a reason for acting this strongly about Sol btw I might make a post about that later). Hollypaw does not take this well, but her mentor, Thornclaw, scolds her after finding out she had ties to a cat outside the clans and didn't tell the clan or drive him away. Hollypaw realizes how much she's been thinking about Sol's free way of life and she is horrified at how much she secretly wishes she could live like him. Thornclaw's influence made her canon code-obsession even worse, and now she's internalized her strictness so much that her happiness at the idea of leaving the clans makes her feel disgusted with herself.

However, Jaypaw wants to know more about the eclipse, he needs to know more (this is because of some shit going on with Rock), so he convinces Lionpaw and Ivypaw to help him find Sol, and Hollypaw "begrudgingly" tags along, strictly to watch her siblings of course. No other reason.

So the siblings don't find Sol, but Hollypaw catches his scent near the top of the border with Shadowclan, but she doesn't manage to tell her siblings on the walk back to camp. Also Jaypaw is lowkey losing his mind at this point becuase of Rock flinging him back in time and giving him like 6 strokes in a week, his brain is spliced with Jay's Wing (Jaypaw isn't a reincarniation or whatever he's got going on in canon, Jay's Wing is just some poor guy who gets his soul ripped out and his mind torn apart and sewn back together with bits of Jaypaw's brain in the mix). That isn't super relevant but it's cool so I wanted to mention it.

Anyways, Hollypaw sneaks out of camp afew nights later to find Sol, even though she knows it's wrong. She finds him in a makeshift camp just outside the Clan territory meeting with Blackstar and Littlecloud. She tries to listen in but she is discovered by Sol and he welcomes her into his temporary home. Blackstar lashes out at him for allowing a Thunderclan apprentice to stay, and he takes Littlecloud and leaves. Hollypaw tells Sol about Jaypaw's interest in the eclipse and she wants to know why Leafpool was so immediate with her banishment of Sol.

He seems to be purposely skating around that, refuting her questions with questions of his own, ones that seem to know more about her and her kin than even herself. As Hollypaw's fur starts rising with anger, he turns to her with a glint in his eyes.

Sol tells her about the prophecy, and how she is a cat destined for greatness, even according to Starclan themselves. Hollypaw doesn't know how to feel, happy that Starclan hasn't punished her for her code-breaking? Or afraid of the raw power of the stars in her very paws? Should she even believe this loner? She gets overwhelmed, Hollypaw bolts, running through the forest, and back home to Thunderclan camp.

So then we get to the start of Eclipse. Hollypaw is actively avoiding places where she thinks Sol could be, she has also been thinking a lot about if she should tell her siblings about the prophecy and which of her four littermates could be the other two cats. She sees Sol crossing into Shadowclan territory with Russetfur and Littlecloud.

Then Windclan breaks into Thunderclan's house and beats up some people, but instead of nobody dying in the initial raid, Hollypaw snaps Leaftail's neck. She basically shuts down after realizing what she's done and as the Windclan cats turn and see their clanmate dead at her feet, Hollypaw wonders if the power of the stars could mean the power of life or death. Leaftails brother, Antpelt, attacks her and almost rips her throat out before Firestar's confrontation with Onestar stops the fighting.

Windclan leaves, with their last words about Thunderclan not being real warriors ringing in her ears. Hollypaw stays back at camp while the other cats go out to make sure Windclan has left the territory, still in shock from you know, murdering someone (Ivypaw gets to be the one who runs to Blackstar instead). The rest of the battle is normal, with the eclipse happening and everyone freaking the fuck out and running home.

Eclipse basically pans out as normal after that, but Shadowclan announces their revoking of Starclan like immediately after the eclipse instead of a moon or two later. Hollypaw after seeing Sol with Blackstar decides to tell Jaypaw about what Sol told her, and Jaypaw confesses that he's known for moons.

Hollypaw tells Lionpaw and Ivypaw, keeping it from Dovepaw because Hollypaw knows she'll go straight to Ashfur with that knowledge, and Jaypaw tells the siblings about his empathic abilities.

The rest of Eclipse happens basically the same with the warriors of the litter getting their names, Hollyclaw, Lionstorm, Ivypool, and Dovewing.

Hollyclaw's stuff in Long Shadows happens the same as canon except for the ending which I talked about in my Dovewing post. So Ashfur and Dovewing are dead now and Hollyclaw needs someone to blame, especially knowing that her very existence is against the code now.

When she and her siblings confront Squirrelflight about it she confesses everything, and Hollyclaw later asked Brambleflower if he really knew the whole time and she tells him that it would be against the code for her to perpetuate his lies. Brambleflower realises that Hollyclaw plans to expose everything and he tells her that if it's going to come out, then he will be demoted from deputy and his reputation will be ruined.

He tries to guilt trip her into not saying anything, but it has the opposite effect, with her deluding herself into thinking he's going to reveal everything and paint himself as an innocent victim in the situation. She's become paranoid about the code, and after all, he helped orchestrate their faked upbringing and he is one of the few cats who knows about it.

Brambleflower is found dead in the river the day of the gathering, and the book ends.

Sunrise is basically unchanged but with Brambleflower's death being investigated and Brightheart taking his place as deputy. Hollyclaw threatens Leafpool with deathberries, but is stopped by Ivypool and Jayfeather. She flees the camp and shows up at the gathering after a few days of being missing to reveal their true parentage (and Breezecloud's because Leafpool tells her about her relationship with Crowfeather when trying to persuade Hollyclaw not to poison her). Hollyclaw runs into the tunnels after leaving the clans in shock and is crushed by the collapsing tunnel, leaving Lionstorm, Jayfeather, and Ivypool as the last survivors of their "litter".

So that's all for Hollyclaw! I tried to stay within the outlines I made in my earlier posts but I did end up retconning Squirrelflight leaving Brambleflower. She still never really loved him becuase their relationship was built on a facade and she would have left regardless of his death.

Also Jayfeather (as mentioned earlier) has lost a lot of his mental stability due to Jay's Wing and is struggling to handle his clanmates new attitudes towards him when Squirrelflight announces she's moving to Shadowclan. Jayfeather thinks that even if it's not for long, staying in Shadowclan with his adoptive mother would help him come to terms with it all, so that's why he decides to leave with her.

If you have any questions, or any characters you want me to make overly long posts about just lmk ^^

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jedimaesteryoda · 5 months

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Brown Ben Plumm tells Daenerys a story from his youth that explains his reason for his defection to her enemies.

Came upon this one corpse, some axeman had taken his whole arm off at the shoulder. He was covered with flies, all crusty with dried blood, might be why no one else had touched him, but under them he wore this studded jerkin, looked to be good leather. I figured it might fit me well enough, so I chased away the flies and cut it off him. The damn thing was heavier than it had any right to be, though. Under the lining, he'd sewn a fortune in coin. Gold, Your Worship, sweet yellow gold. Enough for any man to live like a lord for the rest o' his days. But what good did it do him? There he was with all his coin, lying in the blood and mud with his fucking arm cut off. And that's the lesson, see? Silver's sweet and gold's our mother, but once you're dead they're worth less than that last shit you take as you lie dying.

The lesson Brown Ben got from that experience is to put his survival first above the bottom line, and he chose what he believed to be the winning side.

However, there is another lesson in that story that Plumm missed. All the gold sewn into that jerkin made it "heavier than it had any right to be" and likely slowed the sellsword down on the battlefield. The sellsword's love of gold kept him from enjoying it. The lesson is that greed can lead to a sellsword's downfall.

Brown Ben Plumm will accompany Daenerys to Westeros, and become embroiled in the second Dance of Dragons. If he mounts a dragon, likely Rhaegal, his ambition and greed may also grow. He likely may defect to her enemies again, her betrayal for gold, in a parallel to the Two Betrayers. In a violation of the lesson he cited, he goes over to the side without dragons, the losing one for the promise of gold. The greens would likely offer him a prize like Casterly Rock for his defection, the biggest store of gold in Westeros. Of course, they only want his dragon, and like Ulf the White, likely serve him, fittingly, poisoned Arbor gold. He won't live to enjoy any of his promised rewards anymore than that slain sellsword he found.

#asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #house targaryen #free cities #a dance of fire and ice #a dance with dragons #brown ben

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day0walkersdrafts · 6 months

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Benny can tell it’s bad when Lark isn’t saying anything.

The truck rocks back and forth as it speeds down an abandoned back road, jostling them together—Lark, crouched behind Benny, arms underneath his, holding him upright. His mouth is close to Ben’s ear, heavy breathing tickling his skin. It’s not unpleasant. Sort of distracts him from the agony in his leg. There is no descriptor for that sort of pain; his teeth chatter and his whole body twitches and his hands feel numb and distant. It is so blinding that he keeps snapping in and out of consciousness. Awake and then dark, awake and then dark. Sweat pours down Benny’s face, gets into his sensitive eyes, drips off his nose and chin.

The smell of blood is nauseatingly strong. The copper of it is inside his mouth, on his tongue. When his tunnel vision focuses, it’s on all the wet spread of it across his pant leg. He can see white. He can see bone.

“This fu-fucking blows,” he manages in a desperate sort of a whisper.

“You’re alright—it’s gonna be alright, Ben—you’re alright—”

Which is what they say when you are most certainly not going to be alright.

—

He survives surgery. He does not survive his girlfriend.

“Stupid,” Nomi seethes, bent over him. Tears drip off her chin. Her shaking, pale hands are clasped into the scratchy white cotton blanket so hard that tendons stand out in her wrists. She’d painted her nails recently—a pretty teal color. She’d sent him a photo and everything. Now there’s big chunks missing, like she’d picked at them nervously while Nick had rearranged his shin into something resembling human shape.

“It should have been your neck.” She catches herself on a sob, falling closer to him on the hospital bed. Her dark blue hair is wild and messy—she has no make up on. Looks more disheveled than he’d ever seen her. Benny lifts a hand and cups her cheek, which is rosy in color and soft, just like the petal.

“Next time,” he manages in a husky whisper, and he’s happy to at least hear one laugh before the painkillers yank him right back under.

***

He dreams, shockingly, of Benji.

It should be Maran. Or Lark. Or Matilda—Nomi. Even Xavier, who sometimes flits between that softened house husband version of himself and the terrifying Shadow who had stalked through warzones with a sledgehammer. Who had smiled with blood between his teeth. It could have been anyone; random mercenary, the Doctor who had sewn his leg back together.

But instead, it’s Benji.

“Couldn’t ‘ave dodged that shotgun blast?” Benji’s asking, Benny’s leg hefted across his lap. He has a medics bag open, a sewing needle and hospital grade thread pinched between gloved fingers.

They’re inside his childhood bedroom. A corner room in a shit apartment, size of a closet. Mattress on the floor, too poor for a dresser so he folded his clothes and put them on the floor. Little line up of dinosaur toys on the windowsill. Benny’s breathing so fast and hard it’s making him dizzy. The lights aren’t on, but he can see Benji in the dark perfectly.

He slides the needle through Benny’s blood-wet skin. It doesn’t feel like anything except pressure and a tug.

“Cold,” Benny whispers. “That’s cold, Corporal.” It makes Benji snort, black eyes flickering up from his work. He’s watercolor thin in the dream, hazy at the edges. Not altogether there, because Benny had been afraid to really look at him back when they’d all visited. Benny had felt ashamed and curious and awkward and more than anything, he’d felt seething jealousy.

The door to his bedroom creaks open, the sound painful inside his skull. Light from the hallway spills in around the silhouette of his father, who is just a tall, dark Shadow with two white dots for eyes. Benny’s chest starts moving faster, his hand reaching for Benji. He can see the belt in his hand, unfurl, like a snake.

“Benji, go faster,” Benny whispers, his voice thick and wet. “Please. Please.” The heavy sound of his fathers foot steps are similar to mortars going off in the background.

“If Xavier had, back then? Where do you think Maran would be?”

I don’t want to think about that, I don’t want to imagine that, what do you want, for me to say sorry? Look at you, you got the happy ending, it’s fine, it’s fucking fine, stop judging me, I was just scared, I am always just scared, and it hurts! It hurts!

“Oi, this fuck,” Benji laughs. “Loser never could pick on someone his own size?” He tilts his head over his shoulder, chin petulantly tucked. He raises a hand, pantomimes a gun, thumb cocked back. The Shadow of his father raises that belt and Benji clicks his tongue.

They’re in the hospital suddenly, Benji in his SAS uniform, legs kicked up and resting on the bed. His hands folded over his stomach now. Benji smiles—Benny, shamefully, remembers just that detail about him the most because Benji had been really fucking pretty when he’d smiled at Xavier.

“Thank you,” is what Benny thinks he manges to say, but consciousness sort of blows through him just like the shotgun blast to the leg.

***

“I have to leave soon,” Nomi says, sitting on the edge of the bed. She’s fluffed and arranged his pillows over seven times now, but he lets her because it seems more nervous habit than anything else. Something to do with her hands. Benny blinks tired eyes, his hand settling softly onto her tapered waist. He squeezes, just to feel his own strength. She playfully swats the hand, but she’s smiling, so he knows he’s fine.

“Why?”

“Flight leaves in five hours and I haven’t got shite packed, swear. Always leave it for last minute—but you know me. Can’t help it.”

Benny follows, but he’s still dizzy, tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He gives her another gentle squeeze and Nomi slides forward a bit. All things considered, Ben’s upper body was fine—bruises and cuts and nothing more. It was just that stupid right fucking leg that’s suspended in air by a sling. He hates looking at it, but there isn’t much to look at if Nomi isn’t in the room.

Matilda had drawn something obscene on the cast just to get him to smile.

“Where are you going?”

“Liverpool.”

“Jealous,” Benny laughs, eyes shutting. It’s not the first time since landing in the base hospital that he’s imagining Maran. Actually, every single night he slips to sleep he tries imagining Maran. Since that first dream of Benji, he’s either not dreamed at all, or things have been blurry, nothing to remember. He wants one dream of Maran, of his smile, or his hands, or the way he dresses, the smell of him.

“Right, well, don’t need to be. Bringing him here.”

“You’re fucking what?”

Ben sits up straighter then, bracing a hand on the bed to give himself leverage. Hospital equipment beeps in the background. The room is dull gray but private—this isn’t a main base of operations. It’s sort of like a giant storage shed, like a safe house that people bunker down in. He’s only ever been to this one a few times.

Nomi’s light brown eyes blink, her hands pushing against Benny’s shoulders to force him back down flat. He’s shocked that she manages—couldn’t fight her way out of a wet paper bag, but he’s so fucking weak that he crumbles at her touch.

“Nomi, y-you can’t bring Maran here.” Panic makes his voice reedy and high pitched.

“He’s worried about you.”

“You c-can’t bring him here.” He gestures with a desperate hand to the door. Outside, he knows there are men with guns. Women strapped with knives. Little specialists and snipers and—and military things. Violent things. Benny’s chest tightens, constricts on his lungs like a vice. He closes his eyes to the feeling, pressing a hand to his forehead. “He’ll—this isn’t—you know why he—”

“Give Maran credit,” Nomi snaps, her dark, prefect brows knotted together. She’s frowning at him, so pretty still. Rolls her eyes and flaps a hand toward the door he’s indicating. “And this isn’t even like, one of the active bases. Listen, he’s worried.”

“You sh-shouldn’t have told him anything.”

Nomi stands then, her cheeks darkening to a crimson color. Her eyes narrow, all the pretty light brown disappearing. He’d not even noticed she was in jeans. A t-shirt. She wouldn’t look like herself, if she wasn’t so herself all the time. Benny blinks up at her, feeling a cold dread inside his stomach.

“You’re wretched for that, Ben. Proper fuckin’ wretched—and should be ashamed. You think he doesn’t have a right to know? Or see you? What is he then? Just a lad you screw once in a while for fun?”

“No—”

“Because if you’re thinkin’ of him like that, then stop thinkin’ of him at all.”

“Jesus, Nomi, I’m not—”

She’s crying again, little ones that weep down her cheeks prettily. Benny feels the weight of his shame and guilt like a car’s rolled over on him. Compressed to the littlest thing. He holds out a hand—and for a moment, he’s horrified she might not take it. Horrified, but also, that he’d deserve her walking out the door. She isn’t wrong—it was a disgusting thing to say.

But she does take it. Her hand is small and soft as it slides across his palm. She steps a bit closer. The clicking sound of her heeled boots is so comforting.

“Promise not t-to repeat this,” he says quietly. “’Cause y-you’re right, I’m a f-fucking bastard. But, I want t-to say it to him. Not that he hears it f-from you. I know you two fucking t-text all the time.”

“He’s funny,” she mutters defensively. “He sends me cute animal pictures.”

“I love Maran,” Benny continues. He watches her blink rapidly, tears like little gems dropping off her round, soft jaw. He feels one land on his hand. It’s not too dissimilar from the expression she’d made when he’d confessed the very same thing to her; in a hotel they were sharing, directly after the Shadows had combusted. He’d said it, and she’d stared at him, with those giant, pretty eyes.

“I w-want to see him, but I love him—and I don’t w-want him—I just don’t want him to—I want him to b-be okay. And—this is all pretty fuckin’ weird.”

There was dating a mercenary and then there was seeing into that mercenary’s life. A year ago, when they’d first come together, getting Maran to leave his apartment for a food truck down the street had been difficult. There was so much substantial progress; he would fucking kill himself if he was the reason it all got ruined. Him and his broken leg and this mercenary hospital-safe house-not base.

Benny swallows hard and lays his head back against that seven time fluffed pillow. He closes his eyes and feels an odd prickling behind the lids. His cheeks are hot and feverish, even though the rest of him feels so, so cold.

Nomi’s cool hand touches his forehead.

“It’ll be alright, Ben.”

He believes her more than he’d believed Lark.

—

Benny turns out to not…really be that wrong, however.

Maran throws up before even getting on the train. Nomi pretends not to know he’s thrown up, because she wants to afford him that dignity, but it’s also obvious—and his hands are shaking when he hands over his ticket to the surly red capped man on the train. She thinks, not for the first time, that maybe Benny was right. That pushing something like this was actually horrific of her, that she was in the wrong. That she was being awful.

But when the train starts moving, he settles a bit. Leans with his forehead against the glass, shoulders rising and falling sort of heavily, but evenly. Nomi sips her tea from the little paper cup. Extra creamy the way she likes it.

“Maran,” she says, getting his attention. It goes to her so quickly that it kind of makes her dizzy. Like he was just waiting for her to want him; and she feels guilty about that too. Don’t you know, I want you too? I want you to want my attention. I want you, have I not made that obvious? God, I want you. She licks tea from her lips and sets the cup aside.

She goes to sit beside him, which sort of shoves them together some. It’s not unpleasant—for her anyway. He has a boyish scent to him, like the soap he uses is the same from his school years. She wants to draw her hand over his short hair. Christ, she wants to kiss him or something, really. But he’s blinking at her.

“Can you tell me about something?” she requests, pulling his hand into her lap. It’s clenched until she wiggles her fingers between them. All at once, he softens entirely. Like he was a clenched muscle that’s only just relaxing. Nomi holds his hand up to her lips, eyebrows raised, smiling.

“Oh,” he says, laughing. “Nomi, I’d—I would tell you anything.”

“Can you talk to me about Benji, then?”

“Benji?” Maran laughs around the name; he has such a familiarity in saying it. Like it was a reoccurring word his whole life. Benji, Benji, Benji. Nomi grins, presses a swift kiss to the tops of his knuckles. Her dark maroon lipstick smudges a bit there, leaves a cute little tattoo of her. His cheeks flood with color, the same color, she thinks. It makes her—God, it makes her love him for a moment.

“He’s like—well. Benji’s where it all started, yeah? Xavier met him and then everything changed.” She shifts a bit, gets comfortable. Tucks a leg underneath her. Pretends not to notice that Maran’s eyes fall right to her thighs and then back up with innocence. She continues holding his hand.

“I’ve never met ‘im. Been sort of afraid to.”

“You?” he says it and then seems to immediately regret it.

“I get scared!” Nomi laughs. The sound seems to ease him even more, which makes her ego feel full and buoyant. “He scares me. Not like him. But—it all began with Benji. If you trace it all back, the whole thing, roots go to Benji. Xavier and him. So—could you talk to me about him?”

There’s a long pause where Maran looks at her. He’s taller, so she has to tilt her head up to look at him. She thinks about kissing him again. The feel of his lips on hers. So different from Benny’s. So similar, in that it has this right sort of feeling. He wets his lips with his tongue and then looks down, smiling.

“Benji,” he starts.

And doesn’t stop for the whole train ride.

—

“I don’t care how fucking cute he is,” Matilda says, standing outside Ben’s room. They both look through the windowed door. They watch, together, as Maran folds down on top of Benny. His shoulders shake. Nomi feels like they should turn around and give them privacy, but Matilda is planted firmly, eyes narrowed. “You are better than me.”

“You do not think that,” Nomi replies with a sarcastic snort.

“If Lark had a boyfriend, I would string him up.”

“Lark doesn’t,” Nomi says, fully turning her back on the scene. She leans against the door. Shuffles until she’s covering the window—Matilda stares at her with flat eyes. “You know it’s not the same.”

“So what is it?” Matilda asks. Her posture relaxes, arms unfolding. She puts her hands on her hips, face taking on a more concerned expression. It doesn’t really suit her—but that’s why Nomi loves her so much for it. Because it doesn’t suit her, but that she feels it for Nomi anyway. Concern. Worry. Care.

“Complicated, I guess,” Nomi says, looking down at her hands. She’d completely peeled all her nail polish away. “But,” she lifts them then and laces all her fingers together. “I think we’re figuring it out, yeah?”

“No,” Matilda replies. But then hooks her arm around Nomi’s and begins leading her elsewhere. “But if it works for you.”

If it works for all three, Nomi thinks. All three.

—

“I can’t believe yo-you were on a train,” Ben says, grinning. Maran’s eyes are slightly puffy, his cheeks and nose red from crying. He’d burst into it almost immediately at seeing Benny in the hospital bed; which had done things to Benny’s heart he didn’t want to think about. Now he sits, almost in the exact same place Nomi had been the day prior. Both of his hands hold one of Benny’s. They’re sort of too big to get away with that, but he’s warm and comforting and making it work.

“Only thought I was going to die maybe once,” Maran admits in a soft, humored tone. He sniffs here and there, remnants of tears still clinging to his gorgeous eye lashes. Benny’s free hand sneaks over and squeezes his thigh.

“Thanks,” he finally says. There’s a catch in his voice. He clears his throat. Benny’s eyes bounce around the room, stray to and from Maran and then he finally closes his eyes. “Maran, thank you for coming—”

“Can we kiss?”

He laughs out, the painkillers making his head foggy and dull. Benny’s hand squeezes Maran’s thigh again, eyes painfully peeling open. His head sags to the side on the pillow. For a second, he’s accidentally bewildered at the sight of the other man—here, in the room with him. Outside his apartment. In his silly SEGA shirt, his eyes rimmed and red. Hair freshly bleached. Benny’s heart speeds up, the monitor on the side traitorously beeping and making Maran glance at it.

“Am I doing that?” he asks, in a shockingly smug voice. Benny lifts his hand from Maran’s thigh and hooks a finger into the collar of his shirt.

“C’mere, you fuckin’ brat,” he whispers and pulls them together to kiss.

—

All three of them are on the outskirts of the base, looking at the thick line of trees. It’s middle of nowhere vibes, but pretty instead of spooky. Reminds Ben, for a moment, of Xavier and Benji’s dumb little house in the woods. He drags on his cigarette, tilts his head back to blow smoke up into the air.

“Bleh,” Nomi huffs, swatting it away with a gloved hand. It’s not even that cold out, but she acts anemic and pathetic. Sniffs here and there. Nomi and nature don’t get along too well.

Maran, in opposite, treks from the edge of the woods, holding up a leaf the size of his head.

“I’m keeping this,” he says confidently.

“No one can stop you,” Benny replies. He shifts a bit on the wheelchair. Maran comes to stand in front of him, twirling the leaf by the stem and smiling. He has that smile on—the one that Benny usually only sees in confidence. In his bedroom, late at night when he’s talking about something he’s fond of. When they’re together, watching a show, when they’ve just got done fucking and Maran is looking blissed out of his mind and—well, Benny sort of hopes, it’s love. That he’s got love in that smile.

“Doctor says I h-have to uh,” Benny leans down to stub the cigarette on the ground and then awkwardly tuck it into the top of one combat boot. The cast on his other leg makes wearing two impossible. “Maybe—might need help getting around and all that. For a bit.”

“He’s trying to ask if he can stay with you for a while,” Nomi says. Benny glares over his shoulder at her, and she responds by sticking out her tongue. When he swings his head back to look at Maran, he’s bludgeoned by the look on his face. It drops quickly, like he might be embarrassed by it; but for a moment, Maran had a look of pure excitement. He schools his expression to something neutral. Which, for Maran, is actually still a bit of a smile.

“Yeah, basically,” Benny says unceremoniously, tossing his hands up into the air.

“I think he’s just trying to get you in a maid dress,” Nomi sighs. “Don’t let him boss you around too much, babe.”

“You can.” Maran steps forward, that silly leaf still in his hand. “If—I mean, if you’re serious. You can—my place. For however long.”

The wind sort of whips around them just then. It makes Nomi’s hair fan around her. She couches, as if hiding behind the wheelchair to get away from it. Hands curled over the edge, looking at Benny with big, glossy eyes. Maran steps forward too, tucks an arm around his face to save it from the biting cold. Benny doesn’t do anything. He just sits there, in wonder. Awe. Looks down at his casted leg—there’s still that filthy weird drawing Matilda had put there.

“Yeah, I’d like to.”

“Say no to the maid dress,” Nomi quips.

“And you can visit,” Maran says, his smile bashful. “Right?”

Nomi, stunned into silence, only manages to nod. Benny slings an arm around her shoulder, yanking her in close to kiss the top of her head and make her howl with annoyance. She wiggles free, dances toward Maran, tucks herself behind him. Holds onto his biceps and glares around his shoulder.

“He’ll be awful and annoying the whole time, Mar.”

Benny loves watching Maran’s face when she uses the nickname. He loves—oh fuck, does he fucking love them.

#benny #maran #nomi #good taste #benny x maran #nomi x maran

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evanpeterspeter · 2 days

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Part 2

I wake up to the sounds of my roommate slamming stuff and making such a ruckus. I groan and shift around feeling very un-rested. Probably due to working myself out a little yesterday moving things.

I wanted to know what he was doing, so I get up and slowly walk to the barrier between us. I see his shadow becoming bigger.

"Shit!" I said in a loud whisper.

He slides open the door aggressively and stops when he saw me.

I gasp softly and step back.

He looked at me with a nasty expression and immediately storms out the door, wearing a jock like jacket with his camo ripped backpack that has rock band patch decals sewn to it.

I let out a sigh of relief and hold my chest, feeling my heart racing.

After a long day of the boring shit in school, I can finally work on my actual major. I look around feeling unsure of where my classes are at. I found the performance arts/music building! I feel somewhat reassured knowing what building to head to.

As I walk by the music room I hear some loud rhythmic clashing sounds from afar. As I got closer I started to hear the music from a drum set. I walk up to the door to see my roommate and I am shocked. The way he was playing made my heat flutter a little bit, seeing how effortlessly and how passionate he was. The way he looked with his damp hair and the sight of him biting his bottom lip in concentration, swaying his head around, made me feel butterflies in my stomach.

"Wait..why am I feeling like this.." I grunt in frustration. "He's just my dumb ass roommate." I said in a slight whisper. I turn around, just to be startled with the rest of the band right there waiting for me to move out the way.

"What did you say?" Said the girl in the band. "Don't talk shit about him! He'd beat your ass if he wanted to." She said in a threatening tone.

I start to back off, but felt a bump right behind me. I turn around and see one of the other band mates. He was strong and built.

"Watch it sugar tits" he said with a wink.

I grunt "Don't call me that!" I look down to see that my shirt started to show some cleavage. I blush and storm off immediately. I hear laughter in the distance as I speed walk my way to my class with a red face and watery eyes.

It's after 5 and I'm STARVING! So I decided to make some beef stroganoff in the crockpot. Later in the afternoon,the aroma of the crockpot filled the room. I heard keys jingle from the outside. I quickly knew it was my roommate and I felt a little bit of anxiety run through my chest. I take a couple deep breaths and focus on making some salad on the side.

My roommate opens the door and immediately get hit by the smell of fresh home cooked food. You could see him slide a soft smirk on his face as he takes a deep breath in of the food. He lets out the air through his mouth, then placed his bag in his room.

I decided to gain some confidence and offer him some food. I was scared about what his band mates had said about him. I hesitantly knock on the door panel and softly open the door.

I saw him taking off his shirt, only to see his toned body with a soft tan to him. I also saw that he had tattoos all over his arms. As he was taking it off I saw a small bit of the top of his boxers, peeking through the elastic of his sweatpants, also showing some of his dark blonde happy trail. He tosses it into his "hamper" aka the floor. He looked at me slowly opening the panel.

"Yes?" He said in a very unintentional hot voice

"H-hey.. I made some food. Would you like some?.." I swallowed with what it felt like a big lump in my throat.

He looked over and walked past me. He heads to the very tiny, so called "kitchen" that we have, he opened the crockpot, only to have a faint smile and looked at me. "Beef stroganoff?" He said in a very relaxed but stern voice.

"Uhm...yeah." I said while I felt my face tingling. I didn't know if it was being flushed or embarrassed. Oh but his soft smile. I saw the small indents of his dimples.

He looked over at me and nodded. "Yes." He walked towards the cheap glass bowls I got a dollar tree.

He sits them down and grabs a serving spoon, placing them in the bowls.

"O-oh I could've gotten that." I awkwardly smile at him.

He hands me the bowl of soup and the salad I had made for the both of us. After he handed it to me he looked at me in the eyes and said softly. "My name is Evan.." he heads towards his side and shut the panel door behind him.

"Wow he finally has a name" I said sarcastically to myself.

"I heard that." He had said from the other side

I become flushed and immediately shut up.

Part 3 (slight nsfw ahead)

It's been a week, and Evan hasn't spoken much. School is getting busier and I'm starting to feel home sick. Luckily it's the weekend! Though I have rehearsals

With my class this week. Auditions are coming up for a big show.

I grab an energy drink and a couple granola bars for today. As I head towards the front door, I hear a faint groan coming from the bathroom.

I start to over think and think that he's hurt or maybe he fell in the shower. I put my binder of music sheets on my bed with my backpack next to it.

I very softly knock on the door and I move the handle. I noticed it was unlocked and I slowly open it.

"Evan? Are you okay?" I said. My eyes widened at the sight of him, his arm holding himself up against the wall while he's slightly hunched over, with his head tilted forward. His eyes were closed as he let out soft Moans. I look down to see his hand wrapped around his member, jerking it at a fast pace.

I immediately gasp and my heart fluttered at the sight of him.

He opened his eyes and got startled, causing him to immediately cover himself. As he tried to cover his member with his hands, he ends up accidentally leaning back and then slips backwards.

He lands on his back and bottom and he groans in pain of the impact of the fall.

I immediately run towards him and shut the water off. "Evan! Are you okay?!" I jump in the shower stall and try to get him up. As I leaned over to grab his arms, him member rubbed against my chest. I instantly let out a quiver, from the feeling. 'I've never had gotten so close to a man. Or even a man's..uh.. you know.'

He winces in pain as he pushes me away from him.

"Get away from me." He said in a strained tone. I back off and started apologizing frantically.

"Evan I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to startle you!"

He immediately gets up and cover himself up in a towel. "Why are you barging in here, on me showering?!" He said aggressively.

I step back. "I heard some noise and I wanted to see if you were okay."

He furrowed his brows and scoffs. "Just get the fuck out!" While pointing at the door.

My eyes water and I immediately hurry out the bathroom.

The whole day I couldn't stop thinking about the sight I saw of him touching himself. It not only gave my heart a flutter, I got butterflies, but also butterflies somewhere else. 'No. I don't like him! He's an asshole!'

I shake my head. 'God y/n! Stop thinking about it!'

As I pass by the music room I hear some alternative type of music and I immediately felt drawn to it. I go to the door and peek through the window. 'It's him again!' His band was playing and they were playing really well.

It's a well known song most know. 'The pretender, by Foofighers' I smile softly, loving that song and I start to hum it.

I see Even peek up as the drums slow down and he caches a glimpse of my eyes, locking together. I couldn't look away. It's like, I was mesmerized by his sharp, dark brown eyes. My heart feels a slight flutter to it.

They finish the song and I see him get up. His face full of sweat and his hands slightly covered in blood and sweat. 'It's probably from how much he's been playing all day, especially practicing.'

He swings open the door to look at me. "What do you want? Aren't you done stalking me?" He said in a somewhat serious tone.

"I-.. I just heard you guys play and I.. I thought you did a great job. I like that song..."

He tilts his head. "You listen to alternative rock?"

He said more calmly. "You listen to things other than cheesy broadway music?" He said teasingly.

I roll my eyes and scoff. "I have taste you know!"

He gives a slight smirk. 'Oh. my. god.. he has dimples. Such.. beautiful dimples.'

"Sureeee you do." He taunted.

I playfully smack his chest. I quickly thought about what his band mate said. I start to regret what I did. "Sorry."

He has a stern look to him and then chuckles. "You want to see my mates?"

I smile and follow him.

#evan peters x female reader #evan peters #evan peters smut #evan peters imagine #drumming #alternative rock #pov #evan peters x y/n #Spotify

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proudfreakmetarusonniku · 7 months

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Whumptober Day 3: Isolation and Overstimulation

Disc finale bad ending AU. Studying the effects of Tommy's hypersensitivity after revival, Dream uses the fear of being alone Tommy has to be allowed to preen his wings, despite the sensory overload of revival. Warnings for hypersensitivity and sensory overload, some body horror with revival, abuse, torture, manipulation, isolation, human experimentation, and forced family dynamics.

this is inspired by the time i was having a meltdown and my dad decided the best way to comfort me was ruffling my hair. i love you dad but you’re also stupid.

ao3 link

—— Coming back to life fucking sucked.

Limbo was shitty, sure, but he’d rather stay there and sleep forever or something than go through the sheer unbridled awfulness of revival. Limbo hurt, but it was the lingering pain of death- honestly, it wasn’t even that fucking bad if Dream was in one of those rare moods he didn’t treat making Tommy’s death as prolonged and torturous as possible as the most fun game in the whole world. It was nothing compared to the sheer agony of revival.

It was indescribable, but out of the sheer boredom Tommy’s life was defined by outside of the terror of Dream’s experiments, the twisted feelings of almost-happiness when Dream forced him to pretend they were all friendly like, and the sobbing fits he went into whenever he thought of Tubbo had left him with a lot of time to find the closest description possible, solely to never tell it to Dream out of spite. Or maybe to tell it to him straight away, and be a good friend and be allowed maybe a modicum of freedom. It depended on whether he was having a normal day or one of the ones where he wished even Dream was around to spare him from the tedium and boredom of being locked in a boiling hot cell with literally nothing to do.

It was like if you were a jumper. Dying was like if you were unravelled into a mess of wool, and obviously, that hurt like shit, but once you were a pile of thread, it didn’t really get worse. But being revived? It was like if you were knitted back together, but like, by a really shitty knitter. It was like you had holes poked in you and sewn together wrong and when you were finished, you had like three arms and were full of holes, meaning you couldn’t even keep anything warm anymore, and then you just had to be a shitty jumper in pain and unable to do anything forever as you unravelled again but even worse.

It wasn’t a perfect analogy because it made it sound way too nice. It didn’t even get into how it felt like his soul had been shattered and glued together haphazardly, then sent through a fucking shredder. It didn’t get into the fainting spells or the brain fog, or when he’d spend all day curled up around the sink vomiting a pitch-black fluid that eroded at the walls and the porcelain. But it was the closest he’d managed to describing the sheer agony.

It was quick, but that felt less like a mercy and more like another torture. A sudden burst of agony without warning burned through him, one second in limbo, the next forced back into his own decaying corpse, the walls wailing and the lights blinding. The bedsheets underneath him were soft, but the bloodstains dug into him painfully, and the texture of it hurt. The taste of iron in his mouth made him feel sick, and the smell of perfume barely covering up rot stung his eyes and nose.

Involuntarily, Tommy let out a cry of pain, but the reverberations through his throat felt like a thousand tiny knives. Dream said something, probably either mocking or the fake nice thing he did when pretending they were friends, but it blurred together into an incomprehensible noisy mess. He put his hands over his ears, rocking back and forth as he curled into the tightest ball he could.

The feeling of something heavy on his head, ruffling across it and leaving behind a tingling pain wherever it touched, made him squeeze up even tighter, letting out a squeak of pain. It felt like little bugs had laid their eggs in his scalp where the pressure was, digging through his skull and his brain, painful and, above all else, uncomfortable beyond description, leaving him squirming and trying to avoid it.

“Prime, Tommy, you don’t need to act like I’m killing you, geez.” Dream’s voice was barely audible through the static of the echo against the wall, the lava sizzling, Tommy’s own laboured breath. Vaguely, he registered that he wasn’t angry. More… amused. Curious.

Dream being curious was never good.

Suddenly, a light touch poked at his wings, and despite how brief the contact was, it sent an explosion of pain through Tommy’s body, like knives through his flesh. White hot pain flashed through the delicate bones and malformed, underdeveloped flesh underneath, flashing like electricity. It was like drowning in a sea of stars, their touch burning and gnawing through him. He couldn’t breathe through the void of space in his lungs.

The noise that came from his throat wasn’t a scream; it was something more guttural, less coherent. A howling, piercing screech of agony, one that echoed off the walls in a cacophonous symphony. Something like laughter joined it too, one he vaguely recognised as Dream’s wheezing giggles. It was a horrible, overwhelming sound.

“Sorry, sorry!” Dream’s voice was barely recognisable over the dim static, even as the wall of noise faded. “I just couldn’t help myself, y’know? You’re so sensitive over your wings. It’s so funny.”

“Hurts.” Tommy barely more than mouthed the word, shivering violently. “Hurts.”

“Interesting.” Dream hummed, and Tommy flinched violently, expecting another touch, but Dream only observed. “It doesn’t always hurt if they’re touched, though, right? I mean, I saw Tubbo preening your wings when they got dirty ages ago, and you didn’t seem upset by that. I mean, your feathers are a mess. It’s bothering me.”

“I… Tubbo…”

Just thinking of Tubbo felt through a knife through the chest, a worse pain than anything physical Dream could inflict. The screams, the rattling sound of his breath as he slipped away, the glassy-eyed look of his corpse. Tommy had tried to take the quick, decisive blow initially meant to kill him, and as punishment, while Tommy was lying on the ground clutching his shattered ribs, Dream had drawn out Tubbo’s death, made Tommy watch it the whole time.

Maybe he deserved all this, making Tubbo suffer.

“… He- he knew how to do it without it making my skin feel like it was on fuckin’ fire.” Tommy cuddled his knees, hiding his face. He wasn’t giving Dream the fucking satisfaction of seeing him tear up. “It’s- like, I make my own clothes because everything else hurts, right? And I cook my own food and stuff.”

He left out the fact it was meant to be a thing that was a bonding experience, done between parent and child, brothers and sisters, friends so close they were practically family. Letting someone he fucking despised like Dream do it would be like letting Dream cut his hair or patch up his wounds, uncomfortable and shitty. Something he knew from experience because Dream had done those, and it was fucking awkward.

Prime, he acted like a worried mother hen around Tommy, fretting and clingy as shit, at least when he wasn’t gleefully watching him bleed out onto the obsidian. He’d more likely get the latter if he protested, and as weird as it was that Dream was acting like they were brothers or something, at least it was better than dying.

“Can you tell me how to do it, then?” Dream’s voice was sickly sweet, and he could imagine the soft smile on his face. Honey poorly hiding poison. Tommy instinctively shook his head, but Dream ignored it. “I can’t stand the mess, so either I do it now, or I leave you alone until it’s time for the next experiment and do it while you’re a corpse. Or I could just cut off your wings, but I like them, so I’d rather not.”

Tommy’s blood ran cold at the word alone. Alone was a worse pain than any blow Dream could make, any words he could weave, a million times worse. Broken bones and infected wounds didn’t fester as painfully as the all-consuming guilt and loneliness that descended on the cell when Tommy was alone. Dream was cruel, taking joy in torturing and experimenting on Tommy in the way a child played with their favourite toys. Still, he was a person, one who’d give Tommy kindness and socialisation even when no one else would, and even if the idea of the slightest brush against his feathers made him feel sick, a single second alone felt even worse.

“I- please. You can stay, just don’t leave me alone.” Tommy spoke as loudly as he could, even though it felt like a sword down his throat to do so. “Please. We- we can be friends, just, don’t go, please-“

“Alright, alright! Prime, you’re so jumpy.” There wasn’t the slightest hint of annoyance in Dream’s tone, just what might have been restrained affection. The sort you’d give a misbehaving kitten, the tones Tommy once spoke to Henry with. “Honestly, I did need to study this at some point, y’know. It’s easier if I don’t have to deal with you scratching at me.”

Tommy barely had the time to process the words before he yelped at Dream sitting behind him on the bed, gently resting his hands just close enough to Tommy’s wings that he could feel their presence pricking at him like a thousand needles. “What do I do?”

“Uh, j-just… don’t touch the actual wing? Like, I know that makes no fuckin’ sense, but I can’t feel through my feathers, it’s like hair and shit, but my actual wings are all put together wrong, and it’s- even when I haven’t just been revived and shit, fucking hurts if they’re touched at all, because the bones are all wrong.”

Dream hummed, and slowly, agonisingly slowly, he gently ran his fingers through one of the iridescent feathers on Tommy’s wings. The slight pull felt like his nerves were being plucked straight out of his skin, like he was a star dying, bursting into a supernova and burning himself. Even the warm, comforting feeling the soft touch gave, like how the memories of laughter and watching the night skies in L’Manberg felt made manifest, was overwhelming, like being drowned in a life he’d no longer ever have.

When Tommy was younger, he remembered he used to hate hugs. They were nice, for a while, but then the feeling of warmth turned to burning on his skin, itchiness where the horrible clothes people somehow managed to wear, the pressure suddenly turning suffocating. He used to bite Wilbur sometimes, like a cornered cat. Once he was better at English, he’d been able to explain why it was bad- Wilbur said something about sensory issues and tried to take him to a doctor to get something beginning with A tested out, but apparently, you get kicked out if you show the doctor your knife collection- and he’d almost forgotten he’d hated it at all.

His mind, though, desperately trying to make sense of the pain and overstimulation, replayed the memories in his head, like a broken disc mixed in with starbursts and lights brighter than the sun. It felt like those old days, the scary days, except Dream knew what the fuck he was doing and didn’t give a shit. That feeling offered some perverse sense of comfort.

Maybe he could pretend he was ten again, and Dream was Wilbur, and everything was normal, and his pain didn’t matter, and no one knew any better.

Instead of biting at anyone, Tommy bit his tongue until he tasted blood and put on a smiling mask. That, as agonising as it was, was better than being alone.

#my writing #ailesswhumptober #dream smp #c!primeboys #body horror tw #abuse tw #torture tw #manipulation tw #isolation tw #human experimentation tw

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shenanigans-and-imagines · 2 years

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14. kissing each other breathless with Leddie??? Love this 💗

Eddie Munson x OC, Eddie Munson x Henderson!Reader, Jealousy, Make Out Sessions, Insecurity, Fluff

Lucy Henderson Masterlist

A/N: This was supposed to be a blurb, but it turned into a thing, because I have (say it with me now) NO SELF CONTROL! Anyway, please remember to reblog and comment. I'm frankly impressed I wrote this much so quickly. This is set well after season 4 in a future where everyone is safe and happy.

Summary: Lucy gets her own taste of the green eyed monster when a new fan gets a little too close to Eddie at the bar.

Word Count: 1.6K

Lucy didn’t like this feeling.

It was like something had crawled up inside her belly and was now desperately trying to tear its way out. It clenched at her throat and boiled inside her veins. It made her want to scream and throw things; preferably something heavy right at the girl Eddie was currently smiling at.

She was smart enough to recognize the emotion pulsing under her skin. Jealousy was an ugly thing and guilt weighed her down, acting as a sinking center to the vortex of anger and insecurity spinning inside her mind.

How many times had she assured Eddie over and over again that he was the only guy for her? They’d talked extensively on how to manage those unwanted feelings, slowly building a real trust and understanding between them. Shouldn’t that trust go both ways?

Eddie had just wrapped up a set. He was the lead guitar of a great band that was finally getting some notoriety. She was proud of him. Of course girls at the bar were going to approach him. Of course Eddie was going to enjoy the attention of fans. He’d earned it. But why did he have to keep smiling like that?

She took a sip of her water, as if somehow that would cool the growing fire in her blood.

The girl wasn’t going away. In fact, she seemed to have only gotten closer.

Lucy had to admit, the girl looked like she fit in, more than she did anyway.

Eddie was sweet enough to let her borrow his band shirts until she could get some of her own. He insisted she looked good in them, but she knew it wasn’t really the case. His lanky frame meant his shirts didn’t translate well onto her more filled out one. The fabric stretched and hit her awkwardly. She wore jeans, but the light color might as well have been neon compared to everyone else’s. She didn’t have any leather to speak of. Her make up was minimal. It was good enough for a small town girl form Indiana, but not a rock club in Chicago. She elicited strange looks and questions like, “you come with your boyfriend?”. Which was true, but she didn’t like the subtext of that question. The big flaring accusation of, “you don’t belong here”.

The girl talking to Eddie belonged. She had a jacket covered with countless patches undoubtedly sewn on herself. Her hair was dark with dyed tips. Her make up was exaggerated. Her stance was confident. Everything about her screamed rock star. She looked exactly like the type of girl Lucy always pictured Eddie being into before they got together.

She shook the thought away. She and Eddie were together. They had been for a while now. They had fought demobats and monsters and nearly died for each other more times then either of them cared to count. If that didn’t make them practically soul mates, she didn’t know what did.

Eddie was laughing.

Shit, he was laughing.

The girl was touching him now, her hand brushing over the black scrunchie around his wrist.

She was up before she even realized it.

Someway, somehow, she pushed through the crowd of people, not even stopping to apologize until she was finally at the bar.

Eddie’s eyes caught her, all warm chocolate despite the dim lighting.

“Hey pretty girl, what’s–”

He didn’t get to finish as Lucy wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down into a desperate kiss.

His response was immediate, his hands finding her waist, acting as a kind of anchor as he half sat, half leaned on the bolted down bar stool behind him.

She pressed deeper into him, earning her a smile and the taste of his mouth. He moaned against her. It was the only thing to sooth the clawing creature under her skin. Screw everyone else here, only she was able to touch him like this. He wouldn’t let anybody else, slip between his legs and kiss him until he couldn’t breath.

A jostle from one of the other patrons trying to get to the bar forced them apart. They each gasped for air and with every breath, Lucy realized exactly what she had done.

“I just came here to watch the bands, not a peep show,” the guy grumbled.

She blushed, but Eddie only beamed, his mouth still wet and swollen from this kiss.

“What can I say man? Good music makes her horny.”

Lucy groaned, smacking his shoulder as she buried her head in his chest. If there was a trap door beneath her, now would be a great time for the bartender to use it. This all seemed like a good idea a second ago.

The guy walked away, leaving her and Eddie as alone as anyone could be in a bar on Saturday night.

He didn’t let her go, wrapping his arms more securely around her as he rubbed his hands up and down her back.

“Hi, by the way,” he said, kissing her temple.

“Hi,” she repeated.

He laughed, before gently nudging her head up so she was finally looking at him.

“Not that I’m complaining,” he said, “but what brought that on? Maybe I could do it on purpose next time.”

That sickening guilt came back to her. She looked away, occupying herself with the details of his shirt as her fingers traced absentmindedly up and down his arms.

“You played a really good set,” she said, hoping the half truth would be enough. “You’ve got a couple new fans at least.”

Her fingers lingered on his wrist, and the black scrunchie around it.

It was a little thing that started back at The Hideout. She had heard how, at big venues, girls would throw bras up on stage to performers. In an attempt to make Eddie smile after rocking out a great set to a lackluster crowd, she cheered and sling-shotted her scrunchie right into his face. After a while it just became a thing, something to indicate that she was in the room and rooting for him.

Of course, once the band got more fans, others started doing the scrunchie thing too. Not a lot, but enough for her own to get lost in the shuffle. At first she’d tie a string or maybe a note around hers, but it wasn’t the same. Nowadays, he just grabbed the one out of her hair, and slipped it on his wrist before going on stage as a kind of good luck charm.

He followed her gaze, his brows furrowed for a moment as if putting together an elaborate puzzle in his head.

To her dismay, a wide smile spread across his face.

“Luce, were you jealous?”

“No.” It was an automatic response, and it rang false the second it passed her lips. “Maybe,” she admitted. “A little.”

“A little?”

She sighed. There was no point. She had already made an ass of herself.

“A lot,” she said. “I just…didn’t like her touching you, like that.” God where was a black hole when you needed one?

“I’m sorry."

“For what?”

That surprised her. Looking up, she caught the genuine confusion on his face.

“For making a spectacle of it. I was basically dry humping you into the bar stool.”

“I said I wasn’t complaining,” Eddie countered.

“But that…that’s not the point!” she stuttered. “I love you! And I trust you and I know you feel the same way, so I shouldn’t be marching over here trying to mark my territory like some horny cat or something.”

He laughed. “Okay, first of all, yes. You’re right. You shouldn’t be worried.” He cupped her face, his smile teasing but his eyes were all warmth. “Trust me, you should not be worried.”

She knew that, but hearing it from his own lips somehow made it more real. The grip the creature held slipped a little, allowing her to draw a free breath.

“Second,” he continued, “there are worse ways for you to be jealous. And if you are going to be, I’d much rather it end with you kissing me like it’s the end of the world.”

They each felt the weight of those words. Jealousy was what drove them apart the first time. Yes, technically speaking, Hawkins Lab and evil Russians pulled them apart, but it was that underlying jealousy, that basic insecurity and mistrust that made them unable to speak to each other for almost a full year. It had sucked and neither of them wanted to go through it again.

“And third,” he said, brushing his nose against hers. “It’s kind of nice to know it’s not just me.”

He pressed a kiss to her lips, her nose, her cheek, her jaw and further down until he came to her neck.

Lucy gripped his arms. They were the only things keeping her upright as he hummed in pleasure, nipping at her skin.

Music swept through the bar once more as a new band took center stage to the cheer of the crowd.

Eddie pulled away, his brown eyes now almost black as he took her in.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

She didn’t need to be asked twice. Maybe a bit of jealousy now and then wasn’t such a bad thing.

(3/20)

#stranger things #eddie munson #lucy henderson #eddie munson x oc #eddie munson x henderson!reader #stranger things oc #leddie #eddie munson x reader #5k celebration #5k followers #2022 fic

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